The Midnight Witch (47 page)

“Really? Tell me more.”

“You could look a little more pleased.”

“Don’t play games with me, Smith. I have no time for such nonsense.”

“You do surprise me. I have always thought of you as the consummate games player. As you wish.” He sits forward on the leather sofa, his excitement clear now. “Last night I attended the opening of an exhibition of paintings by a new artist by the name of Bram Cardale. Ring any distant bells?”

“The artist who lived for a time in the house you inhabit, with Richard Mangan. He was, for a short while, I recollect, romantically linked, shall we say, to Lilith Montgomery.”

“The very same.”

“I understood he left London some time before the war and the two were no longer in contact.”

“Your information is correct, but no longer current. I saw dear Bram with the Lazarus witch at the gallery, and it was plain for all to see that they are in love. So much so that they were unable to hide the fact, despite her being engaged to Louis Harcourt. I anticipate news of her breaking off that connection imminently.”

“And you think we can use this … Cardale, this painter, we can use him to persuade the Montgomery girl to finally give us what we want? She loved her brother, but a similar ploy was unsuccessful, you will recall.”

“Oh, we all recall that, my dear Stricklend. But then, you see, we had it the wrong way around. We did away with the duke in order to bring the girl to heel. I propose we turn the tables.”

Stricklend feels the first tingle of real excitement as he realizes his spy might just have hit upon possibly the only way Lilith Montgomery would reveal the Great Secret. She would not tell it to him, not even for love, after what happened with Freddie. But she might just reveal it to her lover, given the right set of circumstances. All Stricklend has to do is bring those circumstances about, and he knows he will savor every minute of doing so.

26.

The rose garden in Regent’s Park looks particularly beautiful in the early summer sunshine. It is really too soon for the roses to be at their best, but there are buds aplenty, and sufficient blooms for the warm air to be filled with their sweet scent. Louis and I sit, not quite touching, on a green iron bench among the flower beds. Children have been brought out to play, and dash along the paths in their pretty spring clothes. A family of doves is busy nesting in the dovecote, cooing softly, flying hither and thither collecting moss to line their nests.

There is a tangible sadness emanating from Louis. I have given him back the engagement ring and he turns it over and over in his hand. The solitaire diamond flares in the sunshine. When at last he speaks his voice is low and has lost its usual brightness.

“Why did you choose to break my heart in such a delightful place, Lily? I have always been fond of the rose gardens, and now you have ruined them for me forever.”

I can think of nothing to say in reply. A small boy runs past, chasing a squirrel which is adept at keeping tantalizingly out of his reach. He is wearing a dark blue sailor suit and has an unruly muddle of curly blond hair which bounces as he runs. A girl in a crisp white pinafore and sunny yellow dress hurries after him, calling his name. I wonder if Louis is thinking of the children we will never have together.

“I cannot go ahead with the wedding, Louis. I care about you too much to marry you when … It wouldn’t be right.”

“We could have been happy, I know it. I love you terribly, you believe that, don’t you? And we understand each other, you and I. We have grown up together. Our families are close. We move in the same circles. Dash it all, Lilith, we are both witches.”

“Louis…”

“It has to be said. You don’t seem to want to face facts. And the biggest, plainest fact of all is that you are Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven, Lilith Montgomery. It is who … it is
what
you are.” He hesitates before going on, struggling to compose himself, wrestling with his own emotions so as not to let his hurt and anger make him speak harshly. “
I
know what that means. I understand. I can support you.” When I say nothing he goes on. “Does he even know? Have you told him?”

I hesitate and then nod.

“Good Lord, Lilith! How much have you told him?”

“As yet, not a great deal.”

“Then you have had these feelings for some time indeed. When?” he asks suddenly. “When did you tell him?”

“Before the war. Before … before what happened with Freddie. After that I came to think that it was impossible. That it would be wrong to allow a non-witch into my life in such a way.”

He runs his hand through his hair and for a moment I think he will actually begin to weep. “All this time … You sent him away, but you never stopped loving him, did you?”

I shake my head slowly. I close my eyes to shut out the pain I have inflicted.

“Lily, for pity’s sake, have a care. There are very few non-witches who know of the existence of the Lazarus Coven. You don’t know this … artist well at all. You said yourself you haven’t had any contact with him for years. You haven’t met his family…”

“I know how I feel about him.”

“And those feelings may very well be affecting your view of what is sensible and what is not.”

“I’m sorry if you don’t like the idea of my telling him about the coven.”

“This has nothing to do with what I do or do not like!” he snaps, perhaps more firmly than he had intended. He takes a breath, then says again, “Nothing at all. I only urge caution.”

We fall to silence once more, and it is a quiet filled with regret and sadness. A young couple stroll by, arm in arm, with eyes only for each other. Somewhere nearby a dog barks.

A wood pigeon in the tree behind us starts to sing.

Louis says flatly, “You must love him very much.”

I cannot look at him or I shall cry.

“I am sorry, Louis. Truly, I am.”

“So am I, Lily,” he says, turning to gaze out over the roses. “So am I.”

*   *   *

Bram is early for his rendezvous with Lilith. He knew he would be, as he set off from Mangan’s house, but he is so eager to see her, so happy at the thought of being with her, he is almost light-headed with it. He could not stand a minute more pacing his old attic room, and so walked briskly through the streets to Fitzroy Square. Lilith had warned him that although the house had been cleared, the site had not yet been built upon and that it was a disturbing scene. Still he is not prepared for the impact the place has on him. The garden square remains undamaged, as does the run of houses on two sides of the square. The remainder of the houses are gone. Some, like Number One, were obliterated when the bomb fell. Others were so destabilized by the blast and the ensuing fires that they had to be taken down. Most of the rubble has been removed, but the street resembles nothing so much as an enormous open wound. The crater has been filled in, leaving only an impression of it, an indentation. Bram stands with his toes at the edge of it, wondering that anyone could have survived such devastation. Lilith told him she was in the chamber, far beneath the house, but he has since learned that few who were there that day lived through the bombing. He feels a coldness wash over him at the thought of Lilith lying crushed and trapped far below the surface, with him thousands of miles away. How terrible it would have been for her to die like that. For him to lose her like that.

“Hard to imagine there was ever a house here.”

The sound of Lilith’s voice startles him. He turns to find her standing behind him. She is dressed in a simple dark green dress with slender shoulder straps, a low waist, and a hemline that stops well above her slim ankles. It is made of chiffon over a silk underdress, so that it shimmers and floats as she moves. Two delicately stitched dragonflies are embroidered onto the neckline. She wears short pale-mint gloves, and a particularly fetching cloche hat of a brighter green, with her shiny, blunt-cut hair just visible underneath it. She could be any smartly dressed, fashionable young woman, but she is not.

She is Lilith. My Lilith.

“You look wonderful,” he tells her. “Completely wonderful. But a little sad. It must be difficult for you, coming back here.”

“It is. Although it reminds me how lucky I am to be alive. Others in the house were not so fortunate.”

“It is difficult to believe anyone could have emerged from such wreckage.”

“I was deep underground.”

“In the special chamber, is that what you called it?”

“The Great Chamber.” Lilith steps close to him and slips her hand through his arm. “Come along,” she says, “it wouldn’t do for us to be late.”

She leads him back to the motor cab she has waiting and they leave the wreckage of the square behind them. It is a glorious day, the sky bridesmaid’s blue, the parks in bloom and the trees in full leaf. Along their route this prettiness is interrupted now and again by gaps where a house has been obliterated, the space in the street jarring like the shocking glimpse of a missing tooth. As they travel through Holborn, Lilith points to an unremarkable church.

“St. Mary’s,” she tells him.

“The convent where you helped out?”

“Yes. The nuns are marvelous. I admire them enormously, Bram.” She squeezes his hand so that he studies her face for the meaning behind her words. “If I were ever in need of a safe place, the convent is where I should go. I would trust them with the most precious of things. Always,” she says. “You will remember that, won’t you?”

He nods, smiling. Uncertain why she is telling him this, but recognizing that it is important to her. “I’ll remember,” he says.

They journey on down to the Thames and along the embankment for a mile or so before turning along a row of graceful Victorian town houses in Chelsea. The cab driver pulls up outside a tall, redbrick building, and a footman hurries out of the house to open the cab door for Lilith. Bram joins her on the pavement and feels a nervousness take hold of him.

“It will be all right,” Lilith assures him. “They won’t bite.”

“Is reading minds another of your hidden talents, then?”

Lilith smiles. “I rather think it was your face I read.”

“I had hoped I appeared calm and confident.”

“I’m sure you do, to other people.”

Together they enter the London residence of Lord Grimes. They are taken directly through the restrained yet expensive decor of the hall and out via French windows to the long walled garden at the back of the house. Outside, all is genteel elegance and enjoyment, and reminds Bram of the way things were done before the war. Liveried servants move swiftly and silently among the guests, silver platters held high, wordlessly distributing ice-cold champagne cocktails and delicate canapés. There is a gentle murmur of polite conversation. When Lilith had asked Bram to attend the garden party with her, she had told him that all those attending—aside from Bram himself—would be members of the Lazarus Coven. The many hours she had spent attempting to explain to him what that meant, what her life as a witch was like, had left him in no doubt that these were not ordinary people. His own experiences of Lilith’s magic, and his suffering at the fearsome power of the Dark Spirit, have shown him vivid glimpses of the other world that they inhabit. Even so, standing among the pretty flower beds and lawns, sipping his cool drink from a fine crystal glass, watching the smartly turned-out men and exquisitely dressed women chatting happily, it is hard to accept that he is, in fact, surrounded by witches.

And the woman I love is one of them.
The thought is no longer new to him, yet each time he considers it he finds it freshly amazing.

Lilith gently steers him into the midst of her fellows. She is at once greeted warmly by their host. She kisses his cheek.

“Lord Grimes, allow me to introduce you to my friend, Bram Cardale.”

“Ah, the artist!” He offers Bram a firm handshake. “Delighted you could come to my little gathering. Lilith speaks so very highly of you, I am exceptionally pleased to meet you at last.”

“It was kind of you to invite me, Lord Grimes. You have a very beautiful garden.”

“Oh, nothing to do with me, I assure you. My gardener won’t let me so much as prune a rose, so alas I can take no credit.”

“Lilith, darling!” A bent and arthritic woman swathed in layers of diaphanous pink fabric, her hair rigidly waved, descends upon them, arms outstretched. Behind her a straight-backed elderly woman turns a piercing gaze onto the newcomer.

Lilith whispers in Bram’s ear. “Brace yourself, my love.” She turns to smile at the pair and then says, clearly and firmly, raising her voice just a notch so that all may hear, “Victoria, Druscilla, may I present Mr. Bram Cardale. Bram, you are now in the company of two of the most gifted witches you will ever meet.”

Idle chatter is abruptly replaced by stunned silence.

Bram and Lilith rehearsed this moment, and she had been at pains to have him understand the impact it would have. Certainly he is acutely conscious of the sudden alteration in the mood of the party. That a non-witch be invited to a social event of coven members is unusual but not without precedent. That the Head Witch should choose that occasion to break the vow of secrecy, to boldly expose her fellow witches, to show that she has spoken of the coven to one from the Outerworld, is shocking in the extreme.

“What is this?” Victoria is already trembling with outrage.

Lord Grimes hurries to Lilith’s side. “Morningstar…” he begins, and then realizes his own slip and corrects himself, “… Lilith. Have a care.”

She smiles at him and then addresses the guests. “Now that I have your attention, I would like all of you to meet Bram Cardale, the man I intend marrying. He is a non-witch, but he will be my partner through life, and I will not lie to him. I will not keep the greater half of myself a secret from him.”

“Faith in silence!”
shouts one elderly male witch from the far side of the lawn. “That is our creed.”

Victoria is shaking her head solemnly. “I believe our Head Witch has lost her mind along with her heart.”

Others begin to voice their disapproval. Bram takes Lilith’s hand in his.