The Baskerville Tales (Short Stories) (3 page)

“That’s disappointing,” she grumbled. “I had hoped we could put Dr. Larch to the question.”

“And here I brought my thumbscrews and everything,” Evelina added plaintively.

“Still, I think it’s too soon to give up. A gruesome parcel? An evil book dug out of the ground? If the rector said the book is evil, doesn’t that imply it’s full of spells?”

Evelina frowned, growing increasingly uneasy. She knew some simple folk magic that her Gran Cooper—from the circus side of the family—had taught her. It was a secret she’d only let slip once, and that was with Imogen. Otherwise, she never spoke of it. In a school as small as Wollaston, every keyhole had ears.

“That book in the potting shed bothers me,” Evelina said. “People don’t bury things unless they want them hidden.”

“So it has to be a grim … grimwhatever. What other kind of book would it be?” Imogen asked. “I mean, with the dead body involved.”

“If it’s a
grimoire
, then hiding it would make sense. Magic is illegal.”

Imogen frowned. “They hanged that sorcerer six months ago. What was his crime,
exactly?”

“Attempting to summon a demon with blood sacrifice.” Dark magic always involved a payment in blood or life—either the sorcerer’s own, or someone else’s. “It was all over the newspapers. They say he wanted the demon to destroy Buckingham Palace and kill the queen.”

“Why?”

“That’s what mad mages always want. It’s traditional—at least according to the newspapers.”

Imogen’s frown grew deeper. “Well, if I had that spell book, I’d be very cautious. Especially after that much publicity.”

“And if someone used it, they must have been prepared to risk everything.” They walked for a moment, their boots scrunching on the gravel path that led past the church.

“But isn’t the ability to do magic hereditary?” Imogen asked.

“Yes.”

“Then who has the ability to use it?”

That thought hit Evelina like a slap. “I don’t know.” She was the only one of the Blood at Wollaston. At least she’d always thought so. Childish though it was, she had taken pride in being unique.

Who else is like me?
Evelina felt a tingling down her limbs, half trepidation, half curiosity. Reflexively, she folded her arms, as if trying to hold in her agitation.
Come now, concentrate on what’s important. If Dr. Larch is losing his wits, that’s a problem. But if someone really is dabbling in dark magic, that’s even worse
.

“Dr. Larch keeps an office in the church. He might have put the book there.” Imogen gave her a sidelong look. “Although it would be the height of impropriety for young ladies to
poke through his things …”

“Of course it would.”

“Then let’s begin immediately.”

Once they entered the cavernous silence of the old building, every scrape of their soles echoed on the stone floor. They made their way past the font inside the entrance and turned right, then down the far aisle that led toward the northwest corner of the building. There, right near the stairs that led up to the choir loft, were a few small rooms used for practical matters.

No one seemed to be around, although the office door stood open. When she looked inside, Evelina’s breath caught—a moment of shock soon followed by a rush of wonder. Instinctively, she pushed inside, letting her emotion carry her body forward.

Just for a moment, she forgot all about the book.

Clockwork!

It was Evelina’s great love. Tall, gracious bookshelves had been stripped of their tomes to make room for row upon row of marvelous toys. There were tiny dirigibles with keys in their balloons, birds on springs, and dogs that wagged tiny painted tails. Suddenly, she was a child again, watching her grandfather fix the astounding wind-up automatons of Ploughman’s circus.

She knew she had no right to touch the toys, but her fingers would not behave. She had to pick them up and see how they worked. A hedgehog read a book, turning the pages with a nimble paw when a lever was pressed. Her favorite was a tin wishing well with a rotating handle that raised and lowered a bucket of flapping ducks.

“I knew Dr. Larch liked novelties,” Imogen said with a chuckle, “but I never knew he had so many.”

They had barely been there a minute, but already Evelina’s skull felt tight, as if she were
trying to drink in too much information all at once. She turned over a crow in a top hat, trying to see all the springs and gears inside. “Do all these belong to the rector?” She’d always liked the old man, but now realized they shared an interest obviously dear to them both.

“I made them,” said a voice. “There are just as many again downstairs.”

“In the crypt?” Evelina blurted as she turned around, then caught her breath. “Pardon me, Dr. Larch.”

He was standing in the doorway. Tall, thin, and stooped, he leaned with one hand against the doorjamb, as if too weary to stand. He appeared to have aged a decade since she’d seen him last Sunday. He straightened painfully, smoothing the front of his jacket. “The dead don’t mind if I waste my time playing with trifles. But the living have far too many opinions on the matter.”

Evelina winced, hearing the bitter echo in the rector’s words. It was easy enough to guess what he felt. She’d been told often enough that nice young ladies didn’t play with greasy tools, but at least no one called her senile.

“They’re wonderful,” she said. “I’d love to see the rest someday.”

That earned her a gentle smile. “Thank you, Miss Cooper. And what are you two lovely young ladies doing in my office?”

“We were looking for you, Dr. Larch,” Imogen said, her face as placid as still water. She took his arm, helping him to a chair. He moved with a limp, as if he had turned his ankle. “But the door was open and no one was here.”

“I’m afraid that this is not a good afternoon for visiting, even for the brightest stars of Wollaston Academy.”

“We came to ask about the, um, parcel you sent to Mrs. Roberts,” Evelina began, then immediately wished she hadn’t. Imogen made a pained noise confirming that her opening gambit
had been clumsy in the extreme. On the other hand, it saved a great deal of tiptoeing around the subject.

Alarm sparked in the rector’s deep brown eyes. “You know what I sent with Mary?”

“Almost everyone does,” Imogen put in. “It was an accident, but the bundle fell open in front of a dozen of the students.”

He looked horrified. “That was the last thing I intended! The students were not to know any of this, but I simply had to make your headmistress understand.”

Evelina refrained from pointing out the insanity of trying to hide a corpse, or even a piece of one, in a tablecloth. When she looked into his face, she saw a disturbing level of fear. Whatever was going on, he was at the edge of his ability to cope. “Understand what?”

“It is not your concern,” he replied shortly.

Evelina wasn’t about to give up. “We heard that you had a dispute with Mrs. Roberts because of a book. One that was found at the school.”

Larch fell into his chair with a huff of exasperation. “Which is why I find you young ladies here, looking for the wretched thing. No doubt you’d like to use it yourselves!”

Stomach tightening, Evelina fell back a step. “I think not!”

His brows drew together in a bushy V. In an instant, he’d gone from fearful to angry. Now he sounded querulous again. “Well, someone took it the first time, and it ended up in the potting shed at your school. How do I know you don’t want it?”

Imogen opened her mouth to protest, but Evelina interrupted. “Where did the book come from?”

“Questions, questions.” Dr. Larch smoothed his sparse hair with gnarled hands. Evelina noticed the tremor of fatigue in his fingers. For the first time, Evelina also noticed that the office
was a mess. Papers were scattered across the desk, and books were everywhere, including on the floor. It looked as if he had been desperately searching for something he couldn’t find.

“Please, Dr. Larch,” Imogen said softly. “We just want to understand your side of things.”

Imogen was one of his favorites, and her gentle tone worked. He settled back in the chair. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you how it was found. The men laying the pipes for that ridiculous steam factory dug up a tin chest. They brought it here, thinking that I could use the church records to identify its rightful owner or an heir. My researches turned up little of use. It contained only the book and a few silver dishes, but it was enough to deduce that a widow named Hester Barnes had buried the chest at least two centuries ago. I could find no living relations.”

Now that she heard the widow’s name, Evelina remembered something from the local newspaper, but the article hadn’t given many details. It certainly hadn’t said anything about spell books.

“And someone took the book from you?” Imogen asked incredulously.

Dr. Larch nodded, giving them a hard look again. “The thief took it from this very office.”

“The silver, too?” Evelina asked.

“Just the book.” He bit off every word precisely. “That was clearly what they wanted.”

That piqued Evelina’s interest even more than the origins of the chest. “What was in it?”

The rector made a sour face. “Love potions and cures for warts. Worthless. Or so I believed.”

A book of love spells found at a girls’ school
. It sounded like something by Gilbert and
Sullivan, but Evelina’s hackles rose.
There is someone else who understands spells. But who?

Larch continued. “Your headmistress returned it to me because she knew it had been stolen. She refused to believe the matter was anything but a prank. And yet not even a week passed after the theft and unfortunate things began to happen.”

“Such as?” Imogen prompted.

He hunched forward. “If your headmistress is displeased with me now, she would be furious if I discussed this further. You are too young for such dark subjects.”

Evelina and Imogen exchanged an exasperated glance. How did it get darker than a severed arm?

“But why did you send the parcel?” Evelina asked. “We just want to know.”

“Mrs. Roberts cannot abide the thought of anything that might besmirch her precious academy’s reputation. The woman is wilfully blind to the truth.” His brows lowered, forbidding questions. “No one listens to an old dodderer like me, but I found proof. So I sent it with Mary today. I had to. I’ve gone lame, like an old horse. Turned my ankle running like a fool. Too old for that.”

“You say you warned Mrs. Roberts. Warned her of what?” Evelina pushed.

Dr. Larch buried his face in his palms for a long moment, then dragged them away, sucking in a deep breath. “She must cancel the ball. To insist on a dance is the height of folly. And at night, no less—too many young people being careless, wandering about in the dark. Impossible. Unthinkable.”

“Why?” Evelina asked.

He clasped his knobbly hands together, almost wringing them in his distress. “I will call for the carriage and send you back to the academy at once. You girls must be inside before dark.”

Dark was hours away. Evelina knelt before the rector’s chair, catching his gaze, willing him to be calm. She put a hand on his arm, but he was so overwrought, the touch made him start violently. She pulled her fingers away.

“What is going on?” she asked.

He shook his head. “If you are truly innocent, and I pray that you are, don’t ask me to destroy that precious state. Some things you simply do not want to know.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but Evelina read her defeat in his eyes. With a barely concealed sigh, she rose and cursed the fact she was a girl. There was no acceptable way that she could make herself heard and still remain a proper lady.

* * *

“How provoking,” Imogen muttered. “I so dislike it when people tell me what I do and don’t want to know.”

Despite the offer of a ride back to the school, they walked. It was cold, but Evelina needed to clear her head. Halfway home, it started to rain, but they had so much to discuss that the girls barely noticed the wet, even though both were shivering.

“Dr. Larch said unfortunate things had been happening,” said Evelina. “I wonder what he meant.”

“There’s always gossip,” Imogen offered. “A fox got at the dovecot. And the kitchen girl, Jenny, had it from the vegetable boy that there was a to-do at the Cannon residence last night. Something got at the horses. A groom saw an ape running away. Or maybe a hound.”

“A hound?” Evelina said in surprise.

“Or an ape. He wasn’t certain if it had two or four legs.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?”

Imogen waved away the question. “What does a giant hound or ape or whatnot have to do with Dr. Larch and love spells?”

It was a good question, but Evelina found the incident troubling. In fact, she mused all through the damp walk back to the school. Tom Cannon’s grave, and Tom Cannon’s horses. Coincidence?

“Tell me about the fox,” she said to Imogen.

Imogen sneezed. The chill weather was finally telling on her. “Some birds went missing four or five nights ago.”

Evelina winced. That would have been right before the full of the moon and prime time for working a spell. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

They’d reached the academy, and there would be no more privacy to talk before the evening meal. Imogen squeezed her hand—their signal that they’d pick up the conversation later—and they ran up the stairs to change before Mrs. Roberts could inquire where they had been.

The senior girls had rooms of their own. They were small, barely holding a narrow bed and a chest of drawers, but the privacy was a hard-won privilege after years sharing with up to four others at a time. Evelina saw a box sitting on her bed, tied with string and labeled—sure signs that it had been delivered by post.

In an instant, she forgot that she was cold and damp. She hurried forward to examine the arrival. A glance at the writing told her it had come from Grandmamma Holmes.

It was a large box, four feet wide at least. Room enough for a letter inside—and no matter
what else the parcel held, it was that personal note Evelina wanted. She
had
to know where she was to go once the graduation dance was over. Given her unconventional relationship with her grandmamma, she could assume nothing.