The Mislaid Magician
Read The Mislaid Magician Online
Authors: Patricia C. Wrede,Caroline Stevermer
or
Ten Years After
Being the private correspondences between two prominent families regarding a scandal touching the highest levels of government and the security of the realm
24 February 1828: Tangleford Hall, Kent
25 February 1828: Tangleford Hall, Kent
1 March 1828: Tangleford Hall, Kent
3 March 1828: Tangleford Hall, Kent
6 March 1828: Tangleford Hall, Kent
6 March 1828: Tangleford Hall, Kent
12 March 1828: The Bull and Mouth, London
18 March 1828: The King’s Head, Leeds
22 March 1828: The King’s Head, Leeds
25 March 1828: The King’s Head, Leeds
21 April 1828: The Eagle’s Nest, Stockton
22 April 1828: The Eagle’s Nest, Stockton
22 April 1828: Skeynes Nursery
26 April 1828: The Eagle’s Nest, Stockton
29 April 1828: The King’s Head, Leeds
1 May 1828: Wardhill Cottage, Darlington
7 May 1828: Wardhill Cottage, Darlington
A Biography of Patricia C. Wrede
A Biography of Caroline Stevermer
24 February 1828
Tangleford Hall, Kent
Dearest Kate,
It was splendid to see you and Thomas and your boys again this fortnight past. (And I still think that Baby Laurence is the image of his papa, even if he is still quite bald. In deference to Thomas’s feelings, however, I shall not mention the resemblance again until little Laurence is old enough to have grown some hair.) My only regret is that we could not stay longer at Skeynes. You have turned it into such a comfortable home that I do not wonder at your reluctance to go up to London, though I do hope James and I can coax you all to visit Tangleford next summer, so that we may return your hospitality.
Two weeks was hardly enough time to catch up on all your doings of the past few months. I know James was as sorry to leave as I, and as for the children—well, you saw how Baby Alexander cried when we left, and Diana and the twins all sulked for two days straight. (I had expected it of Diana, who is only four, after all, but I had hoped that at the age of nine, the twins would have grown out of such tricks. Apparently it takes longer than that.)
Speaking of the twins, I am afraid Arthur has confessed that he and Eleanor sneaked into Thomas’s study on the last day of our visit. Eleanor has been suffering from a trifling ailment since we left—no more than a bad cold, but Arthur was convinced that it must be the result of some dreadful magical protection they had triggered, and so he poured out the whole story to James and me the night after we arrived home. I do not know where he can have come by such a notion, but he was so earnest in his concern that both James and I had difficulty in keeping a sober expression. I promise you that we did so, however, as neither of us wishes to encourage him to undertake any similar adventures in the future. Poking about in a wizard’s study is serious business.
The reason I mention it is that Thomas may need to readjust his warding spells. (I am still not entirely sure how Arthur got past them; please do let me know, if you should discover it.) And I wish you would advise me whether Thomas maintains a continuous scrying spell on the gazing ball in his study. Arthur claims to have seen things in it, and if he is neither making up tales nor using an existing spell, I may need to find him a magic tutor who can oversee more advanced work than his present teacher.
James is going up to London to consult with the Duke of Wellington. (I suppose I ought now to say with the prime minister, but I am not yet accustomed to thinking of him so.) Though I am not sure what the duke has in mind this time, I am quite pleased for him by this turn of events. James becomes bored and most unhappy when he does not have enough to do, which is a habit I am sure he picked up on the Peninsula when he was aide-de-camp to Lord Wellington. And whatever the duke needs, I doubt it will be boring!
At first, I had hoped to go to London along with James, but both Baby Alexander and Diana show signs of coming down with Eleanor’s cold, and I really cannot leave Nurse to manage them all alone, most especially if Arthur is going to remain in good health. For he is sure to get into some scrape while her back is turned, and she has a decided partiality for him that sometimes persuades her to be less firm with him than she ought.
Indeed, I am feeling nearly as sulky as the children, for I had been looking forward to seeing Aunt Elizabeth and Mr. Wrexton again. What with Mr. Wrexton’s work at the Royal College of Wizards, they are so firmly settled in London now that it is nearly impossible to induce them to visit outside the city. (I
cannot
bring myself to call Mr. Wrexton “Uncle Michael,” though he and Aunt Elizabeth have been married these ten years. I suppose I have never quite got out of the habit of thinking of him as my magic tutor.) I especially wanted Mr. Wrexton’s opinion of the discursive-chain cantrips Thomas and I had that disagreement about.
I had also hoped to order a few gowns in advance of the Season, and to review the redecorating of our town house (for you know that now the duke is become prime minister, we shall have all kinds of distinguished persons visiting, so it is most important that everything be properly done).
Now it must all be left to the last minute, for James is quite hopeless at such things. I daresay he would not notice even if the drapers put crimson drapes in the blue salon. It is most provoking, and of course I cannot complain of it to James. So I write to you instead.
Love,
Cecy
Tangleford Hall, Kent
My dear Thomas,
The eldest of my young hellions has confessed to sneaking into your study near the end of our visit. The offense has already met with suitable punishment, but I trust you will let me know of any damage or disruption that he has not seen fit to mention. He has not provided any reason for the excursion other than a desire “to see a real wizard’s study.” Sometimes I think he takes after my dear Cecelia a little too much.
I am off to London as soon as may be. Wellington’s summons was waiting for me when we arrived home. I am not yet entirely sure what the business is about, which will tell you a good deal right there. Unless he has good reason, Old Hookey has always been clear about his orders; I infer that the matter is serious. I need not tell you to be discreet.
Cecelia stays here with the children. I shall write when I know more, and tell you what I can.
Yours,
James
Skeynes
Dear Cecy,
I do hope full health has been restored to the Tarleton household by the time you read this. To be honest, it is but a faint hope, for things here at Skeynes are just as disease-ridden, all sniffles and coughing, hot bricks and red flannel. Nothing serious, thank God. This, too, shall pass, and you’ll have your chance at London before you know it. It will be lovely to see the Wrextons again. I agree that it would be vastly preferable to have a bit of extra time with the dressmakers and the drapers for once, but I’m sure that you will work your customary wiles upon them, and that no one would ever suspect you accomplished so much in so very little time.
The same mail coach that brought your letter has brought us another visitor: Georgy! She arrived with only one maid, can you believe it? and we had not a word of warning she intended to come. Hardly the distinguished behavior one looks for from Her Grace, the Duchess of Waltham, you’ll agree. “More to this than meets the eye,” says Thomas darkly, “so I’ll leave you to get to the bottom of it,” and off he gallops to Waycross. Thomas claims he needs to see if the damage from the flooding is as bad as the man of affairs there says it is. Provoking man! He knows I know floods are a matter of utter indifference to him (until they intersect with his comfort, that is), so why not just stay here while I get on with interrogating Georgy? One might have wondered if there were a warrant out for his arrest, he set off with such speed. Anyone would think that a journey to Waycross in this weather was a high treat.
Come to think of it, given the sniffles and the coughing, it might have been a bit of a relief to the poor man to get away from the sound of sick babies crying. Not that he’s subjected to much of that, thanks to blessed Nurse Carstairs. Without her, Cecy, I shudder to think what life would be like. Something akin to that big painting at the Royal Academy, you remember the one, with Thomas in a long white beard as Ossian, and the children and me as his faithful followers, huddled at his feet, wearing nothing but plaid blankets. Laurence would do very well swaddled in a plaid blanket, but I shudder to think how dirty Edward’s feet would get. They are quite dirty enough now, with half the staff reminding him to put his shoes back on.
Enough of that. I can’t tell you anything about sick babies you don’t know from experience. All this vaporing is by way of explanation of why I haven’t yet told Thomas about the incident of Arthur and Eleanor and Thomas’s study. He was off before I’d even opened your letter. When he comes home, I will be sure to tell him.
I cannot help but admire the persistence the children showed, for that door is not often unlocked. You know your children best, of course, but I would not wonder if we learned that Arthur made the enterprise sound as if it were all his idea in order to protect his dear sister. Eleanor, when in health, seems far more likely to have had the idea originally. If I have heard her ask Thomas once to show her a spell please, I am sure I have heard her ask him a hundred times. She asks very nicely, of course, and there is no question that Thomas is the softest touch going when it comes to indulging a small girl’s taste for such amusements. I don’t fault her in the least for her interest. I merely point out that Arthur may have had a bit of help in entering the study.