Angel of Ruin (12 page)

A clatter and a commotion outside drew her attention. It sounded like a carriage had arrived, so Mary must be home. Deborah was relieved. She needed to speak to somebody about her concerns.

“Hello!” Mary called from the doorway. “Where is everybody?”

“I’m in Father’s study,” Deborah called in response.

Mary rounded the corner and dropped into Father’s chair, her red skirts frothing. “Lord, I’m so tired. Where’s Father?”

“He and Betty are out with friends. They won’t be home until tomorrow.”

“What a lovely surprise I shall be for Betty on her return,” she said, smiling her characteristically wicked smile.

“I’m glad you’re back, sister,” Deborah said, “for something is troubling me mightily.”

“What is it?”

Deborah sat on the little stool in front of Father’s chair, from where she usually took his dictation. “It is about Lazodeus.”

“What about him?” Mary had adopted a studied informality, which stirred suspicion in Deborah. Had her sister been in contact with the angel?

Deborah weighed up how to word her concerns. Mary waited. “I’m not sure what his intentions are towards us.”

“To protect us,” Mary said quickly.

“Did he not seem to you less than angelic?”

Mary drew her eyebrows together in irritation. “How would we know? Who can really know angels until they meet them?”

Deborah considered. There was some sense in her words.

“What’s all this about, Deborah?” Mary asked.

“Lazodeus seemed to me more worldly than an angel should, and Father says that —”

“Father! You’ve told Father about him?” Mary half rose from her chair, but Deborah put her hands up to placate her.

“No, of course not. But Father knows much about angels. He says that even fallen angels, those who have been cast out of Heaven with Lucifer, still call themselves angels. That they are vain and proud and interested in the sin of men. I suspect Lazodeus might be from among them.”

“You have to ruin everything, don’t you? You have to know better than us and ruin everything.”

“Mary, I —”

“What’s g-going on?”

Deborah turned to see Anne standing at the door to Father’s study.

“Anne, Deborah is saying monstrous things about our angel,” Mary said.

“About Lazodeus? What things?”

“Come in and close the door,” Deborah said. “We don’t want Liza to hear us bickering about this.”

Anne did as Deborah asked. “Liza is upstairs in the withdrawing room. She won’t hear us.”

“We must be careful. We are meddling with great powers.”

“Tell Anne what you told me,” Mary said.

“I merely said that we need to find out what kind of angel Lazodeus is. Even angels who are fallen may call themselves angels.”

“You mean d-devils?” Anne said, her cold hand reaching out for Deborah’s wrist.

“We need to know, Mary,” Deborah said. “And we can know simply by asking him.”

“Very well,” Mary said with a determined nod. “Call him, ask him.”

“Are you agreed, sister?” Deborah said to Anne.

Anne nodded. “Yes, you may call him.”

“Very well. Lazodeus, come to us,” Deborah said, keeping her voice deliberately steady; madness lurked in the expectation that Lazodeus would come. She was having trouble getting used to such an incursion of the supernatural into her rational world.

He appeared before them in a moment. He wore the same clothes as the first time, looked handsome and healthy. He bowed deeply. “Good evening. I wondered when I might hear from you again.”

Both Mary and Anne had fallen silent, so Deborah took charge. “Lazodeus,” she said, “I command you to tell us what kind of an angel you are.”

“Guardian class, fifth order,” he said smoothly.

She licked her lips, glanced from Mary to Anne. “Lazodeus, are you a fallen angel?”

An ominous silence reigned, and the longer it extended, the more Deborah’s skin felt cold across her bones. The flame in the last candle sputtered and died, leaving for illumination only the fading embers of the fire and the eerie glow of the angel’s skin.

“Lazodeus,” she said again, and her voice was strained. “I command you to tell us whether you are one of the army of the fallen. I command you.”

“You don’t understand,” he said softly. “Please, please …”

Deborah took a cautious step backwards. “What are you?” she breathed.

“Please don’t banish me from the sight of you. You can’t understand, because of all you have heard of us, all of the half-truths and the myths, which have nothing to do with what we really are. Nothing.”

“We shall not b-banish you,” Anne said quickly.

“Anne! If he is a fallen angel, he has an interest in our sin.”

“No, no, you misunderstand us. Everybody misunderstands us.” His eyes became sorrowful, and Deborah was surprised at the tug it caused at her core — a primal anguish, like seeing a child hurt. “Please, please, listen to me. I shall tell you the whole truth, unfettered, from my heart. But don’t banish me yet.”

Mary jumped up. “I propose we listen to Lazodeus. There can be no harm in listening.”

“Very well, we shall listen,” Deborah said. “But only if he tells the truth.”

Lazodeus indicated that the girls should sit. Mary
took Father’s chair, Deborah lowered herself to the floor, and Anne sat on Deborah’s writing stool. Lazodeus stood by the mantel, waiting for them to settle. The brass pot hanging inside the fireplace gleamed dully, so ordinary among these extraordinary circumstances. Deborah willed her heart to slow.

“We are all angels,” he said, “and that is what we shall always be. But there was a war in Heaven. Lucifer and his supporters, fully one-third of the angels, were cast down. Lucifer was a good angel, God’s favourite angel, but through a misunderstanding, through jealousy and rivalries between the archangels, he was wrongly accused of conspiring to rule in Heaven.” Lazodeus shook his head. “If God only knew how it hurts us to be so far from his presence, how we could never wish to overthrow him.”

“Are you a d-d—” Anne couldn’t finish her sentence.

“No, I am not a devil, and nor do I live in Hell. Our abode is called Pandemonium. It is a great cave, lit by many fires to keep away the dread cold. It is nothing like the representations of Hell which you mortals produce. We spend our time there in eternal contemplation of how we may once again win God’s favour and return to the realm of Heaven. I am an angel and always will be so, and I
beg
you, I beg you to understand and not to turn me away, for I love the presence of mortals and it is my small consolation in this eternal misery.”

“Well, I shan’t send you away,” Mary said with a sniff. “I believe you. It makes sense when you think of it. God always seems so mightily bossy.”

“Have you lost your wits, Mary?” Deborah said. “How can we trust him?”

Mary and Deborah glared at each other for a moment in silence. Then, breaking the quiet with her tremulous stutter, Anne said, “I t-t-trust him.”

“As do I,” Mary said quickly. “I trust him.”

Deborah looked from one sister to the other incredulously. “He is fallen from Heaven.”

“Deborah, what if he’s telling the truth?” Mary reasoned. “What if innocent angels really are living in that ghastly cave longing to return to Heaven? How can we send him back there?”

Deborah threw her hands in the air. “No. I shan’t hear of this, not until I have had enough time to consider. Lazodeus, you shall go. We shall ask you to return when we are of one mind about your attendance on us.”

Lazodeus bowed, and once again his eyes took on a sorrow so keen that Deborah almost called her words back. But that made no sense. She was determined to reason this out, to think about it clearly and thoroughly before she endangered herself and her sisters.

“No, don’t go!” Mary cried, leaping to her feet.

“Your sister speaks wisely,” Lazodeus said. “I hope I shall see you again. I shall dream of you always.”

Deborah had the distinct feeling that the last line had been intended specifically for her, and a tendril of discomfort curled into her stomach. He shimmered and disappeared, leaving the room almost in full darkness.

Mary turned on her angrily. “You are the youngest; what makes you think you can dictate what we do?”

“I am clearly the wisest, for your immortal soul is at stake.”

“My immortal soul! Listen to yourself. He just told us the truth.”

“Why are you so quick to believe it?”

Mary fell silent. Anne stood awkwardly, and looked down upon Deborah on the floor. “I have b-been t-taunted, and I have been t-taken for a fool all my life. But I am not going to be t-told what to do by you.”

Deborah thought she had misheard. By the time she realised that Anne had indeed sided with Mary, she had been abandoned by both her sisters. She sat for a few moments alone by the dying fire, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

She remembered Anne’s words from Christmas Eve, “Our lives will change forever.” But Deborah hadn’t expected their lives would change so soon. They had known Lazodeus just one week, and already they were divided.

“A
h. I thought I might see you back here again.” Amelia Lewis stood aside and let Deborah in.

“Thank you, Amelia. I have questions.”

“I knew the instant I met you that you would be the one to ask the questions. Please, come through to my withdrawing room.”

Deborah could hear Gisela, the old maidservant, coughing loudly in the kitchen. She almost tripped over a cat as she stepped into the withdrawing room. The smell of the place — faintly citrus, faintly floral — seemed heavenly after the stinking street outside, where filthy melting snow ran rubbish over the cobbles, washing the entire city in waste. She sat in a deeply upholstered chair and leaned back against the velvet cushions. A large ginger cat approached and put his front paws on her lap.

“Sunday wants you to pick him up,” Amelia said.

“Sunday?” Deborah said, lifting the cat into her lap.

Amelia gestured around. “They are all named for a day of the week. As I had seven, it seemed appropriate.” She fixed Deborah in her gaze. “Now, tell me why you are here.”

“Lazodeus is a devil.”

Amelia recoiled. “Don’t use such a word.”

“You told us he was an angel, but he lives in the underworld with Lucifer. He admitted as much.”

Amelia sighed and shook her head. “The trouble is that most people haven’t the slightest idea about the spirit world, so they believe the superstitious rubbish that they hear in churches and they never experience the full exercise of their power. I had thought you would be different, Deborah.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you are brilliant like your father. You question things, you make connections, you think think think, all the time, thinking.”

“Really? That is your opinion of me?” Deborah was pleased in spite of herself.

“It is not an opinion, it is a fact. I see such a light of intellect within you … I feel you may even surpass your father for learning. In the right circumstances.”

“Surpass Father? ’Tis not possible.” The cat in her lap miaowed loudly, and she realised she had been squeezing him too tightly. She relaxed her grip and he jumped off and padded away.

“I assure you it is possible. One generation is often exceeded by the next.”

Deborah’s imagination was captured by Amelia’s words: to surpass Father in learning? Was it wrong even to dream of such a thing? She forced herself to remain unmoved, to stay upon the path she had come here to explore.

“Amelia, I have so many questions.”

“Then ask them.”

“May we start at the beginning? Could you tell me how it all happened? How my mother could afford such a luxury for her daughters as an angel? For surely, would not every man have one were it so easy to acquire?”

“Your mother did not pay for her angel with money. I owed her a favour. It is a great deal of work and time
to call an angel, and it is very detrimental to the caller’s health.”

“Why did you owe her a favour?”

“She saved my life.” Amelia pulled one of her cats into her lap, her fingers working gently through its fur. “I was set to hang for witchcraft.”

“For witchcraft?”

“Actually, for murder, but I had been accused of murdering through bewitchment. I was residing at Stanton St John at the time, and I knew your mother well. She provided information at the assizes which made it clear I could not have murdered the man, and I was set free. When she came to London, we contacted one another and I promised her I would repay her.” She smiled a mischievous smile. “I did, by the way.”

“Repay her?”

“No, I did kill the man.”

Deborah felt her breath catch in her throat. “What?”

“He deserved to die. But fear not, he is the only person I have killed and I have no regrets, and nor would you if you had been in my circumstance.”

“What was your circumstance?”

She scooped up the cat, cradled it like a baby. “Yes, I think Deborah Milton might understand,” she said to her cat, in the kind of voice one might use with a small child. She looked up at Deborah again. “I have never married, and nor have I ever lain with a man. I have no desire for it. Men are beasts.”

Amelia Lewis suddenly grew immense in her estimation. “Yes, yes, it’s true. Mary gives up her body indiscriminately. What gain is there for the soul, for the mind, in that?”

Amelia nodded. “Then you will understand. This man, the man I killed, attempted to defile me. When thwarted, he threatened to return and complete the
task.” She laughed lightly. “One should not threaten Amelia Lewis. He was dead in forty-eight hours, a strange pox which no doctor could explain. I did it, and I am glad. And I am glad withal that I did not hang for it, for he was not worth dying for.”

For all it was a breach of one of the Ten Commandments, there was a certain Old Testament justice in Amelia’s story. “How may I be like you, Amelia? How may I avoid the curse of marriage?”

“You are little more than a child. Marriage is not yet a threat to you. In the meantime, you must work to become independent. You must develop your mind, and exercise the powers which are now available to you.”

Deborah felt her excitement die a little. “You mean Lazodeus?”

“What are your misgivings?”

“He lied to us. He told us he was an angel.”

“And so he is.”

“A fallen angel.”

“The politics of Heaven are not for men to understand.”

“Is he a demon?”

Amelia smiled. “A demon is something quite different. The Greeks believed demons were benevolent spirits. Socrates had one, you know.”

“But aren’t demons evil?”

“Nothing in the universe is evil. Demons are merely spirits.” She paused, then said, “Spirits that may be commanded.”

“It sounds wrong.”

“It is a great tradition, and divers great and learned men command spirits. It is a pity so many women are scared away from the science. But women are often scared away from what will make them powerful and wise.”

“I would be powerful and wise, I would be a great natural philosopher and physician, but I do not want to command spirits.”

Amelia sniffed. “Because you are afraid.”

“Because it is wrong.”

“Forget what you have heard. Learn anew.”

Deborah felt the start of a curious longing flicker to life inside her.
Learn anew.

“Lazodeus has divided us.”

“That is your fault,” Amelia said, and Deborah was surprised by her frankness. “You are not listening. Your heart knows that he is telling the truth when he says he is not evil. But you are so full of old ideas that new ones cannot make their way in. You may never surpass your father in wisdom unless you reach beyond what you already know.”

“Amelia, I fear for our souls.”

Amelia put her cat aside, leaned across and touched Deborah’s hand. “Lazodeus does not want your soul. It is safe, as are the souls of your sisters. Enjoy yourself, exercise your power, find your independence.”

“I know not —”

“And nor will you ever know if you don’t learn.”

Deborah’s hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. She suddenly felt very young. She wanted to trust Amelia because she liked her: Amelia was intelligent and strong and unconventional. Deborah had never met another woman like that.

“Deborah, there is a great tradition among male magicians of taking on an apprentice.”

Deborah looked up.

“Would you like to be my apprentice?” Amelia continued. “I could teach you about the unseen world. Perhaps then you would not feel so afraid of Lazodeus.”

The idea filled her with wild excitement. Then she thought of Father, of how desperate she was to make
him proud. She said soberly, “No. My father would not want that.”

Amelia drew her eyebrows down together. “No? I thought you wanted to learn.”

With a great effort, Deborah rose from the couch. “I should go. I have stayed too long and my father may need me.”

“I will be kinder to you than your father is.”

“Good day, Amelia.”

Unsurprised, Amelia stood and showed her to the door.

“Thank you for answering my questions,” Deborah said as she stood in the threshold to the dirty winter day outside.

“You will return,” Amelia said with confidence.

Deborah didn’t reply. She walked out into the street and turned towards home, vowing to herself that Amelia was wrong. She would not return.

Anne was supposed to be helping Liza with the mats, but instead she was taking a few blissful moments of solitude up in her bedroom. Mary and Deborah, uneasily reconciled after their disagreement, had gone walking. They had been surprised that she did not want to join them. But more and more, she relished being alone. Being alone meant she could think about Lazodeus.

She sighed and lay back on her bed. The quiet hung around her like a promise. She closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of speaking easily. “I can speak,” she said aloud, for she rarely stammered when she was on her own. Still, the words didn’t come easily, as though her mouth were a mechanism with jammed parts. She drew deep breaths, aware of the rise and fall of her chest, of the mellow heaviness which lay in her limbs.

His face. Those lips, so magnificently expressive. Those eyes, so clear and bright. How could Deborah suspect for a moment that he was anything less than a good angel? He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Beauty of that magnitude could not be evil.

And his body. She opened her eyes suddenly. Crazy emotions raced around inside her. Was this love? She would like to be able to ask Mary, who had been in love so many times. But it felt so private, so sore and sweet. She feared to ruin it by speaking of it.

She rose and went to the mirror over the dresser, examined herself. She had always despised her appearance. Her crooked gait and her stupid twitching face made her feel like a grotesquerie. But now, with her face at rest, perhaps she was not so ugly. She looked very much like Mary, though not as plump and merry.

Anne had long believed that she could be herself, with all her faults, and angels would still love her. Now she had met one, it seemed all she could think of was how he might judge her. She leaned close to the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her teeth were still good. Perhaps her chin was too pointy. Perhaps her hair was too severely parted, too fine and straight. She touched her face with her fingers. Her skin was soft. Had Lazodeus noticed this when he had touched her cheek? Had he thought about her soft skin afterwards?

As minutes ticked by she gazed at herself in the glass. Gazed for so long she almost couldn’t identify herself any more, as though she had dissected herself into unrecognisable parts. Her lips; were they inviting? Mary’s lips must be inviting, for there was no shortage of people who wished to kiss her. And Anne’s lips were almost identical.

What would she look like to someone intending to kiss her? Would such a close view deform her into a
monster? She leaned her forehead against the mirror and looked at her dark eyes staring back at her. Pressed her lips against the cool glass and watched herself. Would Lazodeus find her beautiful if he kissed her?

The door suddenly flew open and Anne hastened away from the mirror. Liza stood there, hands on her hips.

“Your father has said you must help me with the mats.”

“I am sorry. I f-forgot.”

“I told him you must have forgot, but he’s angry.”

“He th-thinks I’m an idiot anyway. I c-c-can hardly fear his anger.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense. Come.”

Anne left the room with one last glance at the mirror. Once again she was limping, twitching, stuttering Annie. Nobody would ever love her. Least of all an angel.

“What are you doing, Mary?” Anne said sleepily.

Mary turned from where she stood near the window and put a finger to her lips by the light of the candle she carried with her. “Shh. You’ll wake the whole household.”

Anne propped herself up on an elbow. “Close the window, ’Tis cold.”

“I’m going next door to my secret room.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“I took coal over this morning, and some old rugs.”

“Be c-careful.”

“I promise I shall scream mighty loud if I fall,” Mary said.

“D-do not even make such a joke,” Anne said, settling back under the covers.

Mary hoisted one leg and then the other out the window, turned and said goodnight to Anne, then
made her way along the ledge. It was not as easy with only one hand to steady her, but the ledge was sturdy and her feet were sure. Once in her secret room, she took a few minutes to light the fire and assess the room.

The rugs were dismal and threadbare. Even the light of the fire hadn’t the power to cheer the room. She sank to the floor, depressed. In her imagination, the secret room was full of the rich fancies that Amelia owned. In reality, it looked like a pauper’s home.

She stretched her hands out to the fire and sighed. Perhaps she should have properly dressed, instead of coming in her shift. The room was cold, and taking a long time to warm up. Still, she was alone, away from her sisters, and ready for adventure. Ready to try a seduction.

“Lazodeus,” she said, “come to me.”

He appeared, and Mary marvelled that something so magical could happen so quietly. It seemed the whole world should rise and applaud at such a wonder. She smiled at him.

“Good evening, Mary,” he said.

“Do you like my new room?”

“No. It is very cold and colourless.”

“Can you fix it?”

He sat down next to her. “Maybe.” Almost instantly, the fire began to roar, the temperature in the room began to rise.

“What about some cushions? Some tapestries? Like Amelia Lewis’s house. I suppose they were provided for her by you or an angel like you?”

“I know not how Amelia Lewis furnishes her home.”

“Do you mean you won’t do it?”

“Is that why you called me? To command me to produce little comforts?” He sounded impatient.

Mary was taken aback. “No. I merely wanted to speak with you.”

“Your sisters do not know you’ve called me.”

“Anne wouldn’t mind, I’m sure. Deborah is still deciding whether or not to trust you, but I already trust you. So I don’t see why I shouldn’t call you.” Still, a guilty feeling lurked in the back of her mind. Deborah would prefer it if Lazodeus only attended them all together. She had explained to Mary on their walk that afternoon, that her greatest fear was the three of them being divided over the angel. Mary had assured her that it wouldn’t happen, and yet here she was speaking with him by herself, hoping that she may enjoy some forbidden intimacy with him.