The Sweet Far Thing (80 page)

I spend the evenings reading to Father. His health improves a bit—he is able to sit at his desk with his maps and books—but he will not be well again. It is decided that after my debut, Father will travel to a warmer clime. We all agree that this will restore his vitality. “Hot sun and warm wind—that’s what’s needed,” we say through tight smiles. What we cannot bring ourselves to say seeps into the very bones of the house until it seems to whisper the truth to us in the stillness:
He is dying. He is dying. He is dying.

On the third day, I am nearly out of my mind with worry when Grandmama announces that we are to attend a garden party in honor of Lucy Fairchild. I insist that I’m not well and should stay home—for perhaps I can sneak away to Victoria and a train back to Spence whilst she is gone—but Grandmama won’t hear of it, and we arrive at a garden in Mayfair that is blooming with every sort of beauty imaginable.

I spy Lucy sitting alone on a bench under a willow tree. Heart in my mouth, I sit beside her. She ignores me.

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“Miss Fairchild, I—I wanted to explain about Simon’s behavior at the ball,” I say.

She has the good breeding to sit very still. She holds her temper as tightly as she does the reins of her horse. “Go on.”

“It might have seemed that Mr. Middleton was too familiar with me that evening, but that was not the case. In truth, when my chaperone was momentarily away, a gentleman whom I did not know, and who had had far too much to drink, pressed his suit to the point of being improper.”

Believe me…please believe…

“I was quite frightened, naturally, being all alone,” I lie. “Fortunately, Mr. Middleton saw my dilemma, and as our families are old friends, he took immediate action without thinking of the consequences. That is the sort of man he is. I thought you should know the true circumstances before passing judgment upon him.”

Slowly, her face loses its misery. A shy hope presses her lips into a smile. “He sent the most beautiful flowers round yesterday. And a clever silk box with a hidden compartment.”

“For all your secrets,” I say, suppressing a smile.

Her eyes light up. “That is what Simon said! He told me he’s nothing without me.” She puts a hand to her mouth. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you so private a sentiment.”

It stings to hear that and yet I find it does not sting quite as much as it might have. Simon and Lucy are the same sort of people. They like things pleasant and untroubled. I could not abide such an arrangement, but it suits them.

“It was quite all right to do so,” I assure her.

Lucy fiddles with the brooch Simon gave her, the one he once gave to me. “I understand that the two of you were quite…close.”

“I was not the right sort of girl for him,” I say. I am surprised when I realize that it is not a lie. “I daresay that I have never seen him merrier than he is when he’s in your company. I hope you will find every happiness together.”

“If I should forgive him.” Her pride is back.

“Yes. That is solely within your power,” I say, and it is truer than she can know. For I can’t change what has happened. That is the path behind us and there is now only the course ahead.

Lucy rises. Our visit is at an end.

“Thank you, Miss Doyle. It was good of you to speak to me.” She does not extend her hand, nor would I expect her to.

“It was good of you to hear me out.”

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In the evening, Tom leaves once again for his club. I try to dissuade him from it, but he refuses to speak to me. Grandmama has met with her friends for a game of baccarat. So I sit alone in my room, trying to devise a plan to return to Spence and the realms.

“Gemma.”

I nearly shout as a man steps out from behind my drapes, and when I see it’s Kartik, I’m overcome with joy.

“How did you get here?”

“I borrowed a horse from Spence,” he explains. “Well, I stole it, actually. When you didn’t return…” I cover his mouth with mine and silence him with a kiss.

We lie beside each other on my bed, my head resting on his chest. I can hear his heart thrumming, strong and sure. His fingers trace patterns on my back. His other hand is linked to mine.

“I don’t understand,” I say, enjoying the warmth of his fingers traveling the length of my spine and back again. “Why hasn’t she shown me how to save Eugenia?”

“Could Wilhelmina have been aiding Circe? You said yourself they were close.” Kartik kisses the top of my head.

“Why would she betray the Order and Eugenia?” I say. “It doesn’t make sense. None of it does,” I sigh.

“The key holds the truth. It’s a phrase that recurs in my dreams, my visions, Wilhelmina’s book. But what does it mean?”

“There was no key inside the leather pouch along with the dagger?” Kartik asks.

“No. And I thought perhaps the book was the key.” I shake my head. “But I’m not certain of that. I think…”

I’m remembering the pictures Wilhelmina drew for
A History of Secret Societies.
The Hidden Object.

Guardians of the Night. The tower. I’ve deciphered them all save one—the room with the painting of boats.

“Yes?” Kartik prompts. His hand wanders to my breast.

“I think it might be a place,” I say, reaching up to kiss him.

He moves on top of me, and I accept the weight of him. His hands slide down my body and mine push down the broad expanse of his back. His tongue makes small explorations in my mouth.

There’s a knock at my door. I push Kartik off me, panicked.

“The drapery!” I whisper.

He hides behind the drapes as I quickly arrange myself. I perch on my bed, a book in hand.

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“Come in,” I call, and Mrs. Jones enters. “Good evening,” I say, turning the book right side up. I can feel the flush on my cheeks. My heart thumps in my ears.

“A parcel has come for you, miss.”

“A parcel? At this hour?”

“Yes, miss. The boy just left it.”

She hands me a box wrapped in brown paper and tied crudely with string. There is no name or card with it.

“Thank you,” I say. “I believe I shall turn in. I’m very tired.”

“As you say, miss.” The door clicks shut, and I lock it, exhaling loudly.

Kartik comes up behind me and wraps his hands around my waist. “Best open it,” he says, and I do.

Inside are Tom’s ridiculous hat and a note.

Dear Miss Doyle,

You possess something of great value to us. At present, we possess something of great value to
you. I am certain we may come to an agreeable arrangement. Do not be tempted to use the magic
against us. At the first hint of it, we shall know, and your brother will die. Mr. Fowlson is on the
corner. Do not keep him waiting.

The Rakshana have Tom.

The Rakshana mean to take my magic, and if I deny them, they will kill my brother. And if I attempt to draw upon my power now to save Tom? I cannot say that it is solely my power, and I may do more harm than good. I’ve nothing at my disposal tonight but my wits, and they seem little aid just now. But at present, it is the only hope I have.

“I’m coming with you,” Kartik insists.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” I argue.

“Then it’s a good day to die,” he says, and it makes my stomach flip.

I put my fingers to his lips. “Don’t say that.”

He kisses my fingers, then my mouth. “I’m coming with you.”

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CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

FOWLSON IS WAITING FOR ME BY HIS SLEEK CARRIAGE. HEflips a coin high, catching it neatly each time. When he sees me coming, he stops the coin on his arm with a slap.

“Awww, look at that—tails. Bad luck, luv.” He opens the carriage door for me. I see Kartik sneaking around the back.

“Tell me, Mr. Fowlson, will you always do their bidding? And when, pray, will they reward you for your efforts? Or will it always be like this—they dining at the feast, you off doing their dirty work?”

“They’ll reward me in time,” he says, pulling a blindfold from his pocket.

“No doubt that is why you are here instead of sitting with them. They needed a driver.”

“You shut it!” He glowers, but there’s a small ember of doubt in his eyes, the first I’ve seen.

“I shall make you a bargain, Mr. Fowlson. Help me, and I shall take you into the realms.”

He laughs. “Once we ’ave the magic, I’ll be there all I like. No, I don’t fink I’ll be makin’ bargains tonigh’, luv.”

He secures the blindfold over my eyes more tightly than is necessary. He threads rope around my wrists and ties it to something—the door’s handle, I think.

“Don’t go nowhere,” he calls, and laughs till he coughs.

The carriage starts with a jolt. The horses’ hooves strike the pavement in quick rhythm, and I hope Kartik is holding fast.

We do not travel far. The horses come to a stop. Fowlson’s fingers work to loosen my bindings, but the blindfold remains in place. A cloak is thrown over my head.

“This way,” Fowlson hisses.

A door is opened. I’m half dragged, down, down, around and around, and when the blindfold is removed, I find myself in a room where candles line the periphery. My brother sits in a chair. His hands are bound, and he appears drunk. A cloaked man stands behind him, his knife at the ready near Tom’s throat.

“Tom!” I run for him and a voice booms out from above.

“Stop at once!” I look up to see a gallery that runs about the room. Men in cloaks stand watching, their faces hidden. “If you touch him, he will die, Miss Doyle. Our man is quick with a knife.”

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“Gemma, don’t worry,” Tom mumbles. “It’s my ini…inish…”

“Initiation,” Kartik shouts, coming to my side. “Call it off.”

“Brother Kartik. I’d been told you were no longer living,” a voice calls. “Mr. Fowlson, you will answer for this.”

Fowlson’s face drains of color. “Yes, m’lord.”

“Let my brother go!” I shout.

“Certainly, dear lady. Just as soon as you give us the magic.”

I glance at Tom, who is helpless under the executioner’s knife.

“I can’t do that,” I say.

Tom screams as the knife presses a bit closer. “Stop,” he says in a strangled voice.

“Please, I need your help!” I cry. “Something terrible is happening in the Winterlands. We’re all in danger. I believe those creatures mean to come into our world.”

The room breaks into polite laughter. Beside me, Fowlson laughs hardest.

“I have seen Amar in the realms!” I shout. “He was one of you once. He warned me that it was coming.

‘Beware the birth of May,’ he said.”

The laughter dies away. “What did he mean by it?”

“I don’t know,” I say, keeping an eye on my brother. Tom is starting to come around. I see it in his eyes.

“I thought it meant the first of May, but that day has come and gone. It could be another day—”

Lord Denby steps out of the shadows. “I don’t know what manner of trickery this is, Miss Doyle, but it will not stand.” His finger lowers, and the cloaked figure presses the knife harder to my brother’s throat.

“He will die.”

“And what if you kill him?” I say. “What bargaining power will you have then?”

“Your brother will die!” His voice thunders in the room.

It’s as if some fog has lifted, and I see clearly for the first time since this all began. I will not be intimidated, not by them. Not by anyone.

“And you will have nothing then,” I shout, sure and strong. “Nothing to shield yourselves from
my
power.

And I will unleash it, sirs, like the hounds of hell, if you should harm one hair on his head!”

Lord Denby’s finger waits at the ready. The executioner’s knife also. For the longest moment, we all wait on the precipice.

“You’re a woman. You won’t do it.” He lowers his hand, and I don’t stop to think. I summon the magic and the knife becomes a balloon that slips from the man’s grip.

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“Tom, run!” I shout.

Tom sits, confused, and Kartik makes a grab for him and pulls him away as I vibrate with the power I’ve suppressed for too long. It speeds out of me with new purpose. And no one’s eyes are wider than my brother’s as I send the walls crawling with flames. Phantoms swirl overhead, shrieking. It doesn’t matter that it’s only illusion; the men believe it.

“Stop!” Lord Denby cries, and the flames and the phantoms are gone. He stumbles to the railing. “We are reasonable men, Miss Doyle.”