Kat, Incorrigible (17 page)

But I didn’t have much time. I couldn’t count on those three young ladies to hold on to Mr. Carlyle forever, and as soon as they left the breakfast room, Angeline would too. So I had to find a good spell, fast.

I flipped through the books, vibrating with impatience. Love spells, spells for beauty and fashion—you’d think someone who’d been part of a great and mysterious Order meant to protect the nation would have had more important
things on her mind than clothing, but maybe that was why she’d turned to witchcraft. Spells for scent and taste and—

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, breaking my concentration. They came to a halt just outside the door. There was no knock. The doorknob didn’t turn. But the footsteps didn’t move away.

Someone was standing just outside. Listening.

My hands clenched around the book I was holding. If it was Angeline, I would be in so much trouble. If it was anyone else—someone looking for these books, for example—then things could be much, much worse.

I glanced down at the page the book was open to. Useless. All I saw was a spell for changing one’s appearance. Nothing about protection, or fighting, or …

Wait
. Changing one’s appearance …

I barely breathed as I scanned the page. Mama’s lovely, looping handwriting spelled out all the steps for me. The incantation itself was easy, and then all I had to do was focus on exactly what I wanted to look like. Or rather,
who
I wanted to be … It had to be someone safe. Someone eminently proper. Someone even Angeline wouldn’t attack for being here and looking at these books.

The footsteps outside still hadn’t moved. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. As I whispered the words of Mama’s spell, I focused hard.
Elissa
, I thought.
Elissa, Elissa, Elissa …

The doorknob began to turn. What if it wasn’t Angeline?
What if it was Mr. Gregson? What if, even worse, it was—

My whole body burst into flame. I bit back a scream. My poor scalded head shifted and stretched. My legs lengthened, shooting fiery pain through my joints. My hair burned against my scalp as it grew suddenly heavier. Dark strands fell around my face. The sharp, sweet scent of fresh raspberries filled the room.

I dropped the books from my lap onto the floor as I jerked backward, flailing—

The bedroom door flew open.

“Good God,” Mr. Gregson said. “Lady Fotherington? What are you doing here?”

I stared at Mr. Gregson. He stared back.

“I thought we had agreed that you would stay in London unless I called for you,” he said. His shocked stare was rapidly becoming a grim scowl.

I pulled myself up to a sitting position on the floor and swallowed hard. Even my throat felt different. Longer. Thinner. And my chest …

I blinked and shifted my shoulders to adjust myself. Lady Fotherington had a very different shape from what I was accustomed to. I felt as if I were carrying weights on my chest just by breathing. My—her—chest was only barely covered by the same dark green, low-cut gown she had worn when I saw her several days ago. I hoped Mr. Gregson was too much of a scholar to take notice of the fashion mistake. I was
almost certain that anyone as elegant as Lady Fotherington would never dream of wearing an evening gown at eleven o’clock in the morning, at a country house party.

Even as I thought that, I caught sight of Mama’s books in the corner of my vision. They had fallen to the ground just by the bed, hidden from Mr. Gregson’s line of sight. I lunged forward, swept out my arm, and shoved them all the way under the bed as I pushed myself up off the floor, hoping that the whole movement looked natural. From the way Mr. Gregson’s eyes widened, I hadn’t succeeded in looking anything but deranged. I tossed my head back, flinging the fallen hair out of my eyes and trying to look coolly dangerous and invulnerable.

“I decided to come and see for myself,” I said. “Quite understandable, don’t you think?” I smiled as thinly as I could, trying to replicate Lady Fotherington’s customary sneering smile. The problem was, I hadn’t actually seen her smile much at our meeting. When I smiled, Mr. Gregson blinked and stepped farther into the room.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked. “You look rather …”

“I fell,” I said. I rose to my full height, which was quite a bit taller than it had been five minutes earlier, and smoothed down the front of the green evening gown, resisting the urge to tug up the bodice. I felt as if I were about to spill out of the top of it. How on earth did she manage it? Surely, no matter how low-cut the current fashion might be, it wasn’t possible for even the most stylish gowns to entirely escape the bonds of gravity.

“I can see that,” said Mr. Gregson, and it took me a moment to realize that he was talking about my fall. He frowned, looking back through the open door. “This is not a safe place for us to be discovered. Shall we find somewhere more private for our discussion?”

My absurdly overextended chest clenched at the very thought of it. But I didn’t see any other choice.

“What a good idea,” I said.

I would have to hope that this spell, at least, wouldn’t disappear without warning, like its forerunners.

Mr. Gregson held the door open for me, and I swept past him into the corridor, my head held high and my shoulders back, the way Stepmama said all elegant ladies should walk. I wasn’t doing it to be elegant, though. It was the only practical way to keep the gown from falling off my chest.

As Mr. Gregson closed Angeline’s door behind us, I spared a thought for her probable reaction when she arrived to find her closet door wide open and Mama’s magic books flung beneath the bed. But I didn’t have any energy to spare for worrying about that prospect. All my nerves were fully reserved for the interview ahead of me.

“This way,” Mr. Gregson said, and ushered me down the corridor.

He led me through a door at the end that opened onto a second staircase, one I hadn’t seen before. The staircase I’d walked down on my way to breakfast had been broad
and grand, with a marble banister and massive paintings hanging above the steps. This one was narrow and dark, with only one tiny window set high above to light our way and keep us from tripping on the dirty steps.

“The servants’ staircase,” said Mr. Gregson. “I assure you, Lydia, I mean no offense by choosing this direction. I merely thought it would be best, all in all, for us not to be seen in conversation just now … particularly if, as I surmise, our hostess does not yet know of your arrival?”

Oh, Lord. My mind flashed ahead to what would come next: greetings with Lady Graves, gossip about mutual friends I’d never met, and a room assigned to “Lady Fotherington,” while my sisters and Stepmama searched for me throughout the house, creating gossip about my absence … and then, when the notice of this house party was inevitably placed into the gossip columns of the London newspapers, the real Lady Fotherington’s reaction to the news that she had supposedly been a guest here.

I started down the narrow, dingy staircase with alacrity. “Excellent choice,” I said. “I fully understand and agree with you.” As more and more hideous possibilities occurred to me, I picked up my skirts to run faster and faster, finally clattering down the staircase at full speed. I had to wait for Mr. Gregson at the bottom of the stairs, before another closed door. He caught up a moment later, frowning at me.

I smiled weakly through the darkness. “No time to waste, is there?” I said.

“Mm,” said Mr. Gregson. “Let me check.” He pressed his cheek against the door and closed his eyes. “Ah. We’re safe, for the moment at least. We’ll have to be quick, though.” He opened his eyes, and his frown deepened as he turned his gaze to where I waited, still holding my skirts above my ankles for speed. I dropped them hastily and smoothed down my gown.

“Well, I do hope you know what you’re doing this time,” I said, giving my best Lady Fotherington sneer.

“I hope so as well,” Mr. Gregson said mildly. “But for now …”

He opened the door and waited for me to pass. I didn’t like brushing past him. It put all my senses on alert. I could actually feel him analyzing me.

I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from trembling and giving me away.

We passed into a narrow corridor. No one was inside, but I heard bustling noises and clanging pots; the kitchen must be nearby.

“I think,” Mr. Gregson said, and paused. “Yes. Yes, it would certainly be safest to conduct this conversation outside.” He nodded to a side door I hadn’t spotted. “Shall we?”

“Of course,” I said. I was so eager to escape, I pushed the door open myself instead of waiting to let him open it for me.

The fresh air tasted like freedom, brushing coolly against my face and overexposed bosom. We had emerged on the hill just above and behind the main bulk of the manor house. If the ground hadn’t been so rocky and bare around us, with no possible hiding places in sight, I might have given in to my impulse and simply run away, as fast as I could. But there was nowhere to go, so instead I lifted my chin and waited, trying to look bored rather than horribly afraid.

Mr. Gregson scanned the hill and looked equally dissatisfied with it. “Perhaps … inside the ruins of the abbey?” he suggested.

I followed him down around the side of the sprawling house, into the remains of the great stone abbey. He strode through the exposed nearer sections and into a grand, enclosed hall, safe from watching eyes. Grass poked up between the stone tiles of the floor, and the roof was missing overhead, but the ivy-encrusted walls still rose high on every side, topped by giant, open arches. Sunshine flooded down on us. I could hear birds close by, their calls carried on the fresh breeze as they flew past. But I couldn’t see any chances for my own escape.

Mr. Gregson paced across the stone tiles for a minute without speaking. Then he turned on me. “I am surprised,” he said. “I am most surprised by your decision. And not a little displeased, as well.”

“Displeased?” I repeated, as contemptuously as I
could. “I make my own decisions. And I would not have come had I not thought you might need my help.”

“I assure you, I am perfectly capable of handling this problem myself—and I must confess to being absolutely astonished that you chose to follow without even alerting me first. Did you have so little faith in my abilities?”

I was flailing for ideas. How well did they know each other, anyway? Now I wished I had let Mr. Gregson tell me more about their Order. It would have helped me bluff. Angeline would have known what to say, and how to carry this off. But Angeline wasn’t here.

I said, “You can hardly blame me for being curious. I didn’t plan to stay, only—”

“And what were you doing in that room, anyway? I felt the magic all the way through the house and knew that a Guardian was present. If I could feel it, I’m sure that others could as well.”

I sneered. “Who? I’m not concerned with—” How would she speak of me? I ended weakly, “With that … girl, or her family.”

“No? Well, what of Sir Neville Collingwood, then?”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?” My voice came out as a near squeak.

“Yes, I thought you might not have known that he was here. You would do well to shield your magic when he is nearby.”

“I—” I stopped, trying to collect myself. “You think he’s truly dangerous?”

“You don’t?” Mr. Gregson stared at me. “You are not yourself today, Lydia. What came over you in that bedroom?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I only—”

“You fell.” Mr. Gregson regarded me closely. “After performing some act of magic. Whose room? Ah, yes, one of the Stephenson girls. Not Katherine, though, I think. One of her sisters.”

“It was a mistake,” I said. “I’d thought that it was Katherine’s room. I thought I might find the magic books there, hidden by a spell.”

“I could have told you which room was hers, if you’d asked me.” Mr. Gregson sighed. “So you found nothing useful there?”

“Only”—I threw all my confidence into the words—“that her sisters are protected by her as well. It was Katherine’s spell that knocked me over. Witchcraft, of course. Horrid girl.”

To my surprise, Mr. Gregson was smiling. “I told you she had potential. As soon as we can persuade her to exercise her talents in a better direction—”