The Magicians and Mrs. Quent (25 page)

“No, this is
my
house,” she answered him. Her face had been marred by pox, but he was forced to admit it did not have an evil look to it. “I am the landlady here.”

He asked if she had ever seen Mr. Sarvinge and Mr. Grealing; he described their general appearance.

“Oh, aye, I know them well enough. The one skinny as a stick, and the other as round as a puddle of oil. And if I saw either of them, I would dash their heads in.” The andiron drooped in her grip. “But I don’t doubt I’ll never see either of them again. And I warrant you will neither, if that was your hope.”

An ill feeling came over him. Forgetting the length of iron she held in her hand, he stepped off the threshold. “You’re mistaken. I have business with them.”

“Aye, and so do I! They owe me ten regals in rent, they do. Kept promising me they’d have it for me. ‘Just another day, missus. Just give us one more day.’ They swore to Eternum and back they’d pay me. Now swearing is all I have.” She let out a curse, then dropped the andiron, reached into the drawer, and pulled out a fistful of papers. “A fine pair of talkers they were. But words is all they had to trade. I’ll never get my coin out of them. And neither will you, if they owed you anything. Sure as a long umbral is dark, they’re halfway to Torland by now.”

She threw the papers at Eldyn. They swarmed to the floor, and one landed on the table before him. It was a printed certificate of investment for a trading company to the New Lands. He sagged against the table.

“But we had business…”

The landlady snorted. “The only business those two had was swindling folk. If you gave them anything, you’d have as soon given it to the illusionists down the street for all you’ll get in return.”

With that she snatched up the candle, set her bonnet straight, and marched through the door, leaving Eldyn alone in the gloom.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
T FIRST THERE had been good reason to hope the situation was not in any way serious.

Miss Lockwell was hardly the first young lady to have fainted at a party. It was agreed by all that the evening had offered more stimulation than she could have been accustomed to. The wine, the presence of so many important personages, the general grandness of everything had all worked to overwhelm her. She was carried to a bed upstairs and the doctor summoned.

“It is the fault of fashion,” Lady Marsdel proclaimed to those who remained in the parlor. “To be considered stylish, a young woman’s gown must squeeze the breath out of her and not leave room for two bites of food. Soon ladies everywhere will be so beautiful that they’ll never be seen at all, swooning before they can leave their rooms for want of air and nourishment.”

A message was dispatched to Whitward Street, so that Mrs. Lockwell might not wonder at her daughter’s failure to return. The note expressed the conviction that it was the most minor of conditions; Mrs. Lockwell could certainly expect her daughter’s return tomorrow.

Mrs. Baydon, feeling a keen distress for her new friend, sat with her for many hours, as did the doctor, who held all manner of salts and acrid-smelling potions under her nose. However, all such efforts failed to induce consciousness, and by the end of the umbral a fever had come upon her. The doctor called for cool cloths; he bled her arm into a silver bowl. Dawn found her pallid, her eyes shut, her breathing swift and shallow.

At breakfast the doctor spoke with Lady Marsdel. The situation was dire; the mother must be called for at once. After writing the unhappy letter on behalf of her husband’s aunt, Mrs. Baydon dashed off another missive—a note to Mr. Rafferdy.

He had just been rising after what he indulged himself in thinking had been a wretched night. However, upon reading Mrs. Baydon’s note, all thought of the previous dozen hours vanished, and he was dressed and out the door before his carriage was ready—a fact that gave both his man and his driver some cause for wonderment. He arrived at Fairhall Street nearly simultaneously with Mrs. Lockwell, and he could hear her voice ringing out even as he set foot in the door.

“My poor daughter!” came the mother’s cries. “She was out in that dreadful rain yesterday, I hardly know why. A horrible storm it was, stirring up all sorts of vile mists and humors, I am sure. I told her she must rest, that she would catch something dreadful if she didn’t keep to her bed. But she was all aflutter about the party. Coming here meant the world to her, though I dread to say it might cost her the world in the end!”

Rafferdy entered the front hall to witness the end of this speech. “Oh, Mr. Rafferdy!” Mrs. Lockwell exclaimed at the sight of him, but after that she was overcome by her distress.

Lord Baydon took her arm and led her to a chair. “There, there, madam,” he said. And, unable to think of anything else that might help, he attempted to lend his words all the greater efficacy by repeating them. “I say, there, there.”

Water was fetched, and one of Lady Marsdel’s fans for air, and the two elements revived Mrs. Lockwell enough that she was able to follow Mrs. Baydon upstairs. The doctor started up after, but Rafferdy touched his arm, speaking quietly with him at the foot of the staircase.

“How serious is it?” he asked.

“It is very serious, Mr. Rafferdy. I cannot make light of the young lady’s condition. The fever came upon her with great speed and force.”

“What will you do to treat it?”

“I fear I can do no more than I already have. Now the thing must run its course. It lies only in her power to break the fever now, and in God’s.”

“But how long will it be before she recovers?”

The doctor gave him a stern look. “Mr. Rafferdy, it is not a matter of when she will recover. Rather, it is a matter of whether she will recover at all. As for the answer to that, we can do nothing but wait.”

At that moment Rafferdy felt a sort of fear he had never in his life known before. So strong was the feeling, and so entirely novel to him, that he was forced to sit, put a hand to his brow, and try to fathom what it was that had come over him.

Of course he had felt fear before. He had experienced all the usual childish horrors: of the dark, of strangers, of being lost. There had been one terrifying experience when he had been chased by one of his father’s hounds that had turned feral.

As a man he had known the fear of losing, the fear of discovery, and the fear of not getting everything he wished. But this new dread that owned him now was different from all those. There was no threat of any harm to himself, yet his hands trembled as they had on the day he had shrunk against the stable wall as the slavering hound prowled toward him. His father’s stablemaster had brought the dog down with a rifle shot. It had collapsed at his feet, dead. Only this time there was nothing to shoot at, and it was not for himself that he was afraid.

And that was what was so different about it. Even as he realized this, his shaking ceased. An urgency rose in him, a desire to make himself useful.

“Are you well, Mr. Rafferdy?” Mrs. Baydon said, for she had returned from upstairs. “Your color is very high.”

“I must see if I can be of aid,” he said, leaping to his feet.

He made as if for the stairs, but she held him back. “Only her mother and Dr. Mercham can be with her now. If you wish to be a help, then stay here and give us the benefit of your conversation, so that we do not all sit here and stare and become morose. There is nothing
we
can do except wait, and the more lively we can make the hours, the more swiftly
they
will pass.”

He gripped his hat in his hands. “I should have been here last night.”

“I agree. You are awful for not having come. Yet you can hardly think what happened is
your
fault. While I have no doubt your presence has at times caused some to feel discomfort, I am equally certain it has never been the case that your absence has caused anyone to fall ill. Besides, I can assure you that she had a wonderful time.”

Rafferdy looked at her. “Did she really?” The thought of her there, moving about Lady Marsdel’s parlor, brightening it with her presence in a way mere candles could not, gave him cause to smile. “I am certain she was the prettiest creature in the room.”

Mrs. Baydon arched an eyebrow. “Well,
one
of the prettiest, I might presume to think. Though I begin to think that some glances, had they been in attendance, would have been only for her.”

Despite Mrs. Baydon’s hopes that Rafferdy would entertain them, they made for a dreary party. Lady Marsdel continued to expound upon the evils of current fashion, while her brother offered every belief that it was no more than a trifle of a cold and that Miss Lockwell would be down at any moment, wanting a ball to dance at, for that was all any young woman ever wanted.

“My father-in-law can always be counted upon for optimism,” Mrs. Baydon whispered to Rafferdy.

“Indeed,” he said, flipping the pages of a book he was not reading, “Lord Baydon is remarkable in that quality. If confronted with the loss of all his worldly fortune, he would profess his belief that he would surely stumble upon a halfpenny in the street before long, so there could be no cause for worry.”

Mrs. Baydon began to laugh but stifled the sound at a snap of Lady Marsdel’s fan.

At last, as the middle of that middling but interminable-seeming lumenal approached, the doctor and Mrs. Lockwell came down. She leaned upon his arm and, despite her plumpness, appeared somehow thin, or rather, faded.

Rafferdy was the first to his feet. “How is she?”

“There is little change,” Mercham said. “The fever has not broken.”

“I dread I must impose upon your hospitality further, your ladyship,” Mrs. Lockwell said to Lady Marsdel in a faint tone. “It is terrible that I must ask such a thing of you, but she must be allowed to stay.”

The doctor agreed. “Her situation is precarious. She cannot be moved. However, for the present I would suggest everyone keep from that part of the house to avoid any risk of contagion.”

This advice was readily agreed upon.

“Lily and Rose!” Mrs. Lockwell exclaimed, becoming suddenly animated. “What if they are not well? I must go to them. Only I dare not leave my poor Ivy.”

Rafferdy tossed down his book. “I will fetch them here, madam. My carriage is outside. That is, if that is acceptable to you, your ladyship.” He added this last belatedly, with a nod toward Lady Marsdel.

“Far be it from me to decree to you how things should go in my own house, Mr. Rafferdy. It seems doctors and sons of cousins can do quite well at ordering my affairs.” She fed a bit of cake to the puff of dog beside her, a thing as fringed and frilled as the pillow on which it sat. “But of course you must go. We cannot expect Mrs. Lockwell’s motherly attentions to endure being so divided for long.” She hesitated. “There are only the two of them, didn’t you say?”

“Indeed, your ladyship, only two,” Mrs. Lockwell said, brightening. “And each as sweet and pretty as their eldest sister, I am sure you will agree!”

“I will reserve my judgment of their sweetness and prettiness until I meet them.” She looked at Rafferdy. “Go then, and be back within an hour, or I shall be vexed. We will suffer all manner of tedium while you are gone.”

Rafferdy was certain he had added little if any amusement to the proceedings; however, he was forced to revise his appraisal of this. For upon his return an hour later, the two younger Miss Lockwells in tow, he found the party in the sitting room even more dour than when he left it.

Lily and Rose were presented to Lady Marsdel. It was an experience that left Rose bereft of the capacity for any sort of expression, while Lily bestowed a theatrical curtsy upon her ladyship.

“Well, you are neither of you so pretty as your sister,” Lady Marsdel pronounced after examining them both, “but your height is good, and your complexions. You are both tolerably pretty girls.”

Rose at last managed a curtsy and hurried to a corner of the room, but Lily appeared aghast as she slouched off. Rafferdy could not help trading a smile with Mrs. Baydon.

“I suspect,” he murmured to her, “that being merely tolerably pretty is something the youngest Miss Lockwell finds quite intolerable.”

Mrs. Baydon agreed. “However, while my aunt’s words might be unwelcome, they aren’t untrue. Both are handsome girls, in that plain, solid way of the gentry. No doubt they will each do fine, in their own way. But they do not compare to Miss Ivoleyn Lockwell.”

“You have my agreement on that!” Rafferdy said.

Mrs. Baydon regarded him. “Yes, I suspected I would.”

D
USK CAME, AND still there was no change in the patient’s condition. Lord Baydon had returned to Vallant Street with Mr. Baydon, and Lady Marsdel had retired to her chambers. Lily had occupied the afternoon by playing the pianoforte, and the dreary airs she pounded out had done little to lift the atmosphere of gloom. At some point Rafferdy heard the doctor and Mrs. Baydon whispering; Mercham had asked if she knew a priest who might be summoned if there was need.

These words brought a kind of madness over Rafferdy. He could not stop pacing; he felt if he ceased moving, the darkness that nipped at his heels would overtake him, like the hound that had chased him so long ago. As he paced, he twisted the ring on his right hand. His visit yesterday to Mr. Mundy’s shop off Greenly Circle had been pointless. The little toad of a man had only cackled with glee when Rafferdy demanded that he remove the ring.

It was not within any power of
his
to remove it, the wretched fellow had said. If the ring had no present owner, it might be tried on and removed at will, but once the thing was bought and claimed—or in this case, once it was bestowed and accepted—it could be removed only by the most powerful enchantments. Or by the death of the owner. And, Mr. Mundy assured him, the former often resulted in the latter.

When Rafferdy demanded to know who had bought the ring, Mundy repeated that his customers received the utmost discretion. Not that Rafferdy needed confirmation; that Mr. Bennick had bought it and sent it to him he could not have been more certain.