Whisper of Magic (16 page)

“We used to have a potboy with a crippled arm. He managed
just fine.” Faced with a problem she might handle, Celeste gained a little more
confidence. “If you don’t mind, let’s take them down to the kitchen. Cook just
made bread, and we have some fresh jam.” Celeste hoped the lady wouldn’t be insulted
by suggesting the kitchen, but she needed to introduce the children to her
unusual staff on grounds they all understood.

The two new half-Indian maids sent over by Lady McDowell were
shy, but eager to learn. Celeste had hopes the children would adapt just as
easily.

Lady Aster didn’t hesitate but ushered the children ahead of
her. “Bread and jam sound perfect. Marie, Tommy, you’re not to gawk but speak
politely to those who are about to feed us. A house like this is different from
the factory, but you will be safe here.”

Celeste swallowed hard as the little girl limped down the
stairs on her little stick without a whimper of complaint. She couldn’t see
beneath the child’s overlong skirt to see how damaged her foot might be, but
she’d heard horror stories.

“They were caught under the machines?” she asked Lady Aster
as they trailed after the children.

“Yes,” the lady hissed with fury. “In the mills. They work
the mothers from dawn to dusk—as long as there is daylight. And the mill pays
pennies for the children to slide beneath those monster machines to gather the
cotton bits that fall out. If they don’t move fast enough . . .”
She took a deep breath to calm herself. “We need laws that can be enforced!”

“And that is why it is so important to have Ashford return
to London?” Celeste asked, using her serene voice to aid the lady in regaining
her control.

“Yes, among other things,” the lady agreed with less
hysteria. “The Tories and their kind would rather repeal the laws we already
have. They claim the laws interfere with private industry, and the government
has no right to tell managers how to run their businesses. This is why the
nobility should not be in commerce!” she replied in outrage. “They must rule
the country for the best of all, not just themselves and their business
partners!”

“But Ashford is in commerce, is he not?” Celeste asked as
they reached the kitchen.

“Yes, to the extent of investing in steam engines and
trains,” the lady admitted with a sigh. “It’s a new world, and I cannot say I
like all of it.”

“The laws must change to keep up with the times. Perhaps the
government must change, too.” As she must, however reluctantly, she admitted to
herself. “Isn’t reform what the election is about?” Celeste took the hands of
both children when they stopped to gawk at the enormous cellar kitchen. They
shrank back against her skirts in fear when they spotted the kitchen’s colorful
occupants. She supposed the exotic turbans must seem as strange to the rural
children as dark complexions.

Celeste put a firm hand on each skinny shoulder and used her
best soothing tones. “Marie, Tommy, I’d like you to meet Cook and our two Marys. They are from Jamaica, a country on the other side
of the world. Can you make your bows?”

Their regal, African cook barely looked up from the pot she
was stirring as the children performed their awkward obeisance. The two young
mulatto kitchen maids, who had come to London for the adventure of traveling,
studied the children with interest but offered no greeting.

“If you don’t mind, we would like some toast and jam and a
bit of tea while we discuss where Marie and Tommy will fit in best.” Celeste
used her persuasive voice and was relieved to see the maids respond as they
would have at home. So far from her normal life, she feared everything she had
ever known had changed, but apparently she could still rely on her charm to
some extent.

Persuasion was not
evil
,
she told herself.

Alerted by whatever secret signal traveled through the
house, Jamar arrived to take charge of the latest arrivals. The household would
soon be bursting at the seams with untrained servants—as Lord Erran had warned.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Lady Aster murmured as duties and beds
were duly found. “We will need a staff just to sew uniforms for everyone at
this rate. Theo is threatening to burn down the mills, but that will scarcely
solve the problem. And the Luddites failed in that endeavor already,” she added
with her usual humor.

“As you said earlier, education is the answer,” Celeste
said, leading the way out of the kitchen. “We will see that Marie and Tommy
learn to read and write. Your Lord Ashford must write a bill that requires all
children be able to read and do sums before they can work. How can we expect
the poor souls to make a living if they can’t even count their wages?”

“Yes, that is it exactly!” Lady Aster said with enthusiasm.
“We owe you for being so willing to accept our impositions. I think this is the
beginning of a perfect working relationship. I looked up your zodiac chart the
other day. We are both on the part of cooperation right now, very strong in the
family sector.”

“Zodiac chart?” Celeste asked warily. Practical problems,
she could solve, but they were treading the unknown again.

“Yes, of course. I am the Malcolm family librarian. I keep
the genealogy of all our families. Your birth and that of your siblings was
conveyed to us before my time, but my predecessor had already started basic
charts for all of you. I amplified yours.”

That explanation only confused her more, but they had
reached the upper hall where Trevor and Sylvia awaited their shopping trip.
Rather than ask more questions, Celeste called for her cloak so they might
start out on the dreaded expedition.

Just as they were about to step into the cool morning air,
Lord Erran strode up from the back of the house, settling his top hat on his
dark curls. “The construction men have arrived. An excellent time for an
outing!”

Celeste was fairly certain he’d slept in the study again
last night. He apparently thought staying here was improper, so she bit her
tongue about his abrupt arrival in front of his sister-in-law. As much as the
gentleman’s arrogant assumptions annoyed her, she welcomed the extra security
his presence offered. For some reason, she felt certain the alley ruffians
would not attack a gentleman as they might Jamar.

“Oh, most excellent,” Lady Aster exclaimed. “You may
introduce Lord Rochester to your tailor. He will need a complete set of
everything, and you have better taste than Theo.”

“Beasts in the field have more taste than Theo,” Erran said,
offering his elbows to Aster and Celeste. “But he never emerges from his cave,
so he doesn’t offend anyone with his execrable choices. I’m confident Lord
Rochester will know precisely what suits him best, so don’t think we’ll dally
long at the tailor. We’ll have plenty of time to criticize your bonnet choices
and if you aren’t too cold, buy ices while we’re at it.”

Celeste wrapped her gloved fingers around his elbow with the
fear that she was walking to her execution. She could not imagine London modistes
would take to the oddity of her ungainly stature and too-dark features.

***

“Ah, the mademoiselle is exquisite,” the modiste
exclaimed, tilting Miss Rochester’s chin to the gray light from the window.
“The color, it must be bold to show off these eyes! And the
cut . . .” She rummaged in a drawer for a fashion doll, clucking
excitedly.

Assured that Aster’s choice of modiste had the good sense to
rave over the lady’s exotic beauty, Erran turned his attention to more serious
matters than colors, fabrics, and his disturbing need to shower the lady in all
she desired.

He had a notion that his little party was being observed by
more than the usual bored matrons. The hulk in ill-fitting gentleman’s clothes
on the corner looked out of place, and the beggar lad who had surreptitiously
trailed after Trevor to the tailor shop wasn’t behaving in character.

As a precaution, Erran sent the carriage back to the house
with a call for two sturdy footmen to join them for guard duty. There wasn’t a
great deal more he could do except stay alert.

It was possible that he was overly suspicious, but he was
relieved when the ladies finally declared themselves too exhausted to linger
over ices, especially since it was starting to rain. He ushered the ladies and
Trevor into Ashford’s equipage and mounted his steed, noting the young baron’s
wistful glance at the mare. The boy needed his own stable, but there was only
so much Erran could appropriate from the estate’s coffers for this project.

And that’s what it had to be—a project. He’d restore as much
of the Rochesters’ inheritance as he could, send them back to Jamaica if they
liked, move Ashford in, and then he’d figure out what he could do with himself
besides become a mechanic—or an evil bully. Perhaps before all that happened, he
could attend a dinner or two to see Miss Rochester in that cream silk she’d so
reluctantly purchased today.

Imagining the lady in a low-cut dinner gown instead of her
stiff, high-collared mourning gowns, Erran wasn’t paying attention to the
crowded road as he should have. He glanced up just in time to see a ragged
beggar darting around a fruit cart in the direction of Ashford’s carriage—with
a flaming object in his filthy fist.

Too much knowledge was a terrible thing. As Erran kicked his
mare into action, his mind ran wild through all the ramifications of dynamite,
gunpowder, and flame beneath a fragile carriage pulled by skittish horses.

Aiming for the narrow passage between urchin and carriage,
he spurred his mount faster, splashing mud across the well-dressed crowds on
the walks. Fixated on his goal, the boy didn’t look up until Erran was nearly
upon him. The ruffian shrieked and stumbled backward. Erran’s horse reared. And
the carriage team panicked, nearly trampling an elderly pedestrian in their
haste to escape.

The homemade bomb fell to the wet stones, the wick still
burning.

Coachmen roared curses as they reined in their teams. The
fruit cart took the corner too fast, dumping its fragile cargo on the street
for others to crush.

Erran struggled to bring his spooked mare under control—not
before nicking the boy’s arm with sharp hooves. The would-be terrorist
collapsed, screaming, into the mud—not bothering to reach for the burning bomb
rolling away.

Focused on the flame, Erran noted nothing but the seconds it
would take to dismount and stomp the wick before the bomb blew him and all
around him into bloody pieces. He could have galloped away and left it to
explode, but every cell in his body rejected that solution.

“SNUFF IT,” he shouted instinctively at the moaning boy
writhing on the ground, holding his broken arm.

The burning bottle rattled faster, reversing direction
toward the boy.

Weeping, the boy rolled over the bottle, quenching the flame
in the rain-slick street.

The bottle had
reversed direction.

And the boy had risked his wretched life to
snuff
a bomb.

Too shaken to think, Erran simply gulped air. A bobby
grabbed the injured boy and hauled him from the gutter by the scruff of his
neck.

That’s when Erran noted the pedestrians swarming out of the street
back to the walk—after they had all run to snuff a flame they hadn’t noticed
until Erran had bellowed his orders. They’d apparently obeyed his shout without
even knowing why.

Gorge rising at the horror of what had almost happened—and
what he’d done—Erran didn’t stop to watch the outcome. He galloped after the carriage
fleeing down the street.

***

Celeste clung to Trevor as the closed coach careened
through the crowd, cracking against other vehicles, causing pedestrians to flee
and cursing horsemen to wheel their horses out of the way. On the
forward-facing seat, Lady Aster was pale and gripping a strap while holding on
to Sylvia.

By the time Lord Erran caught up with them, the team was
slowing down, but Celeste wasn’t certain she could return to breathing.

She had seen what had happened and had to watch helplessly,
fearing the worst. At seeing his lordship in one piece, she inexplicably wanted
to weep and fling her arms around him. Losing their father, plus the burden of
coping these last months, had apparently made a watering pot of her.

She watched as Lord Erran rode past them to settle the team.
Instead of stopping to speak with the passengers to see if they were all right
once the vehicle quit rocking, he merely rode beside them, observing their surroundings
with a cold gaze, his square jaw set in anger.

She had seen him nearly trample a small boy carrying a
flaming object. From the furious stiffness of his lordship’s posture, Celeste
had to assume the boy had meant harm. This time, it had not just been Jamar or
herself, but her siblings and Lady Aster who had been threatened.

If Lansdowne was behind this, he did not mean for them to
have friends.

After the laughter and excitement of their shopping trip, it
was a grim reminder of their precarious situation. She glanced at Lady Aster,
who had her arm around a weeping Sylvia.

“I know Lord Erran doesn’t wish to believe an earl would be
so dastardly, but I see no one else who would benefit from terrifying us. And
if our enemy could be so callous about harming you as well as us, then it’s
quite possible it is not just us he wishes out of the way, is it? Is he a
danger to Lord Ashford?”

Lady Aster shrugged. “From what I have learned of his birth
date, the earl’s horoscope is very black, admittedly. He is not a man who likes
to be crossed. We have reason to believe Ashford’s accident was caused by men
who object to reform, but we have no proof of more.”

“I would give him our dowries if he would leave us alone,
but we cannot let him have the estate and our people,” Celeste said, as much
for her siblings’ sake as her own.