The Master of Heathcrest Hall (62 page)

“But now what will we do?” he said aloud, and though he had not meant it as a question for the other man, the fellow answered anyway.

“Who’s to say? But you can bet the Black Dog will be clamping his jaw down on the city tighter than ever now.”

Yes, he would.

“Damn it, can’t a man get in this place to get a cup?” the red-faced
fellow growled, then tried to use his bulk to force his way into the coffeehouse.

Eldyn continued down the street, wending his way through the throng of people. Where any of them thought they were going, he didn’t know. It was not likely the soldiers were letting people in or out of the city, not with news like this. Perhaps, he thought, they merely wanted to be out of their houses, to feel that they were part of such consequential events.

“Mr. Garritt!”

Eldyn was nearly to the door of the theater when he heard, over the clatter of hooves and wheels and boots, someone calling out his name. Was it Madame Richelour? It was a woman’s voice. Only it was higher-pitched than hers, and it came not from the direction of the theater, but from behind him. He turned around.

And stared at a dark-haired young woman in an ivory dress bedecked with ribbons as pink as her lips and cheeks.

“Miss Lockwell?” he said, dumbfounded.

“Mr. Garritt, it is you after all!” Lily cried, closing the last distance to him. “I’ve been running after you for what seems a mile! I was beginning to think my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

So did he. “But what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course. Only I thought I would never find you. I went all along the street, showing people the picture I made.”

She waved a piece of paper for emphasis. In a brief flutter, he saw it bore a skillfully done drawing of a young man with dark hair and eyes. It was a face he recognized well from looking in the mirror.

“I was sure someone here had to know you. But everyone was utterly awful and would hardly even speak to me. I was in a great despair. Only then I turned and was sure that I saw you walking up ahead, so I hurried after. And now I see that I wasn’t mistaken.”

She was beaming now, her eyes very bright, though with what emotion he could not say.

“Oh, Mr. Garritt!” she exclaimed, and then flung her arms
around him in the most familiar manner. “I am very glad to see you.”

And Eldyn was so astonished that he could do nothing but return the unexpected embrace.

I
VY WOKE in a tangle of bedclothes.

She sat up in bed, pushing damp curls of hair from her face. Hot light spilled through the window, for she had forgotten to draw the curtains before going to bed, and the room was sweltering.

Perhaps it was the feverish heat that had induced the nightmares she had been lost in. What they had involved, she was not certain, for already the phantasms were evaporating in the searing light. It seemed to her that she had been caught among a web of black branches that coiled around her body. But it was just the sheets and blankets that were twisted around her. Nor did she have need to sleep to become caught in nightmares. For now that she was awake, she found herself in what seemed another awful dream.

Only it wasn’t a dream, was it? For it was morning, and she was fully, terribly awake. Ivy threaded her hand through the tangled bedclothes, groping among them. But the other side of the bed was empty, just as it had been when she laid down.

With some effort, she extracted herself from the bed, then went to the window, blinking against the harsh light. The bulbous orb of the sun hung low in the sky like an overripe fruit. She had never seen it so large or so crimson before. The trees in the garden drooped beneath its fiery glare.

Ivy pulled the curtains shut, then went to the bureau to splash
water on her face and make herself ready for the day. Yet for what exactly was she readying herself? Yesterday afternoon, after driving her back from Barrowgate, Mr. Rafferdy had deposited her at the front gate of the house. She had been so entirely numb that she had not been able to thank him for what he had done for her, or even to say good-bye to him. Instead, she had gone through the gate and stumbled up the walk. But she had not entered the house. Instead, she had stood there how long she knew not, staring at the door, gripped by a paralysis and unable to enter.

She might have been there still when night fell had Mrs. Seenly not opened the door, having seen her through a window. The housekeeper brought her in, leading her like a small child, and took her to the parlor and brought her a cup of tea.

This revived Ivy sufficiently that she had been able to speak in a somewhat coherent fashion when her sisters came in, asking about her ordeal. Ivy had attempted to describe things in a fashion that would not seem entirely bleak, but evidently she failed, for Rose burst into tears.

Seeing her sister in such need lent Ivy a strength she had not thought she possessed, and she had tried to reassure Rose. But it seemed Miss Mew was the only one who could comfort her, and taking up the cat in her arms, Rose fled the parlor. In contrast to their middle sister, Lily shed no tears and seemed oddly composed, though her round face was uncharacteristically solemn. She had taken Ivy’s hand in her own, clasping it tight.

“I’m frightened, Lily,” Ivy had whispered then. It seemed improper to confess such a thing to her youngest sister, but she could not help herself. “I’m so terribly frightened, and I don’t know what to do.”

“But you will,” Lily had said, and squeezed her hand. “You always know what to do, Ivy. That’s what makes you so marvelous, and it’s why we all love you so much. You’ll find a way to take care of Rose, and Father, too, because you must.”

Ivy had nodded, though she didn’t know how she would achieve such a thing, or how she would manage to do anything but collapse to the floor and never rise up again.

“What of you, dearest?” she had managed to say at last, brushing a dark lock of hair from the pretty oval of Lily’s face.

A small, serious line appeared between Lily’s dark brows. “Oh, you do not need to have a concern for me, Ivy. I will be very well, I assure you.”

And with that she had departed the parlor.

Had she had more presence of mind at the time, Ivy might have thought these words peculiar. But she had been too exhausted to think of anything. Her sisters both retired to their rooms without taking supper, and Ivy did the same. Once she had rested, she would know what to do, just like Lily said. At least, that was what she had told herself.

Only now it was morning, and she felt no less heavy and tired than yesterday. Rather, she felt heavier than ever, for now that she was finally able to think, she could at last consider what it was Mr. Quent had said just before the soldier removed her from the chamber. What had he been trying to tell her in those last moments, after he told her the story of his youth and his night in the Wyrdwood?

Sometimes you must be willing to lose something precious to you in order to escape
, he had said,
and to endure.…

A knock came at the door, and Ivy let out a gasp. She hastily dried her face, then turned around.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and Mrs. Seenly entered bearing a tray of tea. Despite the heat of the morning, Ivy gladly accepted a cup in trembling hands and took a sip.

“Will you be going up to Madstone’s today, ma’am?” Mrs. Seenly said. “Or will you be staying at home again?”

Ivy stared for a moment, then at last comprehended the question. Of course—the quarter month had fled by, and it was visiting day at Madstone’s again. She had foregone the previous visit, much as it had caused her regret not to see her father. Yet she had not wanted to be away from the house, not when she knew Mr. Bennick had returned to the city.

So far he had not presented himself, but no doubt he was scheming for the right moment. He had murdered Mr. Larken and Mr. Fintaur for their fragments of the keystone, and it was only a matter of time before he came in search of the piece belonging to her father. So she had remained at the house, for fear that he would approach Lily or Rose if she was away. It was only the great importance of going to see Mr. Quent yesterday that had caused her to leave the house for a while. She dared not risk it again.

“No, I do not think I will be going to Madstone’s,” she answered at last.

Again, this gave her a regret, but she knew it was the right choice. Her father was safe behind the locked gates and iron doors of the hostel. It was better that she stay here at the house, in the event Mr. Bennick chose today to show himself.

“As you wish, ma’am,” Mrs. Seenly said. “I will see that breakfast is set out. Though I fear it will be very poor. I do not think there is a fresh egg or pint of milk to be had in the city that has not gone to the soldiers!”

A short while later, Ivy descended to the second floor. She wore her lightest dress of green lawn and had put up her hair, but still she felt hot, for the air in the house was stuffy and close. She went into the dining room off the large gallery and found Rose there, twirling a spoon in her teacup. Despite the sickness in her heart, she attempted a smile for her sister’s sake.

“Good morning, dearest,” Ivy said, sitting at the table, but Rose did not look up from her cup. “Have you seen Lily?” Ivy tried again.

Rose shook her head. “Her door was closed when I passed her room.” She continued to stir her tea.

“Well, I’ll go see if she is awake,” Ivy said, rising again. “She should not still be sleeping in this heat. It will give her a headache.”

Ivy was glad to have any excuse to think of someone other than herself at the moment. She left the dining room and passed through the great space of the second-floor gallery toward the
stairs. As she did, a flutter of motion caught her eyes. She glanced to her left—

—then halted. Across the gallery, sunlight fell upon the door Arantus, illuminating the glossy wooden leaves that covered its ornate surface. Its twin, the door Tyberion, was concealed beneath wood and plaster in the opposite wall, but Ivy had left Arantus uncovered. She had no fear someone might try to open it, for she kept the key locked in the Wyrdwood box in the library. Besides, it was beautiful, and it always gave her pleasure to look at it, for it reminded her of the Evengrove.

Only it was not a pleasure she felt now as she gazed at the door. The leaves carved upon it trembled and shook as if they felt the force of a gale. Even as she watched, wooden tendrils spread outward from the door, coiling up the walls and creeping across the floor of the gallery, as if the door itself was taking root and growing. It was impossible, of course.

But then, she always saw impossible things when
he
was near.

Her heart beating rapidly, Ivy hurried to one of the windows. She looked down into the garden, and there he was, standing near the little grove of hawthorn and chestnut trees. His black mask was turned up toward the windows. Its mouth was twisted in a grimace. At first she thought perhaps it was an expression of anger, only then she heard his voice in her mind, and she knew what the look upon the mask really was.

It was anguish.

Your father is not safe
, the masked man’s words came to her by some unknown means.
You must go to him
.

A fresh terror came over Ivy. Though she still did not know his purposes, she knew the man in the strange black garb had never lied to her. She had to go to her father at once.

“But what if Mr. Bennick comes for the fragment?” she managed to speak aloud.

You are not so clever as you believe
. His harsh words sounded in her mind.
You have made assumptions that are profoundly in error. Matters are not as you think
.

Ivy shook her head. “Then help me to understand.”

There is no time to explain things if you do not already understand. You must go to your father. Now!

These last words were a growl of anger so fierce she half-believed she really heard them with her ears. Then, with what seemed a rather unnecessary flourish of his frilled black cape, he turned and prowled across the garden, disappearing from view.

Ivy stared through the glass for a moment, then she turned and ran downstairs, finding Mrs. Seenly in the front hall.

“What is it, ma’am?” the housekeeper asked, looking up from her dusting.

“Tell Lawden to ready the carriage,” Ivy said, breathlessly. “I am going to Madstone’s after all today, and at once.”

I
VY HARDLY SAT upon the bench of the cabriolet. Rather, she gripped the edge with white hands, and her arms were so straight and rigid that she was all but suspended by them above the surface of the bench. While sometimes she heard the cadence of marching boots above the noise of hooves and wheels, she saw nothing of the scenes that passed outside the carriage; it was all a blur. Instead, her vision was turned inward as her mind raced from one terror to the next. She did not know whom to fear for most, her husband or her father. That one faced dire peril knowingly, while the other could only be oblivious, made no difference in the end.