There are also some excellent box rooms on the premises. (Certainly they met with everyone's full approval on previous visits.) Yet these promising hunting grounds are disdained in favor of the cellars, the cupboard under the back stairs, or (on one memorable occasion) inside one of the stable grain bins. I live in fear that one of them will hide in a chest that can't be opened from the inside.
This means that the entire staff has been charged to keep a sharp eye (sharper even than usual, I mean) on the children. Edward seems to find the focus on his cousins inspiring. He has shown great ingenuity in finding new items of scientific interest to bring to the nursery. I would have thought it quite early in the season for snakes, but he has made a more thorough study of the subject than I.
I told Georgy of your encounter with her husband, partly to assure her that you would never betray her whereabouts and partly to assess her response to the mention of his name. She did not seem particularly alarmed. I judge she was relieved to learn that her stay here is to be held in confidence.
Really, I am consumed with curiosity. What could possibly have stirred Georgy to bury herself here in the country, with no entertainment but that provided by the children, and to utter scarcely a word of complaint over the change in her circumstances—and then to stay here.
I have every confidence in your skill at interrogation and in Daniel's complacency. The man's sublime interest in himself is only matched by his serene assumption that the rest of the world shares it. With luck, Daniel will never even notice he's been questioned.
Good luck with every enterprise.
Love,
Kate
22 March 1828
The King's Head, Leeds
My dear Thomas,
Still no sign of our missing German. It seems he spent a few days observing the local terrain, made an excursion aboard the Stockton and Darlington Railway, then packed up bag and baggage and removed to Stockton. At least that is what he told his landlord he was doing, as near as the landlord could make out. Due to the unfortunate combination of accents—moderately intelligible Yorkshire, in the case of the landlord, and vilely thick German (according to the landlord) on the part of Herr Schellen—communication seems to have encountered some difficulties.
The references you provided in London have been instructive, though I have as yet had little opportunity to put their information to any practical use. I shall reserve for light reading the books you included on magnetism, once I have completed the task Old Hookey set me. For the time being, railways and steam engines must be my focus.
I remain uncertain of the Herr Magus's reason for insisting on a personal visit to examine the railway here. Cecelia and I spent a day replicating Herr Schellen's railway ride from Darlington to Stockton and back. I am of two minds regarding the likelihood of such a mode of travel ever catching on. On the one hand, the trip was both fast and cheap; no pauses were needed to rest and water the horses, for there were none, and the entire journey cost us but a shilling apiece. On the other hand, the experience was disconcerting enough to discourage anyone of a nervous temperament. Once one has taken a seat in the wagon, one cannot see the engine, and there is no means to communicate with the driver should the need arise. Then there are the coal wagons—twenty of them, all filled to overflowing on the outward journey, and most of them following the passengers' wagon, so that the slightest accident must squash it like a nut in a nutcracker. Perhaps something might be done with separate trains, one for passengers and one for haulage, but I doubt there will be enough call for such transport to justify the expense.
In any event, we made our journey without incident, in both directions. Cecelia informs me that she sensed nothing magical about the engine or the route. Had anyone else told me, I don't think I would have believed it. It ought to be quite impossible for men to travel at such astonishing speeds (fifteen miles an hour at times, or so the engineer informed me) without magical aid, but she was quite certain of her observations.
I anticipate further investigations in Stockton, but they must wait upon the social niceties. We dine with your brother-at-law on the twenty-fourth; I all but ran him down in the street the other day, and the resulting invitation was unavoidable. Do not ask me what he is doing in Leeds. I have even less interest in the doings of the Duke of Waltham than you, if that were possible. I intend to leave for Stockton on the day following the dinner. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you could learn something of Herr Schellen's movements in London, and perhaps the proposed Liverpool-Manchester line as well. If Herr Schellen's disappearance was due to foul play, someone might have feared what a surveyor-magician would find out once he began his work there. If you can discover who proposed hiring him, and why, and whether anyone objected, it could prove very useful. You will not need to stir from home; common gossip is all I want at this point, of the sort that can be had in correspondence. I'd write the letters myself, except that it might give someone the wind up to receive such a missive from me, posted from Leeds.
Yours,
James
25 March 1828
The King's Head, Leeds
Dearest Kate,
I do hope you will not be troubled any further with unseasonable livestock, but you must admit that snakes in the nursery are better than basilisks in the study would be. For you can order the children to relinquish the snakes, but Thomas would be most unlikely to give up so magical a creature as a basilisk until he was quite finished investigating it. And perhaps searching for more snakes will distract the twins from their scrying.
I considered writing Arthur and Eleanor a stern parental lecture regarding their studies of magic, in hopes that if they could be induced to view their scrying as obligatory practice instead of as a fascinating new game, they might neglect it. Upon consideration, however, I do not think it will serve. If they have been playing hide-and-seek with the scrying spell for a week or more, no parental injunctions will have the least effect. You might, perhaps, redirect Arthur with steam-works, if you happen to have any handy, but I fear that Eleanor will not be so easily diverted. I trust you have laid in a good supply of ink.
Our excursion on the railway line would have been just the thing to distract Arthur. The steam engine was a perfectly enormous cylinder on wheels, with a huge black pipe at the front, trailing a plume of coal smoke, and a shorter pipe at the rear, to vent the steam. Behind it came the train of wagons. (I regret to say that our train was only twenty wagons long; the gentleman from whom we purchased our tickets in Darlington informed us that some of the steam engines haul as many as twenty-four wagons, fully loaded!) Most of the wagons were hauling coal from the mines to the west, but two had been fitted out with chairs for passengers.
We boarded the wagons when the train stopped in Darlington, and rode from there to Stockton in three hours, coal and all. It was a mad ride, like a normal carriage journey turned inside out, for the steam engine works properly only when it moves on smooth, nearly flat ground, so wherever there was a hill, the railway builders had to cut a great rift through it to keep the tracks level, and where the land dipped, they had to build it up. One felt as if one were in a valley whenever the train passed through one of the cuts in a hill, and as if one were on a mountain whenever the land was low!
We spent several hours careering madly between hills and along the river to Stockton, with damp clouds of steam-scented smoke from the engine engulfing us from time to time and the noise of the wheels pounding away far more rhythmically than in any ordinary carriage. What was most impressive, however, was the speed, and the fact that it took us very little longer to return, though much of the way was uphill. The ride itself produced no useful information— I sensed nothing unusual that might have attracted Herr Schellen—but during our brief time in Stockton, James discovered the name of the lodgings to which Herr Schellen removed when he left Leeds.
We had planned to transfer to Stockton ourselves today, but matters have taken an unexpected turn, thanks to Georgy's husband, of all
people. We dined with him last night in a private parlor at the Footman's Chase. If I was surprised to learn that Daniel was spending time in so unfashionable a place as Leeds, I was even more astonished to find him putting up at an inn that at its very best could only be described as "respectable," whose patrons (those we passed on our way into the parlor, at any rate) had a distinct air of the shop about them. Not what one expects of His Grace, the Duke of Waltham!
When we reached the parlor, Daniel greeted us and introduced us to his other guests, a couple who had arrived before us. I hid both my surprise and my disappointment (I had expected a quiet meal en famille, during which I had hoped to cross-question him at length). Daniel's choice of companions was as unusual as his situation. Mr. Ramsey Webb and his sister Adella were both impeccably turned out, from the Italian lace edging on Miss Webb's cap (for she was a spinster of at least thirty) to the champagne polish of Mr. Webb's boots. Nonetheless, there was something slightly off about them. You may say that this is only to be expected of His Grace's cronies, but rackety as they may be, you must admit that they are all persons of the first consideration. Ramsey and Adella Webb are the sort that Aunt Charlotte would refer to as "encroaching mushrooms"— and I am not entirely certain her judgment, in this case, would be unfair.
James and Daniel were immediately occupied by Mr. Webb. This left me with Miss Webb, or, rather, with Adella (as she immediately insisted I call her).
"His Grace was so very kind to invite my brother and me tonight," she began. "But then, he is always so very kind. Unlike many others of high position."
I made a noncommittal noise. "Kind" is not a quality I usually associate with Daniel. Of course, he is not particularly unkind, either; the word that comes to my mind is self-absorbed. "To be sure," I said vaguely when I saw that Adella expected more. "How are you acquainted with His Grace?"
"My brother made his acquaintance in course of some business dealings," Adella replied readily enough. "He is a connection of yours, is he not?"
"He is married to my cousin Georgina," I said. "I am afraid we do not see them often."
Adella frowned slightly. "I thought His Grace spent most of his time in London. What with Parliament and the Season..."
I had to suppress a snort. The idea of Daniel actually attending Parliament is even more absurd than that of Thomas doing so. For I am sure that if the Duke of Wellington asked it of him, or if there were some bill that seemed likely to affect his interests, Thomas would exert himself.
Daniel took up his seat in the House of Lords in the first place only because he wanted an excuse to spend time in London, and he has not attended a single session of Parliament since.
"His Grace is certainly in London a good deal," I said instead. "Georgy—Her Grace, that is—enjoys the Season enormously. I suppose she is there now, preparing for it." (Of course, I know very well from your letters that it is no such thing, but I thought it best not to give a hint, even in such an out-of-the-way place, that I thought differently. Who knows what correspondents Adella Webb might have?)
Adella gave me a sharp look. "Are you sure? It seems very odd to me for her to go off to London without her husband."
I smiled, though I was beginning to dislike Miss Webb. "Georgina does not live in her husband's pocket. And she prefers London to the country at any season. Why, she and Daniel seldom visit even her sister, though she lives quite close to London."
"Her sister?" Adella said.
"My cousin Kate," I said. "The Marchioness of Schofield."
"The Marchioness of Schofield!" Adella looked impressed. "Your cousins both married very well indeed! Is her husband, the Marquis, in Parliament as well?"
My dislike of Adella Webb was growing rapidly. "Thomas has a seat in the House of Lords, of course, like every peer," I said. "But he is not much involved in politics. His interests run more to magic. And magnetism, at the moment."
"Magic!" Adella frowned. "He is a magician, then?"
"A wizard," I corrected her. "And a full member of the Royal College of Wizards. You disapprove? But I think membership in the Royal College of Wizards ought to make one at least as respectable as the Order of the Garter. The Royal College is the older association, after all."
"Yes," Adella said. She sounded oddly disappointed. "Still, one never knows about wizards. There are all sorts of spells they could be doing in private!"
I smiled to myself and replied with great certainty, "Well, whatever Thomas is doing, it isn't basilisks."
"Basilisks?" Adella looked thoroughly taken aback. Clearly, that was not what she had been expecting.
"No," I said. "And I must say, I am glad of it. Arthur would undoubtedly wish to investigate, and I am sure the results would be catastrophic."
"Arthur?" Adella was more and more at sea.
"My eldest son," I said. "He and the other children are staying at Skeynes while James and I are in the north. He is such an enterprising child..." And I launched into a thoroughly misleading description of my children, full of glowing praise for their dubious virtues, such as must have made me appear a doting mama of the most boring sort. I took positive pleasure in forcing Adella to stay and listen until dinner was served at last.
The conversation around the table was unexceptionable. I kept an eye on Daniel, who seemed unusually ill at ease. He kept glancing at James, then at Mr. Webb, and then applying himself to his plate (and I assure you, the food was nothing that deserved such attention).
Near the end of the meal, Mr. Webb asked James how long we intended to stay in Leeds.
"We leave tomorrow," James answered. "I have found some property near Stockton that I wish to look over, and it will be more convenient for the business if we are nearby."
"Stockton?" Mr. Webb said. "How convenient! You must stay with us."
Daniel looked up with an expression of horrified indecision on his face. "I, ah, er, is that really... I mean, Stockton? Not even a watering hole. Bath would be better. For anything."
"My great-uncle left me an old guard tower near Stockton," Mr. Webb continued as if Daniel had not spoken. "It's a relic of the Civil Wars, I believe. There's plenty of room, and it's near the main road."
"Sure to be drafty," Daniel said.
"Not at all." Mr. Webb frowned at him. "I've spent some effort on repairs, and it's quite a cozy retreat now." He smiled suddenly. "Come and see for yourself. I'm having some other friends to stay, quite respectable; we'll make it a house party."
"I, ah—" Daniel looked trapped, as indeed we all were. There being now no way to decline the invitation without appearing to slight Mr. Webb's accommodations, his veracity, or both, we perforce accepted.
So Mr. Webb and his sister go to Haliwar Tower today to have the Holland covers off and make preparations to receive us, and James and I and Daniel travel there later in the week. James is quite put out, as he thinks this will make his investigations more difficult. I am less annoyed, as I hope it will facilitate mine—surely Daniel cannot avoid us entirely during a weeklong house party!
Yours,
Cecy
30 March 1828
Skeynes
Dear Cecy,
I write to you at the address of Mr. Webb's cozy retreat. May your stay in the wilderness be comfortable. If it is not, at least we have the petty consolation of knowing that Daniel suffers along with you. But sometimes the most unlikely combination of people can result in a pleasant house party. I hope it may be so in this case. Perhaps the Webbs will be more congenial at their home.
Do you think Adella Webb would be more put off or less if she learned the true nature of Thomas's past research? It disgusts the casual inquirer, I've found. On the whole, I think you were wise to reassure her with basilisks and leave it at that. From your description of her, it seems unlikely that she would see the merit in his work. More probably, it would have put her off her meal entirely.
Not that Thomas's work is as easy as a brief description makes it sound. Insects must go somewhere, after all. Banis
h lice and fleas throughout Skeynes, and one must be prepared to deal with the consequences visited upon the neighbors. Lord knows the Cramptons have made their opinion of the result perfectly clear on more than one occasion. It's a miracle they still speak to us.
I have high hopes for Thomas's study of magnetism. Magnetism may be of less immediate use, but I trust unsuccessful experiments will also be less disruptive to the household.
Georgy has heard extracts from your letter. I selected them with care and watched her with great attention as I read aloud to her. She seemed reassured by what she heard, although whether by your account of her husband's demeanor or by the knowledge that he is safely at the other end of the country, I cannot tell.
This morning I asked her again to tell me what is wrong. She ignored me and devoted herself to the Gazette. One might almost think she were trying to commit the scandal sheets she reads to memory.
To Georgy, we owe the news that the king is to attend Cheltenham races this season, though his colt Teazle is far from the favorite. You may imagine the consequences to the local social calendar. There is no excuse too flimsy to serve as justification to be in Cheltenham at the proper time. I trust Aunt Charlotte will have a few withering remarks to make upon this subject when next she writes.
Arthur and Eleanor have taken to spending most of their time in the gardens. I asked them, not without some trepidation, if they shared Edward's interest in foraging for wildlife. (I thought it well to be prepared in case we find imports of additional livestock.)
"Snakes," said Eleanor, as if the word tasted bad. "Certainly not. We're explorers."
"Natural history is all very well in its way," Arthur conceded handsomely, "but we're making a detailed and accurate map of the grounds." On occasion, Arthur sounds so like his father, I must struggle to keep my countenance.
03 The Mislaid Magician Page 4
