A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Who’s this?” Freddy said without moving. “Some jumped-up Cit? Really, Jon—”

  “Freddy!” The female whisper was, if possible, more agonized than before. “Make them go away!”

  Freddy turned his head back toward the corner. “I’m trying, Marianne. But it ain’t an easy sort of thing. Jon’s a stubborn fellow. Maybe he would if you asked him,” he added hopefully. “I mean, favor to a lady and all that. Jon’s a gentleman, after all.”

  “But I can’t! Oh, I can’t!”

  “The lady doth protest too much,” Mairelon murmured.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dan Laverham said, ignoring Mairelon. He seemed a little put out by Freddy’s determined thickheadedness. “Mr. Aberford isn’t the one you have to convince. Do as I tell you.”

  Freddy looked at Dan with an expression of polite hauteur that changed quickly to incredulity. “Jonathan! That fellow has—” He broke off and glanced back over his shoulder, then lowered his voice and continued, “I think that fellow has a gun.”

  “He certainly does,” Jonathan said, disgusted. “And only a sapskull like you would take ten minutes to notice it.”

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Dan said. “Kim, find something to tie them with, and open the shutters while you’re about it. We can’t hunt for the platter in this light. Jack, get that blithering fool and his doxy over with the rest of them.”

  “Right,” Jack said with an evil smirk, while Freddy spluttered a halfhearted protest. He sidled between a settee and a low, solid-looking table toward the darkened corner from which Freddy had emerged. Kim threw back the first pair of shutters, letting the dusty grey sunlight light up another cluster of chairs and a side table stacked with cards and mother-of-pearl marker chips.

  A moment later, there was a quavering feminine shriek from the far corner. “A pistol! Oh, it isn’t loaded, is it?”

  “Be a lot of use that way, wouldn’t it?” Jack sneered. “Move it.”

  Kim glanced back as she opened a second set of shutters, and her eyes widened in surprise. The distraught and somewhat disheveled young woman whom Jack was pulling, with evident relish, from her hiding place was the lovely blonde who had been with Lady Granleigh in the carriage at the inn, that first day in Ranton Hill. Kim cudgeled her brain and summoned up the girl’s name: Marianne Thornley. She blinked as a few other bits of information came together in her head, and almost smiled. So this was the heiress Lady Granleigh intended for her scapegrace brother! From the look of things, Jasper wouldn’t have much luck, no matter how persuasive his sister was. Miss Thornley seemed to have her own plans.

  “My, my,” Dan said. “Gently, Jack; it’s not a doxy, it’s a lady.”

  “Miss Thornley!” Jonathan gasped. “Freddy, have you run mad?”

  “Freddy! Oh, Freddy, do something!” Marianne cried. With a sudden spurt of strength, she jerked her arm from Jack’s grasp and ran to Freddy, where she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder, effectively preventing him from doing anything even if he had wanted to.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” Freddy said reproachfully to Dan. He patted Marianne’s shoulder in awkward and meaningless reassurance.

  “Kim, where’s that rope?” Dan called.

  “There ain’t none,” Kim said, throwing open a third set of shutters. Even with three windows uncovered, the room was not well lit, but at least it was now possible to move around without tripping over a footstool or a bench. From where she stood, she could even make out the wreaths carved into the mantel above the big fireplace, if she squinted.

  “Well, find something! And hurry it up.” Dan’s temper was beginning to fray.

  “Are you quite sure you want to keep on with this?” Mairelon asked with an air of polite concern. “You’re accumulating rather a lot of witnesses, you know, and these three”—he indicated Jonathan, Freddy, and the shrinking Marianne with a theatrical wave of his bound hands—“will be missed before long.”

  Marianne looked up, as if she were about to say something, but before she could speak, the door behind Dan swung open. “Good day,” said Gregory St. Clair. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I was getting tired of waiting.”

  In the momentary silence, St. Clair stepped into the lodge and pushed the door closed with his silver-headed walking stick. He was dressed for all the world as if he were paying a morning call at the height of the Season in London: Wellington coat, striped pantaloons, and Hussar buskins. His cravat was a snowy expanse of starched linen, and his gloves were grey kid. Looking at him made Kim’s fingers twitch acquisitively.

  Both Mairelon and Dan Laverham were staring at St. Clair with unconcealed dislike. Jack didn’t seem to know whether to aim his pistol at the new arrival or continue pointing it at Jonathan and Freddy, who wore identical blank expressions. Marianne, on the other hand, clung more closely to her puzzled escort and said in faltering tones, “Oh, Freddy, it’s Lord St. Clair!”

  “Good,” said Freddy, relaxing. “For a minute, I thought it was another Cit.”

  “St. Clair,” Mairelon said in a flat voice. “I should have expected you.”

  “Gregory has a habit of turning up where he is not wanted,” Dan said. He spoke as if responding to Mairelon’s comment, but his eyes stayed on Lord St. Clair and his voice was cold.

  “You have a great many unappealing habits of your own, Daniel, but I don’t regard them.” St. Clair’s expression made Kim want to crawl behind one of the wing chairs; he looked exactly like Dan in his worst and most unpredictable moods. He glanced around the interior of the lodge, then added, “This time you seem to have outdone yourself, however. I expected Merrill, but who are all these other people?”

  “Lord St. Clair!” Marianne shrieked as his gaze reached her. “You must do something, or we shall all be killed!”

  “I doubt it,” St. Clair replied. “Even Daniel isn’t that foolish.”

  “But he wants to bind us!” Marianne said dramatically.

  “Typical.” St. Clair looked at Dan. “You should have gagged her. I begin to see why you’re still standing here waving a pistol about instead of collecting the Saltash Set.”

  “The Sacred Dish is not for the likes of you!” Jonathan cried. St. Clair raised his eyebrows in polite incredulity. “That is, if we still had it,” Jonathan added in a resentful tone, glaring at Freddy, “which thanks to him, we don’t.”

  “You ain’t still harping on that, are you?” Freddy said. “Burn it, Jonathan, I told you what happened!”

  “You had no right—” Jonathan began hotly.

  “Quiet,” Dan commanded without turning. “How did you get past Ben?” he asked St. Clair.

  “I employed my talents to good effect,” the Baron answered. “Which is to say, I put him to sleep.”

  “I took precautions against that sort of thing.”

  “Not very good ones; at least, not by my standards.”

  Kim could almost hear Dan’s teeth grinding. “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “The same thing you do, more or less,” St. Clair said. “The Saltash Set.” He looked around again with an air of languid disappointment, and Kim hoped she was only imagining that his eyes lingered on her. “I had hoped you’d have found the rest of it by this time, but then I hadn’t expected you to have so much . . . assistance.”

  “However reluctant,” said Mairelon, who had been observing this exchange with interest. “You have some unusual associates, St. Clair.”

  “No more unusual than yours,” the Baron responded with a significant look at Kim.

  “But definitely more long-standing,” Mairelon shot back. “Or am I mistaken in thinking you and Mr. Laverham here are well acquainted?”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Dan put in. “Jack, put them all in the corner and then start looking. Not him,” he added as Jack started warily toward Lord St. Clair. “I’ll deal with him myself.”

  “Will you, indeed.” St. Clair sounded both bored and s
keptical, but Kim thought she heard darker undercurrents in his voice. “Not the way you did before, I hope? You owe me for that, Daniel, and I intend to collect. In full.”

  “I owe you?” For an instant, Dan let his rage show; then he had himself under control again. “It doesn’t matter. As soon as I have the platter, we’ll leave. You won’t be able to stop us.”

  “The platter?” St. Clair said sharply. “Is that all? What about the bowl?”

  “I’ll have no trouble finding the bowl once the platter is in my hands,” Dan said with renewed confidence.

  “Finding it? You mean you weren’t aware that Merrill has the bowl?” St. Clair shook his head. “And you seemed so well informed.”

  Laverham frowned. “Is this true?” he demanded of Mairelon.

  “Yes,” Mairelon said. “Though it’s not the sort of thing one carries around in one’s pockets, you realize.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Laverham said, and his eyes narrowed as he spoke.

  Mairelon shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

  “We’ll get it when we’re finished here,” Laverham said.

  “That would be foolish,” St. Clair commented.

  “Why?”

  “Merrill’s got a man at his wagon.”

  “That’s the turnip-pated cove I told you about, Mr. Laverham,” Jack Stower put in. “He ain’t no problem.”

  “And even if no one was waiting, it is generally considered . . . inadvisable to assault a wizard on his home ground,” St. Clair finished.

  Jack’s enthusiasm waned visibly. Laverham stared at Lord St. Clair, his face expressionless. “What would you suggest?”

  “Send the girl with a message,” St. Clair replied. “She can tell Merrill’s man that Merrill wants the bowl brought here to help locate the platter. He’ll believe that.”

  “Not if she’s the one telling him,” Dan responded with a contemptuous glance at the quivering Marianne. “Besides, I wouldn’t trust her to keep her story straight.”

  “Not that girl,” St. Clair said. “The one you’ve cast the control spell on.” He gestured at Kim.

  Kim swallowed hard, half terrified that Dan knew her secret at last and half hoping against hope that he would adopt Lord St. Clair’s suggestion. If she could get away and warn Hunch . . .

  “Ah,” said Dan on a long, slow breath, staring at Kim. “Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea.”

  “Hunch won’t believe Kim,” Mairelon said a little too quickly. “He doesn’t trust her.”

  “No?” Dan said. “Kim, tell the truth: could you make Merrill’s man believe you?”

  “Yes,” Kim said, trying to sound sullen and reluctant. “He’ll believe me.”

  “Good.” Dan gave her a slow smile that chilled her to the bone. “We’ll discuss the other business later. You know what I mean. Meanwhile, we’ll wait here while you go—”

  “No!” Marianne cried.

  Everyone turned to look at her. She cringed back against Freddy and said, “We can’t stay any longer; we can’t! It’s nearly teatime, and Lady Granleigh will look for me and find . . .” She faltered to a stop under the circle of astonished stares and buried her face against Freddy’s coat once more, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  “Find what?” St. Clair asked. “Find you gone? Embarrassing and unfortunate, to be sure, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

  “Even if we would let you,” Dan added.

  Marianne turned a damp face to the group once more and said defiantly, “Freddy and I are going to be married!”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Jonathan. “Freddy, you fool! Your uncle will cut you off with a shilling!”

  “It don’t matter,” Freddy said. “Rather have Marianne than a whole mountain of shillings.”

  “Congratulations,” St. Clair said politely. “I fear you’ll have to postpone your arrangements a little, however. We can’t just let you go, you know.”

  “But you must!” Marianne cried. “I—oh, you must! You must!”

  “Are you trying to say that you left a note for your guardian?” Mairelon asked.

  “Oh!” Marianne turned back to Freddy’s comforting shoulder and hid her face against his by now damp and wrinkled coat. Safely hidden from hostile eyes, she nodded. In the silence that followed, the noise of an approaching horse came clearly from the drive outside.

  22

  No one spoke as the hoofbeats grew louder and slowed to a walk. “Hi, you there, wake up,” someone shouted. “Who’s here?”

  “Putting Ben to sleep may not have been one of your best ideas,” Mairelon said to Lord St. Clair. “Is he the sort that wakes up cross, do you suppose?”

  “He won’t wake up at all until I let him,” St. Clair said. “Be quiet, Merrill.”

  “You take a deal of liberty with my men,” Dan Laverham observed.

  “I am only following your example,” Lord St. Clair replied sweetly. “Your handling of my former footman, James Fenton, for instance, left much to be—”

  “Austen! Edward! George!” the voice outside shouted, coming nearer with every name. “Out and about, you’re needed. Jon’s gone and been thrown by that fire-breathing nag of his, and—Jonathan!”

  The lodge door had been flung open during the latter part of this speech, revealing the speaker as Robert Choiniet. He stopped short when he saw Jonathan, then said in a more moderate tone, “I’m glad to see you weren’t hurt, but you might have sent a message home. Your mother was frantic when your horse turned up without you.”

  “She’s always frantic,” Jonathan said callously. “She should know better, and so should you. How did she talk you into haring off after me?”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do?” Robert asked. “There was the horse, all over lather and frightened out of its wits, with an empty saddle. The obvious assumption was that you’d been thrown. For all we knew, you were lying under a hedge somewhere with a broken leg.”

  “You didn’t tell me you’d taken a toss, Jon,” Freddy put in with interest. “That’ll teach you not to call names. I’ve told you and told you, it’s the sort of thing that can happen to anyone.”

  “I didn’t take a toss,” Jonathan snarled. “And even if I had, I’d still say you’re cow-handed, because you are.”

  “Don’t you say that about Freddy!” Marianne said, raising her head and looking daggers at Jonathan.

  “Can’t you keep them under control?” Lord St. Clair asked Dan, while Jonathan, Freddy, and Marianne embarked on a noisy quarrel that relieved their feelings even if it accomplished nothing else. “None of us will ever get anything done at this rate.”

  Dan gave St. Clair a glare that should have melted steel. “If you think you can do better, you’re welcomed to try.”

  “Here, you lot!” Jack shouted, waving his pistol. “Stow your gob and listen to Mr. Laverham!”

  This command did not produce the desired result. Instead, Freddy and Jonathan turned on Jack, demanding an apology for the interruption. Dan was obliged to intervene to keep Jack from shooting Freddy out of hand, while Robert did his best to distract the other combatants. Unfortunately, Jack’s threats were all too clear to Marianne, who immediately went into strong hysterics.

  Lord St. Clair stood calmly watching, as if he were observing a raree-show that did not please him above half, though he made a point of keeping an eye on Mairelon as well as the row in the middle of the room. Kim realized suddenly that, for the time being, no one was watching her. She slid quietly behind a tall chair and crouched down, eyeing the path to the door. Two more chairs and a card table provided some concealment, but she would have to cross an open stretch of floor to reach the exit itself. Kim shrugged and began moving.

  She was not even halfway to her goal when the door swung open yet again. “Villain! Unhand that girl!” cried Jasper Marston as he strode into the room. He stopped short, looking completely nonplussed, as he took in the scene in front of him.

  The noise die
d as the adversaries became aware of their new audience and turned to stare at him. “Ah, Mr. Marston!” Mairelon said cheerfully. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific about whom you were addressing. There are several persons present who admirably fit the description ‘villain.’ Which of them did you have in mind?”

  “Really?” Robert Choiniet said. “You mean this isn’t all one of Jon’s queer starts?”

  “My queer starts? What do you mean, my queer starts? Are you saying you think I arranged all this?”

  “It has all the earmarks. I mean, just look at those two—waving pistols all over the lodge and threatening Freddy, of all people. How do you expect me to take it seriously?”

  “You’d better,” Dan said. He sounded a little wild, and Kim was glad to be out of sight behind the card table. “Get over in the corner there, all of you, and be quiet. You, too, Marston, or whatever your name is.”

  “Ah, I don’t want any trouble,” Jasper said, eyeing Dan’s pistol with misgiving. “I’ll just leave quietly. It’s no problem, really.”

  “Yes, it is,” Dan said, recovering himself somewhat. “Into the corner.”

  “ ’Ere, now, what’s all this, then?” a deep, slow voice said from the doorway.

  “I should think it was perfectly plain, even to someone of your limited understanding, Stuggs,” a female voice answered acidly. “My brother has bungled things again.”

  “Lady Granleigh!” gasped Marianne. She turned as white as St. Clair’s cravat and fainted into Freddy’s arms. Unfortunately, Freddy was as dumbfounded as she by the new arrivals, and he failed to catch her in time. He overbalanced, and the two of them toppled backward into a chair and crashed to the floor in a shower of splinters.

  Mairelon sank onto a nearby footstool, propped his head on his bound hands, and began to laugh. Lady Granleigh gave him a look of displeasure and marched into the room, followed by Stuggs. Her gaze swept imperiously around the assembly, barely checking at the sight of the pistols Dan and Jack still held. She passed over the struggling Freddy and the unconscious Marianne, dismissed Jonathan and Robert as inconsequential, and fixed at last on Lord St. Clair.