01 Sorcery and Cecelia Page 10

  "I should have sent it back to him when Dorothea left," James went on, frowning worriedly. "But there wasn't any way of getting it to London ahead of Miranda, and he did tell me to keep it until he could collect it personally."

  "You should have sent it anyway," I said, thinking of the description of Thomas's infatuation with Dorothea you gave in your last letter. It seems that even if one knows perfectly well what is going on, one cannot resist Miranda's spell.

  Mr. Tarleton shook his head stubbornly. "Last time I ignored Thomas's instructions about one of his magical things, it caused a great deal of trouble for both of us. I'm not going to do it again."

  "I think that being half strangled by a lavender ribbon could certainly be described as 'a great deal of trouble,'" I pointed out.

  "If it comes to that, you're the one who started it. You could have been killed; I think you would have, if it hadn't been for that charm-bag of yours. Where did you get it?"

  "I told you, I made it myself," I said. I picked up the velvet bag and smoothed it, frowning. "I think I had better make another as soon as I get home. Drat! I wanted to—" I remembered who I was talking to just in time and stopped short, for I had planned to spend the evening plotting some way to get inside Bedrick Hall to return Sir Hilary's book.

  "I had no idea you were a wizard," James said affably.

  "I'm not," I said crossly. "Aunt Elizabeth doesn't approve of magic. And if there are very many wizards like Miranda Griscomb, I can understand why."

  "Then how...?" He gestured toward the charm-bag.

  "I taught myself out of a book," I said. "It seemed as if it would be a good idea to have some kind of protection. Besides Canniba, of course."

  "Canniba?"

  "My brother Oliver's dog. He would be very good protection against a poacher, I think, but I doubt that he could do anything about ribbons that strangle people. Which reminds me, you never said whether you've got a knife or not. My fingers are getting tired."

  Tarleton's shoulders were shaking, but he pulled a small clasp knife from his waistcoat and gave it to me. "My dear... Miss Rushton," he said as he watched me saw the ribbon into inch-long pieces, "it seems to me that other people are more likely to need protection from you than you are to need protection from them."

  "Don't be ridiculous," I said. "I've thought and thought, but I can't come up with anything that is likely to discomfit Miranda Griscomb in the least."

  James laughed outright, but sobered quickly. "It's just as well that that's true," he said seriously. "Cecelia, don't tangle with Miranda. She's dangerous to cross."

  "It doesn't seem like it to me," I said without thinking. "She's tried twice to do something to me, and failed both times."

  "Twice?" James said sharply.

  I sighed, but there was no help for it. I told him about the almost-accident to my mare the day Dorothea left for London, making as light of it as I could under the circumstances. He looked very worried, but all he said was, "May I take your charm-bag? I want to show it to someone."

  "If you like," I said, surprised. "I'll have to make another anyway. The protective spell breaks when you open the bag."

  "I know." James was looking grim again. "Be very careful, Miss Rushton, even after you've made yourself a new charm. Who knows how many more of these pleasant little traps Miranda may have left behind her?"

  There was nothing I could say to that, so I allowed him to raise me to my feet and assist me back into the curricle. The grays had not moved, being exceptionally well trained, and we drove back to Rushton in silence. When he let me off at the door I said all that was proper, and to my surprise he requested the pleasure of my company this coming Wednesday for a similar outing. I was so astonished that I accepted without thinking.

  Mr. Wrexton called on Papa last Friday. I believe I mentioned Mr. Wrexton before; he is the gentleman Aunt E. took such a dislike to when we were visiting the Reverend Fitz last week. He and Papa spent a considerable time in the study discussing some of Papa's work. Then Mr. Wrexton visited with Aunt Elizabeth and me, which I thought very civil of him, though Aunt Elizabeth remained quite stiff the whole time. Papa even joined us after a while, and you know how uncommon that is! Usually it takes three calls before he will come to dinner, and then Aunt Elizabeth has to go and pry him away from his books.

  My last news is that Robert Penwood left on Friday in search of Mr. Griscomb. Lady Tarleton was able, after some searching, to give Robert his direction. Somewhere in Yorkshire, I believe, so it will be an unfortunately long time before we will have any news of the outcome. Still, it may serve to cheer Dorothea if she is moped.

  Your cousin, Cecy

  29 May 1817

  11 Berkeley Square, London

  Dearest Cecy,

  The one benefit of being confined to my bed by Aunt Charlotte is the breakfast tray she sends up every morning. Today it was poached eggs and streaky bacon, porridge with a pat of butter on top, strawberries and some proper toast, and a pot of tea. Georgy came in to sit on the end of my bed and steal strawberries while she told me the latest on-dit she heard last night at Almack's:

  The odious Marquis has been pursuing Dorothea as scandalously as every other young man of the Ton. He has justified his behavior by spreading the rumor that I am suffering from an inflammation of the lungs contracted after my accident and may never rise from my bed again, in short (as Georgy puts it), that I am about to cut my stick! I suppose it is preferable to the alternative, that is, of jilting or being jilted, but not much.

  I should have thought that Aunt Charlotte would try to squelch such an obvious falsehood, but she is more interested in coddling me past all possible dangers to my health. For the first few days, indeed, I was very glad to be bullied into staying in bed. But now I feel much better and am a little astonished at the sheer numbers of the handkerchiefs I have got through, the cups of beef tea, the glasses of barley water, even the hot bricks to my feet. Indeed, Aunt Charlotte appears to best advantage as a nurse, and she dealt briskly with the callers who came to inquire after my health this week, sending even Mr. Strangle to the right-about. She conceals all this kindness with threats and stern doses of Aunt Elizabeth's Special Cough Mixture, which I have never found all that horrible. I grimace and shudder to make Aunt Charlotte feel better, but really, it is no worse than ratafia, and far better than barley water.

  I hope you are not driven distracted with stitching at charm-bags. You have always been very deedy with a needle, but even you must be hard-pressed to meet the sudden demand for them. Mine, despite its wetting (for I carry it in my reticule as you advised), seems to still be good—it dried quickly and still has a pleasant aroma of herbs. I would like to scalp the odious Marquis, but I doubt he would permit me, even if it was for his own protection, so his bag remains in among my gloves and fans.

  Georgina seems to have taken it into her head that Oliver overheard her in Vauxhall Gardens and has gone off to the country as a sort of punishment for her scheming. She took it as a penance at first, but in the past day or two has begun to pout when his name enters the conversation and to say gruffly that she supposes it is only to be expected that he should find cockfighting and boxing superior diversions to spending time with her. I'm afraid that is quite true, but I know better than to agree with her.

  Miranda has been quite benign these past few days. Georgy tells me she was at Almack's, looking as though she owned the place, and that she (G.) overheard Lady Jersey tell Lady Grenville that it didn't surprise her at all that Dorothea was such a success, for Miranda Tanistry had made her debut in much the same style. I would cheerfully give my pearl eardrops (if I could only find them) to have heard the rest of their conversation, but, of course, Georgy was not able to remain beside them long. Even though every man in London may wish to partner Dorothea, she can only dance with one at a time, and so Georgina is in almost as much demand as before.

  For gossip, I know I can trust the fertility of your imagination to produce suitable material to amu
se Aunt Elizabeth. To leaven your accounts, you may wish to use a few of the following details: The notorious poetess Lady Caroline Lamb continues to scandalize society with her exploits. Lord Byron continues to scandalize Lady Caro with his uninhibited attempts to rekindle their affair. (Forgive me if my blunt language puts you to the blush. That's what gossip is for.) Young men of temperament (like Oliver) continue to dress as Lord Byron does, in the hope that, since Lady Caro modeled her famous Corsair on her friend in happier times, stylish dishevelment will give them Corsair-like appeal to young ladies of temperament.

  Lady Haseltine paints her toenails silver. Sally Jersey told Aunt Charlotte that she has only seen three girls more beautiful than Georgina and two of them married dukes. Lady Grenville thinks that one can reduce one's figure by eating only grapes. Lord Grenville drinks even more claret than most gentlemen and is far fatter. (Evidently one must eat the grapes and not drink them.) Mr. Strangle says he was at Brasenose with the Reverend Mr. Fitzwilliam. I can't help feeling very dubious of almost everything Mr. Strangle tells me.

  I can't think of anything else just now, except receipts for cold remedies, which is all I've discussed with anyone lately. Dorothea very kindly sent a basket of glazed fruit and her wishes for my good health and swift recovery. I refused to touch the fruit on the chance that Miranda had been at them, but Aunt Charlotte ate several pieces and pronounced them very good indeed. It is such a shame that Miranda has meddled so with Dorothea's natural charm. She is such a dear creature. Of course, men would call her bird-witted, but if she were at all clever, they would doubtless call her blue and turn up their noses on that account. Men can be such provoking creatures. One would think the entire world and everything in it were made only for their enjoyment and approval. I do hope Robert shows a little backbone and perseveres in his search for Mr. Griscomb, for he could not find himself a girl of more tractable nature.

  I am very concerned about your mischance during the curricle ride with James Tarleton. There seems to be no end to Miranda's ingenuity—perhaps there has been a trail of dead bodies strewn in her wake. She certainly displays a fine disregard for the consequences of her acts. Fortunately, James Tarleton seems to have the wit to see he has been grievously mistaken in your character and motivations, and enough strength of character to admit the fact. I am glad you saved his life. Nothing could give him a clearer picture of your courage and resource. But I hope you will not be quite so suddenly put on your mettle in the future.

  How odd of Aunt Elizabeth to be so stiff with Mr. Wrexton, for you know she usually finds Mr. Fitzwilliam's callers to be completely charming—even though you or I can only see that they are sadly fusty, stuffed-up bores.

  Do thank Aunt Elizabeth most particularly for the cough mixture and tell her I found it very soothing. Indeed, my cough is nearly gone and I look forward to the day when Aunt Charlotte will let me get up. While I was ill most of the dresses came from the modiste, including one of very fine white tiffany shot with gold thread. It would look better still on Georgy, of course, but it looks very well on me and I love it far better than Georgy ever could. I can scarcely wait to wear it, and will tell you every particular of the next squeeze I attend, in detail even Aunt Elizabeth would find wearisome.

  Love, Kate

  28 May 1817

  Rushton Manor, Essex

  Dearest Kate,

  Aunt Elizabeth is going to wonder at my diligence in writing, but I must get all this down before I begin forgetting the details.

  James Tarleton appeared promptly this morning to take me on the drive he had arranged. I was ready, but it had occurred to me that it was just the excuse I needed to get into Bedrick Hall without Aunt Elizabeth's knowledge. Fortunately, the book I took from Sir Hilary's library is not large, and I was able to conceal it inside my reticule. It made the reticule bulge most awkwardly, but I was careful to hold it on the opposite side of myself from Aunt Elizabeth, and she did not notice anything amiss in the few moments it took for me to descend the stairs and be handed up into Mr. Tarleton's curricle. Mr. Tarleton exchanged a few words with Aunt Elizabeth, then sprang into the other seat and we drove away.

  "What were you saying to my aunt?" I asked as soon as we were away from the house.

  "Only that my mother has invited you to tea," Tarleton replied. "I did not want your aunt to worry if we were a little longer than seemed reasonable."

  "Why? What have you planned?" I demanded. I had been so busy with my plans for returning Sir Hilary's book that it had not occurred to me that James Tarleton must have some purpose of his own for our ride, and I was most annoyed with myself.

  "Nothing you will object to," James replied in a soothing tone. I cannot think how he came to imagine that he would know what I might or might not object to. "Do you remember my telling you I wanted to show your charm-bag to someone?" he went on. "I did, and he is anxious to meet you. He is waiting at Tarleton Hall."

  "And if I would rather not meet him?" I said.

  A worried frown crossed Mr. Tarleton's face, but he said, "In that case you need not."

  "Well, I have no objection to meeting your friend," I said, and paused. "Provided you let me run a little errand on the way."

  James looked at me with a wary expression. "What sort of errand? Where?"

  "Bedrick Hall."

  "No," he said at once. "Good God, have you no sense? Miranda's malice will be nothing compared to what you'll face if Sir Hilary finds out you've been poking around there."

  "I have no intention of poking around," I said, trying to sound as if I meant it. "I have business at Bedrick Hall."

  "What sort of business?"

  "I wish to retrieve the fan I dropped in the library, that day everyone else was lost in the maze."

  "You weren't carrying a fan that day," James said positively. He looked at me with a grim expression. "The truth, Cecy."

  It is most annoying to be faced with someone who refuses to accept even the most plausible subterfuge. I sighed. "I have to get into Sir Hilary's library to return a book I took," I said.

  "You stole a book from Sir Hilary's library?" Mr. Tarleton looked positively aghast.

  "I most certainly did not," I said. "If I had stolen it, I would not now be looking for a way to put it back. And before you make any foolish objections, you should remember that if Sir Hilary returns and discovers one of his wizardry books is missing, I will be in just as much trouble as if Mrs. Porter tells him I have been poking about. She won't, though. My excuse is a perfectly unexceptionable one."

  James argued a bit longer, but eventually he was forced to admit the good sense of my proposal. For, as I pointed out, it would look very odd for me to ride all the way over to Bedrick Hall simply to retrieve a fan, but it is quite reasonable that I would ask him to stop if we happened to be driving by. I did not add that Mrs. Porter, like many housekeepers, is of a romantic turn of mind, and will certainly conclude that I persuaded Mr. Tarleton to take me to Bedrick Hall out of a desire to be longer in his company. Somehow I did not think he would appreciate the fact that this erroneous conclusion would make Mrs. Porter even more willing to believe my tale.

  To my surprise, when we reached Bedrick Hall Mr. Tarleton handed his horses over to one of the footmen and requested that he walk them for a few moments. Then he accompanied me into the house. I told Mrs. Porter my fiction about the fan, and she looked at me doubtfully and said that she rather thought the room had been turned out since then, but I was welcome to look. She looked a little taken aback when Mr. Tarleton said very blandly that he would accompany me.

  "What are you doing?" I hissed at him as we followed Mrs. Porter down the hall.

  "Making sure you won't go looking for a new way of getting into trouble," he replied.

  I was forced to swallow the furious retort that rose in my throat in answer to this outrageous behavior, for we had reached the library. I made a great show of looking behind several chairs, then bent over as if to check behind the sofa. I had no difficulty in
slipping Sir Hilary's book out of my reticule, but I did not think I could replace it on the bookshelf without Mrs. Porter's noticing. I therefore put my hand against the books and tipped a number of them onto the floor as I rose, trying to make it seem as though I were simply being clumsy. As they fell, I let go of the book on charm-bags (not without a pang, I promise you, for it has been not only interesting but exceedingly useful, as I know you will be the first to agree!).

  "Oh!" I said in accents of dismay. "Oh, dear, I'm so dreadfully sorry! I can't imagine how I came to be so clumsy!"

  Mrs. Porter made soothing noises. I bent over the books again and began putting them back onto the shelf, continuing to apologize the while. James joined me, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Very clever," he whispered as he returned a brown leather-bound volume to its place.

  "Thank you, Mr. Tarleton," I said. I picked up the last book, a greenish gray volume. Epicyclical Elaborations of Sorcery was the title on the spine, and the author was Everard Tanistry. I hesitated, strongly tempted to take it away with me, for I remembered you writing that Thomas had said Miranda was a Tanistry before she married Mr. Griscomb, and I wondered if Everard might have been some relation.

  I was not given the chance. Mr. Tarleton plucked the book from my hands and shoved it back into position on the shelf as though he were disposing of a live snake. "That's the last of them, I think," he said in a pleasant tone, and held out his hand to help me rise.

  "I sincerely hope not," said a familiar, vaguely supercilious voice from the other side of the room.

  I jumped, startled, and peered over the edge of the sofa to find Sir Hilary Bedrick standing in the doorway, just behind Mrs. Porter. He had obviously only just come in, for he had not stayed to put off his driving cape. Fortunately, Mrs. Porter was even more flustered than I; she curtseyed and began apologizing at once, which gave me time to collect myself. Sir Hilary dismissed her with a nod; then he turned and raised a quizzing glass to study James and me.