01 Sorcery and Cecelia Page 7

  But I didn't get them out. The blood has set—the spirits of hartshorn did no good at all, unless that is what caused the stains to turn violet when dry instead of brown. It is a far more attractive color, but I would still like to be rid of the stain entirely.

  I completed the charm-bag you sent for Oliver, by dint of shaking Georgy's lock of his hair out of her prayer book and closing up the bag as you instructed. Georgy won't notice the lock of hair is missing. She never used her prayer book much anyway, and since she has adjusted to the delights of Town, she has little time to be homesick.

  I have mended every article of clothing in my sewing basket, including the stocking I ripped at Lady Haseltine's, and have experimented with new ways of doing my hair. At the moment it is screwed up into a knob at the top of my head, which is not at all becoming but keeps it out of my eyes. And it does stay up for a change, with only two combs to hold it. It is still raining. Georgina is at the Grenvilles and Aunt Charlotte is home guarding the house lest I venture out of my room. I always wanted my own bedroom. I never guessed how dreary it could be to be shut up all alone.

  Later

  Cecelia, Oliver is safe. I don't know where, but I believe Schofield even when he's being provoking.

  Just now Aunt Charlotte sent to tell me I was wanted in the blue saloon. I went down just as I was, wearing the oldest muslin gown you let me pack and a sash of Georgy's that Canniba once played with. At the foot of the stairs Aunt Charlotte met me and opened the door to the blue saloon. I entered and she closed the door on me before I knew what she was about. Astonished, I turned and tried the knob, just as I heard her latch it from outside.

  "Remarkable woman, your aunt," said a familiar voice behind me. "Thinks on her feet."

  I whirled about to stand with my back to the door, hands pressed against the panels.

  Across the room Thomas, Marquis of Schofield, rose from his chair, smiling at me in a decidedly sardonic way.

  I turned back to the door and pounded my fist upon it. "Aunt Charlotte!"

  "Do you really dislike me so much?" asked Thomas. There was a rising tone under his words, a slight unsteadiness that made me turn back to face him. Once I did, I could see the unsteadiness must be laughter, for he was having difficulty in restraining a grin.

  I drew myself up with as much dignity as the knowledge that I looked an utter fright allowed me to muster and said, "I am completely indifferent to you, my lord. Only I forgot something in my room."

  "Oh, I see," said Thomas. "Something important?"

  "Your handkerchief," I replied. "Though I'm afraid I was not able to get the stains out of the silk."

  "Keep it," said Thomas. "In fact, I wish you would accept it as the first of many things I wish to give you."

  I looked at him very hard. "Are you foxed?" I demanded.

  Thomas grinned broadly. "I ought to be, but I'm not. I came here today for two reasons. The first was to tell you that your cousin is safe."

  I put my hands over my mouth but not in time to catch the sound of surprise I made. "Oliver? You've found him? Where is he?"

  "Miles from here, in a place where no one will think to look for him," Thomas replied. "You understand I dare not tell you his whereabouts. In any case, I doubt the name would be familiar."

  "Where did you find him?" I demanded.

  "Oh, in Vauxhall Gardens," Thomas replied airily. "Remember your tree? I ought to have done something about it when I found you, but I left it as it was and Oliver stumbled on it. He was eavesdropping in the shrubbery, it seems, and so he may have deserved some slight misfortune. Still, I think turning him into a beech tree was a little excessive. I changed him back and I've sent him somewhere safe. No one has anything against him, of course. It was intended for you."

  You may imagine how I gaped at him.

  "You've made them curious," he continued. "They don't know what your part in all this is and they wanted to ask you."

  "Well, I'm sure I don't know, either," I snapped.

  "Oh, that's of no importance," he assured me. "That's part of the second reason I came here. You will agree you owe me some slight favor for rescuing you and your cod's head of a cousin? I wish to make you an offer."

  I nodded as intelligently as I could and said, "Very well, I am very grateful to you for recovering dear, stupid Oliver. What sort of an offer?"

  Thomas regarded me with an air of disbelief. "An offer of marriage, my dear half-wit. What other sort of offer did you expect?"

  Cecy, I do think it is unfair. People in novels are fainting all the time, and I never can, no matter how badly I need to. Instead, I stared at him for what seemed like years, with the stupidest expression on my face, I'm sure, because I felt stupid. For I couldn't imagine why he should say such an extraordinary thing. Finally I realized he was waiting for me to say something.

  I said, "I can't imagine why you should say such an extraordinary thing."

  "Well, that's simple enough," Thomas replied. "In the first place, it may soothe them to know what your part in all this is, though I doubt it. And in the second place, I need a fiancee rather urgently."

  "London is full of girls on the catch for husbands," I reminded him. "Why pick me?"

  "Oh, I'll think of something," Thomas assured me. He grinned again. "I'm sure you have many sterling qualities."

  How I longed to slap him. "There's more than a touch of brass about you, my lord," I said. "Sterling qualities!" I snorted.

  "Don't do that," he said. "It reminds me of someone. You'll be perfectly free to cry off when the Season is over, you know. But I need a good reason not to fall at someone's feet until then. And you're the only woman I could possibly ask, since anyone else would take it all far too seriously. Oh, come now, Kate, think what fun you'll have jilting me."

  "What a singular notion of fun you must have," I said. "Still, it might be amusing at that. But what if we should set a fashion? Soon every betrothed couple in the Ton could be jilting one another for the fun of it."

  "I'll risk it," he said, "but you will agree, won't you? Your aunt will certainly have some strong words for you if you refuse, for I'm afraid I discussed this with her before you arrived."

  "That's why she locked me in," I said. "Oh, you odious man, I wish Miranda had lured you to her garden and I wish you'd drunk up every drop of her horrible chocolate."

  "No, you don't, really you don't," Thomas assured me. "It would have been so unpleasant, you have no idea."

  "That's so," I agreed coldly. "But I don't get an explanation, do I? No, all I get is roundaboutation and arrogance!" My voice rose alarmingly.

  "Softly, softly," he said. "I had no idea you felt so strongly about it. Well, perhaps it isn't exactly cricket to propose to you without giving you an idea of what you'd be getting into. How's this, then—you accept and I'll explain, hmm?"

  "First you explain, and then I'll tell you whether I accept or not," I countered.

  "Do you take me for a flat?" he asked. "No, either you agree to marry me and I explain things to you—or you don't and I don't."

  "But you just said that wasn't cricket—," I protested.

  "Well, I'm not playing cricket," Thomas answered. "More like a foxhunt, really."

  "Oh, very well," I said crossly. "I agree. Now, out with it."

  "You already know Miranda doesn't like me," Thomas began. "I have another enemy as well—but right now Miranda is my chief concern. She's sending someone to London expressly for me to fall in love with and marry. I'm not quite sure how powerful she is at the moment—it depends upon the degree of cooperation she's received from my other adversary. But I can't take the chance that they are working together. I need to make quite certain she can't trap me into proposing to the girl. So, Kate, our betrothal."

  "Names, Thomas," I said, "I demand names."

  "Miranda, I told you," he answered. "Miranda Tanistry."

  I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. "Tanistry? Not Griscomb?"

  "Oh, I suppose,"
he replied. "She married some nabob or other, they say. But she was Miranda Tanistry when I first crossed her path. Why, do you know Griscomb?"

  "Never heard of him," I declared. "What about your other adversary?"

  "Sir Hilary Bedrick, if you must know."

  You may imagine my reaction, Cecelia. After a moment I mastered that sinking sensation enough to say, "But that's impossible! We have known the Bedricks forever."

  "Yes, very likely," he said, "dear Sir Hilary has every social grace. Nevertheless, he stole something rather important from me, and he and Miranda have been working individually and in unison to get me from under their feet permanently ever since."

  "And to do that, they've decided to turn Oliver into a tree and burned a hole in my dress with hot chocolate—" I began to list recent events quite clearly but after a few words I was sputtering.

  Thomas nodded. "Yes, quite so."

  "All that—because Sir Hilary stole something from you. Something like a chocolate pot, for example?" I demanded.

  I had the satisfaction of watching his face redden slightly. "Something like that," he agreed. "Any more questions?"

  "Yes, thousands," I said.

  At that moment Aunt Charlotte began to unlock the saloon door. Thomas reached out and took my hand, turned it palm up, and said, "I believe that's healing very nicely."

  Aunt Charlotte opened the door just as he turned my hand over again and brushed a kiss across my knuckles. I experienced a nearly overpowering desire to hit him in the eye. Only the thought of Aunt Charlotte's reaction prevented me. Instead, I stood mute while he informed her that I had accepted his proposal of marriage, and took his leave of us with an oiled ease that suggested he has had years of experience slithering into betrothals and out again. When he had gone, I turned to Aunt Charlotte.

  "I hope you are quite satisfied," I said as levelly as I could, and left the room.

  Evidently the Marquis of Schofield's offer for my hand in marriage came as a considerable surprise to Aunt Charlotte. While it is true he has not displayed the slightest interest in Georgy, and no other gentleman has displayed any particular interest in me, Aunt Charlotte was not expecting an offer for anyone but Georgy. That I have received the first proposal, and that it should be a brilliant match—well! Aunt Charlotte's temperament has never been precisely sunny, and this turn of events has made her moodier than ever. On one hand, it affords her an opportunity to gloat over rival ladies bringing out eligible daughters. But on the other, I think she feels that Georgy has been slighted.

  So here I am again, locked in my room, this time from the inside. I am in such a state of indignation that the first person who wishes me happy is likely to get her ears boxed.

  Please don't tell me you are delighted—help me rather to contrive the best possible way to jilt the odious Marquis!

  Yours, Kate

  17 May

  I shall add this scrawl to my letter to let you know I received your most recent letter. Thank heaven it arrived before Dorothea did, for I promise you that if she thinks Robert is "always most truly a gentleman" I shall need to school my features not to betray myself by laughing.

  Of course, I shall do my utmost to help her—and I can certainly sympathize with her reluctance to marry that odious man Schofield.

  What a muddle it all is—and how I wish you were with me so I could be encouraged by the confidence and courage you put into those familiar words, "We must clearly do something." Indeed we must—but what?

  And thank heaven again that you weren't riding in your usual neck-or-nothing fashion when you encountered that mysterious barrier in the grass. I smell Miranda behind that, plain as plain, and am very grateful for your charm-bags. Mind you keep your own close by you.

  —K

  20 May 1817

  Rushton Manor, Essex

  Dearest Kate,

  Your letter arrived this morning and I pounced on it at once. I was relieved by your news of Oliver, though it is not exactly specific. Thomas certainly does seem to delight in being enigmatic. It would not surprise me in the least to learn that he had invented the name "the Mysterious Marquis" himself. However, I must say that I admire Thomas's thoroughness. Papa received a note from Oliver yesterday, saying that he had gone off to stay for a few days with some friends he had met in London and, of course, neglecting to give their direction. (It is quite obvious to me that the Marquis arranged for Oliver to write the note; Oliver would never have thought of such a thing on his own.)

  I find your description of the change in the bloodstains on Thomas's handkerchief very worrying. I haven't the least notion what it means, but I'm quite sure it means something. Washing does not normally turn bloodstains violet, however strong the hartshorn, and after all, the Marquis is a wizard. I think you should keep it very safe, but I do not know what else to recommend. I wish I knew more about magic; then perhaps I might advise you better.

  I should also mention that I saw the announcement of your engagement to Thomas, Marquis of Schofield, in last Friday's Gazette, which arrived with today's post. Fortunately, there were also letters from Aunt Charlotte to Papa and Aunt Elizabeth, so they cannot truthfully say that they learned of the engagement from the newspaper. Not that Papa would mind in the least, but Aunt Elizabeth is a different matter. She is not in transports over your engagement, by the way. She keeps her reservations to herself in company and says all that is proper, but my long experience with her allows me to detect a certain lack of enthusiasm. I suppose it is because Thomas is a wizard. She is taking me to visit the Reverend Fitzwilliam this afternoon, which is a sure sign she is upset.

  Regarding the Marquis—I sympathize with your position, but I am very much afraid that you have let your justifiable annoyance run off with your sense. We have several months in which to arrange a way for you to jilt Thomas; I doubt that Miranda Griscomb will wait so long. I must own that your Marquis has been very clever. No matter what Miranda intended, she will never be able to force him to become engaged to Dorothea now. Though, really, it is most inconsiderate of him. For how can you find and encourage an eligible connection while you are engaged, however spuriously, to the Marquis?

  I am afraid I find your Thomas's "explanation" very inadequate, but at least he has confirmed some of our suspicions regarding Miranda. I wonder how he knew what she was planning? I must tell you that the reaction of most of the local bachelors to Dorothea's departure has not been at all what I expected. None of them seems the least bit cast down. In fact, with the exception of Robert Penwood, they seem to have forgotten her almost completely. At church yesterday, I heard Jack Everslee refer to Dorothea as a "taking little chit, but bird-witted"—this after he was ready to call Martin out two weeks ago for (he claimed) slighting Dorothea's eyebrows!

  I find this very disturbing, particularly knowing what little we do about Miranda Tanistry Griscomb. It seems to me very likely that she has put some sort of spell on Dorothea to make her irresistible as long as she is about. For, you remember, the same thing happened to Oliver—he was very taken with Dorothea, but as soon as he went up to London, he forgot all about her. This makes it all the more urgent that something be done to overset Miranda's schemes and rescue Dorothea. For it is quite obvious to me that Dorothea is an innocent pawn in her Stepmama's game; she is so terrified of Miranda that I doubt if she could cooperate even if she wished.

  I was also shocked and disturbed by the Marquis's accusation about Sir Hilary. Upon reflection, however, I find it quite plausible to think that Sir Hilary stole a chocolate pot from Thomas, and even that he conspired with Miranda to poison the Marquis. This shocked me even more; it is a perfect example of what Aunt Elizabeth and the Reverend Fitzwilliam are always saying about the Shallowness of Society's Judgments and the True Worth of Men being more than mere address. It is very lowering to discover that the Reverend Fitz is right about anything. However, it has given me an Idea.

  If Miranda Griscomb and Sir Hilary Bedrick are working together, would it not be a good
thing to make them suspicious of each other? And as we have known Sir Hilary for ages, do you not think that Miranda would find it quite plausible that you were in league with him to foil her plans for Dorothea and the Marquis? I don't mean, of course, that you should tell her any such thing, but if you were to see her at a ball or some such and mention Sir Hilary's name, and then look confused, she might very well jump to conclusions without any further effort on your part. And if Miranda were to think that Sir Hilary were trying to foil her plans, she might very well try to poison him with chocolate, and stop bothering you and Oliver and the Marquis.

  I should point out that this plan has an element of risk, for it will bring you to Miranda's attention again in quite a different way. I do not like to think that this might put you in danger. On the other hand, you have already been nearly poisoned and come close to being turned into a tree, even without pretending to be working with Sir Hilary. I trust you realize that this plan will probably annoy the Marquis as well. He sounds like the sort of person who wants to think of everything himself.

  In the meantime, I will go up to Bedrick Hall and look about. (I had already determined to do so, for I must get that book of Sir Hilary's back somehow, and I have discovered that it is quite impossible to post something anonymously in a town as small as Rushton, particularly a parcel.) It will have to wait a day or two, as I must think up some tale for Aunt Elizabeth.

  Later

  I have just returned from visiting the Reverend Fitzwilliam with Aunt Elizabeth. Mrs. Fitz was not in evidence, which is unusual; she is apparently not in the best of health due to her Interesting Condition. Aunt Elizabeth and Reverend Fitz discussed it at some length, and with much hyperbole out of respect for my tender sensibilities. (Though I cannot imagine how Aunt Elizabeth can believe that I have any sensibilities; she has certainly lived with us long enough to know better!)