Blaze of Glory (38 page)

'I know.'

Craddock took off his hat and brushed some invisible
lint from it. 'I wonder if he's ever thought of a career in
the Magisterium?'

Aubrey's mouth dropped open. Sir Darius raised an
eyebrow. 'Craddock, I do believe you've managed to
surprise my son. And me.' He looked at Aubrey. 'My son's
magical ability is a wonder to me. He can do things I've
never dreamed of. His horizons are vaster than mine ever
will be. I'm proud of him – and I envy him.'

Aubrey's knees felt weak. He sat on the chair by the
bedside, humbled. He thought he'd known where he
stood, but the rug of certainty had been pulled out from
beneath his feet. Craddock's offer was unexpected, and
his father's words had caught him utterly unawares.
Perhaps he'd been guilty of making assumptions. Again.

Craddock gave a small movement of the lips that – on
another person – could have been called a smile. 'You'll
consider my offer, Fitzwilliam?'

Aubrey nodded. 'I have much to consider.'

W
ITH LESS THAN TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE ELECTION,
Aubrey found that twenty-four hours was not
enough time in a day.

Despite George's reluctance to become involved in
politics, Aubrey dragged him in to help with the
campaign. Together they organised the distribution of
pamphlets and the hanging of posters, as well as helping
to arrange public rallies and meetings. Aubrey's arms
grew sore from cranking printing machines, and ink
became ingrained under his fingernails. His hands were
red and sore from clapping during his father's numerous
speeches. He met with Jack Figg and gained his assistance
in rallying workers behind the Progressive Party.

Aubrey also assumed a key role in scrutinising and
editing Sir Darius's speeches. 'Adding a touch of theatre,'
was how he explained this contribution to George.

Aubrey tried to involve Caroline, but she declined.
Then Lady Fitzwilliam invited her, telling her of the
Progressive Party's commitment to giving women the
vote. After that, Caroline made sure Sir Darius and his
colleagues addressed Suffragette rallies, which provided a
sharp distinction from the Prime Minister and his
Royalist cronies, who refused invitations from Suffragette
leaders and, at times, heaped scorn on Suffragette hopes.

Sir Darius campaigned vigorously on a platform of a
strong Albion. With news of more Holmland aggression
in the Goltans, this resonated with the public. The Prime
Minister tried to distance himself from the King, who
had the extraordinary lack of both wit and tact to have
Count Herman, the brother of the Elektor of Holmland,
visit his country estate. The newspapers reflected the
general unhappiness with this. George made a point of
cutting out the best headlines and pasting them on the
walls of the tiny office Aubrey and he worked from so
that whenever Aubrey looked up from typing, telephoning
or duplicating, he saw 'Is Our PM A Holmland
Man?' in large, black letters all over the walls. Aubrey
wondered if Bertie had had anything to do with the invitation
to Count Herman.

The King's birthday parade went ahead, as tradition
demanded, but the Prime Minister was not overly pleased
with the result. The King insisted that the royal coach
was full of his imaginary friends and that Sir Rollo had
to walk behind. The sight of the red-faced, waddling PM
trying to keep up with the royal coach caused gales of
laughter along the entire parade route.

For Aubrey, election night was a mixture of relief,
tension and detachment. The Progressive Party had
booked the ballroom of the Burton Hotel, which was
directly opposite the Electoral Board offices in Porter
Street. While members of parliament, candidates, staff and
families milled about, a constant stream of people crossed
the street to bring the latest news on the counting.

Early in the evening, Aubrey felt as if he needed some
solitude after the whirlwind of the previous fourteen
days. He stood by a pillar, screened by a potted palm, and
watched his father and mother greet people as they
arrived. He was still there when he saw Caroline and her
mother enter. Caroline was wearing a grey dress that
made Aubrey feel as if he'd been struck, hard, in the
stomach. Her face glowed as she smiled at Sir Darius. Her
hair was arranged in a way that Aubrey guessed would
have required a good structural magician. She wore a
fine gold chain around her neck and small diamond
earrings.

She looked beautiful. Her mother was with her and
wore something or other. Aubrey had no idea what.

He leaned against the pillar, making sure Caroline and
Mrs Hepworth didn't see him. He watched as they
entered the room and quickly found George, who reluctantly
bade farewell to a group of young women he'd
spent much of the evening entertaining.

Aubrey took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Things
were turning out well enough, he supposed. Caroline
wasn't totally convinced that he was a dangerous lunatic,
which was a good thing. The situation there was retrievable,
given tenacity – of which he had an abundance.

The plot to propel Albion into war had been foiled.
For now
, he thought, and this cast a pall on his musings
that was at odds with the optimism of the evening.
The
threat of war is going to be with us for some time
, he thought,
Dr Tremaine or no Dr Tremaine.
He could see years of
international tension while life tried to go on.

Then there was his 'condition'. He had steadied things,
but it was temporary. It was as if he'd woven a cocoon
around his united body and soul, but death was still
waiting for him, a gaping maw that was calling, calling . . .

More research, more experimentation, that was his
only answer. What he'd done so far had spurred his
thinking about development of a modern language for
magic and he had some inklings that his solution would
be dependent on this, too. Along the way, he was bound
to grapple with the fundamental question of the Nature
of Magic as well. He needed time, more time! If only he
could get hold of Professor Hepworth's notebook.

Which brings us back to Dr Tremaine, in more ways than one
,
he thought and he patted his fob pocket, where an irregular
lump lay, a reminder of unfinished business.

He wondered how he could do all this while pursuing
his goals. The events of the last few weeks had only
confirmed his desire for a life in politics – on his own
terms. It was the way to true achievement. But when?
University first? The army first? Or what about
Craddock's invitation to join the Magisterium? He was
still swamped with choices.

He smiled. His escapades had shown him something: for
better or worse, he was his own man. His abilities and his
strengths had saved his father, while he had coped with
weaknesses that were undeniably his own. The challenge
of living in his father's shadow and up to his expectations
had, perhaps, been a burden of his own making. It might
be time to lay it down, especially with his father's recognition
of his magical skill. Magic was a sphere Sir Darius
had not conquered, but perhaps his son could. It could be
a chance to step aside from measuring himself against the
man he respected so much. So maybe magic was where
his future lay. Perhaps he could carry the torch of rational
magic that Baron Verulam had lit so long ago.

He grinned.
But I do love a challenge
, he thought and, for
the moment, he left the future to take care of itself.

He looked at the smiling faces, the animated conversations
in the ballroom. The Progressive Party was about
to sweep the Royalists from power, no-one had any
doubt about that. It was a time for change, for bettering
society, for righting wrongs. Aubrey caught himself and
smiled. He'd been the one making the speeches this time.

He looked around at the excited candidates, those who
were about to be elected and become the law-makers of
the land. As the evening drew out, Sir Darius and Lady
Fitzwilliam circulated around the room, arm in arm,
speaking to every candidate and every current member of
parliament. Aubrey shook off his sombre mood and took
on the role as Sir Darius's son without a tinge of resentment.
He shook hands, congratulated workers, listened
to stories. Eventually, he was able to sit at a table with Mrs
Hepworth, Caroline and George.

'Nervous, Aubrey?' Caroline asked.

'Definitely,' he said.
Mostly around you
, he thought.
'Can't take this election for granted, you know.'

She smiled and he hoped she hadn't read his mind.
'"What lies ahead can be seen if one knows enough of
what lay before." Scholar Tan.'

'Ah.' She'd developed a knack of making him feel
inadequate. He had almost grown accustomed to it.

'Excellent salmon, Aubrey,' George said. 'Try some?'

'Not just now.'

Mrs Hepworth – Ophelia, Aubrey told himself –
leaned over. 'Your father looks very handsome. The years
sit easily on him.'

Aubrey looked at his father, then back at her. 'You
know him well?'

'I knew him well indeed.' She gazed at Sir Darius with
affection. Aubrey noted this and filed it away for future
consideration.
I knew he had a past
, he thought,
but it might
be even more interesting than I'd thought.

The confidence in the room grew as the evening
progressed and the news coming from across the road
grew steadily better. By midnight, champagne was being
opened and poured.

Aubrey smiled. A dance band was summoned and the
evening became a party. He waved to a campaign official,
asked a few questions and then sat back with a foolish
smile on his face.

'Have we won?' George asked Aubrey, raising his voice
over the music.

'Yes. Oh, nothing official, but the result is in no doubt.
The Prime Minister is apparently meeting his Cabinet and
advisers, deciding how to put a good face on the defeat.'

'Grand.'

A man rushed into the ballroom and stood on tip-toes
and looked around. Spying Sir Darius, he hurried to his
side. A quick conversation and Sir Darius nodded decisively.
With one athletic bound, he leapt to the stage and
spoke to the bandleader. The bandleader gathered the
musicians and ended the tune with a flourish.

Sir Darius raised his arms. He was about to speak,
when he looked down. Lady Fitzwilliam smiled up at
him. He grinned back and motioned for her to join him
on the stage. Amid applause, she did, but she used the
stairs instead of duplicating her husband's leap.

When the acclamation died down, Sir Darius cleared
his throat and addressed the crowd. 'Loyal colleagues,
friends and supporters. The Prime Minister has conceded!'

Aubrey knocked his chair over as he leapt to his feet.
His cheers joined those of everyone else in the room.
Triumphantly, George shook a fist in the air. Caroline
smiled. Mrs Hepworth applauded, tears in her eyes.

A man's voice rose above the acclamation. 'Three
cheers for Sir Darius, our new Prime Minister!'

The cheering rose again, shaking the chandeliers and
the windows. Sir Darius waved, then led Lady Fitzwilliam
from the stage, shaking hands and suffering claps on the
back as they went.

Sir Darius took Lady Fitzwilliam onto the dance floor
and bowed to her. He looked to the bandleader and
nodded. A tune struck up and the Fitzwilliams moved
gracefully into a dance. He led deftly, and she followed his
moves as if they'd rehearsed for years. Every eye in the
room was on them, but the couple was oblivious.

'They dance well,' Caroline said.

'Yes,' Aubrey said. 'Do you dance?'

'Yes.'

'Let me guess . . . a friend of your father's taught you?'

'Of course. I dance very well, thanks to the Count of
Lower Gallia.'

'So do I,' Mrs Hepworth said. She put her chin on her
hand.

Aubrey opened his mouth, but at that moment Sir
Darius and Lady Fitzwilliam came to their table.
'Ophelia,' Sir Darius said, smiling, 'it's good to see you.
It's been too long.'

She smiled. 'Yes.'

'Miss Hepworth, I'm glad you're here to help celebrate.
Without your help . . .' Sir Darius left the obvious
unstated. He coughed. 'It's time for us to leave.'

'Now?' Aubrey asked, dismayed.

'We'll let the people enjoy themselves,' Sir Darius said.
'They've earned some respite from my presence. Loyal as
they are, I'm sure things will be more carefree once I
leave.' He paused. 'Mrs Hepworth, Miss Hepworth –
you'll join us for a small celebration at Maidstone?'

When his father made this unexpected offer,Aubrey had
been tussling over the best way to say goodbye to Caroline
so as to ensure seeing her again. He leapt to his feet.
'A capital idea. Just the thing. Rather noisy here, now,
I mean, even though the band was a nice touch . . .'

'Aubrey,' Caroline said, 'you're babbling.'

Lady Fitzwilliam leaned across the table and patted
Caroline on the arm. 'We're used to it, my dear,' she said
sympathetically.

Aubrey was so delighted at the coming together of
things that he felt no irritation whatsoever.

Stubbs was waiting for them when they came out of
the hotel. He tipped his cap and opened the door of the
Oakleigh-Nash. 'Wonderful night, ma'ams, miss, sirs.'

'Indeed,' Sir Darius said. 'It's a wonderful country.'

D
UCHESS
M
ARIA MET THEM WHEN THEY ENTERED
Maidstone. She stood in the entrance hall, at the bottom
of the great stairs, eyes bright, hands clasped. 'Darius,' she
said. 'Well done, Prime Minister.'

Sir Darius made a face. 'That's not official, Mother.
I haven't been sworn in.'

'Rubbish. It's just a formality now!'

He bent and kissed her on the cheek. 'Take everyone
to the drawing room, Aubrey,' he said. 'I have something
special to help us celebrate.'