The Foxfire Lights

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  “Indeed,” Hal said. “And he is not the only placed in peril by the spell—Jem encountered the spirit while we were up on the fell—and it told him there were three.”

  “Three?” Lord Ransom pushed aside the paper as though it were covered in poison. “What three? Who—who else is in danger now?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Hal said, refilling his pipe. “It depends very much on who cast the curse in the first place—and why.”

  Lord Ransom rested his face in his hands, his shoulders slumping. The door to the study creaked open, and Mrs. Forsythe entered, balancing a tea tray on her arms. She set it down before Lord Ransom, who never looked up, and began pouring him a cup.

  The moment she began pouring the tea, an oddly familiar scent filled my nostrils—just a hint of licorice, and other things I could not identify. It was not quite the same as the tea Mrs. Ogham had given us in Manchester—but it was very close. I glanced over at Hal, who was watching Mrs. Forsythe with an odd expression.

  “Where do you get that tea?” he said. “It’s rather—unusual.”

  “It’s my own recipe, sir,” she said. “I learned it from my grandmother—it’s medicinal.”

  “It certainly is,” Lord Ransom said, taking his cup. “Mind you see that Lady Ransom gets a cup as well.”

  Mrs. Forsythe frowned darkly. “I’ll try, your Lordship,” she said. “But her Ladyship isn’t permitting anyone save that girl in her rooms at present. She says we are all against her—and she won’t come down until Albert is found.”

  Lord Ransom sighed wearily and took a sip of tea. “Never mind. I’ll see her myself later this morning.”

  Mrs. Forsythe nodded, and poured out a cup of tea each for Hal and me. I took mine, letting the scent of it soothe away my headache, and took a sip—it was not nearly as good as Mrs. Ogham’s tea, but it worked almost as well.

  She left the room, and for a moment we sipped tea in silence. Then Lord Ransom set his cup down. Some of the weariness had gone from his face, but there was still a strain in his eyes that had not been there before.

  “I suppose I must go and see to Isabella,” he said, standing. “She must be terribly distraught—she is so attached to that child . . .”

  Hal set his own cup down. “I have promised you that we will recover the child,” he said. “That stands.”

  Lord Ransom gave him an appraising look. “And the other two—whoever they may be?” he said. “Will you save them as well?”

  Hal frowned around his pipe. “If I break the curse, all are safe.”

  Lord Ransom was silent a moment, looking away broodingly into the fireplace. “Yes, I suppose that’s so,” he said at last. “Well, I must see to my wife.”

  We took our leave of him and went out into the passage, where Hal stood rocking back on his heels, smoke billowing out of his pipe. He watched the doorway as though searching for answers in it.

  “Where do we go from here, Hal?” I said.

  He glanced over at me, brow furrowing. “First, I should like to ask Mrs. Forsythe about her tea,” he said.

  “Her tea?” I said, incredulous. I gestured back at the study. “Lord Ransom is distraught over his son, and you want the tea recipe from his housekeeper?”

  “Of course,” he said, and began walking down the passage into the dining room.

  I followed him, still baffled at his sudden interest in tea-making. In the dining room we found a housemaid polishing up silver. She looked up at us as we entered, eyes going wide, and then looked back down at her silver, polishing it more vigorously. Hal cleared his throat and she nearly dropped the spoon she was polishing.

  “Can you tell me where Mrs. Forsythe is?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, looking back down at her spoon. “She’s gone up to see Master Matthew, sir. It’s time for his morning tonic.”

  Hal thanked her, and we went up the stairs to Matthew’s room—an excursion that I thought would be altogether more profitable than Hal’s quest for Mrs. Forsythe’s tea recipe. I was disappointed when we arrived at the top of the stairs to find Mrs. Forsythe already leaving Matthew’s room, tray in hand.

  Her sharp blue eyes narrowed as she saw us, and she set the tray down on a little table outside the room, folding her arms over her chest and standing in before the door.

  “If you’ve come to trouble Master Matthew I’ll have none of it,” she said. “He’s very poorly this morning, and no wonder—he’s had no sleep at all.”

  Hal tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and relit it. “Not at all. I’m curious about your tea—where did your grandmother come by that recipe?”

  She blinked at him, momentarily thrown off-kilter. “How should I know that? She died when I was just a girl—but she passed the recipe to my mother, who passed it on to me.”

  “Hm,” Hal said. He went over to the little tray, picking up the mug that rested on it. He looked down into its depths for a moment, then sniffed it, before setting it back down. “And did your grandmother leave you the recipe for this tonic as well?”

  “She did, if you must know,” she said, picking the tray up. “She was a hedgewitch—better than doctors for some things. What on earth are you asking about these things for? Why aren’t you trying to find Master Albert?”

  “But that is precisely what I am doing,” Hal said. “Did your grandmother tell you anything else about those recipes?”

  “Only that they were better than medicine for some ailments,” she said, pushing past us with the tray. “Now let me get on with my work.”

  Hal gave her an appraising look. “What else did your grandmother tell you?”

  Mrs. Forsythe sighed. “What does it matter? She’s dead and gone these thirty years. I’ll tell you one thing, though—if you want to know what happened to Master Albert, look to his mother.”

  “Lady Ransom?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “But why?”

  “You speak to my husband, he’ll tell you,” she said, nodding sagely. “It shouldn’t surprise me if there wasn’t a ransom note in the offing, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Your husband?” Hal said, refilling his pipe. “Why should he know about it?”

  “He’s his Lordship’s steward, isn’t he?” she said, turning to go down the stairs. “He handles his Lordship’s money.”

  With that, she went down the stairs and vanished around the corner. Hal watched her go, a brooding expression on his face. He stood there a moment in silence, his pipe billowing smoke, with his arms folded over his chest.

  “Well, what now?” I said. “You’ve had your questions about the tea answered. Hadn’t we better go and talk to this steward?”

  “Hm,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “I don’t believe my questions have been answered at all. But, yes, perhaps the steward is next.”

  “What’s your fascination with the tea, anyway?” I said, leaning back against the wall. “I believe you’re brooding over a theory. What is it?”

  He frowned at me. “It’s pure speculation at this point. There’s nothing to discuss.”

  I sighed. “Do you know—some people find it helpful to talk their theories over. It certainly doesn’t seem to hurt them.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, looking back down the staircase. “But I do not share that inclination. To give credit to something before you have even thoroughly thought it out—that is not the way to reason.”

  “Like Father’s notes,” I said, looking away from him. “I wish you’d tell me why you’ve stopped reading them.”

  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jem, if there was anything to tell, I’d tell you. But I’ve simply come to a dead end. I do wish you would let it go.”

  I shook my head. “You—for months, you’ve been reading over those notes. And now, just when I’ve gotten involved, you don’t—you won’t even look at them. I don’t understand it.”

  “There’s nothing to understand,” he said. “I’ve told you why I’ve stopped—you simply refuse to accep
t it. At any rate, we are wasting time—we should go and speak to the steward.”

  With that, he took off down the stairs, while I followed reluctantly behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I followed Hal down the stone staircase and through a narrow passage into the kitchen. He inquired of a sallow-faced maid the location of the steward’s office, and was given it. We went back to the office, all but hidden in one corner downstairs, and Hal rapped sharply on the door. A sour voice bade us to come in, and we entered, to find Forsythe staring dourly down at a book of accounts.

  He looked up as the door opened, and took off the spectacles he wore, his brooding dark eyes watching Hal warily. “Mr. Bishop, is it? What can I do for you?”

  “Your wife tells me you may know of some reason that Lady Ransom would arrange to have her son stolen,” Hal said. “Is that true?”

  Forsythe blinked. “Well, sir—I don’t wish to speak out of turn. His Lordship’s accounts are private.”

  “Except to your wife, it seems,” Hal said, tamping down the tobacco in his pipe. “Come, man—if you have some information that is relevant, I should hear it.”

  The steward looked back glumly at his accounts, and sighed. “Nell is making more of it than it is. There’s no call for her to be accusing her Ladyship—and I hope you won’t repeat that accusation.”

  Hal shook his head. “I only wish to know what truth there is in it.”

  Forsythe tapped his spectacles against the ledger, his heavy brow furrowed. It was a long moment before he spoke again. “All right,” he said, finally. “I can tell you this—his Lordship left Argentina earlier than he planned to. He had not yet finished his expedition.”

  “Hm.” Hal rocked back on his heels, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “And why did he leave?”

  “There were two reasons,” Forsythe said. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “The first was Master Matthew—he was demanding that his father come home, and making himself quite ill over it. The second was what happened to her Ladyship’s father.”

  “Her father?” I said. “But what could have happened to him?”

  Forsythe spared me a glance before continuing. “Her father was a very prominent man—wealthy, I’m given to understand. But he made a very poor investment, and lost everything. That wasn’t the worst of it—as I understand, he was a sort of political person, and there was a kind of scandal. Corruption and all that. Of course his Lordship couldn’t stay with him any longer—and he and her Ladyship returned here to Foxfire.”

  “But what can that have to do with Albert?” I said. “Why should Lady Ransom put her own son in danger over it?”

  “She was very attached to her father—didn’t want to leave,” Forsythe said. “And he has been sending letters to his Lordship—stacks of them, just in these few months. Always asking for money.”

  Hal folded his arms over his chest, brows knitting together, his pipe billowing out smoke. He was brooding over what to ask next—but before he had the chance, the door to the office burst open. A boy, a bit younger than myself, stood in the doorway—the same boy who had come with Forsythe to Albert’s room the night before. He had Mrs. Forsythe’s blue eyes, but there was little of his father in him—his hair was fair, and his face clear and cheerful, in contrast to his father’s dark and dour countenance.

  “Mum says she’ll have your tea up to you in a bit,” he said. Then he turned and saw us, and his face reddened a bit.

  “Mr. Bishop, my son Jack,” Forsythe said. “Jack, this is Mr. Bishop and his brother—the magicians his Lordship has hired.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “You’ll be here about Master Albert, then.”

  “That’s right,” Hal said, looking at the boy with an odd expression. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

  The boy gave a short laugh. “Magic? No. I’m good with figures—like Dad. Mum would be the one to ask about magic—though even she only knows the old folk stuff. Tonics and things.”

  “Jack assists me in my work,” Forsythe said, putting his spectacles back on. “And he helps out a bit with Master Matthew—I’m afraid he wouldn’t have had much to do with Master Albert.”

  “That’s right,” Jack said. “I never really knew him—though Mum said he was very poorly. It’s too bad what’s happened to him, though—I hope you find him.”

  Forsythe looked up from his paperwork. “Indeed we all hope that. Speaking of your mother, Jack—she said Master Matthew wanted you to take him out to see the garden this morning. Can you manage that?”

  “I suppose I could,” Jack said, grimacing. “I’d better do it now, before I lose the nerve.”

  “Good.” Forsythe turned back to Hal. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Hal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Just one thing—did you know your wife’s grandmother?”

  Forsythe blinked, looking taken aback. “No—that is to say, I knew of her. She was a good hedgewitch, so they say. But she died before Nell and I were ever married. Why?”

  “Never mind.” Hal stood, and turned to Jack. “I think we shall accompany your son on his mission of mercy to Master Matthew.”

  “I’d appreciate the company, sir,” Jack said, looking rather relieved. “He gives me a creepy feeling, to tell the truth.”

  “Jack,” his father said, sharply. “That’s no way to speak of his Lordship’s son. He’ll be the master here someday.”

  “If he lives that long,” Jack muttered, but at a stern look from his father, he sighed. “Well, we’d better get along if we’re going.”

  Hal thanked Forsythe, and we followed Jack from the office, down the passage, and up the stone staircase. It was a long way up to Matthew’s room, and Jack took the opportunity to show off some of his knowledge of the manor.

  “Foxfire used to be an abbey, did you know that?” he said taking the stairs at a fast clip. “One of the oldest homes in England.”

  “Did it?” I said, looking around at the stone that surrounded us. “It doesn’t look much like an abbey.”

  “The abbey was burnt down,” Jack said. “His Lordship’s ancestor built over the ruins. But you can still see some of them in the garden.”

  He chattered on about the ruins of the abbey, and how Lord Ransom’s ancestor came into possession of Foxfire, and I nodded politely but absently, my mind preoccupied with both Albert’s disappearance and Hal’s reticence about his theories. For his part, Hal walked up the stairs broodingly, hands in his pockets and smoke curling around his head. He did not even bother to pretend that he was listening to Jack.

  “And Lord Ransom—that is to say, the present Lord Ransom—might not even have the title but for that,” Jack said, as we reached the top of the stairs.

  “What?” I said, startled into speech. “What do you mean?”

  “I said Lord Ransom’s father came into the title rather by accident,” Jack said, sounding a bit exasperated. “Haven’t you been listening at all?”

  “What sort of accident?” Hal said, the brooding expression gone from his face.

  “Lord Ransom’s father was a distant cousin of the third Baron Ransom,” Jack said. “The third Baron Ransom had a son, who would have inherited—but he disappeared on the mire just after his twenty-first birthday. Lord Ransom’s father came into the title—and the estate—as a result.”

  “You say he disappeared on the mire?” Hal said, frowning around his pipe. “How curious.”

  “It certainly was,” Jack said. “He went out riding at night—never a good idea, you know—and when he didn’t come back in the morning his father had half the county out after him. But all they ever found was his horse—half mired down itself. They had to shoot it.”

  “You mean his body was never found?” I said. The story gave me a shiver up my spine; I could almost see the horse, trapped in the mire—his master God knew where beneath it.

  Jack shook his head. �
�Mum says he got caught by the fairy lights—but that’s just nonsense, Dad says.”

  “Fairy lights?” Hal said.

  “That’s where Foxfire gets its name,” Jack said. “People see lights on the mire sometimes—will o’ wisps. The story is that they’re sent by the fairies so they can catch people out at night.”

  By then we had reached Matthew’s room. Jack sighed and set his shoulders as though preparing for a fight, then raised a hand to rap sharply on the door. After a moment it scraped open, and Nurse’s round, ruddy face appeared around it.

  “Ah, Jack,” she said. “He’s been wanting to know what was taking you so long. You might have been quicker about it.”

  Jack rubbed the back of his head. “I was distracted—but tell him I’ve brought the magicians with me. He’ll like that.”

  Nurse’s face crumpled into a frown. “Aye, he’ll like it—but I doubt his Lordship will be quite so pleased. Well, never mind—he’s fussing enough as it is. Best waste no more time.”

  She pulled the door open to let us in, and Hal and I followed Jack into the close, dim room. Nurse led us over to Matthew. He was propped up against his pillows, pale and thin, staring at the closed drapes with a petulant expression. He looked up as Nurse bustled over to the bed, his brows drawing together.

  “You’ve dawdled, Jack,” he said, his tone chiding. “I should think you would be happy to come when I’ve sent for you—I will be the master of this house someday.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jack said. He turned and gestured at us. “But look who I’ve brought with me.”

  Matthew leaned forward, peering into the dim light around his bed. “Oh—the magicians. I understand Albert has finally disappeared.”

  “Aye, so he has,” Nurse said, lifting him up into a sitting position. “The poor thing.”

  “Was I speaking to you?” Matthew snapped. “Well, if he has gone, I’m glad. Maybe now we can all go on with our lives. I suppose that was what that woman was wailing about all night.”

  “I suppose so,” Hal said. “She is his mother, after all.”