She had put a stop to a Rising.
It was not only the fact that she had accomplished this feat that intrigued him, but also the fact that she had known there was at least some possibility she could do such a thing. How long had she known of this affinity she displayed for the Old Trees?
For some time at least, he was sure. He recalled again the way the twig had writhed in her fingers like a little brown serpent, and he thought perhaps he indeed had a better understanding of what had befallen the magicians that day, how they came to gaze into the crystalline orb and were made bereft of their minds. After all, the large frame upon which the artifact rested had been fashioned of braided Wyrdwood, for the wood of the Old Trees had some power to resist the energies of the artifact. And if she could shape a twig with her thoughts, what might she have been able to do with all the wood that made up the stand?
“What are you lingering there for, Mr. Rafferdy?” Mrs. Baydon called back through the open gate. “Come along!”
Rafferdy realized he was still standing on the street while men in fine coats and ladies in fluttering gowns moved past him. He hurried to catch up to Mr. and Mrs. Baydon, and together they proceeded through the twilit garden and into the house.
Rafferdy had been inside the house of Mr. Lockwell on two prior occasions, but the first time had been after the house had endured a period of long neglect, and the second had been before the renovations were very far along. Nothing of what he had seen then had presaged what he now beheld. In any modern edifice in the New Quarter, everything would have been marble and crystal and gilt, all meant to dazzle the eye. No such artifices had been employed here. The beauty of this house came not from the trappings that had been placed within it, but rather was a property that arose from the very form and shape of its construction.
The front hall would have been more than capable of housing a large party; however, it served as no more than an antechamber that night, for people were ascending the double staircase that curved upward to the second floor, chattering in a lively fashion as they went.
Rafferdy followed Mr. and Mrs. Baydon to the steps, ascending toward gold light and the strains of music. Yet as they neared the top, Rafferdy felt a peculiar hesitation and slowed his pace. It was not because he dreaded any tedium that lay ahead. Rather, it was a sudden concern that this affair was above him, that others would regard him in astonishment and wonder how he had come to be invited.
Only then they reached the top of the steps, and such was the eagerness of those who came behind him that he was swept up along with them, into the gallery beyond.
“Oh!” Mrs. Baydon exclaimed. “How magnificent!”
Whether she referred to the room itself, or the multitude of people, Rafferdy did not know. Nor did it matter; on either account she would be right. For all the grand halls and ballrooms he had entered in his life, he could not recall one so handsome or inviting as this. The harmonious lines and sturdy proportions gave one a sense of grandeur as well as comfort.
The guests who filled the long space of the gallery were no less remarkable. Perhaps it was the solidness of the room that made their finery all the more striking, or perhaps there was something in the way the light was reflected off the rich wood all around, glazing the air like a honey-colored varnish. Whatever the reason, everyone’s attire seemed more vivid in hue than he had ever seen before. Gowns and coats were not yellow or blue or green; they were saffron, cerulean, and brilliant viridian.
“I feel as if I have never seen a party at all before now,” Mrs. Baydon sighed.
Rafferdy could only agree. In the past he had been so conceited as to think that he was the most interesting guest one would likely encounter at a party. That was not the case now. Here were not merely city gentlemen, country sirs, and a stray lord and his lady. From the crests and medals and jeweled diadems he saw flashing around him, here also were viscounts and viscountesses, earls and countesses, marquesses and marchionesses. There was only one thing that exceeded Rafferdy’s astonishment upon seeing just how far above him in society Mrs. Quent—Lady Quent—had truly risen. And that was his great delight, for who could have deserved to be raised in such a manner more than she?
At this thought he laughed—a sound of real pleasure—and Mrs. Baydon smiled at him. Then she looked to her husband.
“Do you not think it magnificent, Mr. Baydon?”
“I would think it considerably more magnificent if I could find the quiet salon where men might sit and take tobacco and discuss the stories in today’s edition of The Comet.” With that he took his leave of them, off to discover such a place.
Mrs. Baydon paid him little heed as he departed. “Look there,” she said, pointing across the gallery to a small platform that had been covered with a white curtain. “That must be where the Miss Lockwells are to appear. I have it from Lady Quent that they have conceived some manner of surprise for the party. I must go find Captain Branfort. I want to see his expression when we find out what it is—and if he thinks the Miss Lockwells very pretty!”
With that, she moved farther into the gallery and was at once lost among the multitude of guests.
Rafferdy had his own people to look for. He made a tour along the gallery, keeping to the edge of the room as he went, casting his gaze out over the party. A hope came upon him that he would see Eldyn Garritt, whom he expected to be here tonight. It had been a long time since they had met at tavern for a drink, and he wondered how his friend was faring.
It was Lord Coulten he saw first. Or rather, it was Lord Coulten’s hair, rising above the heads of the people all around. With his gaze fixed upon that landmark, Rafferdy navigated his way through the crowded gallery.
“There you are, Rafferdy!” Coulten said, his cheeks ruddy and his blue eyes sparkling. “I was wondering if I would need to use a spell to reveal where you were.”
Rafferdy raised an eyebrow. “Would that have been very wise? After all, Eubrey claims we magicians are all under the watchful eye of Lord Valhaine and the White Lady. Who knows if one of their agents is here? Besides, I see you still wear gloves.”
“Well, I’m sure I will soon have no reason to wear them. For they are bound to need us.”
“Need us? What do you mean?”
Coulten leaned in close, holding a hand beside his mouth and speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, who else can put a stop to all these Risings? You saw what Eubrey accomplished at the Evengrove. They will need us to strengthen the Quelling on the Wyrdwood one day—perhaps sooner rather than later. Then we will show off our House rings without a care!”
Rafferdy doubted Eubrey had accomplished anything at all. It was not Eubrey’s knife that had raised the ire of the Old Trees, nor was it his spell that had soothed them. Only he did not speak these thoughts aloud.
“Some of us magicians do still show our rings,” he said instead, raising his right hand so the blue gem caught the light. “Speaking of Eubrey, where is he? Did he come on his own rather than accompany you here?”
“He did neither, for he is not coming at all,” Coulten said, and his eyes twinkled as they always did when he was about to impart some interesting news. “Eubrey is to receive his reward tonight.”
“His reward?”
“Yes, quite. The sages are going to open the Door for him, and not merely so he can look through it. He has been invited to step beyond.”
Rafferdy could not conceal his surprise. “So he finally did it, then. He has gotten himself admitted to the inner circle of the society.”
“Indeed, the next time we see him at a meeting he will be one of the magicians in hoods. What’s more, he says he will put in a good word for me. So with luck I may be the next one in a gold hood!” Coulten gripped his shoulder. “Don’t look so glum, Rafferdy. We can all still be companions when we’re not at gatherings of the society. Besides, with your talents, I’m sure it won’t be long before you are invited through the Door.”
Coulten had misread the look upon his face. It was
not any sort of envy or regret that had caused Rafferdy to frown. Rather, it was simply difficult to understand why Eubrey had been granted entry to the inner circle of the Arcane Society of the Virescent Blade. Surely the sages did not believe Eubrey’s spell had had some effect on the Rising at the Evengrove. Or was it simply the case that for all their hints of occult secrets, there was nothing at all beyond the curtained door but another room beneath a dank tavern?
Before he could respond to Coulten, a voice called out his name, and despite all the sounds of conversation and music, the words carried as clearly across the gallery as if it were her own parlor.
“Lord Rafferdy, do come here at once and present yourself!”
He turned, and through a gap amid the revelers he saw Lady Marsdel sitting a little way away. She beckoned to him with her closed fan, and he could not refuse. Achieving lordship, it seemed, had done nothing to change the arrangement of their stations. He approached, and Coulten followed.
“Good evening, your ladyship,” he said with a deep bow.
As he rose, he could only be impressed. Lady Marsdel was far from the highest magnate in attendance tonight, yet somehow she had won what was arguably the finest seat at the party. It was situated at the southern end of the room and offered an excellent view of the gallery. What was more, the chair was situated close to the most beautiful old door.
The door, which was shut, was fashioned of dark wood and was fabulously carved with a sword and a shield. The former was decorated with runic inscriptions, and both were rendered so skillfully that it was easy to fancy reaching up and taking them from the door like artifacts that had been hung upon the wall. Such a remarkable piece was bound to attract interest, and any who came to examine it would be setting foot directly in Lady Marsdel’s web of influence.
A number of people had already been thus ensnared, among them Mrs. Baydon, Captain Branfort, and Colonel Daubrent.
Lady Marsdel nodded in response to Rafferdy’s show of obeisance, then she turned in her seat to regard the tall figure of the colonel. “As I was saying, Colonel Daubrent, I think it is awful when common people rise up too quickly. It is of no benefit to them. For how can they be expected to possess the proper traits needed to successfully navigate among all of the intricacies to be found at the highest levels of society?”
“You make it sound rather perilous,” Colonel Daubrent observed in a dour tone.
“It could not be more perilous!” Lady Marsdel exclaimed, spreading her fan for emphasis. “Is it not far more dangerous to lose one’s balance while standing upon a high precipice than a low bench? Lady Quent is sensible and clever, I grant you. Yet I am not sure that all in her family can claim to share these same characteristics, and there are some abilities that can be gained only by being born into the correct lineage.”
Colonel Daubrent frowned. “If that is the case, then I wonder what is the origin of these peculiar abilities you refer to. For I am certain, if you go back far enough, we all must possess an ancestor who was the first in our lineage to be raised up, and therefore was born a commoner himself.”
“The Marsdels have always been magnates,” her ladyship said, and her fan snapped shut.
“Even when they were striking rocks together in a cave, no doubt,” Rafferdy said cheerfully.
The others laughed, and Rafferdy prepared himself to endure a look of displeasure from Lady Marsdel. Instead, she gazed at him with what seemed to him an unusually thoughtful expression.
“Nobility does not come from acquiring fine houses or rich clothes, Mr. Rafferdy,” she said. “Nor can it be escaped by spurning these things. Rather, it is something that one either possesses or does not.”
Rafferdy found himself without any sort of witticism or clever remark with which to respond. He was suddenly aware of his bare hand and the ring upon his finger, and he put his hand in his pocket.
Thankfully, any attention was drawn away from him as the others proceeded to make an examination of the door.
“It’s really remarkable,” Mrs. Baydon said. “Both lovely and terrible all at once. I want only to examine it more closely to see every detail of it, yet I fear I should prick my finger were I to touch the blade on accident. What do you think of it, Captain Branfort? As a martial sort of man, I imagine you must find it quite fascinating.”
He gave a shrug. “I hadn’t considered it.”
“You hadn’t considered it? On the contrary, Captain, your eyes have strayed to the door a dozen times since we’ve been gathered here. I do hope you have not taken to emulating our Lord Rafferdy and are pretending to find a thing dull so you will seem more interesting yourself.” She gave Rafferdy a teasing smile. “Let me put you on the spot, Lord Rafferdy. You must tell me the truth—do you not find this to be the most striking sight to behold?”
“Yes, it’s a very striking sight,” he said.
However, it was not the door he was looking at. Rather, his gaze had gone past Mrs. Baydon to the slender figure dressed in a leaf green gown who was approaching them. Mrs. Baydon affected a puzzled look, but then when Rafferdy bowed she turned around.
“Lady Quent!” she exclaimed, and took the other’s hands and kissed her cheek. When these greetings had been warmly returned, Mrs. Baydon went on. “I was telling Captain Branfort earlier that I am sure this is the most lovely party that has ever been seen in the Old City.”
Lady Quent smiled. “As its name implies, the Old City is very ancient. Therefore I imagine it has seen parties of every variety and quality. But I am happy you find this affair to your liking.”
“I do! The Miss Lockwells must be so pleased. They will be the envy of all other young ladies in the city tomorrow. And I simply cannot wait to see what surprise they have arranged for the occasion.”
“You will not have to wait much longer,” Mrs. Quent said with a smile. “They will be making their appearance shortly.”
She glanced at the far side of the room, to the white curtain draped before the north wall. For a moment there was a cast to her green eyes that made Rafferdy wonder if there was something about this unveiled surprise that worried her.
The moment passed, and as Mrs. Baydon continued to make exclamations about the party, her expression became one of pleasure. Rafferdy could only wish it was to him that happy face was turned. After just a few minutes, Mrs. Quent regretfully said she must take her leave of them, for she needed to hurry to attend to her sisters.
“But you will never be able to hurry to them if you attempt to cross the gallery alone!” Lady Marsdel declaimed. “A hundred people shall accost you and make you speak to them. Where is your husband to escort you?”
“I fear he has been accosted himself,” Mrs. Quent said with a rueful glance across the gallery. There was the stolid figure of Sir Quent, back against the windows, bravely facing the gauntlet of half a dozen lords who were repeatedly shaking his hand.
“Well, then, Lord Rafferdy must accompany you. Do what is required to see her swiftly to the Miss Lockwells, Lord Rafferdy, even if it requires some sort of enchantment!”
Rafferdy liked to think that he had seen so many things in his existence that astonishment was beyond him, but at that moment he could only look at Lady Marsdel with real shock. Yet her command was delivered in such a way that it could not be ignored. Mrs. Quent took his arm, and they started across the gallery.
“I am so glad you’re here tonight, Mr. Rafferdy,” she said as they walked. “So much has happened of late that I sometimes feel as if I’m in a carriage drawn by runaway horses, and all I can do is look at the scenes flashing past the windows. It is a comfort to have such a dear and familiar friend here tonight.”
Rafferdy was aware of many eyes turning in their direction, and he could not help feeling pleasure at being singled out by the most desirable person at the party. No doubt they wondered how he had come to be so distinguished; he rather wondered at it himself. Yet he was not about to protest, and he attended to his duty, skillfully turning Mrs. Quent away fr
om anyone who looked as if they were about to attempt to approach her.
“I am looking forward to seeing the Miss Lockwells,” he said.
“And they you! We shall all of us have to gather together with Mr. Garritt. It will be just like our time in the parlor at Whitward Street.”
He laughed as he glanced around at the grandness of the gallery and its current denizens. “Yes, just like it—with a few small differences, perhaps. But where is that elusive Eldyn Garritt? I have not yet seen him tonight.”
“He is here. I encountered him only a little while ago, along with his friend Mr. Fanewerthy. Do you know him?”
Rafferdy could only confess that he did not. “I am not surprised he has been required to find new companions. Given my duties, I have not had an occasion of late to meet Mr. Garritt at the Sword and Leaf.”
He was forced to stop, for she had suddenly come to a halt.
“The Sword and Leaf!” she gasped and looked up at him, her green eyes very wide.
Rafferdy could only wonder at this reaction. “It’s our usual haunt—the tavern where Mr. Garritt and I have often met.” Belatedly he wondered if her response was due to the fact that bringing up a house of drinking was not an appropriate topic for this occasion.
“You are certain that is the name of the tavern?” she said, gripping his arm.
Now his wonderment was redoubled. “Yes, the Sword and Leaf. It’s the same tavern beneath which the members of the magickal society I belong to gather and meet.”
“It cannot be chance,” she said, then shook her head. “Only you told me that the tavern where you meet is not on Durrow Street. So it cannot be the tavern where Dratham used to go.”
She glanced again at the white curtain at the north end of the gallery, which they were now very close to. He saw a hand extend beyond the cloth, beckoning in an urgent fashion.
The House on Durrow Street Page 57
