The Mislaid Magician (11 page)

Upon reflection, I am not entirely sorry to have lost my temper with Daniel. Now that I have had time to consider all that he said, and your report of the gypsy woman’s remarks, it seems to me very likely that it is not actually Daniel who is threatening Georgy. He appeared genuinely concerned about her, Kate. The gypsy’s remark about the “dibs being in tune,” taken together with Daniel’s comment about someone named Lucky “calling them off” make me suspect that the real culprit is one of Daniel’s gambling associates. I shall be very interested to discover why. Despite what the gypsy said, it cannot be gaming debts. Daniel may be nearly as chuckleheaded as Georgy, but he has always been punctilious about paying his debts of honor.

James was quieter than usual through the afternoon. When we retired for the evening and were quite private at last, I discovered why. First, he asked me to read your letter aloud (for of course it still looks to his eyes like a list of cough medicine receipts). When I finished, there was a long, thoughtful pause. Then he said, in the most expressionless voice possible, “Do you wish to return home to see for yourself that the children are safe?”

I fear I am a most unnatural mother, for until that moment, the possibility had not occurred to me. I considered the matter carefully for some while, for James only uses that tone of voice when he earnestly desires not to influence my response. Finally, I said, “No, I do not think it is necessary. I don’t believe the children are in any danger. The gypsy woman only threatened Georgy; carrying off Edward was probably quite accidental. And if Kate had wanted me, she would have asked.” I paused, working things out in my mind. “And if we were to race home now, it might give whoever is threatening Georgy the notion of threatening the children instead.”

I am afraid my voice wobbled at the end, for James rose hastily and came over to me. “Now, Cecy, it’s quite all right. Kate said everyone was safe.”

“Yes,” I said into his shoulder. “And I am sure she will keep them so. But do
you
think I ought to go back?”

Silence. I looked up, to find James’s expression a study in conflict. He sighed. “I don’t know. I think you are right about the children, but I am not sure it is safe for you to be here. If someone is threatening Georgy in order to squeeze money out of Daniel, they might well try the same with you.

I stared at him for a moment before I found my voice. “You think I am no more capable of dealing with such persons than
Georgy?
”

“No, not at all,” James said hastily. “I mean, that is not what I meant.”

“If it is safe enough for you to be here, it is safe enough for me,” I said. “And if it
isn’t
safe, I am
certainly
not leaving until you do. Especially since there is magic involved. Thomas is a very good wizard even when he is distracted by magnetism and good burgundy, and under the circumstances, he won’t let himself be distracted by anything. The children will be spell-warded within an inch of their lives. You, on the other hand, can’t even light a candle without a paper spill. And it is quite evident that there is
something
very odd going on at Haliwar, magically speaking. You need a magician here more than Kate and Thomas need one at Skeynes.”

James tried to argue, but it was plain that his heart was not in it, and he did not keep it up for long. So we remain at Haliwar. I shall attempt to discover more at this end, and I will let you know at once if Daniel returns. (And, if he does, what he has to say for himself—for I shall not be balked a second time, Webbs or no Webbs.)

Your determined,

Cecy

PS.
And
of course
you can only do three spells reliably. You have never cared for magic, only for what it can do, and there are only three things that you truly want to do, which can only be done by magic: find Thomas or the children, call Thomas, and keep your hair from falling down. If you ever find a fourth thing that you
want,
I will give you a new bonnet if you have the slightest difficulty in learning a spell to do it.

PPS.
It is now Tuesday morning, and I am about to leave this letter for the post. Daniel has still not come back, and the Webbs are becoming quietly frantic at having mislaid so important a guest. I will let you know the
moment
I have worthwhile news; I trust you to do the same. —
C.

(in cipher)

My dear Thomas,

Congratulations on retrieving your wayward offspring. Having heard Kate’s account of the matter, I congratulate her even more heartily on not having had to retrieve any of mine, as well. I am, in fact, quite astonished that neither Arthur nor Eleanor attempted to join Edward’s adventure, and I can only put it down to your wife’s good influence, as I know better than to think you have had much to do with the nursery crowd.

You will be pleased to hear that the enchantments on your letters are working to your usual high standards, which is to say that your notes are quite impossible for anyone to read if they do not have the proper key. Indeed, your vile scrawl was barely readable even once the key was applied. It is a pity that magic cannot do anything about that.

I suspect its illegibility is the reason your missive was some hours later in appearing in the hall than the rest of the post; whoever has been intercepting our correspondence is still trying, despite our precautions. The only other letter to be so delayed, thus far, was one of Cecelia’s missives from her father, due, I assume, to his execrable handwriting. I cannot think that our meddler would have much interest in his queries about the local antiquities—Viking campsites, Saxon ruins, and prehistoric standing stones—which Cecelia tells me made up the bulk of his letter.

I harp on the question of legibility for a particular reason. Though I have been over your letter several times, I am still unsure whether it was a Mr. Medway or a Mr. Medbury who made the arrangements for the house in Stroud where you found Edward. If it is indeed the former, I must tell you that a Mr. Harold Medway, of Stockton-on-Tees, is the man of business with whom Webb has been so involved of late.

Before you come charging up to the north counties, let me point out that Mr. Harold Medway cannot have been the multifaced person you so eloquently described. Tall, short, fat, thin, bald, red-haired—no matter the disguise or enchantment, this Mr. Medway has been here in Stockton since well before the beginning of this infernal house party and therefore cannot have been recently in Stroud. Yes, I have made inquiries, under pretext of looking for someone to work with regarding the supposed property I am pretending to wish to purchase. And since our arrival at Haliwar, Mr. Harold Medway has been out to consult with Webb every day. Not even magic could get him to Stroud and back, with time to arrange for a house rental, in between his visits here.

Nonetheless, if your vanishing renter is indeed a Mr. Medway, I find the coincidence of names disturbing. It may, of course, be simple coincidence, but I distrust coincidences of that sort. I think it more likely that someone borrowed the name, since it would be foolish indeed for anyone bent on threats and kidnapping to make rental arrangements in his own person. Or it may be a black sheep somewhere in the Medway flock. I will see what else I can discover in that regard; in the meantime, the northern connection may give you an additional angle for your own investigations. If, of course, it is Medway and not Medbury.

There is still no sign of our missing German. Peculiarities, there are in plenty. It has taken me nearly three weeks to collect even as little information as I have done. In part, this seems due to the understandable desire of the instigators of the Stockton and Darlington Railway to keep their difficulties quiet, so as to avoid panicking their investors.

One thing we have established with certainty: There is an extremely strong ley line running directly across the rail line, one end of which passes under Haliwar Tower. I believe, on the strength of Cecelia’s observations, that the steam engine is interfering with the ley line (or vice versa, depending on how you look at it). Cecelia said the engine actually pulled the ley line sideways for a moment, like the string of a bow being drawn back. The extra load might well explain the unexpectedly high number of breakdowns. Unfortunately, the Webbs have made it impossible to investigate the railway line itself. So, for the present, we are at a stand.

Waltham has, as you may already know, seen fit to depart from Haliwar for parts unknown. The only surprising thing about this is that he did not do so weeks ago. His valet speaks of giving up waiting for his master’s return and departing for Waltham Castle, on the theory that when His Grace reappears, he will either do so at his main seat or else send a message there. The Webbs are far more disturbed by this than Cecelia or I, but then, they cannot know His Grace so well. Despite his worries, Ramsey Webb continues his attempts to persuade me to give over looking at property and invest in his railway project instead.

I assume that by this time you have returned your superfluous child to her annoyed or worried parents—that is, assuming that she, like Edward, was lured away accidentally. If she belongs to your mysterious Medway or Medbury, you may have her on your hands some time.

Yours,

James

(This letter faithfully enchanted by T.S., all his own work)

Dear Cecy,

I am so sorry to have alarmed you unduly. I wrote in haste. Now that I have leisure to write in more detail of these matters, I will try not to make such a mull of things again. You have much too much to worry about without my adding to the sum.

The children are all quite well. I shall enclose their latest missives along with mine when I render this up to Thomas.

If it is any comfort to you, it is a great comfort to me that you intend to stay with James. Difficult as the decision must have been, I believe it is the right one.

In addition, I have a purely selfish reason to rejoice. If you came here, there is the distinct possibility that Thomas would find some urgent reason James would need Thomas’s help. In certain moods, Thomas can be distinctly mercurial, and he has done quite enough gadding about for now.

News of Daniel’s disappearance does not alarm me as it might have done a week ago. Given recent events, very little alarms me as it might have done a week ago. I feel as if my supply of alarm has been exhausted, at least temporarily.

Your discoveries at Haliwar Tower astound us, however. In the seclusion of his study, I read your account aloud to Thomas. The look on his face at your description of the behavior of the ley line was such a compound of curiosity and frustration (for he longs to fling caution to the winds and go and interfere) that I cannot do justice to it. You may indeed trust us to let you know any worthwhile news. Be very sure that if any insight into the matter occurs to Thomas, he will communicate it with all speed.

The morning after our return from Stroud, Thomas invited me to accompany him on a horseback ride. It was a perfect spring morning. The breeze was pleasantly fresh, not raw. The meadows were invitingly green, not muddy. Even the stone walls seemed to glow golden in the sunlight.

There was such significance in his expression as he proposed the outing that I was not surprised when he drew rein the moment we were out of sight of the house.

“Will you help me cast the protective spell?” Thomas looked grave. “I’m going to ride the bounds of the park and the home wood. The barriers will be set deep and wide. No one will cross without my permission.”

“I’ll help all I can,” I said.

Thomas looked pleased. “Excellent. Just stay close.”

As we rode, Thomas cast his spell. It must take a master to work any kind of a spell from the saddle. I find it difficult enough to do it when I am sitting comfortably on the floor. The rhythm of the ride seemed to play a role in the rhythm of the spell. I had a sense that Thomas’s spell used the life around us, the horses, the trees, the grass, the weeds—everything—to balance and to steady his intention.

I was very conscious of the way my ring felt on my finger. Had Thomas asked me to help in any active way, I might have found the sensation distracting. I could feel my heart beating, I could feel the ring, and I could stay on my horse. More than that, I could not have done.

We rode only the immediate perimeter of Skeynes: the grounds and gardens of the park to the east and west, the home wood to the north, and to the south, the home farm as far as the edge of the common. Truly, Arthur and Eleanor should pride themselves on the accuracy of their Map. I was pleased to note how faithfully they drew the boundaries.

By the time we returned to the house, Thomas was pale with fatigue, and I fear I have seldom been more disheveled. I had been at close quarters with every hedgerow and thicket en route, and my riding habit sustained considerable wear and tear.

Despite all this exertion, my hair did not come down, and I think you must have a point about the spells I have learned. The skill to keep my hair up reliably I count a true blessing. Calling and finding spells are important, but heaven forefend I need to use either of them again soon. My ears still ring from time to time.

The nursery is not the sanctuary I had hoped it would be, although it has helped me calm my fears for the children, spending so much time getting my hands sticky along with them. My advent has been accepted with visible tolerance by both Nurse Carstairs and Nurse Langley. Their patience is perceptible. I’m sure that they view my time in their stronghold as an indulgence to me. Indeed, it is.

Thank heavens for the charms of novelty. The children are not yet weary of my frequent presence among them, but soon the nurses will be. As a result, I am on my best behavior at all times, and when my presence is absolutely required elsewhere, the mutual relief is palpable.

Of course, we still have questions to answer. Thomas’s enthusiasm for the inquiries in Stroud, I suspect, stemmed from his utter reluctance to question Georgy. Eventually, of course, the moment had to arrive.