The Mislaid Magician (6 page)

“His Grace was so very kind to invite my brother and me tonight,” she began. “But then, he is always so very kind. Unlike many others of high position.”

I made a noncommittal noise. “Kind” is not a quality I usually associate with Daniel. Of course, he is not particularly
unkind,
either; the word that comes to my mind is
self-absorbed.
“To be sure,” I said vaguely when I saw that Adella expected more. “How are you acquainted with His Grace?”

“My brother made his acquaintance in course of some business dealings,” Adella replied readily enough. “He is a connection of yours, is he not?”

“He is married to my cousin Georgina,” I said. “I am afraid we do not see them often.”

Adella frowned slightly. “I thought His Grace spent most of his time in London. What with Parliament and the Season …”

I had to suppress a snort. The idea of Daniel actually attending Parliament is even more absurd than that of Thomas doing so. For I am sure that if the Duke of Wellington asked it of him, or if there were some bill that seemed likely to affect his interests, Thomas would exert himself. Daniel took up his seat in the House of Lords in the first place only because he wanted an excuse to spend time in London, and he has not attended a single session of Parliament since.

“His Grace is certainly in London a good deal,” I said instead. “Georgy—Her Grace, that is—enjoys the Season enormously. I suppose she is there now, preparing for it.” (Of course, I know very well from your letters that it is no such thing, but I thought it best not to give a hint, even in such an out-of-the-way place, that I thought differently. Who knows what correspondents Adella Webb might have?)

Adella gave me a sharp look. “Are you sure? It seems very odd to me for her to go off to London without her husband.”

I smiled, though I was beginning to dislike Miss Webb. “Georgina does not live in her husband’s pocket. And she prefers London to the country at any season. Why, she and Daniel seldom visit even her sister, though she lives quite close to London.”

“Her sister?” Adella said.

“My cousin Kate,” I said. “The Marchioness of Schofield.”

“The Marchioness of Schofield!” Adella looked impressed. “Your cousins both married very well indeed! Is her husband, the Marquis, in Parliament as well?”

My dislike of Adella Webb was growing rapidly. “Thomas has a seat in the House of Lords, of course, like every peer,” I said. “But he is not much involved in politics. His interests run more to magic. And magnetism, at the moment.”

“Magic!” Adella frowned. “He is a magician, then?”

“A wizard,” I corrected her. “And a full member of the Royal College of Wizards. You disapprove? But I think membership in the Royal College of Wizards ought to make one at least as respectable as the Order of the Garter. The Royal College is the older association, after all.”

“Yes,” Adella said. She sounded oddly disappointed. “Still, one never knows about wizards. There are all sorts of spells they could be doing in private!”

I smiled to myself and replied with great certainty, “Well, whatever Thomas is doing, it isn’t basilisks.”

“Basilisks?” Adella looked thoroughly taken aback. Clearly, that was not what she had been expecting.

“No,” I said. “And I must say, I am glad of it. Arthur would undoubtedly wish to investigate, and I am sure the results would be catastrophic.”

“Arthur?” Adella was more and more at sea.

“My eldest son,” I said. “He and the other children are staying at Skeynes while James and I are in the north. He is such an enterprising child …” And I launched into a thoroughly misleading description of my children, full of glowing praise for their dubious virtues, such as must have made me appear a doting mama of the most boring sort. I took positive pleasure in forcing Adella to stay and listen until dinner was served at last.

The conversation around the table was unexceptionable. I kept an eye on Daniel, who seemed unusually ill at ease. He kept glancing at James, then at Mr. Webb, and then applying himself to his plate (and I assure you, the food was nothing that deserved such attention).

Near the end of the meal, Mr. Webb asked James how long we intended to stay in Leeds.

“We leave tomorrow,” James answered. “I have found some property near Stockton that I wish to look over, and it will be more convenient for the business if we are nearby.”

“Stockton?” Mr. Webb said. “How convenient! You must stay with us.”

Daniel looked up with an expression of horrified indecision on his face. “I, ah, er, is that really … I mean, Stockton? Not even a watering hole. Bath would be better. For anything.”

“My great-uncle left me an old guard tower near Stockton,” Mr. Webb continued as if Daniel had not spoken. “It’s a relic of the Civil Wars, I believe. There’s plenty of room, and it’s near the main road.”

“Sure to be drafty,” Daniel said.

“Not at all.” Mr. Webb frowned at him. “I’ve spent some effort on repairs, and it’s quite a cozy retreat now.” He smiled suddenly. “Come and see for yourself. I’m having some other friends to stay, quite respectable; we’ll make it a house party.”

“I, ah—” Daniel looked trapped, as indeed we all were. There being now no way to decline the invitation without appearing to slight Mr. Webb’s accommodations, his veracity, or both, we perforce accepted.

So Mr. Webb and his sister go to Haliwar Tower today to have the Holland covers off and make preparations to receive us, and James and I and Daniel travel there later in the week. James is quite put out, as he thinks this will make his investigations more difficult. I am less annoyed, as I hope it will facilitate mine—surely Daniel cannot avoid us entirely during a weeklong house party!

Yours,

Cecy

Dear Cecy,

I write to you at the address of Mr. Webb’s cozy retreat. May your stay in the wilderness be comfortable. If it is not, at least we have the petty consolation of knowing that Daniel suffers along with you. But sometimes the most unlikely combination of people can result in a pleasant house party. I hope it may be so in this case. Perhaps the Webbs will be more congenial at their home.

Do you think Adella Webb would be more put off or less if she learned the true nature of Thomas’s past research? It disgusts the casual inquirer, I’ve found. On the whole, I think you were wise to reassure her with basilisks and leave it at that. From your description of her, it seems unlikely that she would see the merit in his work. More probably, it would have put her off her meal entirely.

Not that Thomas’s work is as easy as a brief description makes it sound. Insects must go somewhere, after all. Banish lice and fleas throughout Skeynes, and one must be prepared to deal with the consequences visited upon the neighbors. Lord knows the Cramptons have made their opinion of the result perfectly clear on more than one occasion. It’s a miracle they still speak to us.

I have high hopes for Thomas’s study of magnetism. Magnetism may be of less immediate use, but I trust unsuccessful experiments will also be less disruptive to the household.

Georgy has heard extracts from your letter. I selected them with care and watched her with great attention as I read aloud to her. She seemed reassured by what she heard, although whether by your account of her husband’s demeanor or by the knowledge that he is safely at the other end of the country, I cannot tell.

This morning I asked her again to tell me what is wrong. She ignored me and devoted herself to the
Gazette.
One might almost think she were trying to commit the scandal sheets she reads to memory.

To Georgy, we owe the news that the king is to attend Cheltenham races this season, though his colt Teazle is far from the favorite. You may imagine the consequences to the local social calendar. There is no excuse too flimsy to serve as justification to be in Cheltenham at the proper time. I trust Aunt Charlotte will have a few withering remarks to make upon this subject when next she writes.

Arthur and Eleanor have taken to spending most of their time in the gardens. I asked them, not without some trepidation, if they shared Edward’s interest in foraging for wildlife. (I thought it well to be prepared in case we find imports of additional livestock.)

“Snakes,” said Eleanor, as if the word tasted bad. “Certainly not.
We’re
explorers.”

“Natural history is all very well in its way,” Arthur conceded handsomely, “but we’re making a detailed and accurate map of the grounds.” On occasion, Arthur sounds so like his father, I must struggle to keep my countenance.

“Grounds?” I repeated blankly. “What grounds?”

“These grounds.” Eleanor took pity on me. “Skeynes.”

“Not the whole estate,” Arthur assured me. “Ripley says we’d be riding for miles and miles, hundreds and hundreds of acres. We don’t have paper enough for that. But we shall map all the gardens, and the whole park, and the home wood, all the way to the common.”

I told the twins I thought making a detailed and accurate map of the grounds was an excellent idea and promised to provide whatever they needed in the way of supplies. For a moment, I feared my approval might put them off the whole idea, but instead they clamored to visit the mock-ruined hermitage, the better to map that end of the gardens.

I have warned the servants not to permit the children to stray too far afield in pursuit of their enterprise. I confess I find making maps a pastime far preferable to the perils of hide-and-seek by scrying.

Diana and Alexander are in bounding good health, as are Edward and Laurence. Nurse Carstairs and Nurse Langley continue to deal extremely, praise be to a merciful providence.

Thomas has been in town for the past few days, but I expect him to return by Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. His letters assure me that he devotes himself only to the most pressing of his business affairs, and that nothing on earth would induce him to remain away from home a moment longer than necessary. (Nothing on earth, I surmise, but good company, a well-stocked wine cellar, or a library he hasn’t had a chance to examine in detail.)

When you and James have unraveled your mystery, when Georgy has come to her senses, and when we are all back in town for the Season, you and I must indulge ourselves with similar irresponsibilities. I long for a leisurely chat with you over a nice cup of tea. A new bonnet would not come amiss, either.

Love to you and James,

Kate

Dear James,

I hold you responsible. Were it not for you and your infernal Herr Magus Schellen, I would be comfortably at home at this very moment. At home, and in perfect health. Come to think of it, I would most probably be in church, virtuously reading the lesson to a lot of sheep-faced hypocrites. Believe me when I tell you I would prefer that fate to the head I have on me this morning, a head that is all your fault.

“Common gossip is all I want,” you said. You know as well as I do, for gossip, there’s nowhere better than the club. So to the club I duly took myself, despite the trouble, the inconvenience, and, worst of all, the silent look of reproach Kate administered as I announced my plans. Thus, common gossip have I pursued for much of the past week. I cannot vouch for its accuracy, but I have collected some choice
on-dits.
I will spare you those titbits unsuitable for a respectably married man and concentrate on the questions you set me.

Still, you asked for gossip. Not my gossip in particular, but you didn’t exclude the possibility, so there it is.

Item One: Shares in the Stockton to Darlington railway enterprise have fallen alarmingly of late. Accidents have dogged the line from the start. The casual investors are cutting their losses before things grow worse.

There is at least one other proposed railway route in the vicinity, this one on the southern bank of the River Tees. The investment fever inspired by Liverpool-Manchester, and indeed the Stockton-Darlington in happier days, has spread rapidly. I expect there are a number of similar schemes by now.

Item Two: Who hired your Herr Magus Schellen? What was he hired to do? This is the cause of my hangover, and you owe me, James. I spent hours with Fremantle last night—no, curse it!—this morning. Hours! I don’t know why the man was so closemouthed, but I assume it is all part of his general policy. He knows everything and must be seen by the world as discretion itself. Fortunately, discretion itself has a taste for cognac.

According to Fremantle, Mr. Pease, of the Stockton-Darlington line, hired Schellen to do the official survey of the railway line. Pease wanted him because he’d be uninterested in the petty rivalries involved. You can’t get anyone more neutral than Herr Magus Schellen, and neutrality was the whole point.

So that’s what Fremantle says, and if it turns out to be a waste of good cognac, you can make it up to me the next time we have a drink together. In about fifty years, the way I feel at the moment.

I leave for Skeynes in the morning. If I’m not home for Easter, Kate will worry. Bad enough as it is. If I had been home to read the lesson, I think this morning’s verses would have been the plague of frogs, and I was rather looking forward to the impression that would make on your hellions. And mine, of course.

Sincerely,

Thomas

My dear Thomas,

Thank heavens you wrote to the inn at Leeds. Cecelia and I have removed to Haliwar Tower, and the post there is being opened. The Webbs, who got up this miserable house party, stick to us like cockleburs—Ramsey Webb to me, and his sister to Cecelia. He accompanied me even on this purported business visit to Leeds; I barely managed to give him the slip long enough to retrieve your note. You had best direct further correspondence to Haliwar, but take precautions. Warn Kate, as well. There have been several disturbing developments; I shall send you a full account at the earliest opportunity, using the cipher you worked out when we were on the Peninsula.

Yours,

James