02 The Grand Tour Read online

  It is tiresome, having scarcely the ability to do what must be done, with no spirit left to do more. Whatever ails Thomas, I must steel myself to do better. We cannot both be stricken. Thank goodness Cecy and James are with us. Someone with a bit of common sense.

  6 November 1817

  Florence

  At the Golden Lion

  I feel much better this morning. My indisposition was certainly caused by the link with Thomas. I am sure he feels much worse than I ever did, poor fellow. I will say, in my own defense, that my concern for Thomas lay heavy on my spirits. By the time our carriage made it down from the pass, he was perfectly gray with fatigue. He fell over soon afterward and spent the rest of the journey to Florence lying with his head in my lap. Given the cramped dimensions of our carriage, this was nothing like as picturesque as a novel might make it sound, and both my legs fell asleep beneath his weight. I never wish to spend another moment that remotely resembles those dragging hours on the road, dashed half to pieces by the lurching of the carriage, and worrying over the poor darling fool with every yard we traveled.

  Later

  Thomas is himself again! He ate a portion of beefsteak with his dinner. What is more, he washed it down with half a bottle of claret and pronounced himself completely recovered. I think porter would have done him more good than claret, but we are in a strange land and porter is not something they understand here. Even the claret was difficult to come by.

  The important thing is that Thomas is feeling himself again. I had feared he would sleep himself into a coma. This afternoon when the maid came to mend the fire, Thomas woke quite naturally and even swore a little at the noise she made when the coal scuttle knocked over the fire irons.

  I am feeling much more the thing myself. Such relief!

  Rome

  From the commonplace book of Lady Schofield

  10 November 1817

  Rome!

  At our lodging off the Piazza di Spagna

  Thomas is indeed himself again. There is not a hostler left uncursed between here and Florence. One would expect that Thomas's return to form would weary me a little, but one would be wrong. I am so happy to have him back in his usual frame of mind, energetic, sure of himself, and even surer of me, that I can hardly express my delight and relief. Truly, all my prayers have been answered. Reverend Fitzwilliam used to make some extravagant claims for the power of true devotion. I may have to revise my opinion of his wisdom.

  I did not pay much attention to the weather while I was concerned for Thomas, so I don't know when it improved. We have had fair weather for a few days now. The drier roads make a delightful change.

  Yesterday I saw a barefoot boy with a herd of sheep. I cannot think how many times I have seen boys with sheep back home, but never before did they seem remotely Biblical.

  As I beheld the boy, I was able to understand the ease with which one might envision scenes of an antique age. He might have stepped from a painting of Arcadia, he was so striking. Glossy dark curls and snapping dark eyes aside, however, I feel sure he smells just as the shepherds back home do. Sheep are still sheep, after all.

  11 November 1817

  Rome

  At our lodging off the Piazza di Spagna

  James and Thomas have already spoken to the British embassy about Theodore and Mountjoy. Thomas is convinced they must be around the city somewhere. Piers has very obligingly vanished into the Roman underworld in search of gossip. While Thomas and James hunt, Cecy and I have been paying such social calls as are appropriate. We have been invited to tea with the ambassador's wife tomorrow. There was a time when the very idea of taking tea with the wife of the British ambassador in Rome would have sent me into strong convulsions. Now it is merely a matter of deciding what gown to wear. There may be an element of truth in all the twaddle people talk about the importance of a Season. Perhaps my experiences in London have given me some address. No, on second thought, any polish I possess is entirely due to the efforts of Cecy, Lady Sylvia, and Reardon. Any poise I demonstrate, I owe to Thomas, who considers himself a connoisseur of sangfroid. Connoisseur he may or may not be, but he does make an excellent tutor.

  From the deposition of Mrs. James Tarleton, &c.

  By the time we reached Rome, I was quite familiar with the spells for removing fleas and other vermin from our rooms, for of course Thomas was in no condition to cast them himself for several days after his dramatic performance in the pass. Even after he was fully rested, we alternated casting the spells. For it was quite obvious that if any confrontation of a magical nature occurred, Thomas must bear the brunt of it, since he was the most experienced wizard we had available; therefore, it only made sense for him to be as well rested and prepared as we could arrange. It was also quite obviously a good idea for me to practice my own spell casting as much as possible, so as to take the more routine magical chores and preparations off his hands, should it become necessary.

  Finding the time for study and practice became unreasonably difficult once we reached Rome. Social engagements closed over us almost at once—in particular over Kate and me, for of course Thomas and James had no scruples about declining invitations when they felt they had more pressing business. Every English person in Rome wanted to have us to lunch, tea, dinner, or some sort of party. Those who had been abroad longer than we had were eager for news of home; those who were less traveled wanted the stories of our adventures and advice on what to see and what to avoid in the places we had already been.

  In addition, everyone was curious about our sudden arrival. Society abroad is quite as gossip-ridden as Society at home, I find; everyone knew that we had been, to all appearances, settled in Venice for the winter, and everyone was, as a result, impossibly curious about our change in plans. Those who were familiar with the Italies also wondered how we had managed to cross the Apennines at this time of year.

  After the briefest of consideration, I referred all inquiries to Kate. Her ability to concoct convincing tales out of whole cloth seemed the most likely solution to the problem, and this indeed proved to be the case. Once presented with Kate's explanation (which leaned heavily on Thomas's reputation as the Mysterious Marquis, as well as upon more mundane matters such as the unreliability of Venetian servants and the inedibility of the food there), Rome lost interest in our doings. Invitations remained as frequent, but they became less pressing, and we at last had the leisure to pursue our own concerns.

  First on our list was to interview Signor Moltacchi, the estate agent to whom Cavalier Coducci had referred us. This was accomplished by the simple expedient of having James send him a message asking him to present himself at our rented palazzo on a matter of business.

  Signor Moltacchi responded with flattering promptness, and we arranged an appointment a few days later. He arrived, late but apologetic, carrying a handsome vase about a foot high, which he begged we would accept as his gift. After a great many more compliments and a round of current gossip, we at last got down to business.

  "My father-at-law is an antiquary of some note," James began. "He has expressed considerable interest in some documents that he believes formed part of the estate of the late Cavalier Pescara. I should like to obtain them for him. Cavalier Leo Coducci of Venice informed us that you handled the sale and might therefore be in a position to track down and obtain the papers."

  "Tracking down the documents will not be difficult," Signor Moltacchi said confidently. "There were not many different buyers." He hesitated, as if something had just occurred to him. "I must tell you, though, that securing the things you wish may not be so easy." He paused again.

  "Why?" asked Kate when he showed no sign of resuming.

  "The person who purchased the bulk of the estate, and in especial the papers, is a collector who seldom relinquishes the things he acquires," Signor Moltacchi said reluctantly. "And there are other possible complications. I fear I cannot guarantee to obtain your documents. I can only promise to try."

  "Papa will be so happy if you c
an find them for him," I put in.

  "Perhaps I might do something to, er, persuade this unwilling collector to sell," Thomas said idly.

  "Because you are a British Marquis?" Signor Moltacchi said, raising his eyebrows. "I do not think so. The gentleman in question is himself a Conte, and not easy to impress."

  "Indeed." Thomas contrived to look unutterably bored, though he must have been as deeply interested as the rest of us. "Who is this paragon?"

  "The Conte di Capodoro," Signor Moltacchi snapped. Thomas made a small sound of satisfaction or possibly surprise. Signor Moltacchi frowned, as if he regretted having spoken.

  "What a pity!" I said quickly. Whether the Conte di Capodoro had obtained the coronation spell when he purchased the estate or not, I did not want Signor Moltacchi carrying tales of our interest to him. Nor did I wish Moltacchi to think too carefully about what he had told us. "I fear Papa will have to be content with something else. Have you anything that might interest him, Signore? He is particularly interested in the Roman Republic."

  The Signor was quite happy to discuss all of the items he had for sale, and he and James soon settled on a selection of ancient documents—none of them having to do with magic or coronations—which he offered to bring back the following day for James's inspection. He left in a cloud of anticipation, and we all looked at one another.

  "The Conte di Capodoro," James said thoughtfully.

  "That's unexpected. Even though we talked about him, I didn't really think he had anything to do with Mountjoy."

  "From what the Contessa said, her husband is very much a Bonapartist," I pointed out. "If this is indeed an attempt to restore Napoleon's empire—and, really, I do not see what else it can be—he is just the sort to be in favor of it."

  "And there is Eve-Marie," Kate said.

  Thomas looked at her. "Tell us about Eve-Marie," he said in a fascinated tone.

  "Oh, Thomas. It's quite plain from her actions that she is mixed up with Lord Mountjoy, yet when we encountered her in Milan, it was at the Conte's museum exhibit. And she was giving orders as if she expected to be obeyed, and in quite good Italian, Reardon says. The curator wouldn't take orders from a mere maid, nor from someone who was simply conveying the wishes of an Englishman. So he must have known she was speaking for someone else, and the Conte seems by far the most likely candidate. And there's that whole business of her visiting Mr. Strangle in Paris. Lord Mountjoy wouldn't need to send someone; there's no reason he shouldn't be seen with his nephew and his nephew's tutor. It makes far more sense if she was relaying information from the Conte."

  "Yes," I said slowly. "That makes nearly everything fit. Though I must say, Lord Mountjoy looks a most unlikely plotter."

  "People in real life don't have to look like villains in order to be so," Kate said. "It's only in the theater that you can be sure the stuffy, middle-aged gentleman isn't behind all the plotting."

  "Just so," James said. "Still, we haven't proof of any of this yet. We can't very well go to the authorities with this farrago of coincidence and conjecture and ask them to do anything."

  "Assuming they would," Thomas put in. "Rome isn't Paris, and it's less than two weeks until the day Coducci's final ritual can be performed. No, I think that if anything is to be done about this, we'll have to do it ourselves."

  "Thomas, what are you thinking?" Kate said with some alarm.

  "This time, thanks to Coducci, we know when the ritual has to take place, and we know where," Thomas said. "It shouldn't be difficult to catch them in the act."

  James pursed his lips. "It shouldn't be difficult, but somehow with you it always is," he said. "Not that I'm objecting to the general outline of the plan, you understand; I'd simply prefer a bit more... planning. If something went wrong and they managed to complete the ritual, we'd have one Bonaparte or the other rampaging all over Europe again, and from what Coducci said, there'd be very little chance of stopping him."

  "Thomas!" I said. "Can you design a spell to interfere with the ritual? We could arrive early and set up the spell before they get there, so that even if something goes wrong it won't be as bad as James fears."

  "Yes," Thomas said after a moment's consideration. "I believe I can do that."

  "But not more than that," Kate said, at the same time as James said, "And no frills, Thomas. This isn't a good time to show off."

  Thomas gave them both a wounded look. "I had no intention of going beyond the basic requirements," he said in a tone even I could tell was mendacious.

  "Good," James said. "Keep it that way. And while you are designing the spell, I'll write to Wellington. He should know what we've found out."

  "And I'll write Lady Sylvia," Kate said.

  Designing the spell proved more difficult than we had anticipated. While Kate and I visited antiquities (of which Rome has an unreasonable number), Thomas pored over Cavalier Coducci's neatly written pages (and James's translation of them) and scribbled arcane equations, which he then crumpled up and threw at the wastebasket. (At least, that was where he claimed he had intended to throw them, when Kate just mentioned how very many wads seemed to be decorating the floor.)

  Three nights before Cavalier Coducci's ritual was due, Thomas emerged from the study triumphant while Kate and James and I were attempting to play three-handed whist. "I have it!" he said, waving a piece of paper that was densely covered with writing.

  "It's about time," James said, looking up from his cards. "Does this mean you can go over to the Forum tomorrow and set everything up?"

  "It will take a day or two to collect all the ingredients," Thomas said. "Even though none of them is at all unsuitable."

  James chuckled. I frowned at him and said, "Won't that be cutting it a little close? If anything turns out to be difficult to come by—"

  "The difficult things I already have," Thomas said. "The real problem was the timing. Coducci is no modern master, I'm afraid. Once I got the details converted to modern equations, it became obvious that there are several weaknesses in his design. He stuck too close to his beloved ancients, I'm afraid."

  "What does that have to do with the timing?" Kate asked.

  "Coducci had his final ritual planned for midnight," Thomas said. "But moonrise would work far better, because of the way the correspondences line up in the fourth pair of equations. That's just a little after sunset. And if either Mountjoy or di Capodoro has enough training to notice, they're sure to move things up to take advantage."

  "That just means we have to be finished with our spell by sunset," I said. "Doesn't it?"

  "Not quite," Thomas said, sounding a bit cross. "Not if we want 'our spell' to have the maximum effect. The timing affects everything."

  Kate looked at him in dismay. "Does that mean you're going to have to cast two spells?" she said. "One to interfere with the ritual if they cast it at midnight and another for if they cast it at moonrise?"

  "No," Thomas said, sounding quite pleased with himself. "I worked out a spell that will cover both possibilities. But I'm glad there wasn't a third potential time to cover. There's just one small difficulty." He paused and looked at me. "It will take two people to cast."

  "Here!" James straightened abruptly. "Cecy hasn't the training for the sort of thing you pulled off in the pass and you know it."

  "She won't need it," Thomas assured him. "I don't need expertise. I need an extra pair of hands with some basic magical competence. And you can't claim she doesn't have that, not when she's been spelling the fleas out of your bed ever since we left Venice."

  "Not that long," I said. "Just since we crossed the mountains. James, what is the matter? You're not going to object every time I want to do any real magic, are you?"

  James frowned. "I'm talking about this cantrip of Thomas's, nothing more."

  "If you're concerned about safety, you can look over the equations yourself," Thomas put in rather quickly.

  "Thank you. I will," James said, and before I could say anything further, the two of them retreated
to the study once more.

  Kate looked after them with a worried expression. "Oh, dear. I do hope—" She broke off and looked at me. "Cecy, you won't let Thomas do anything... too dangerous, will you?"

  "I like that!" I said. "James is the one of the pair who keeps getting himself shot. And you have far more influence with Thomas than I do."

  "I know," she said, still sounding troubled. "But he was so very tired after that last spell. It reminded me of the time when Sir Hilary was trying to leach all the magic out of him."

  "Oh, Kate, I never thought of that," I said remorsefully. "No wonder you're worried. But this spell won't be anything like that—it won't have to be sustained for hours, for one thing. And, anyway, you'll be there yourself, to keep an eye on things. It will be all right, you'll see."

  But when Thomas and James emerged, it soon became clear that Thomas wanted no one but himself and me to be present during the spell casting. Setting up the spell was too delicate a matter, he said. I did not think he was telling the whole truth, and I could see that James did not think so, either, but Thomas would not budge from his assertion. By the time we parted that evening, nearly everyone was cross with everyone else. The only thing we all agreed on was that the Conte and Lord Mountjoy had to be stopped.

  Matters did not improve over the next few days. Thomas was out most of the time, collecting ingredients. When he wasn't out, he was in the study mixing them and casting preliminary spells. I spent most of my time studying my part, which was quite small and not dangerous in the least, no matter what James said. Kate did not say much, but the worry wrinkle between her eyebrows grew deeper every day. James stayed away from the palazzo as much as possible.

  By the morning of the twenty-third, I was extremely tense, even though I was quite confident that I had my part letter-perfect. I could not help but think of what might happen if we somehow did not succeed in disrupting the ritual. Cavalier Coducci had said that Napoleon Bonaparte had had some magical glamour about him, and Bonaparte's rampage over Europe had been dreadful. The ritual Cavalier Coducci had created was stronger and more elaborate, as it needed to be to counter Napoleon—if it now, instead, made a new Napoleon possible, things would be worse than before.