Wyrde and Wayward

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘I fear there remains considerable trouble ahead,’ said Lady Werth. ‘The Book escaped, once, in the time of Lord Werth’s grandfather. It is said to have taken two weeks to subdue it again.’

  ‘It occupied the northwest tower,’ Gussie said. ‘Kicking my great-great-uncle Silvester out of it — literally, we understand.’

  ‘It was a bloody siege,’ Lady Werth murmured.

  Surprisingly, Great-Uncle Silvester’s own voice echoed out of the darkness. ‘A fine brew, I thank you. And how does her ladyship, Marlowe?’

  ‘Exactly,’ murmured Gussie. She did not waste any time searching the low-lit chamber for the grotesque; if Silvester did not wish to be found, it was futile to attempt it. Mr. Ballantine, however, turned twice in a circle attempting to locate the source of the voice.

  ‘Who was that?’ he said, when Silvester did not speak again.

  ‘My great-great-uncle Silvester.’

  Mr. Ballantine stared at her.

  ‘If you had not already realised it, Mr. Ballantine, this is a very strange house you are come to.’

  Great-Aunt Honoria choosing that moment to appear, as devoid of neck, body and limbs as ever, Mr. Ballantine received the fullest proof of Gussie’s words in very short order. To his credit, he only flinched in response to the dowager countess’s macabre appearance, and when she favoured him with her best and most ghastly smile, he controlled himself enough to make her a bow. ‘Ma’am,’ he said, and if his voice shook a very little, no one could blame him.

  ‘I like him,’ said Lady Honoria to Lady Werth. ‘A cut or two above the rest of these newcomers, no?’

  ‘He is certainly possessed of a strong stomach,’ said Gussie.

  Mr. Ballantine cleared his throat, and bore admirably with the reappearance of Theo, coming in a rush up the stairs with thunderous brow and one hand pouring blood. ‘My stay here has been most — edifying,’ he allowed.

  ‘Damned creature has bitten me!’ declared Theo.

  ‘How clever of it to acquire teeth,’ Gussie murmured.

  Theo turned upon her an unamused glare. ‘Clever? Aye, you would say that.’ He had brought one of the axes with him, and now threw it down in disgust. It fell into a corner with a dull clang. ‘That’s it,’ he declared. ‘I shan’t wrestle with that cursed Book again. In fact, Mama, I recommend that it be burned.’

  ‘You know we cannot,’ said Lady Werth. ‘All the history of the family is in there, and who knows what more that we have missed—’

  ‘Nothing of use,’ said Theo. ‘If you refer to the ritual, it has brought us only a succession of tiresome gate-crashers, and I for one am in favour of its never being conducted again.’

  ‘It did solve the dragon problem,’ said Lady Werth.

  ‘And I, for one, think Mr. Ballantine an interesting, tiresome gate-crasher,’ offered Gussie.

  ‘I am almost unmanned by this encomium, Miss Werth,’ said the Runner.

  ‘Mm,’ said Lady Honoria, hovering over Lady Werth’s shoulder. ‘Yes, I do believe we will keep this one.’

  Mr. Ballantine’s widened eyes betrayed a degree of horror.

  ‘My aunt speaks without any intention of incarcerating you,’ Gussie said reassuringly. ‘At least, I am almost certain that she does.’

  Lady Honoria smiled.

  ‘I believe I must be going,’ said Mr. Ballantine, with a backwards step.

  ‘Not until the morning, was it not?’ said Gussie. ‘I do not know if Lord Maundevyle can be ready to leave at this hour, but I am certain Lord Bedgberry and I would not.’

  ‘Lord Bedgberry and yourself, Miss Werth?’ said Mr. Ballantine, looking from one to the other in confusion.

  ‘What?’ barked Theo.

  ‘We are going with you,’ said Gussie. ‘Theo is quite the best person to pit against this spell-book of yours, as I am sure you’ve observed. And see, he has had the foresight to bring his favourite axe with him.’ She retrieved the fallen weapon from its corner, and presented it to her cousin with a smile.

  ‘No!’ said Theo. ‘Have I not been mauled enough?’

  ‘Never quite enough, cousin.’

  ‘And as for yourself, Miss Werth?’ said Mr. Ballantine.

  ‘Surely you are not going to be so unhandsome as to suggest I could not be of use, Mr. Ballantine?’ said Gussie, opening her eyes wide. ‘And after I defended you to Theo, as well! It is too much.’

  ‘I—’ began the hapless Mr. Ballantine.

  ‘Gussie,’ said Lady Werth. ‘You cannot go gallivanting across the country with only a pair of gentlemen for company.’

  ‘I had not thought to,’ Gussie said soothingly. ‘If Miss Frostell is not disposed to attend me again — and I suspect she might prefer not to — then—’

  ‘Then I shall go,’ said Lady Honoria, smiling again at Ballantine. ‘I am quite able to chaperone my great-niece, I believe?’

  Mr. Ballantine, rather pale, stared back at Lady Honoria, and to his credit, this time he did not flinch. ‘Er. Your ladyship would not happen to be in possession of a more respectable form?’

  ‘What could possibly be otherwise than respectable about a disembodied head?’ said Gussie.

  To this unanswerable question, Mr. Ballantine did not attempt to respond.

  ‘Were it too liberally rouged, that might be another matter, but Lady Honoria being a lady of impeccable taste—’

  ‘Gussie,’ said Lady Werth. ‘You know there are reasons why you must not—’

  ‘Are there, though?’ said Gussie.

  Lady Werth said, with the flexibility of a block of stone, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I believe I can promise to keep my hands to myself.’

  ‘It is not that simple—’

  ‘It might be that simple, but the truth is nobody knows. And I am not contented never to know, Aunt, any more than I am contented to spend the rest of my life kicking my heels at the Towers. I have been very docile up until now, I am sure you will recall, and I cannot think it has availed anybody very much.’

  Lady Werth merely looked her misgivings, which appeared to be considerable.

  ‘Would you want to be nailed to the drawing-room carpet for the next forty years?’ Gussie persisted.

  ‘Come, Gussie, it is not just the drawing-room,’ said Theo, with ready malice. ‘There is the parlour, the great hall, an entire cottage at your disposal, not to forget—’

  ‘Theo, if you do not stop talking I shall release the Book myself.’

  Somewhat to her surprise, Theo stopped. At once.

  Gussie directed a meaningful look at her aunt. ‘Do you want to send him into Suffolk by himself?’

  ‘I shall be present, Miss Werth, in case you had forgotten,’ said Mr. Ballantine.

  Gussie could only return him a withering look. ‘Yes, and I should like to see you manage Lord Bedgberry.’

  ‘I am quite able to—’ began Mr. Ballantine, nettled.

  ‘No, no,’ said Theo, unexpectedly. ‘She’s perfectly right.’

  After a short silence: ‘I confess, Miss Werth,’ said Mr. Ballantine, ‘I do not see what you propose to do on what I perceive to be turning into a family expedition.’

  ‘It is not really you I intend to assist,’ Gussie admitted. ‘But that there should be two such Books in the world, and in adjacent counties, is of some little interest to me. I never heard of another before.’

  ‘So you are curious,’ said Ballantine.

  ‘Why, yes,’ said Gussie brightly. ‘Is that a problem?’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dragonflight, Theo decided, merited a permanent place in his life. Yes, there was the utter horror of the launch into the air, and the unsteady, windswept flight that immediately followed — an experience which had Gussie in fits of screams (though to be fair to his cousin, he never did fully decide whether they were screams of terror, or delight). The rest, though, might rank among the greatest of luxuries, provided the weather continue fair, for he had space enough to make himself comfortable at
op those crimson scales, and to carry several edifying tomes along with him as well. He spent much of the flight into Suffolk absorbed in a book, repelling every attempt by Gussie, Lady Honoria or the bothersome Runner at engaging him in conversation. Only when the journey drew to a close, and Lord Maundevyle began to spiral slowly down to the ground, did Theo look up from his book — and only then did it occur to him that Mr. Ballantine and Gussie were still talking to one another. Had they been doing that the whole time?

  He consented to set the leather-bound tome aside a little before the dismount, for the view of the landscape below did at last arrest his attention. All the agricultural splendour of the county lay spread before him, networks of neatly-squared fields in shades of green and gold and brown, and bordered with deep green hedgerows. He watched in fascination as a small herd of cows grew gradually larger, and then, becoming aware all at once of what bore down upon them, went into a collective fit of hysterics and thundered off.

  ‘A fine Wyrde, all told,’ he said to his own self, but Gussie answered quite as though he had been addressing her.

  ‘Is it not, though? I am experiencing no small amount of envy myself!’

  ‘I don’t envy it,’ muttered Theo. ‘I am happy with my own Wyrde.’

  ‘And who would not be, indeed?’ Gussie said, in that over-polite tone she always used when she was secretly mocking and imagined herself very clever about it. ‘Given the choice between dragon-flight and supping upon a fresh flow of blood at every meal, who could hesitate?’

  ‘But is anyone given the choice?’ Ballantine put in.

  ‘Surely you must know the answer to that,’ Gussie answered. ‘Specialising as you do in Wyrde-related misdemeanours.’

  ‘I was enquiring into the arrangements among your family, Miss Werth.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said gravely. ‘Because we are so splendidly Wyrded, you imagine us to possess some special secret.’

  ‘I know you to possess a highly unusual book, for a start. That is by no means common among Wyrded families. And then there is you, Miss Werth.’

  Gussie, clutching Lord Maundevyle’s back with a white-knuckled grip, her hair flying upwards in the rushing wind of descent, did not seem likely to reply. But once the dragon’s four feet were safely planted upon the ground again, and Mr. Ballantine had slid down without mishap, she made her own descent, eschewing any assistance, and said: ‘I am no manner of miracle, Mr. Ballantine. I have no power to choose the nature of anybody’s Wyrde, including my own.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said he, and Gussie fell silent, for of course she was not.

  Neither was Theo.

  His attention being at that moment distracted by the appearance of a second female, most unexpectedly, he forgot whatever he had been going to say to his cousin about her Wyrde. The lady made a very odd appearance, standing in the middle of a field freshly harvested of some scrubby crop Theo neither knew nor cared to identify. Not only that, but she was of statuesque proportions and almost as tall as Theo — taller, if the astonishing height of her powdered hair were taken into consideration.

  It was the hair that gave it away. ‘Lady Honoria?’ said he incredulously.

  His great-great-grandmother paused in the process of shaking out her voluminous and outdated skirts, and smiled at him. ‘Yes, dear?’

  Theo swallowed, unsure what it was about her appearance that bothered him more; the fact that she had inexplicably re-acquired her full figure, from head to toe, with all the arms and legs typically thought necessary; or the fact that, despite this nearer relationship with a regular human shape, she was in no way less disturbing than usual. Her skin remained deathly-white, and while one might find it possible to pass that off as the product of the face-paints that had been popular several decades before, nothing could excuse the bloodshot appearance of her eyes, the bloodless pallor of her lips, or the maggot that crawled slowly from the corner of her mouth, and dropped silently into the mud.

  Not to mention the whiff of decay, faint but noticeable, that assailed Theo’s nose when she took a step or two nearer.

  ‘Oh, capital!’ said Gussie, as oblivious to proper conduct as ever. Then again, had not his own mother said the same of him, time and time again? It was not untrue. ‘You look charmingly, Great-Aunt,’ said Gussie, possibly sincerely, possibly not.

  Lady Honoria touched the tip of one finger to her cheek, next to her mouth. A spot of grave-rot blossomed there and spread, black and neat, like a mole… a little bit like a mole. Not very much like, once Theo came to look more closely at it. ‘Thank you, dear,’ said his great-grandmother, smiling like a girl at her debut.

  Theo turned away. ‘Well, and where are we?’ he said, watching in fascination as Lord Maundevyle’s barn-sized and violently red physique vanished, leaving an ordinary man in its place. His lordship carefully smoothed down his coat, unsmiling as ever. He met Theo’s gaze without in the smallest degree changing his expression.

  ‘I hope we’re on the outskirts of Woodburgh,’ said Ballantine. It had escaped Theo’s notice before, but in point of hue, his waistcoat resembled the draconic scales of Lord Maundevyle more than a little. ‘The book vanished from a private library in the town, owned by one Hester Daventry.’

  ‘Was it she who called in the Runners?’ said Gussie.

  ‘Her brother, I believe. A London gentleman.’ He shaded his eyes against the strong morning sun, looking all about him, and finally uttered a triumphant, ‘Aha! That must be it.’

  Theo detected the signs of a settlement upon the near horizon, and regarded it with sour distaste. Were it not for the appearance of the damned Runner — no, were it not for Gussie’s cursed habit of interfering — he might still be abed, and fast asleep.

  ‘And have you indeed brought us straight to the right town?’ Gussie was saying to Lord Maundevyle. ‘How very clever of you.’

  ‘I hope that it is,’ said Maundevyle.

  ‘I rather think you were born to be a dragon,’ she said warmly, at which reflection Lord Maundevyle only looked appalled.

  ‘He was,’ said Theo shortly.

  ‘In the same way you were born to be a good-tempered and respectable credit to the aristocracy?’

  ‘Exactly in that way.’

  ‘It is lovely to see you both succeeding so well,’ Gussie murmured.

  ‘Woodburgh!’ crowed Ballantine.

  Theo, having offered his arm to his great-grandmother, suppressed his next comment, being too much engaged with supporting the old lady across the muddy, uneven field. Last century’s silken shoes were in no way suitable for a country walk; that and a certain lack of flexibility in long-dead limbs had given her a shambling gait, and her progress across the countryside was painstakingly slow and attended by much muttered cursing. Theo so much dreaded what might happen if she came to fall over as to put up with the unpleasant odour she exuded as they walked.

  Some ten minutes brought them into the centre of the town, it being a settlement of moderate proportions. Ballantine walked up to the grandest house in evidence, a sizeable construction of stout bricks and flint, and rang the bell.

  ‘Surely you do not propose that all of us should attend you?’ said Lord Maundevyle, halted some way out in the street.

  ‘I certainly propose to take the Werth clan along,’ said Ballantine without turning around. ‘I fancy I’ll have need of their unusual expertise. You, though, my lord, are more than welcome to occupy yourself elsewhere. I have certainly taken up enough of your valuable time, and I thank you for it.’

  Theo watched with some curiosity as Lord Maundevyle hesitated, obviously thinking the matter over. He had him down as rather a dull dog, except for the dragon-shifting; too much addicted to the maintenance of suitable appearances, and the not-being-seen to associate with those too far below his own station.

  But Lord Maundevyle gave a shrug, and came up to the house, proving Theo wrong.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Gussie with one of her winning smiles. ‘For we may need you, you kno
w.’

  Lord Maundevyle regarded her quizzically. ‘Oh? How shall you need me?’

  ‘You were not by, when Mr. Ballantine and Lord Bedgberry went down to the Book,’ said she.

  This being not especially enlightening to his lordship, Theo took pity on him. ‘She means we may need you to don your teeth again and rend one or two things,’ he said.

  ‘Well, just the one thing, in all likelihood,’ Gussie amended.

  Theo unhooked his axe from his belt, and hefted it. ‘I shall be quite able to take care of it.’

  ‘Are we not here in search of a book?’ said Lord Maundevyle, blinking. ‘Surely a mere book-thief cannot be so dangerous?’

  ‘It isn’t the thief,’ said Theo briefly, but was unable to say more, the door at that moment opening and the wary face of a young maid appearing beyond it.

  ‘Is Mrs. Daventry at home?’ said Ballantine. ‘I am here from Bow Street.’

  The maid was evidently nonplussed at the presence of five people clustered upon the doorstep, one of them wearing the red waistcoat of a Runner, another wearing the fashions of two generations past, and the other three, by their attire, clearly members of the Quality. ‘Will you come in?’ she said, opening the door wider. ‘I’ll see if Mrs. Daventry is awake.’

  Theo thought the hour far advanced for a lady to still lie abed — a lady without his own habits, that is — but the matter was explained when Mrs. Daventry appeared, more than ten minutes after their arrival. The maid had ushered them into a small, neat parlour, prettily papered in floral blue, and with a great fire burning in the grate, despite the warmth of the season. Mrs. Daventry proved to be a woman in her later years, and visibly an invalid; she was thin to the point of gauntness, and her eyes held a feverish glitter. ‘I am so sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said upon entering the room.

  Theo, perceiving the chairs to be insufficient for their number, immediately got up and crossed to the fire. Mrs. Daventry looked as though a wisp of wind would break her to pieces.

  She sank immediately into the vacated chair, and regarded her plethora of visitors in measured silence as Ballantine rushed to make assurances. Despite her evident ill-health she was handsomely dressed, in a morning-gown of deep green silk and a cap of gauze-fine lace. The Daventrys were not short of money.