The Master of Heathcrest Hall (23 page)

Just as he had known that the Wyrdwood, as well as those who could hear its call and shape its actions, might have a role to play when that darkness came. He had to have believed that, for else why would he have worked through the Inquiry to guard and keep watch over the Wyrdwood, as well as the witches who were called to it?

She did not need to speak these things to Mr. Quent. It was clear from his expression that his understanding was one with her own.

“Lord Rafferdy was very wise,” she said. “And the work of the Inquiry is more important than ever.”

Mr. Quent’s rounded shoulders seemed to slump a bit, as if a weight rested upon them. “So it is. And it is for that reason only that I am willing to go subject myself to the scrutiny of Assembly.”

Ivy felt a sudden anticipation, though whether it was of something good or ill she could not say. She rose from her chair. “What do you mean?”

“Just a short while ago I learned that, as we have long suspected might be the case, Lord Valhaine has nominated me for the post of lord inquirer. As a result, I am to be called before the Hall of Magnates to testify, so that my suitability for the position can be judged.”

“Your suitability?” Ivy exclaimed. “But who could possibly be more suited to be lord inquirer than yourself? Nor can I imagine
that Lord Rafferdy would have wished for anyone but yourself to succeed him. I am certain it is merely a formality.”

Mr. Quent nodded. “It is a formality, yes, but one that cannot be escaped. It is the purview of the Crown to arrange special commissions at its will—commissions such as the Inquiry or the Gray Conclave. But it is also the right of the Hall of Magnates, as set down in the Grand Charter, to advise the Crown in such matters, and to give its approval of them.”

“But how can they withhold their consent?” Ivy said. “They cannot possibly do so, not when the nation is in such great need.”

“It is not the matter of their consent that worries me, but rather that of their questions.” His voice went suddenly low, as if someone might be listening to them. “It is as I told you before—there are those within the government who would not condone the way I conducted matters in Torland last year.”

Ivy shivered as a chill crept along her skin; the fire had burned down on the hearth and was in want of more coal.

Last year, Mr. Quent had gone to Torland and had succeeded in stopping the Risings by capturing the witch who had been aiding the rebels there. Only then he had let her go when she agreed to cease inciting the Wyrdwood. It had been the quickest and surest way to bring an end to the Risings and to prevent further deaths. But it was possible some might not view it that way, that they would instead accuse him of making a bargain with the enemy.

Some time after the Risings, Lady Shayde had gone to Torland to investigate for herself what had taken place there. Though the matter of the Wyrdwood—and thus the matter of witches—was under the purview of the Inquiry, the Gray Conclave was ever interested in the topic, and Lady Shayde was one of its chief agents. It was the purpose of the Gray Conclave to seek out all threats to the sovereignty and safety of the Crown, and it no doubt perceived such a peril in the Wyrdwood.

Only Mr. Quent had hastened to Torland ahead of Lady Shayde to put matters in order. Which meant she could not know what
had occurred there. Besides, the White Lady served at the pleasure of Lord Valhaine, and it was Valhaine who had nominated Mr. Quent for the post of lord inquirer.

“I am sure the magnates will have few questions for you,” she said, making her voice light. “They no doubt have many other matters to concern them. And Lord Valhaine would not have nominated you if he had thought there was any concern about undue scrutiny.”

He did not utter an agreement with this logic, but nor did he refute it.

“How long will it be until you must testify before Assembly?”

“A half month, though I would rather it was not so soon. I will need to prepare myself, and I have much work to see to as it is.”

Despite the seriousness of the matter, Ivy could only laugh. “But I am astonished by you, Mr. Quent!”

The creases on his forehead deepened again, though with a more quizzical expression this time. “How so?”

She brushed a curl of brown hair away from that furrowed brow. “I am sure another man would be eager to prove himself worthy of such a post, and would have at the ready many reasons why he was deserving of it. Especially knowing that another title, one even higher yet, might well be bestowed upon him if he were to win the appointment. Yet you want only to do your work, and seek no such accolades.”

“I have no need of accolades or titles, Mrs. Quent,” he said, pulling her toward him. “I have all that I need in you.”

Ivy could not help but be pleased with this answer. All the same, she affected a disinterested tone. “That is your belief, perhaps. But that you will receive such things as you wish from me is not
confirmed
, Mr. Quent. I will need to interview you myself.”

His coarse beard parted as he grinned, and he looked, as he sometimes did, like some wild faun out of Tharosian myth. “Oh? And for what position shall I be interviewed?”

“Allow me to explain it to you.”

She stood upon her toes to kiss him—and then those same toes quickly left the floor as he swept her up in his embrace.

S
HORTLY AFTER DAWN CAME, Ivy departed the house on Durrow Street in the cabriolet.

Lawden had put up the calash top, for the morning was dim. A rain drizzled down from clouds that were so low they touched the heights of the Crag, and the Citadel was all but lost among sheaths of gray. All the same, the streets were busy with carriages and carts, and people on horseback or on foot. The umbral had again been long, and no matter the damp or chill, people were eager to get out and conduct their business while they might.

Ivy had business to conduct herself, for she at last had an opportunity to go to Mr. Mundy’s shop. She had checked her father’s journal diligently each umbral and lumenal these last days, but no further entries had appeared to explain why he wanted her to seek out his former compatriots from the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye. Yet she had to believe Mr. Mundy would be able to offer some clue regarding the matter.

Provided he would let her into his shop. The toadish little man had been anything but cordial to her the last time she had encountered him. But at the time she had not known he had once been a friend of her father’s, and likewise he had not known she was Mr. Lockwell’s daughter. Thus she had every hope that things would be more amicable this time.

As Lawden navigated the cabriolet through the cramped streets of the Old City, Ivy turned her attention to the folded note on her lap. It had arrived at the house just as she was going out the door. Usually she would have left any correspondence to read upon her return, but seeing the bold and attractive, though somewhat careless, penmanship with which the address was written, she had taken it from Mrs. Seenly.

Opening it now, she saw that it was indeed from Mr. Rafferdy, as she had expected. It was very brief, as was his typical style.

My dear Mrs. Quent
, it began. This was in accord with their prior agreement to continue addressing each other as Mr. or Mrs. rather than Lord or Lady.
I have just been commanded to present
myself at Lady Marsdel’s when evening falls today—whenever that might happen to be. As I am far down on the list of her ladyship’s favor, I am sure that those who are higher upon it must also be summoned. Thus consider yourself fairly warned! I hope this notice will allow you to avoid this doom, as I myself have not
.

The note was signed simply
R
.

Ivy smiled as she folded the note again. She had learned that Mr. Rafferdy seldom asked in a plain way for anything he wanted. Rather, he would pretend not to wish for a thing, preferring it to be spontaneously offered to him instead. In this case, it was clear he was letting her know that he would be at Lady Marsdel’s in hopes she would be tempted to go herself.

Which, of course, she was. It had been some time since she had gone to her ladyship’s, for with Mr. Quent away it had been her duty to entertain their guest. But with Dr. Lawrent now departed, and Mr. Quent returned to the city, there was no reason she could not go. If Mr. Rafferdy was unable to avoid this doom, then as a friend it was her duty to join him in it.

The cabriolet jostled to a halt. Ivy looked out and saw they were on the edge of Greenly Circle. A moment later Lawden appeared at the door.

“Forgive me, my lady,” the driver said in his characteristically soft voice, “but I don’t know that I can maneuver the carriage any farther. I fear that if I do, I will never extract it again.”

Ivy suspected he was right. Greenly Circle was thronged with people who were making their way among various stalls and carts. There was barely room enough to walk, let alone drive.

She told Lawden that she could go on foot the remainder of the way. His hesitation to agree to this was evident upon his homely face, but she assured him that she would be very well. After all, it was daylight, and there were many people about.

Lawden gave a reluctant nod, then opened the door of the cabriolet. Ivy instructed him to wait where she might easily see him, then made her way along the periphery of Greenly Circle. Even keeping to the edges of the broad circle, she was forced to wend her way among knots of people gathered before various stalls offering
apples or eggs or candles. Though from what Ivy could tell, most of the vendors seemed to have more customers than they did goods to sell, and she was witness to more than a few angry exchanges and shaken fists as she passed.

Ivy did not linger, and she soon found herself starting down the lane on which Mr. Mundy’s shop lay. At once sooty buildings closed in above, shutting out the greater part of the light that seeped from the dull sky. The bustle of Greenly Circle became a muffled drone behind her, and the sound of her footsteps skittered ahead along the narrow way, which was barren of people. Suddenly Ivy felt less certain that it had been a good choice to leave Lawden and the cabriolet behind.

Well, she was here now, and not far ahead she glimpsed a sign above a door. The light was just sufficient that she could make out the faded silver outline of a staring eye painted upon the sign. Lifting the hem of her gown off the cobbles, she hurried toward it.

Yet when she reached the door, Ivy found herself reluctant to push it open. She stepped to one side and peered through the windows of the shop, but they were even grimier than the last time she had been there, so that she could glimpse only a few indistinct shapes through them.

She went back to the door, its blue paint flaking as if it were afflicted with some scabrous malady. What would she say to Mr. Mundy? Should she tell him how she had learned her father wanted her to seek out his old friends from the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye? That might not be wise, given that Mr. Lockwell had intended the journal for her and no other.

She would not tell Mr. Mundy everything right off, Ivy decided. It would be best simply to say that she knew the time had come to make contact with her father’s former compatriots, and then see what Mr. Mundy volunteered on his own. Resolved, she gripped the doorknob and pushed.

The door did not budge. Ivy tried again, giving it all her strength, but still the door did not open, nor would the knob turn.

Ivy stared stupidly at the door. So intent had she been on finding
an opportunity to go to Mr. Mundy’s magick shop that she had never considered he would not be there when she did! And it seemed peculiar that his shop was closed after the long umbral. Though now that she considered it, what with the practice of magick now being regulated by the Gray Conclave, perhaps it was not so unexpected after all.

Hoping he was perhaps within, even if the shop was closed, Ivy knocked upon the door. She waited, then knocked again, harder this time. However, the door remained shut, and she heard no sound behind nor saw any glimmer of light through the dirty windowpanes.

At last she was forced to surrender. If Mr. Mundy was in his shop, he was not answering. Yet she had the feeling that he was not there. Now that she noticed it, there was a large drift of refuse piled before the door—old leaves and crumpled pages from broadsheets matted together by rain. It gave the feeling that no one had opened the door for some time. Perhaps Mr. Mundy had left the city, as so many others had.

In which case, she had little more knowledge of his whereabouts than she did that of Fintaur or Larken. The gloom that filled the lane now settled into Ivy’s chest, as if she had been breathing it in all this while. It was time to return to the cabriolet; Lawden would be wondering where she was.

She turned back down the lane and emerged once more into Greenly Circle. The traffic was so thick that there was no going against it to return by the route she had come, and instead she was forced to move with it, though this meant going the long way around. Even this was no easy feat, and when a lorry suddenly rattled past her, she was forced to press herself against the window of a bookshop to avoid being trampled.