A Study in Sable (21 page)

But the moment she had set foot in Magdalena's opulent suite, she had been made to feel very much Sarah's inferior. And she had absolutely no doubt that was deliberate on Magdalena's part.

Is the woman trying to drive a wedge between us?

It was a startling thought. And the more Nan thought about it, the more certain she became that it was true. Magdalena didn't need Nan, and if she knew what Nan's abilities were, she probably didn't want Nan anywhere near, where she might pick up some unguarded thoughts, or learn something from a carelessly discarded possession. But she certainly needed Sarah, especially if she was going to continue to attract the attentions of spirits. . . .

. . . or have someone sending spirits after her.

Not that there was any evidence of that. And not that Nan knew
any way to do so. Still. There were, in both occult journals and folk tales, stories of the necromancers, people who could summon and command ghosts to do their will. Such an ability was of little practical use, unless you could summon precisely the spirit who knew where he'd hidden a treasure, or your would-be victim actually had the ability to
see
ghosts. That was the problem; most people didn't. For the vast majority of the population, being set upon by ghosts would be far less troubling than an irritating fly.
Some
ghosts had the power to harm the living, but they were quite few, and in all their years together, Nan and Sarah had not encountered more than a handful.

No, if Sarah was right, and she almost always was, the revenants besieging Magdalena were the common sort of ghosts. Frightening in their uncanny selves if you allowed yourself to be frightened by them, and in their persistence, but otherwise harmless.

No, it was far more likely that for some reason unknown to Sarah, Magdalena radiated something unknown that acted to attract whatever spirits were about. And it might be just as simple as the same thing that attracted spirits to Sarah; the indefinable
something
that told them, once they came into her presence, that she could see them. Except in Magdalena it was evidently much enhanced, for her to have attracted them from all over the hotel and its grounds.

It's too bad she doesn't have Sarah's unselfish nature, that seeks to help these spirits rather than just cower under the covers and scream at the sight of them,
Nan thought sourly.

The question of
why hadn't this happened before
might just possibly have an obvious answer. There was one person in Magdalena's life who had been ever-present before, and now was an absolute absence: her sister Johanna. It was not uncommon for siblings to either share the
same
occult gifts or possess the polar opposite gifts. And that might hold the secret of why Magdalena seemed indifferent, even slightly antagonistic, to her sister, while at the same time keeping her present. Unconsciously, Magdalena was aware that her sister was repelling the spirits that she attracted. Yet at the same time, their opposing natures clashed.

That still didn't solve the problem of Magdalena trying to appropriate Sarah and turn her into a kind of . . . psychic sycophant.

But I can do a few things. I can make sure I don't display any jealousy, because Sarah will almost certainly react poorly if I do. And I can see what I can do about prying Sarah out of that cat's claws.

And perhaps I can be even more active than that. If a magician can shield against thoughts . . . perhaps John or Mary Watson can shield Sarah from this insidious influence.

• • •

Like the Tower, Hampton Court Palace had its Warders, who were pleased to conduct visitors over the public parts of the buildings. Most of the Palace was
not
public; for the last hundred-odd years, the Palace had become the home to the “grace-and-favour” residents, pensioners of the Crown who were granted rent-free apartments here due to great service to Monarch and Country. Victoria had opened the Palace to be toured by the general public as the Tower was in the first year of her reign, and the part that Nan and Suki had come to see—the Tudor Palace—had undergone extensive restoration. So they got to roam to their hearts' content the Great Hall, the Great Gatehouse, the Kitchens—Suki could have spent hours in there, poking about, asking how people made Henry VIII's gargantuan meals—Wolsey's Closet, and the Royal Chapel. The corridor outside the Privy Chapel was the one said to be haunted by the ghost of Catherine Howard, who had run from her own rooms, shrieking with grief and terror, to try to speak to Henry at his prayers in the chapel when she knew her adultery had been discovered. Neither Nan nor Suki saw, heard, or felt anything, however, although a lady who had been there earlier was said to have fainted.

They had a glorious time in the Maze . . . cheekily, Nan had brought ham sandwiches and bottles of lemonade with her in her big handbag, and they had themselves a nice little picnic in one of the secluded corners of the Maze. They gazed with admiration at the Great Vine, said to be the biggest grapevine in the world, and certainly
the biggest in England. And then, walking around to the south of the Palace—neither of them were very much interested in the Stuart or Baroque parts—they discovered a virtual wilderness.

“What on earth—” Nan said, turning to the guidebook, for their Warder-guide had long since deserted them at the mouth of the Maze. “It says here, this is the old Privy Garden, which has been left to go to the wild.”

Suki looked up at her with a face full of hope. “C'n we go in?”

So far this had been the best day, ever, so far as Suki was concerned. She had had her first train ride. She'd roamed over a place she had only
read
about, and now things that had only been chapters in a history book were real to her. She'd gotten to play in the Great Maze—never before had she been in a place where everything around her was shut out by walls of greenery. Their little picnic had felt as private as if they were the only people for miles around.

But this was the closest thing to real wilderness that Suki had ever seen, and she was clearly eager to plunge into it like a young rabbit.

“Of course we can,” Nan said with a grin. “Go on! I'll catch up with you. And don't worry about your clothing. Fun comes first.”

Suki dashed off down a narrow path. Nan followed her more slowly. She knew that she could trust Suki not to do something potentially bad—like picking flowers. Even if this garden was completely gone to the wild, it still would be a terrible
faux pas
to pick flowers here. As for her, she strolled along the path Suki had taken, enjoying the clean, fresh air of the countryside and the sensation of being somewhere wild again.

A sudden swirl of wind twisted her skirts around her ankles as it spun leaves around her. With a good-natured curse, she pulled her skirts loose and shook them out, then reached up and pulled leaves out of her hair.
Oak. Ash . . . and Thorn?

“‘What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, so near the cradle of the fairy queen?'” quoted a young male voice full of mirth.

“Robin Goodfellow, we are
not
‘hempen homespuns,'” Nan
retorted, spinning, to find Puck standing behind her, hands on hips, chuckling.

Today Puck wore the semblance of a tall young man in the sort of outfit most of the gardeners here at Hampton Court Palace wore: a pair of sturdy trousers tucked into Wellington boots, a weskit with a watch-chain strung across the front, a shirt with no tie and the sleeves rolled up, and a soft cap. To complete the disguise he had a bamboo rake in one hand—although, being Puck, he could just as well have had a spade. Cold Iron troubled him not at all, being the Oldest Old One in England.

“True, true. I've missed you, Nan Killian, that I have. Where's your feathered fiend?” Nan crossed the distance between them and hugged him; he returned the hug with equal warmth.

“We left him at home. He didn't feel like being chased off by well-intentioned guides and gardeners and waitresses. Don't feel too sorry for him, it isn't as if he can't fly here on his own any time he chooses.” Nan stepped back and moved over to the side so they could walk the path together.

“Eh, welladay, and that's true too. Who's the wee, fearless mite you have with you?” Puck glanced at her sideways. “None of your get—”

“Nor of my blood,” Nan confirmed. “Suki shares my powers; we rescued her from a fake medium who was using her to ‘read' the clients. Rather than allowing her to go starve and go mad in an orphanage, or worse in a workhouse, we took her on ourselves.”

“Brave lasses.” Puck shook his head. “You must have had a time with her.”

“Less than you'd think.” Nan spent the next fifteen minutes or so catching Robin up. He laughed several times and teased her often, until she got to the part about assisting John and Mary Watson, when he nodded thoughtfully. And then, when she described how they had entrapped the Shadow Beast and turned it over to the Sea Elementals to dispose of, his eyes widened, then at the end, he clapped and did a little skip.

“Oh well done,
very
well done! It's time and more than time for
that thing to have been done away with.” He shook his head. “Your guess at how long it has been a terror and a torment is a good one. I am glad to see this England rid of it.”

“Why couldn't
you
have got rid of it?” Nan wanted to know.

He laid a finger alongside his nose. “Rules, lass. Rules. There's things I can do and things I cannot, not without starting a war that would have no winners, and leave the poor Earth and the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve all torn and bleeding. And whilst it is true as true that in these latter days, I've less to worry about on that head, the Shadow Beast was confined within the bosom of Londinium, and there, it is hard even for me to go.”

“But once we mortals had trapped and confined the thing, it was perfectly—well—
legal
for us to turn it over to Elementals to hide away?” she hazarded.

He nodded, solemnly. “I do not often trust Lyr to treat mortals fairly, but in this case, he will not want
that
escaping under any circumstances, for it is an enemy to all that lives. As much to us as you, if not more so. Full many an Elemental has fallen to it in centuries past. So, then, tell me what it is that you and Sarah are about now? And why is it the fair maid is not here?”

Nan sighed, feeling her mood sour. “
That
is a very short story.”

She told him how Magdalena von Dietersdorf had called, looking for their help with her problem, how Sarah had been treated and
she
had been snubbed, and now how Sarah was spending every waking moment, almost, dancing to the tune Magdalena sang and being treated like a little diva herself.

“Oh, my, dear Nan. I do detect jealousy there,” Puck said shrewdly.

“No!” she denied sharply, then, shamefaced, admitted, “Yes. I can't help it. We practically grew up together, we've saved each other's
lives,
and now it's as if I'm some casual acquaintance who doesn't matter, and I don't like it, not one bit. I don't like how she's abandoned Suki, either. It's not fair.”

“No, it's not,” Puck agreed. “But if you are that firm in each other's affections, and this is no unnatural influence the singer has on her, then once all the glitter and gay times wear off, or once the lady
decides she no longer needs to treat the lass like a princess and reverts to treating her like a servant, then all will be as it was.
If
you can keep your own temper in check, and jealous words behind your teeth. But you mustn't say things you'll regret, or utter words in heat that still sting in coolness.”

“I know,” Nan sighed sadly. “And it's a
damned
hard time I've had keeping those words to myself. But—what did you mean,
no unnatural influence?
What are you trying to say?”

She gave Puck a sharp look. He quirked a corner of his mouth up in something that was not a smile. “I am the Oldest Old Thing in England, and there are many sights I have seen. And sometimes, when a friend forgets all her old friends and goes a-scamper after a new
friend,
it isn't her own thoughts she's thinking, but ones that got put there. I'm not saying that's true now,” he added, putting up a cautioning hand, “but I'm not saying it
isn't
.”

“Is there any way I could tell?” Nan asked sharply.

“You'd have to be there when the influence is put on her. You couldn't tell it from scrying her thoughts yourself, though if the influence were magical, there might be a trace of it yon Watsons could read.” He shrugged. “That's the only advice I can give.”

“It's more than I had before,” Nan pointed out. She might have said more, except that Suki came tearing around a clump of trees and stopped dead on the path before them.

She had clearly been having a glorious time, for she had lost her cap, her hair was full of grass stems and leaves, and there was a grass stain on her pinafore. She stared at Puck with her eyes gone all big and round, and it was pretty obvious to Nan that she “saw” Puck for what he was, or at least, saw enough to know he wasn't just a Royal Gardener.

“Oh!” she breathed. “Who are you?” Then before Nan or Puck could say anything, she clasped her hands tightly just below her chin, and squealed, “You're
him
! You're The Puck! You're Robin Goodfellow!”

Puck snatched off his cap and bowed deeply. “I am all those things, Suki, Daughter of Eve. And I am also Nan's friend.”

“Oh!” replied Suki, who then seemed to have been struck speechless.

“Now, since this Royal Garden has been given back to nature and to
me,
would you like to see what grows in it besides plants and trees and birds?” His eyes twinkled. “I could use another such as you, to come and go and look and know. What say you?”