Legend Of The Highland Dragon (15 page)

“Not hardly,” said Polly, laying teaspoon in saucer with a percussive click. “I’ve been to the country.
Our
whole Sunday school class went when I was twelve. A treat, they said. Not much of one, I say. It rained the whole time, and there was mud everywhere.”

“Not like here, then,” said Mrs. Hennings.

Polly laughed. “Oh, I suppose you’ve a point. Mud just seems
muddier
outside the city, though, without the paved streets and that. And I suppose the flowers are pretty, but you do get pigs. And cows,” she added, with a shudder that might have mostly been exaggeration.

“You wouldn’t have beef for dinner if you didn’t,” said Mrs. Baldwin.

“But she’s right,” Mrs. Hennings said. “They’re unsettling beasts, alive and up close. And as for pigs, they’re much better in sausage form.”

Mina grinned over the top of her letter. “I might agree if I’d ever met them,” she said, “but I hadn’t had the chance. We always went to the seaside. I think Florrie will like a few days in the country, though, and Bert too.”

“It’ll do them good, anyhow,” said Polly.

“Even with the mud?” Mina teased her.

“Even with. The doctors say fresh air’s healthy, and I’m not one to go against their advice. I’m just glad I’m grown now and strong enough that there’s no need.”

“Better hope you stay that way, then,” said Emily.

At midday on a Sunday, the rest of the house was quiet and clean. Stephen was out.

He’d often been out since the afternoon when they’d found out about the thieves. He and Mina still had breakfast together and still talked over the newspaper. He still kept her aware of what little progress he was making, but he made sure to stay at more than arm’s length. Serious and businesslike, they talked about scrying and occult clubs; abstract and scholarly, they spoke of museums and politics, and neither of them touched on anything personal.

She didn’t tease him. He didn’t call her “Cerberus.” In the daytime, he went out, and he stayed out until he had to come home and transform. Then, often enough, he went out again.

For Mina’s part, there was the kitchen: tea and cake, as often as not, and the company of the servants. The pain that became alarmingly sharp when Mina was by herself was at least duller in company, and she was coming to enjoy the servants for their own sake, as well.

From a sensible perspective, everything was going very well. Mina wished she could have felt happier about it. That would probably take time.

“Speaking of doctors,” she said into the silence, with a quick glance back at her letter to refresh what she already knew, “Mum says they’re putting in one of those charity clinics a few streets down from us. She also says—heavily underlined, I might add—that one of the doctors there is a lady.”

“I’ve heard of those,” said Mrs. Hennings, cutting herself a slice of cake. “No wonder she’s practicing at a charity, though. Can you imagine anyone with a choice going to a woman?”

“Especially a gentleman,” said Emily, and bit back a giggle under Mrs. Baldwin’s stern expression.

“My father’s of the same opinion,” said Mina. She glanced back at the letter, read between the lines, and smiled. “My mother isn’t going to contradict him openly, but I suspect she’s mostly glad to have a doctor nearby, whatever her sex. Florrie thinks it’s a wonderful idea, though. I’d imagine she’s already started dissecting her old dolls.”

That got a laugh.

“I think it’s a splendid notion,” said Polly, and tossed her champagne curls. “I’ve had quite enough of having to”—she glanced around to make sure Mr. Baldwin was nowhere on the premises and lowered her voice—“to undress in front of some strange bloke.
And
his assistant, like as not. I know they’re not supposed to care, but they’re men, aren’t they? Sometimes I think I might as well go on the halls and get paid for it, instead of handing over half a week’s wages.”

“Polly!” said Mrs. Baldwin, switching the target of her glare, and the housemaid blushed.

“I’ll have you know my sister works at the Gaiety—taking tickets, not anything else,” said Mrs. Hennings, “and it’s very respectable now.”

Polly sniffed. “You know what I mean. What do you think of it, Mina?”

“Music halls or lady doctors?” Mina shrugged. “The halls are a jolly good time, though I wouldn’t go on them myself. I’d get stage fright something fierce, for one, and I don’t think I can sing more than passably well.”

“And the lady doctors?” Mrs. Baldwin asked. “What’s your thinking about them?”

“I don’t know,” Mina said. “In principle it’s sound enough. I can’t think of a reason a woman can’t be a doctor, and a good one. But it’s new, and I’d be wary of anything new, especially where medicine’s concerned.” She looked down at her teacup and saw her reflection: sleek hair, crisp collar, very much the New Woman. “Now is when we say something about pots and kettles,” she added.

“Well, I wasna’ about to mention it myself,” said Mrs. Baldwin. “We’ve enough nurses and midwives and that at home, of course, and half of them take charge when the doctor’s too far—we’ve a great deal of ground to cover, of course—or too new. I recall hearing as how one young sawbones fainted the first time a birth got messy, and the midwife poured the whole kettle of water over his head. It hadn’t but started to warm yet, thank God.”

Women among the dragons took on different roles, Mina remembered. Stephen had talked about one of his sisters fighting in a battle, and she’d found a few older and less-well-labeled books, journals from the look of them, that suggested as much, as well as other things about dragons. In a land where they had ruled for centuries and where they’d done a great deal to keep out the rest of the world, perhaps their attitudes had spread even to those who were entirely mortal.

“Must be hard,” said Mrs. Hennings, “living so far away. With so much distance between people, that is.”

“Betimes it is,” said Mrs. Baldwin. “But we’re great walkers and fair riders, at that, and we’ve always been welcome into the great house if there’s a storm. His lairdship’s father and then his lairdship and now Lady Judith have always put up a good meal for it. Sometimes they’ll have a dance or a bit of a play, and these days they’ll play the gramophone. So the distance doesn’t seem so far. There’s been talk of putting a railway station in nearby, at that.” She poured herself another cup of tea.

“Would you want that?” asked Emily. “All those people coming in?”

“No, though I suppose it wouldn’t really matter. We don’t have much to make them stay, so they’d just drop off a few goods and leave. And I wouldn’t mind coming back to London
sometimes
,” Mrs. Baldwin said, very severe on the last word, “to see the sights.”

“You won’t be staying here?” Polly asked.

“Not forever, most likely. I’d imagine they’ll have the house kept open, of course, and come up from time to time as business demands, or for the Season.”

“He’d have to come up for the Season,” said Mrs. Hennings. “Oldest son and not married? They must be at him with hot irons.”

The cake felt very thick in Mina’s mouth. She swallowed it, a slow and painful process, and gulped too-hot tea until she could speak again. “We don’t know that he isn’t married. Or hasn’t been.”

“He hasn’t,” said Mrs. Baldwin, “but he’s not likely to take a wife from the London debutantes.”

“Poor fragile things,” said Mrs. Hennings. “They’d never survive a winter in Scotland. And he hasn’t seemed terribly concerned, at that. Does his family generally choose ladies somewhere nearer home?”

Mina didn’t let herself look away from the conversation. She did put her teacup down as casually as she could, while she waited to hear Mrs. Baldwin’s answer.

No answer came. The bell for the study rang before Mrs. Baldwin could speak, and the housekeeper excused herself to attend the call.

“The Season,” said Emily, when Mrs. Baldwin had gone. “Sounds divine, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds uncomfortable,” said Polly. “Not knowing if a man’s dancing with you because he likes you or because he has to. I wouldn’t mind one of those fancy white dresses, though. The kind with the train as long as me.”

“Imagine how long it would take to sew that,” said Mina, flexing her fingers and wincing. “But that’s art for you, isn’t it?” she added, on further consideration. “I bet Michelangelo’s hands were sore too, after he finished David.”

“A dress isn’t the same thing,” said Mrs. Hennings, mildly shocked.

“It’s something beautiful,” said Emily.

Mrs. Baldwin returned with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering. “Leisure’s over as of now, I’d say.” Suiting actions to words, she began clearing away the china. “His lairdship’s brother arrives on the nine o’clock train.”

A cab deposited Colin MacAlasdair on his brother’s doorstep around quarter to ten, and Baldwin showed him into the drawing room a few minutes later. Stephen looked up from his correspondence—a particularly unctuous proposal concerning a bill in the House of Lords—and did not remark on the time. “Colin,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you, man.”

His younger brother looked much as he’d done ten years before: taller and more slender than Stephen, ash to his oak, with silver-gray eyes and a bluish tinge to his dark hair. His clothes were in the height of fashion, and the silver pin in his cravat was an old Viking rune: fair speech, if Stephen remembered correctly.

“And yourself,” said Colin, with his usual easy grin. He draped himself over a sofa. “Going over the accounts, are you? I swear I’ve not been spending any more than usual—and besides, I’ve been self-sufficient for years now.”

“Have you? How did you manage that?”

“Opals. Remarkable wee stones. Went to Brazil, dug out a fair lot when nobody was around to see me, and now I sell one off here and there whenever I need a new coat or the like. Limestone’s hardly a challenge if a man has privacy enough.”

“Technically, I think that’s theft.”

“Theft, nothing. I stayed well away from any open mines. And it’s not my fault if a man can’t tell where to dig, is it? Have you turned teetotal, Stephen, or might a weary fellow find a drop of wine around this place?”

Despite himself, Stephen smiled and rang for Baldwin. Wine arrived soon enough, along with a small plate of cheese and fruit. The kitchen had been anticipating Colin’s visit, evidently.

“It’s not that I don’t welcome your company,” Stephen said when they’d each had time for a few sips, “but what precisely are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d catch the Season, didn’t I? It’s been a few years. They must have added something new.”

“I very much doubt that,” said Stephen.

“The innovation or my motives?”

“Both.”

“You wound me, Brother, you wound me deeply.”

“We heal fast, as a rule. Who is it—father or husband?”

Colin grinned. “Uncle, actually, for a change. Very large, very unreasonable man with very large and unreasonable sons. Luckily for them, I’m a great believer in subtlety and restraint—and the family sells a fine quality of whiskey.” He sat up with the sudden change that marked any of his motions and looked seriously at Stephen. “And I do get the
Times
, you know. Loch Arach, Dublin, Bath—wherever I’m keeping myself. I keep up my subscription, and I have a fair memory for names. Colonel Moore is dead and I hadn’t heard from you.”

“Scarce enough evidence to go on.”

“Enough evidence to come down to London, surely. It hardly takes much. Am I right?”

Stephen sighed. “You are. Ward’s back, probably mad, and certainly a sight more powerful than when he ran off. He’s commanding demons now, not to mention more mortal forces.”

“Then I’ll be of use to you,” Colin took another, fairly large sip of wine and stretched himself out on the sofa again, staring up at the ceiling. “Let’s see. Baldwin said he’d find me a room and put my belongings there. I didn’t pack much for handling the occult, but I’m sure you’ll be able to supply what’s needed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’ve plenty to catch up on—unless the demons will come howling in any minute or you’re charging out to meet the cad on the field of battle.”

“No,” said Stephen. “I’m waiting to see a lady who’s out of town at the present. But there is one other person you should know about.”

***

Few things seemed to have changed about Colin, and one of the eternal constants was his inability to wake up before noon. Therefore, it was at dinner that Stephen introduced his brother to Mina, and he went into the meal with his nerves on edge.

As the dining room was distinctly out of service, they ate in the drawing room where he and Mina had breakfast. By night, it took on a different air, and an odd one: formal and intimate at the same time.

When Mina came in the door, Stephen found himself acutely aware of two things. The first was that she was stunningly beautiful; the second that her life had been very different from his. She wore a violet dress printed with tiny white flowers. The color made her eyes and skin luminous, and the cut outlined the trim curves of her body, but the neckline was high and the sleeves were long. Her hair shone the color of dark honey and fell more gently about her face than usual, but it was still done simply, and she wore no jewelry.

Of course Mina didn’t own a dinner gown. She wouldn’t have had any need of one. Stephen was a heel for not thinking of it. Even as he stepped forward to make the introductions, he saw Mina’s eyes go to his coat and tie, then drop to her own clothing. Otherwise, her face betrayed only pleasant interest.

Painfully conscious that there was nothing he could do now, Stephen helped her to the seat opposite Colin and waited as Baldwin served. He’d been nervous before; now he feared that this would be a very long hour.

“Miss Seymour,” he said into the silence, “is a friend of Professor Carter.”

“His secretary, actually,” said Mina.

“I’ve heard of him. Not as much as Stephen, of course,” Colin said. His accent had shifted somewhat over the last few years. Now there were shades of English in it and a bit of Irish, as well. It still conjured up memories of home for Stephen but not as strongly. “What’s he been having you do, then? Lug around books on Egypt?”

“The Etruscans, mostly,” said Mina, “and the Romans. The Vikings, too, lately. They’re an interesting lot—a lot more complicated than you’d think, even if they didn’t spin all the webs the Romans did.”

“Hard for anybody to manage that, I’d think,” said Colin. “Jolly strange, too. I was in Italy for a time. Gave me an absolute horror of politics.”

“How fond of them were you before?” Mina asked, and both brothers laughed: Colin in admission, Stephen in triumph.

“He’s got the sense to leave that to me,” said Stephen, “for my sins.”

“I like to put all problems into the hands of experts. Or at least into the hands of someone other than me. Luckily, being the younger son generally means I can.”

“Do you have any other siblings?” Mina asked.

“One sister living,” said Stephen, with a readiness that would have shocked the man he’d been six weeks ago. He’d always tried not to give specifics of his family to outsiders. “She keeps very close to home.”

“These days,” said Colin. “I can recall a time you wouldn’t have caught Judith nearer to Loch Arach than the Channel. At least not for more than a day or two.”

“Aye, but she’s older than either of us, and there’s only so much of the world one can see.”

Mina smiled. “My mother will be glad to hear that. I’ve got a brother at sea—same malady that your sister used to have, from the sound of it. If he’s in one place for too long, I swear he grows feverish.”

Sailors’ stories followed—the ones Mina’s brother had told and the ones Colin had picked up over the years, or at least the less scandalous of his assortment. Mina listened avidly, talked animatedly, and laughed a good deal, with her head tilted back and her eyes gleaming.

She should wear amethysts, Stephen thought suddenly, or pearls, the large silver-gray sort. They should dangle from her ears so that they swayed when she laughed, and they should fit into the hollow of her throat, a place currently covered by far too much violet cloth. Come to that, she should have a damned dinner gown, something with silk and gauze. Mina would do more credit to such things than any woman Stephen had ever seen wearing them.

Naturally, she would never accept any such gifts from him. Men nowadays didn’t give clothing or jewelry to women other than relations, wives, or mistresses. Stephen would have cursed the rule as one more modern complication, except that he didn’t recall ever really
wanting
to give either to a woman before. He’d exchanged presents with relatives on the appropriate occasions; he’d given baubles to mistresses likewise, though his last such connection had been a century in the past; but he’d never really given any thought to the matter beforehand.

“…but I wouldn’t say that Stephen’s exactly led a settled life himself,” said Colin.

Drawing Stephen out of his thoughts had doubtless not been the point of the remark, but Stephen silently blessed his brother for it anyhow. “Settled enough, in comparison. But perhaps I can travel again one day when I’ve untangled Father’s papers and so on. I’d like to visit Russia again.”

“My brother, you see, is a man of singular tastes. This one seems to be for freezing to death.”

Obligingly, Mina pretended to shiver, but she also turned toward Stephen, and her gaze was far more curious than horrified. “I’ve seen pictures of the churches there,” she said. “The ones with the domes. They’d be quite a view from up close, I’d think.”

“Aye, and the icons. There’s a great deal of skill there,” said Stephen, “and a fair bit of history. Even if half the fake mediums today do affect a Russian accent.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Russian, it would be French,” said Mina. “Nobody would believe that someone from Surrey could part the mystic veil.”

“If they could, they wouldn’t live in Surrey,” said Colin, grinning.

Awkwardness was no threat. Colin and Mina got on like a house on fire. Looking at one and then the other, Stephen realized that he wasn’t at all certain how he felt about that.