Angel of Ruin (22 page)

“What was it?” she asked.

“The demon key. It is music, Deborah. The spirits have always been very fond of music. Here, drink this.” Amelia handed the cup to Deborah, who warily put it to her lips. It was no longer water; it was the sweetest wine.

“You did this?” Deborah asked.

“Yes.”

“Could I do this?”

Amelia handed over the demon key and shook her head. “No, not fully, not as an apprentice. You can call on the particular demons, but you will only be attended by their apprentices. The fresher you are to the craft, the weaker the demon you are assigned. It is an unreliable science for the first few years. And still, many years later, I find weaknesses in my own craft.” Amelia shifted to the seat next to Deborah, and helped her fasten the chain around her neck. “You may take this home and experiment with it. Call upon the demons who can explain astrology and geometry to you, and let them teach you now.”

“I’ll still be your apprentice, though?”

“Oh, yes, of course. You can come to me once a week and I shall answer your questions, in return for which you can fulfil small tasks for me.”

Deborah fingered the tarnished silver rod on its chain thoughtfully. She wanted very badly to ask,
Is my soul in any danger?
But she would not disappoint Amelia by doing so. Instead, she asked, “Is there an angel key?”

“I have no angel key,” Amelia said guardedly.

“But does such a thing exist?” She wondered how much infinitely sweeter the sound of angels’ music would be.

Amelia leaned back. “It is a foolish man who attempts to command the angels.”

“Is Lazodeus not an angel?”

“He is fallen. He is disconnected from the pure source.”

“From God?”

“Whatever you like to call it.”

Deborah’s curiosity was piqued. “What would I have to learn ere I could be granted an angel key?”

“Learning will not help. There is too much danger involved.”

“Danger for my soul?”

“For your life. One must be almost at the point of death, and when an angel comes to assess the state of your soul, one must seize the angel and demand the key. Nothing is worth that kind of danger.”

“Because one could die?”

“Yes, and because angels do not like to be commanded, and because angels may grant favours but ask for a repayment too great for an individual to bear.”

“What kind of repayment?”

“It matters not, Deborah. The angel key is not something with which you should concern yourself. Perhaps when you are an old woman, with nothing else to live for, you may attempt to experiment with angel keys. But a girl of your age need not even think upon it.”

Deborah nodded, persuaded. “That makes good sense.”

“You are a sensible girl.”

“When you speak of angels, I perceive that you believe they are not all good.”

Amelia waved a dismissive hand. “It is often the purest beings who can be the cruellest.”

“Lazodeus said that the war in Heaven was unfair, that he and the other fallen angels were unjustly expelled from Heaven.”

“While the religiously intolerant would be appalled to hear such a thing, I believe it may be true. I have never dealt with angels directly, but I know others who have,
and they testify to a cruel, unforgiving streak. Good, by definition, Deborah, must be entirely good. To preserve such purity of purpose involves a certain blind severity.”

Deborah pondered this for a few minutes. Amelia returned to her own seat and said, “Now, I have answered your questions. It is time you performed your duties for me.”

Deborah looked up brightly. “Anything,” she said. She looked forward to helping with magical experiments, writing from dictation as she did with Father.

Amelia smiled. “Go to the kitchen and help Gisela pluck a turkey for dinner,” she said. “’Tis not all mystery and glamour.”

Anne could imagine no better time for her purpose. Mary was out walking Max; Deborah had disappeared that morning and was not yet returned; Betty and Liza were at the markets; and Father never ventured upstairs. She was alone for the first time since they returned to London and she could wait no longer. She had to see Lazodeus.

She stood tall in the middle of the room and closed her eyes. “Angel, Lazodeus, will you come to me?” He would come, of course he would.

She opened her eyes. He did not come.

“Please, please, please,” she whispered. Did he not know what great distress it had caused her to be separated from him for so long? “Can you at least give me a sign that you are nearby?”

Anne strained her ears for a whisper, glanced around for the lightest movement of the hangings. This was unbearable. She flopped onto the bed with an arm over her face, wanted to weep until she died. Had she known that love would be so painful, she would have guarded her heart more carefully. Too late now. Far too late for prudence.

The door burst open and Mary came in, carrying Max under one arm. Anne sat up with a start. “I thought you were out walking,” she said, and reminded herself she need not sound so guilty.

“We only got as far as the kitchen. Liza has baked sugar cakes — want one?” Mary offered her a hot biscuit with her free hand. Anne took it while Max sniffed it desperately.

“No, Max,” Mary said. “You’ve already had three.”

“Three? What will Liza say? Are there any left?”

“She should not leave them out upon the table unattended to cool if she doesn’t want them stolen. Not with Mad Mary about,” Mary said, gently placing Max on the floor. “So, what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Anne replied. She still wasn’t accustomed to how easy it was to lie now that she didn’t stutter so badly. She took a bite from the biscuit.

“When I came in, you were prostrate upon the bed in a gesture of despair.” Mary flung her arm over her forehead in a melodramatic impersonation. “In which vale of tears do you wander, sister?”

“None. I assure you I am perfect content,” Anne replied.

Mary sat on the bed next to her, and passed her another sugar cake. They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Mary said, “Do you ever think about the angel?”

Anne shook her head. “No. You?”

“No.”

“Why do you ask? Are you thinking of calling upon him?” The jealousy would be too much to bear. Anne felt her face flush at the thought. More than anything, she wanted Lazodeus only to herself.

“No, it is just that we haven’t discussed him for so long. The whole time we were away —”

“We didn’t speak of him. I know.” Because it was too secret, too intimate to share with her sisters. Especially with sisters who were rivals: Mary because of her obvious erotic interest; Deborah because of her fresh beauty. “But he is little use to us now we cannot command him.”

“I expect you are right. I expect that we would gain nothing from his attendance now.” Mary would not meet her eye. Anne watched her closely. Did Mary really care for the angel no longer? It was one of her dearest wishes. But …

“Anne, perhaps it would take all three of us in partnership to call him again anyway. We had to let him go so he could help others.”

“I’m afraid … I suppose that is true,” Anne said. “And Deborah would never agree.”

“It matters not. We do not want to call him again, do we?” Mary said, tossing a curl over her shoulder.

“No. We do not.”

Mary lifted herself off the bed and stretched. “I’m going to get more sugar cakes. Want some?”

“I shall be down anon.”

Mary nodded and left. Anne sat and pulled her knees up under her chin. Mary was most certainly right. All three of them would have to work together to summon Lazodeus, and she desperately didn’t want to share the angel with her sisters. What to do, then? Wait and hope that he came back of his own accord? Tempting, so tempting. He
must
feel the same way about her as she did about him. For love could surely not be so one-sided. The universe could not be so cruel.

A
ll through the long months at Chalfont, Betty had watched with satisfaction as John’s heart turned against his daughters. Now, one week back in London, with space between them all again, the urgency of his resentment was dissipating. They were useful to him: Deborah was good with languages, Mary had a fair hand, and Anne helped Liza with the chores. He hadn’t enough money to hire scribes and extra servants, and Betty — despite her attempts to improve — was simply not literate enough to be of great use to him.

So Betty had sent Liza in search of what evidence she could find to employ against the girls, any one of them. She had not shed her conviction that the girls were dallying with spirits, even if they had not done a single thing to suggest it was true for nearly a year. Sometimes, when Betty worried that Liza had invented the scene which had so inflamed her imagination, she reminded herself of Father Bailey’s words — not so frightening now at a distance of many months — but enough to keep her vigilant.
You have devils in your house.

She sighed and paced from the window to the couch and back. Deborah sat in the garden below, reading.
Mary and Anne were out collecting a turkey pie, so Betty had sent Liza up to investigate their bedroom. She leaned her back against the window frame. The room was bright with morning sun and fresh whitewash. Even so, she did not like this house as much as the one at Chalfont. She could never quite get used to the city, though John loved it unreservedly.

Liza burst in, brandishing a book. “Ma’am, I may have what you need,” she said breathlessly.

Betty hurried over. “What is it?”

“A book, but it looks wicked, ma’am.”

Betty seized the book and began to flick through the pages. Strange designs, tables of information and, here, invocations for spirits. She remembered Father Bailey listing such a book as a sure sign of necromancy. “Aha!” Betty cried. “I have them. Whose is it?”

“It belongs to Miss Deborah, ma’am,” Liza said. “’Twas under her pillow.”

“Good work, Liza. I shall take it to her father immediately.”

“There’s something else, ma’am. I found this under her bed.” Liza drew a bundle from her apron, and unwrapped it to reveal an elaborately carved mirror. “I wondered why she hid it, and then it occurred to me she might have stole it.”

Betty took the mirror and laid it on top of the book. There was something sinister about the stone carvings around the mirror; something grotesque and overwrought. But then, perhaps she felt that way because of the book about spirits, because she was frightened by it all.

“Thank you, Liza. I shan’t be needing you for a while. You may take a few hours off.”

Liza nodded and left the room, untying her apron. Betty took a deep breath and marched down the stairs to speak to John.

He stood by the window, his hand resting in a sunbeam, listening to the birdsong outside. As she entered, he turned to face her.

“Who’s there?”

“Betty,” she said.

“You walk with more purpose than usual, Betty. I did not recognise your gait. I thought it may be Mary.”

“Mary and Anne are at the pie shop. I have something of great importance to discuss with you.”

“Go on.”

“I believe that Deborah is communicating with evil spirits.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched, and she realised he was suppressing a laugh.

“John, ’Tis true! You must not let your cynicism allow evil to happen in this house. I have here a book, filled with descriptions of demons and spirits, and ways that one may invoke them. Do not let your blindness make you ignorant of what those girls are doing.”

The smile faded and he became very serious. “I wish you would not refer to my blindness to support your arguments.”

“I’m sorry, John,” she said dropping her head.

“Bring Deborah in here, and we will question her about this book.”

Betty swelled with triumph. She placed the book and the mirror carefully on John’s desk and hurried to the garden to find her stepdaughter.

Deborah glanced up through her ill-fitting spectacles. “Are you looking for me, Betty?”

“Yes. In fact, your father is looking for you. He wishes to question you about a certain book which was in your possession.” Betty’s reward was the sight of Deborah’s pretty pink face drawing pale.

“What do you mean?”

“We have found a certain book, about which your father wishes to question you,” Betty said again, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her to her feet. “Come, girl, ’Tis time you explained yourself.”

“Ow, let me go.”

Betty pulled Deborah through the kitchen roughly. “I’ve known for a long time there’s something not quite right with the three of you. How involved are your sisters? Was it magic that made Anne’s stutter disappear?”

“What are you talking about? The surgeon at Chalfont said it was common for such an infliction to disappear at adulthood. Magic? Betty, are you mad?”

“You protest too fiercely for someone who claims innocence.” They reached John’s study and she pushed Deborah ahead of her. “Explain to your father what you have been doing.” Deborah stumbled into the study, then gathered herself and stood tall in front of John. He had taken the book and the mirror and sat with them in his lap. Deborah’s eyebrows shot up when she saw the mirror, but she was soon composed again.

Betty wondered if it was more than a stolen mirror. Was it a magic mirror? She had heard of such things and it caused a darting fear: bad luck, extreme bad luck. John fingered the grotesque carvings on it idly.

“Deborah, your stepmother has found items in your possession which we would like you to account for,” John said.

“Certainly, Father. What questions would you have me answer?”

“First, this book. Betty tells me it has information in it about demons and commanding spirits.”

“That is true, Father. But it contains information about angels withal. You write of angels, and I wished to know more of them. I found the book in the house at Chalfont, and have been reading parts of it ever since.”

“You brought it back to London with you? That is stealing. Colonel Fleetwood may miss it.”

“I assumed he would never return from America. Now the King is restored, it were dangerous for him to come back.”

John nodded, finding this statement reasonable.

“But John,” Betty complained, reminding herself to try harder not to whine, “’Tis a guide for necromancy surely.”

“No, I assure you,” Deborah said, turning to Betty. “Divers good men and proper have an interest in such things which is critical rather than practical.” She moved to John’s chair and knelt beside it. “Father, I know my place. I know it is not for women to be involved in such things as how the universe works and which beings may people it. I assure you that my interest was solely derived from working on your
Paradise Lost.”

John stroked the cover of the book and was silent for a few moments. “I believe you,” he said at last.

“I do not!” Betty cried.

“Betty —” John began.

“No, John. The book should be burned. There is far more in it about demons than angels.”

“We cannot burn it, for it belongs to Colonel Fleetwood,” Deborah said and, damn her, produced a triumphant smile that John would never see. There had been a time when Betty felt fondness for Deborah, but now the girl was becoming as insolent as Mary.

“Well, what about this mirror?” Betty asked, knowing it sounded lame.

“What about the mirror?” Deborah shot back, success making her bold. “It is a gift for me from my mother’s mother. Why should a mirror prove aught about my behaviour? Or is my vanity a pressing issue in this household?”

“Why was it hidden? If neither of these items are proof of your wickedness, why were they both hidden?”

Deborah did not have an immediate answer, and John noticed.

“Deborah?” he said.

“I hide the mirror because Mary covets it. The book was under my pillow because I was reading it in bed this morning.”

“John,” Betty appealed, “at least let me confiscate them.”

“Certainly. A good idea. Betty will take your mirror and your book, Deborah —”

“But they are mine.”

“Do not interrupt me!” John roared, finally reaching the end of his patience.

Deborah set her jaw but did not say another word.

“Betty will take these items into her possession for your own protection. If you wish to use either of them, especially the book, it shall be with our supervision.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now go,” said Betty.

Deborah turned and narrowed her eyes at Betty, her expression pure hatred, but her voice as sweet as spring. “Certainly, Mother. I entrust the items to your safekeeping.” She tossed her red-gold hair and left.

Betty waited a few minutes before turning to John. “I think you have done the right thing, John,” she said, picking up the book and the mirror.

“Betty, you may be happy with the outcome of this dispute, but I want you to shake off any ideas that my daughters — especially Deborah — are involved in necromancy.”

Betty did not answer immediately; she was considering the mirror. But she could see no evidence of magic, only her own reflection. How would such a
device work? She shook her head: such curiosity could only be troublesome.

“John,” she said quietly, “I think that you are too forgiving of the girls.”

“No, I am not. I believe they are ungrateful and unkind. But they earn their keep.”

“I have spoken to someone who says that such a book is a sign of the devil; who says that rude and aggressive behaviour — like the girls all display from time to time — is a sign of possession by spirits.”

John frowned. “And who would say such a thing to you?”

“I …”

“Betty?”

“Father Bailey on Leake Street.”

“A papist? You dare to quote to me the words of a superstitious idolater? Betty, you do not know me well enough if you think I can be persuaded by such a fool. You have undermined your case enormously.”

“I’m sorry, John, I —”

Suddenly John gasped, his hands clutching the chair arms so hard that his knuckles turned white. “You told a Papist about affairs in my home?”

“No, John, no. I assure you I was speaking of generalities, not specifics.”

“Still, he may now suspect something of us. Betty, how could you be so foolish? Do you not value my reputation?”

Betty hung her head and felt her face burning with shame. She was an idiot for ever mentioning Father Bailey. She should have been satisfied with the day’s small victory.

“Take the book and the mirror and keep them safe,” John said dismissively. “When Mary gets home, send her in for some dictation.”

“Yes, John,” Betty said. “You can rely upon me.”

“No, I cannot,” he said. “I can rely upon nobody.” She detected real sadness in his voice, and her guilt caused her to gather her things and leave quickly.

Betty took the items to her room. She would not endure the presence of the book and the mirror in her home for long. In a day or so, when this dispute was forgotten, she would take them to the exorcist so he might destroy them. She would see how clever Deborah would solve
that
problem.

Deborah lay on her side on her bed, idly fingering the demon key. She had not used it yet. It had seemed imprudent, almost disrespectful, to experiment with it until she had a purpose. Was this not a good purpose? To seek the return of stolen belongings?

She sighed and rolled over, holding the metal bar in front of her to gaze at it. How could such a small piece of metal cause her so much apprehension? But she had to use it at some time: she couldn’t just own it and never use it. That would be foolish, that would be fearful, and Amelia had already made it known how she disdained such fear. If she used it today, and if she were successful, it would prove to Amelia that she was serious, that she was worth more to her new mistress than for her services in the kitchen.

“What to do, what to do?” she murmured to herself. She didn’t need the book returned for her own purposes: she knew it from cover to cover. But it belonged to Amelia, and to confess that she had lost it would disappoint her mistress greatly. Deborah had always been uncomfortable under the weight of a disapproving gaze. And the mirror — she wanted it back. Betty could not be trusted with it.

She closed her eyes. Return of stolen belongings. Andromalius. Deep breaths. Nothing enormous, nothing to insult the universe, just a few words.

“Andromalius,” she said. “I call upon you with this key as your commander. Return my stolen belongings.”

The wondrous sound began to gather around the key, and then five clear notes rang out, more mellow than summer fruit. She felt a quick rush of excitement bubbling up through her, and found, with surprise, a laugh upon her lips. The thrill quickly subsided, and she looked around almost guiltily, suddenly frightened somebody may have seen her abandon herself to the feeling.

Did that mean it had worked? Amelia had suggested it may take some time to make the demon key work properly for her. When could she expect a result?

But then, perhaps the result didn’t matter as much as the fact that she had exercised her new power. Amelia, she hoped, would be proud of her.

Betty could tell instantly that Lettice Bailey was not happy to see her. Clearly, her previous reluctance to share gossip had caused offence.

“Yes?” the exorcist’s sister said imperiously, barring access over the threshold into the house.

“I’d like to speak to Father Bailey, please.”

“Does your husband know where you are, Mrs Milton?”

“Is Father Bailey home?”

Lettice turned away from the door with a derisive glare and called her brother. Betty waited by the door, turning the package over and over in front of her. The mirror and the book. The longer they stayed in the house, the more uneasy she became. She knew the exorcist could dispose of them safely. But as she waited for Father Bailey to arrive, she began to regret coming. Lettice was right: John would despise knowing she was here. But John didn’t believe that the book was evil. Betty did, and she wanted it as far away from her as possible.
Finally, snow-haired Father Bailey arrived. “Mrs Milton, I am so pleased to see you again. Is it regarding your previous problem?”