The Magicians and Mrs. Quent (26 page)

But why? That was a mystery that was not as easily answered. Had Bennick really done it to punish him for following that day? It seemed an elaborate and expensive way to torment someone so little known to him, and for so small a slight.

He had stayed up all night, drinking whiskey until his head ached, tormented. Each time he looked at the ring, the blue gem seemed to stare back at him like a hideous, mocking eye.

A commotion on the stairs brought him out of this miserable reverie. It was the doctor; he had come down and was speaking to Mrs. Baydon. Rafferdy hurried toward them.

“It has passed,” Mrs. Baydon said with a smile. “Her fever has broken.”

“The worst is over now,” Mercham said, “but she is still very weak. I must return to her.”

The doctor left them, and Rafferdy sagged against the newel post.

“But what is wrong, Mr. Rafferdy?” Mrs. Baydon said as the doctor left them. “By your expression, I would hardly think you glad at the news.”

Rafferdy could only shake his head. Sometimes relief was more unbearable than worry.

“Come, let us tell the others,” Mrs. Baydon said. She took his hand, then frowned as she lifted it. “But what’s this awful ring you’re wearing? I can hardly bear to look at it.”

“It’s the latest fashion,” he said, and before she could inquire more, he led her to the parlor to deliver the glad news.

M
ISS LOCKWELL REMAINED at the house on Fairhall Street for the next quarter month. While her fever had passed, Dr. Mercham would not permit her removal until her strength was sufficiently restored.

Mrs. Baydon spent many hours with Miss Lockwell, amusing her with talk and bringing flowers from the garden, for her charge wanted greatly for being out of doors. For his part, Rafferdy visited her every day—twice on long lumenals—and read to her from a book of Tharosian epics during one particularly long umbral.

“For a man who reads so little, you read very well,” she told him as he turned a page. She sat in a chair by the fireplace, wrapped in a shawl. “I don’t know why you don’t read more often.”

“What use is there in doing something one is already good at? The practice can bring no possible improvement.”

“It is said there is pleasure in doing something one excels at.”

“Which is precisely why you will so often find me doing nothing at all.”

She laughed, the action bringing color to her cheeks. By then she was spending much of her time in an upstairs parlor that was favored with afternoon sun; it was there he paid her his visits. He liked to imagine her condition always improved in those first few minutes after he entered the room. It was a vanity, perhaps, though hardly his only one.

“You are very dutiful in your charge, Mr. Rafferdy,” Lady Marsdel told him one evening at supper. “It is admirable of you. But you seem to think we are incapable of seeing to the needs of one rather smallish young woman.”

It took him a moment to formulate a reply. It was just that he felt a responsibility, he said, having been the one to invite her. What sort of proper gentleman would he be if he abandoned her?

“But she is in no way abandoned!” Mrs. Baydon protested. “That she could be looked after with more concern is not possible were she in her own home. Besides, I think I have earned a claim to Miss Lockwell myself. She is
my
friend, you know. I am sure I have spent more time with her than you. And,” she added with an arch look, “since when was it a very particular concern of yours to be a proper gentleman?”

That was a question, Rafferdy was forced to admit, for which he had no answer.

T
HE NEXT DAY Miss Lockwell was deemed fit enough to come downstairs for a few hours and engage in the society of the household.

“But I cannot possibly,” she said when Mrs. Baydon brought her the news. “I have already imposed upon the hospitality of her ladyship in the most unimaginable way.”

“It is my aunt herself who said you should come down,” Mrs. Baydon said. “So there can be no imposition, and you can have no reason not to come. If your spirits allow, that is.”

“Of course they do,” Rafferdy said, taking her arm and leading her to the stairs before she could mount any further protest.

It was soon clear the change in scenery was just what she needed. Her eyes were clear, and she smiled often. Despite this improvement, she seemed determined to do no more than sit quietly and listen to the conversation of the others. Rafferdy made several attempts to provoke her participation, but she resisted all such efforts.

“I’ve heard that Viscount Argendy is to give another masque,” Mrs. Baydon said. “Though I cannot imagine I shall be allowed to attend.”

“You cannot imagine it, yet you have brought it up,” Mr. Baydon said over his broadsheet. “What a curious situation. I would have thought it impossible to speak of something one cannot even imagine. How about you, Rafferdy? Can you perform such a singular feat?”

“I cannot imagine you will ever smile while reading an issue of
The Comet,
” he said, at which Mrs. Baydon clapped her hands.

“You see, Mr. Baydon?” she said to her husband. “It is not so impossible a thing, after all. Though I suppose it
is
impossible I will ever go to a masque. And by all reports the last was such a success! It was said they made the interior of his house to look like a garden, with fountains and trees and fauns running about. Next time he promises to have twice the number of illusionists.”

This news sent Lady Marsdel’s fan into a fit of fluttering. “It is bad enough that those with no sense of propriety or shame slink down to Durrow Street to view the work of those indecent illusionists. But to invite them into the very homes of superior society to work their mischief—it is intolerable!”

“But it’s
not
indecent,” Mrs. Baydon protested. “How can it be, when it’s the fashion? Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Lockwell?”

Ivy looked up from the book in her lap, her expression startled. With everyone looking to her, she was at last forced to speak. “I am sure my opinion on the subject cannot matter.”

“You seem a sensible girl, Miss Lockwell,” Lady Marsdel said. “Why should your thoughts not be heard? I demand you speak them aloud!”

Ivy hesitated, then shut her book. “I do not disagree there might be pleasure in seeing something so novel as a performance by illusionists.” She smiled at Mrs. Baydon. “I cannot believe exposure to such things, for a mind that is truly good, could really cause lasting harm. However, for me, any enjoyment that might be derived from such a spectacle would be outweighed by the knowledge that my actions have brought discredit to myself and thereby to those to whom I am most intimately attached—that is, my father, mother, and sisters, whom I admire and love. So I could not go. Any wish I might have for myself, however enticing, cannot be indulged if it brings about something I would not wish for
them.
”

“Very well spoken, Miss Lockwell!” Lord Baydon proclaimed. “I could not have said it better myself.”

Indeed, it was difficult for Rafferdy to imagine Lord Baydon could have said it at all.

“Really, Miss Lockwell,” Mrs. Baydon said, “had I known that you would so eloquently remove all chances of my gambit succeeding, I would have thought twice before seeking your opinion.”

Ivy’s expression was one of dismay. “It was in no way my intention to cause you any distress, Mrs. Baydon. If I have done so, please forgive me. My opinion was asked, and I gave it as truthfully as I could. In no way did I mean it as any sort of comparison with yourself.”

“Now, Mrs. Baydon, you’ve given her a fright,” Rafferdy said, keeping his voice light but feeling a note of real concern. Ivy’s color had gone pale again. “She cannot know what a teasing thing you are, not as I do.”

“But of course I’m teasing!” Mrs. Baydon said, and hurried over to Miss Lockwell, taking her hand and assuring her that she was in no way upset or affronted. At last Miss Lockwell was forced to concede that she was as sincere now as she had been satirical before.

“You have to know that we say outrageous things sometimes, but you mustn’t think anything of it.” Mrs. Baydon smiled. “Besides, no one could ever think it
your
intention to cause harm. I am sure you are incapable of it.”

“Now you will make a saint of me!” Miss Lockwell protested. “I am not sure this is in any way less teasing. Indeed, I think it more so. I would rather be wrongly accused of doing ill than be thought to never do ill at all. For when I topple from that high pedestal, as I inevitably must, it will make the fall all that much further.”

“Nonsense, Miss Lockwell,” Rafferdy said seriously, “for in that case you have only to spread your wings and fly like any angel.”

“Here, here!” Lord Baydon said, and clapped his hands.

Mrs. Baydon returned to the initial subject. “Well, I will do what is right. I won’t attend Viscount Argendy’s masque. I wish I could feel so virtuous a resignation as you display, Miss Lockwell. However, I warrant I am bound to be peevish. I allow that it would bring discredit for me to go, and so I must not. Yet I cannot help but think that going should not bring discredit at all.”

“On that point I can offer no disagreement,” Miss Lockwell said. “However, one cannot alter the world, so I suppose one is left with no choice but to alter oneself.”

“We must give up our wishes, you mean.”

“That may be so. Or perhaps…” She seemed to think about this. “Perhaps it simply means we must seek them in a different manner, or in another place. If one door is closed to you, then look among all that are open. It may be that what you seek is through one.”

“I doubt any of
them
will lead to a masque.”

Miss Lockwell smiled. “No, I suppose not. But ask yourself: what is it that made you wish to attend the affair at the viscount’s? Was it the performance itself? Or was it something else—the newness of it, or the chance to see something beautiful? Surely there are sights of beauty and novelty that
are
within your power to witness.”

Once again Mrs. Baydon sighed, only this time it was an expression of amazement. “Miss Lockwell, I believe you are right. I
will
seek out such things—beautiful things. I feel hopeful of a sudden. You have quite deprived me of my peevishness and want for complaining.”

“And for that, Miss Lockwell,” Mr. Baydon said, folding down his broadsheet, “you have my gratitude.”

A peculiar feeling came over Rafferdy, a kind of agreeable agitation. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to move, but he didn’t know where. What she had said fascinated him, but he had no idea if it gave him hope or a kind of irresistible dread.
One cannot alter the world, so one is left with no choice but to alter oneself.
A compulsion came over him to make himself anew. But into what?

He turned to address her. However, before he could think of something to say, Lady Marsdel gave her fan a beckoning flutter.

“Do come over here, Miss Lockwell. You have positioned yourself too far away. I would have you sit closer so my old ears need not strain.”

The object of this speech dutifully rose. Rafferdy hurried forward to lend his arm.

“Is there something you wished to say to me, Mr. Rafferdy?” Miss Lockwell said softly as he led her across the parlor.

“Why do you ask?”

“You were treating me to a rather odd look just now.”

“You are a rather odd creature, Miss Lockwell. You claim you are not utterly good by nature, yet everything you do demonstrates otherwise. Your actions are at odds with your words.”

“I can only say that it is not my intention to confound. But I will also say that you equally confound
me.
”

“How can that be? I am sure I am the simplest thing in existence.”

“On the contrary. While you claim to be utterly thoughtless, everything you do indicates that the opposite is true. In fact, I doubt there is a man alive who thinks more than you, Mr. Rafferdy.”

She sat down beside Lady Marsdel, and for the next hour he could only watch her and wonder what she had meant by
that
.