Sorcery & Cecelia: Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot (21 page)

“Good morning, Miss Rushton,” he said as I drew rein beside him. He looked very tired. “Have you heard anything from your cousin?”

“She has given Thomas your message,” I said, and stopped, wondering how to convey to him the scene you described without either worrying him excessively or damaging your reputation beyond repair.

“And?” James prompted.

“He didn’t give her a reply,” I said cautiously.

“Why not?” James demanded. He looked at me very closely and said gently, “I think you had better tell me the whole, Miss Rushton. There is more, and it is not good news, is it?”

“I am afraid not,” I said, and hesitated. “I must tell you that my cousin Kate’s determination to deliver your message made her act in a way that was not—not altogether wise.”

“My memory is most adaptable, Miss Rushton,” he said reassuringly.

I smiled at him uncertainly, and plunged into the tale. James’s face became stiff and expressionless as I spoke. “I see,” he said when I finished. “Miss Rushton, when you write your cousin next, please ask her to tell Thomas that if I do not hear from him soon, I shall make an attempt to recover the pot on my own, wizards or no wizards. There is such a thing as too much caution.”

“I’ll tell her,” I said. I hesitated. “Do you really think it will be necessary?”

“I hope not,” James replied. “Thomas is a good wizard, and things do not seem to have progressed very far as yet. If there’s a loophole, he’ll find it.” He smiled reminiscently.

I swallowed the comment that Sir Hilary’s possession of the chocolate pot did not appear to me to leave any loopholes, and said instead, “You must know him very well.”

James laughed. “Too well, perhaps. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“How long?” I said. “Did you know his brother, Edward?” I had been wondering for days about that confused story Lady Jersey told you, and I was hoping that I had finally found someone who could tell me about it.

“So you’ve dug up that tale, have you?” James said. He did not look at all pleased.

“Lady Jersey told Kate,” I said. “But I am afraid she was not very clear about what happened.”

James gave a bark of laughter.

“ ‘Silence’ Jersey doesn’t have it in her to be clear. What exactly did she tell your cousin?”

“That Edward Schofield was in love with Miranda,” I said cautiously, “and that he died of a wasting fever that sounds to me remarkably like what is ailing Thomas now.”

James’s expression darkened. “Not exactly. Edward wasn’t a magician; Miranda couldn’t do to him what Sir Hilary is doing to Thomas.”

“What
did
she do, then?” I demanded crossly, for I was very tired of mysteries.

“I suppose I’d better tell you the whole story,” said James, and he did.

Apparently, Miranda Tanistry made even more of a splash in Society when she made her debut than Dorothea has, and for exactly the same reason. She snared Edward Schofield almost at once, and she would probably have married him before the Season was even over if Thomas hadn’t come dashing up to Town to stop it. Thomas had been studying magic privately with Sir Hilary and had run across something that disturbed him. (I suspect it was that dreadful book on epicyclical elaborations, but, of course, James did not know exactly.)

When Thomas got to London, he was able to tell that Edward was under the influence of a spell of some sort, but convincing his brother of this was quite another matter. (Apparently Edward was just as stubborn as Thomas seems to be.) So Thomas laid a charm on Edward’s snuffbox to protect him from Miranda’s spell. (And yes, it was the same snuffbox that James was using to keep himself safe from Dorothea.) That put an end to Miranda’s game at once, for, of course, Edward quickly discovered that he was not in the least in love with her.

Miranda was so annoyed that she went to Sir Hilary and offered to teach him those horrid epicyclical spells if he would keep Thomas from interfering anymore. He agreed (which leads me to believe that Sir Hilary is even more unscrupulous than I had previously supposed). I expect he thought that since Thomas was one of his students, he would be easy to deal with, but it was no such thing. Because, of course, Thomas was already suspicious. Still, Miranda and Sir Hilary caused such a deal of trouble for Thomas that he was practically obliged to fly the country, (James did not put it quite like this, of course.) It was after that that Thomas’s brother took sick and died.

“Thomas was certain Miranda was behind it,” James told me, “but he couldn’t do anything without proof. And he couldn’t get any proof without returning to England, which would have been fatal at that point.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t come dashing back anyway,” I commented.

“He wanted to,” James admitted, “but I talked him out of it. He was cross as a bear for weeks afterward, and became positively reckless whenever he had to fight. That was how he came to be mentioned in the dispatches.”

“When was that?” I asked.

“Near the beginning of Wellington’s campaign on the Peninsula,” James replied. “That was where we met.”

“Kate says you were A.D.C. to Wellington himself,” I said, feeling that a change of subject was in order.

He looked embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “Well, yes, I was.”

“Then someday you must tell me all about it,” I said. “I warn you, though, that Kate and I will compare your stories with Thomas’s, so you had better not try to roast us with impossible tales.”

He smiled and made some disclaimer, and we rode in silence for a little way. I could see that he was very worried, in spite of his outward lightness, so I stayed a little longer than usual in hopes of raising his spirits. I cannot flatter myself that I was more than marginally successful; I think that only good news of Thomas will do anything to cheer James.

I arrived home just in time to go to the parsonage with Aunt Elizabeth. I would never have expected it, but that visit with the Reverend Fitzwilliam turned out to be quite fortunate. For Martin De Lacey had stopped in to borrow a cricket bat, and he had received a note from Robert Penwood! Robert has apparently found Mr. Griscomb, and the two of them hit it off extremely. Robert has permission to pay his address to Dorothea, and he and Mr. Griscomb are to be in London by the end of the month. (I am not at all sure this is a good thing, knowing Miranda. So if you see Robert, be sure to give him the charm-bag I sent to you for him.)

I shall look for a letter from you next week, and I sincerely hope your news of Thomas will be good. I am sure James will do something foolish if I cannot tell him your Marquis is in better health, or at the least that Thomas has something specific for him to do.

Give Georgy my love. I do not send it to Aunt Charlotte, as I think she has behaved abominably in following you about and bullying you in front of Thomas. It is the outside of enough, especially from someone who spends so much time prosing on about manners and proper behavior. Of course, she would consider it very wrong of you to have gone to a gentleman’s lodgings, even with your maid. (And really, Kate, could you not have waited until morning? If you are determined to do things openly, you ought not to do them in the middle of the night. Particularly if you are going to call the servants and order up a carriage. That sort of thing is quite unexceptionable during daylight hours; at midnight it is bound to cause comment. Really, you are nearly as bad as James.) But Oliver was never in her charge at all; he came up to London
weeks
after you and Georgy left, and he only stayed in Berkeley Square to keep an eye on Georgy. Aunt Charlotte is simply trying to puff up her own consequence, as usual, and you ought to have told her so. And you really must get a spare key made for your room, Kate, in case she tries to lock you in again. What if Miranda were to do something dreadful, and you were stuck in your room?

I was surprised to learn that Frederick Hollydean has become involved with Miranda, but upon reflection I see that it is exactly the sort of thing he would do. I have a vivid recollection of the worm he tried to put down my back when I was eleven, and while this is not quite the same, there is something wormy about Miranda that would probably appeal to Frederick. And I cannot but approve of Thomas’s description: “Horrible Hollydean” suits Frederick perfectly. Nor can I help hoping that Frederick will find being disposed of to be properly uncomfortable.

I think it quite likely that Mr. Strangle is also in Miranda’s confidence, if not her employ. The Reverend Fitzwilliam, you will recall, had no knowledge of him, though Mr. Strangle claimed they had been at school together. If Frederick is out of the way, however, I doubt that you will have much cause to associate with his tutor. Under the circumstances, this is just as well. Your description of his behavior makes me certain Mr. Strangle is an utter toad.

I think that if I have one of the grooms take this to town immediately, it will still catch today’s London mail coach.

Yours in haste,

Cecy

23 June 1817

11 Berkeley Square, London

Dear Cecy,

I have just received your letter concerning epicyclical elaborations of sorcery. Perhaps it is a mercy that I did not know how very serious the threat to Thomas has become, for I doubt I would have been able to keep still at the Grenvilles’ ball, and Thomas detests a fuss.

Taking the day in strict order, breakfast was marred by a contretemps between Georgina and Aunt Charlotte. As I hoped, Aunt Charlotte’s determination to keep my misbehavior a complete secret has prevented her from punishing me in any of her usual ways. The effect this has had on her temper is startling. Georgina asked, understandably enough, for the news of Oliver that had taken us from the house at such an unreasonable hour the night before. When Aunt Charlotte did not reply at once, I explained that Thomas had received a letter from Oliver’s host. Georgina pressed me for details. For a moment I was tempted to tell her that Aunt Charlotte had refused to let me read it myself, but I merely said, “Oliver is very well.”

“Very well!” exclaimed Georgina. “Is that all? Who knows what he might be up to? Cockfighting, bearbaiting—even gaming!”

“A lady has no knowledge of such pursuits,” sniffed Aunt Charlotte.

Georgina’s response to this was a wonderful combination of indignation and illogic. Aunt Charlotte lost her temper to such an extent that she sent back the toast to the kitchens. The civil war that resulted when the cook discovered Aunt Charlotte’s crime took all her resources to quell. Georgina was engaged to drive out with the Grenville twins, and was thus able to escape while Aunt Charlotte was occupied with the cook.

So I went to my room to conduct a thorough search for my pearl eardrops. It seemed to me most unfair that I should lose not just one but both earrings, and at the same time, too. But after I looked through my things twice and checked every spot I could think of where they might have fallen, it occurred to me that Georgy might have borrowed them and forgotten to mention it to me. (I’m sure this reminds you of your coral bracelet. I admit I was thinking of that misunderstanding when I looked in Georgy’s jewel case.) It seemed to be simpler to borrow the eardrops back than to provoke a brangle. So, with a ruthless exercise of what Oliver calls “eldest’s rights,” I searched Georgy’s jewelry.

The eardrops were not there. Neither was her brooch set with aquamarines. But at the very bottom of the case lay a slim little memorandum book bound in limp green leather. It was very wrong of me, but I am only human, and I opened it. My punishment came when I read the first page. Frederick Hollydean had reason to ask me if I shared Georgy’s talent for the tables. The little green book contains a list of her wagers. Unfortunately, most of the entries record losses, my eardrops and the blue brooch included.

I don’t have to describe my feelings. You must share them. While the sums involved are not large, our family history makes it a very grave symptom. If the Talgarth passion for gaming has recurred, Georgy may easily ruin herself while Aunt Charlotte is busy lecturing her on her posture. What should I do? What
can
I do? Will scolding Georgy myself have any effect? It never has before. How I wish, for the thousandth time, that you were here or that we had never left Rushton.

This revelation sent me to my room to think until it was time to prepare for the ball.

On our arrival at the Grenvilles’, Alice took me aside at once to say, “Thank goodness you are here, Kate. The Marquis of Schofield has been here for nearly an hour and he hasn’t a civil word to say to anyone. Perhaps you can amuse him.”

She showed me where he sat, watching the guests arrive from a chair in the corner. The change in him was more marked now. Even with his dark coloring, he seemed pale, and his dark eyes seemed to burn. When I greeted him, I thought for a moment he did not recognize me, so fierce was his hooded gaze. But his voice was perfectly matter-of-fact as he greeted me. “Well, Kate, so your Aunt Charlotte decided to let you live. I’m gratified.”

“She seems to have changed her attitude the instant you mentioned a special license,” I said. “Life in London has made her most unpredictable. Her volte-face was astonishing.”

“Yes, astonishing,” said Thomas, with an unpleasant smile. “Really, Kate, she’s not a stupid woman. The instant you marry, her influence over you ceases. I don’t think your Aunt Charlotte is a woman to surrender influence willingly.”

I let this remark go unanswered and asked if he wished to convey a message to James Tarleton through a letter from me to you. At the very idea he drew himself up a little straighter in his chair and said, “Yes, by all means. Tell James not to trouble himself. I am perfectly well able to manage things alone.”

“What a gudgeon you are, Thomas,” I replied. “Are you sure you are well enough to waltz? You are looking very ill.”

“I shall sit out our waltz, with your permission,” Thomas replied grandly. He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “I shall sit them all out. I only came to tell you to be sure to beware of Miranda. She has some scheme afoot, and Harry Strangle is still on the loose to put it into practice. I had hoped that my abduction of the horrible Hollydean would lure Strangle into my clutches as well, but there isn’t a trace of him anywhere.”