Steadfast (27 page)

“But you’d be out all day—” Lionel pointed out. “That’s a bit dodgy.”

“Ah, not necessarily.” Jack put his empty bottle aside and leaned forward a bit to
explain. “You’d stay with the lady at night in case she needed anything or took poorly,
get her up in the morning, go out to another bit of work by day, then come back to
make her supper and put her to bed.” He smiled as Katie nodded, liking this explanation
very much. “That’s if anyone asks. I doubt anyone will.”

“Best to forestall it. I’ll drop a word or two in the shop.” That would certainly
work. “Reckon I’ve learned a bit of misdirection myself!”

“I would say you had,” Lionel applauded.

They passed another hour or two talking about magic—or rather, Lionel and Jack talked;
Katie just listened until she got the opening to mention her dreams.

“Well,” Jack said, when she had finished. “That’s right interesting, that is.”

“Is it a real place? I mean, real like magic is real?” she asked.

“I haven’t had a dream like that since I was a boy, but yes, it’s real enough.” To
hear Jack confirm her guess made her feel quite good inside. “You’ve been properly
accepted, Katie.”

He didn’t say anything out loud, but she guessed it from his expression; he knew that
she had been “properly accepted” because she had resolved never to exploit the Elementals—and
never to allow them to do something that would harm them, however much they wanted
to do it for her.

“And the dragon?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not an Elemental I ever saw myself, but I’ve heard about dragons,
right enough. Them and the phoenixes are supposed to be the nobs of the Fire Elementals.
They don’t often have much to do with us mages, mostly the Masters, but one could
have taken a liking to you. Don’t count on it coming if you call, though. And never
ask it to do anything for you if it does ever turn up. That’d be like asking Lord
Uppercrust to make you a cuppa.”

She had to laugh at the image that called up.

“Oh, it’s a funny thought, but remember, you’re literally playing with Fire,” he cautioned.
“Not somethin’ you want to offend.”

“Then I won’t,” she promised. It wasn’t a difficult promise to make, nor would it
be a hard one to keep. She’d known all her life how to be deferential and quiet and
appear to be meek.

Not that any of those things had helped her with Dick.

She suppressed a shiver of fear at the thought of him.

Finally it came about time for supper. She stood up. “I’m going to fix a bite, would
you care to stay?” she asked. But Lionel shook his head and so did Jack.

“We’ll leave you to the last of your settling-in,” Lionel said. “And see you at the
hall in the morning.”

She saw them out, locked the door behind them, made sure that the heavier curtains
were shut
quite
tightly, and went down into the cellar for the butter, grapes, a little cheese and
an egg and put the kettle on and the egg in it. Then she drew herself a lovely cold
bath, and by the time she was done, the water was boiling merrily.

She went to bed after supper, thinking she would never get to sleep quickly. She just
noticed the clock in a church somewhere nearby striking ten, and then the next thing
she knew it was morning.

It was the arrival of the first of the staff for the offices, combined with the church
bell, that woke her; she was in time to count the bells, and discovered she had woken
at around seven. Perfect!

This was going to work out beautifully.

13

K
ATIE had been in the little cottage for three weeks now, and everything had been working
out so well it seemed as magical as any of the things she was learning from Jack.
Lionel had taken a back seat to Jack in the lessons for the most part, leaving it
to the Fire Magician to coax Katie through what he had learned at a much younger age.

It was very hard work. It took a lot of concentration, a different sort of concentration
than the dancing and acrobatics took. She had to get her mind trained in an entirely
new way of thinking, and it wasn’t something that came naturally to her. It wasn’t
the discipline; she could deal with discipline. It was working out how to balance
power and control, because if you had a lot of the latter, the former was a mere little
squib, and if you had a lot of the former, the latter became even more difficult,
like handling a half-wild horse.

By now, she could ask for salamanders to come and get them reliably, which was a great
help in the magic act. She could do the same with Fire sprites. Others, well . . .
they came and went as they chose, and that was that. Whether they were smarter than
the salamanders, she couldn’t tell—a baby hare was smarter than a Fire sprite, it
seemed, and they were just happy to dance with her if she fed them afterward.

She felt completely at home in the little cottage now. She had her shopping routine
established with Mrs. Buckthorn. She’d dropped her hints at the tiny grocer around
the corner—she was completely accepted as the servant who tended the invalid “Mrs.
Langford.” Being able to sit in a cool tub as long as she liked at night was heaven,
and more than made up for the fact that she had to cook and clean for herself. It
was even safe to leave the windows open; there was a stout iron grating over the outside
of them. She took the ’bus to the hall, but a cab back, at Jack’s insistence—he had
a friend who operated a cab, who charged her the same as the ’bus would, in exchange
for Jack putting him in the way of fares he otherwise wouldn’t get.

Even the strike, which had terrified everyone that made their livings off of the holiday-makers,
had ended quickly.

Tomorrow was a dark day, and as usual, she was planning to go to Lionel’s for food
and magic lessons. She thought she was finally making some real progress on her control
of those “shields,” which was erratic. It was that which was on her mind when she
unlocked the door and relocked it behind her—

“’Ello wifie.”

The voice came out of the dark, and she froze, terrified, her worst nightmare suddenly
come true. She literally froze; she could not move a muscle, and every thought was
blanketed by terror.

She remained as stiff as a statue, as a huge shadow rose up out of one of her chairs
and came toward her. It was Dick. It was Dick. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was really
him. He smelled of beer and sweat, and the violet hair oil he used to make his black
locks shine as he loomed over her. One enormous hand grabbed her shoulder, squeezing
it painfully.

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor. Not struck—thrown. He’d tossed her
half across the room. She looked up at the black shadow looming over her, barely visible
in the light from the streetlamps outside. “Wut. Not a single good word f’yer lawful
wedded ’usband?” Dick Langford asked.

Then he picked her up by the arm, holding her so her feet dangled helplessly above
the floor. “Well. Reckon ye need some remindin’, then.”

The next hour was a blur of terror and pain, as Dick reasserted his dominance over
his “property.” But she could tell—and this was even more terrifying—that he was being
extremely careful not to damage her in any way that would
show.
Hence, being flung to the floor instead of being backhanded down to it. Pinches and
squeezes that would leave her black and blue, blows to stomach and buttocks, pulling
her around the room by her hair, throwing himself down on her and pressing his weight
on her until she was dizzy from lack of breath—

When he was done—and the cold, calculating fashion in which he beat her was even more
frightening than if he had raged—he dropped her on the bed and sat down on the end
of it. She was curled on her side, shaking so hard that it shook the bedframe. She
was too terrified to make a sound, lest it start him on another round of beating.
She ached in every inch of her. And yet—she knew from the past that in the morning
she would still be able to dance, do her acts. He never did anything that would impair
that. Somehow he knew just what he could and could not do to her that would still
allow her to work.

“Now,” he said, his voice gloating, rich with satisfaction. “This’s ’ow it’s gonna
be. I loik wut yer got ’ere. I loik this place. I loik Brighton. Plenty fer a feller
to do here. Ye got soft livin’ ’ere. So, yer gonna go roight on workin’ at that music
’all. Yer gonna bring yer pay packet t’me. Oi found thet little nest egg yer had put
by, yeah? ’Smine now. Pay me back fer what yer stole from me when yer ran. Yer gonna
cook an’ clean fer me. Yer gonna do wut I say. An’ yer got no choice, roight? Cuz
the law’s on me side. Yer me wife. I got the license t’prove it. Yer me property,
roight an’ toight. I’m gonna be in cream, an’ yer gonna make it ’appen.”

He leaned over where she huddled in a half-curl on the bed. His beery breath washed
over her. “Yer ain’t gonna run agin, ’cause if ye do, first thing I do is break that
there magician’s back. Yeah? An’ then I’ll break th’ back uv thet gel Suzie. Then
Oi’ll fin’ me some more backs t’break. Ye get me?”

Weeping silently, she somehow gasped out a strangled “Yes.”

“I got some’un in thet hall wut knows all ’bout ye,” he said with satisfaction, his
hand heavy and bruising on her shoulder. He gave her shoulder a little shake, and
she gasped. “’E’ll squeal on ye, if ye don’ do wut I want. Yeah?”

“I’ll be good,” she quavered, terrified to think of him hurting Lionel, or Suzie,
and thanking God he didn’t know about Jack.

“You see thet ye do,” he said. “Startin’ now.”

He left the bed a moment, there was the scratch of a match, and a single one of the
gaslights flared on. She huddled on the bed as he went around the cottage, pulling
the curtains tight closed. “Get up,” he said.

Trembling, she did as he ordered.

“Take them close off,” he said. “Expensive. Ain’t gonna tear them close. Might wanta
sell ’em.”

She was shaking so hard she could hardly stand, but she did as he ordered, stripped
down to her skin, slowly, one piece of clothing at a time, dropping them into the
chair, because that was how he liked it. His eyes were on her the whole time, watching,
watching. She knew better than to try to hide herself with her hands. This was an
old pastime of his. He wanted to watch her get naked. He probably wanted to watch
her shivering with fear, too.

Then she came to bed, and he seized her like an animal.

He did what he wanted to with her, then rolled off her and went to sleep, taking up
most of the bed. All she could think of now was the little beds in the loft, beds
she wouldn’t have to share with
him.
If she just waited long enough, perhaps she could get into one. She would be awake
before he was, she always did wake before he did. She could get down out of the loft,
and he would never know. She couldn’t think to morning; couldn’t think past just getting
out of the bed he was in and into another. When she was sure he was sound asleep,
she started to crawl out of bed—

Only to have him wake instantly and clamp one hand crushingly over her wrist, tightening
his grip cruelly until she whimpered.

“The on’y time ye don’ sleep wi’ me, wife,” he growled, “Is when I tell ye thet ye
don’. Yeah?”

“Aye,” she whispered, tears pouring down her cheeks.

He went back to sleep almost immediately. She lay there until dawn, shaking with fear
and crying silently until her eyes were as sore as the rest of her.

•   •   •

Lionel was awakened at the crack of dawn by impatient pounding on his door.
What in the name of—
he thought as Mrs. Buckthorn answered it, then, to his startlement, he heard heavy
footfalls—stumbling, limping in a way that
sounded
excruciatingly painful, up the stairs to his bedroom. The door burst open, and Jack
stood there, disheveled, looking as if he had just tossed whatever clothing came to
hand on, eyes wild, teetering on his wooden leg.

“He’s got her!” his friend wailed. “He’s got her!” And then he collapsed. It was obvious
that he had run—or what passed for running—the entire way from his flat to Lionel’s
house.

Mrs. Buckthorn had been hard on his heels, and between the two of them, they got him
onto Lionel’s bed. But it was some time before they could get anything coherent out
of him, and even then, Lionel had to piece it together, a sobbed word here, a gasp
there.

Jack’s Elementals had awakened him out of a deep sleep, and—here Lionel wasn’t entirely
sure what Jack meant—showed him Katie being beaten by a man. Somehow they had conveyed
to Jack that this man was Dick Langford, the dreaded, brutish husband.

“We have to get her away!” Jack shouted, grabbing Lionel by the lapels of his nightshirt
and shaking him. “We have to—”

“That’ll be
enough,
Private!” Lionel snapped, in his best imitation of a military officer. “Control yourself!”

As he had hoped, the long stint in Africa had instilled an automatic response; Jack
froze for a moment, staring blankly at his friend, then covered his face with his
hands.

“What, exactly, are we supposed to do, Jack?” Lionel asked, harshly—because he had
considered these very things ever since he had learned of Dick Langford and what he
was. “The man is her husband. He has every right to do what he likes with her, and
the law will support him. If we go storming over there now, he may very well manage
to kill us both, and the law will support him in
that
as well.
Think,
man. What do we know?”

Jack was white and shaking at this point, but there was sense in his eyes again. “Nothing,”
he said, voice rasping.

“And what do you do when you know nothing? You go and find out.” Lionel really didn’t
have any clever ideas at this point, but he did know this much; the best thing he
could do, if there was going to be a confrontation, was to stage that confrontation
when there were plenty of witnesses, and to go dressed like a gentleman—because Dick
Langford certainly would not be. That meant arriving on the door fully kitted out,
at the time that the clerks and insurance agents and lawyers and all the other professional
men who worked in those offices all around were arriving. “You are in no state to
go, and if something should happen, you can’t run,” he said bluntly. “I’ll go pound
on the door and demand Kate for rehearsals.
He
doesn’t know we don’t rehearse on dark day, even if he’s found something out about
how we do things in the hall on performance days.
You
see what you can find out by means of your Elementals. I can’t scry; see if you can.”

Jack was still white-faced, but given something to do, he nodded.

“Meanwhile put that first-class planning mind of yours to work. If we’re going to
get her away from that brute, it’ll take both of us.” He turned to Mrs. Buckthorn,
who, thank heavens, was not in the least flustered by being in the same room as her
employer in his nightshirt. “Get him a brandy, would you? It’ll steady his nerves.
I’ll get myself put together.”

He retired to his dressing room and kitted himself out as the Professor again. Merely
putting the suit on made him feel pompous and superior. He hoped that Dick would react
to the façade by going subservient; bullies often did, at least if they weren’t drunk.

Now, should I take the trap, or a cab?
The trap would be more convenient and less costly . . . but . . . that wouldn’t convey
what he wanted to convey. A gentleman never drove himself. Dick Langford was from
the circus, which was nearly the bottommost range of entertainment. He
should
be impressed by a man who could arrive to scoop up his wayward assistant in a cab.

In theory, anyway.

And right now, theory was all Lionel had to go on. This would probably be the most
important piece of improvisational theater he had ever done.

Let’s just hope I’m good at it . . .

Satisfied by his appearance, he checked on Jack, to find the man staring intently
into a candle-flame. Well good; he was
doing
something. Best for Lionel to do the same.

He headed out into the street to find himself transportation.

The cab pulled up in front of Katie’s cottage at exactly the right time, when the
street was full of men soberly and similarly dressed making their way to their offices.
Instructing the driver to wait, Lionel put on an air of affronted impatience, climbed
the three steps to Katie’s door, and pounded on it.