Sorcery & Cecelia: Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot (27 page)

“Of course,” he said with a sigh, and nudged his horse to walk. “Tell me about Thomas.”

I gave him a complete description of what you had told me in your last letter but one. I was forced to confess that you had not actually seen Thomas this past week, but I was careful to point out that Lady Sylvia did not seem the sort of person to allow him to be out disposing of Frederick Hollydean if he were not entirely recovered from Sir Hilary’s machinations. Mr. Tarleton made no objection to this; in fact, he seemed somewhat preoccupied. I enjoyed our ride nonetheless. I was even rather sorry when we reached the hill near the house, and James took his leave.

I did not have time to fall into a groundless fit of the mopes, for Aunt Elizabeth pounced on me directly I came in, and we went out to collect my dress from Mrs. Hobart. Then Mr. Wrexton came in the afternoon to resume my magic lessons (and I must say, Kate, it is far easier to apply oneself to such things indoors instead of perched in a carriage with a groom riding ahead).

Mr. Wrexton says that the spell that made me feel so tired has faded, and has not been renewed. He seems inclined to think that it was simply in the nature of a warning, but he recommended that I continue to wear the locket, just in case. I had already formed that intention, but I thanked him gravely for the advice.

Sir Hilary has sent Aunt Elizabeth a note acknowledging the apology she sent him and particularly requesting our presence at his party. This may be only because he wishes to stop the rumors that resulted from the tales Mrs. Everslee has been telling of Aunt Elizabeth’s behavior that day I broke the chocolate pot. On the other hand, he made a point of saying that if Oliver came home unexpectedly, we were not to stand on ceremony but to bring him along.

It occurs to me that the last few times we have seen him, Sir Hilary has made a great point of inquiring about Oliver. That strikes me as sinister, for you know he has never before shown a particular interest in any of us. It bothers me even more that I cannot imagine why Sir Hilary should be concerned with Oliver. If he were inquiring about you, I could understand it (since you are engaged to Thomas). But what can he want with
Oliver
?
 
I find that I am very glad your odious Marquis has Oliver safely hidden away somewhere.

Your puzzled cousin,

Cecy

11 July 1817

11 Berkeley Square, London

Dear Cecy,

Forgive me for this letter. I shall give you all the news, I promise, but I must be merciless and tell it all in order or my head will start to spin and I’m sure to leave things out. I’m sure to leave things out anyway, but this is the only way I can make sense of it for you at all. You would not have me be like Lady Jersey and tell the story hopscotch fashion, would you?

On Friday, Lady Sylvia and Thomas came to supper before we were to depart for Carlton House. Just as we were going in to dine, a message arrived from Dorothea. She said that Miranda was indisposed. Unless she could find a proper chaperone she would be unable to attend the ball, and would Aunt Charlotte be able to oblige? After much coaxing from Georgy, Aunt Charlotte agreed we would call at Miranda’s on the way to Carlton House and collect Dorothea. (Doubtless the importance of the party counted for something with Aunt Charlotte.) I was surprised at Dorothea’s willingness to be leered at by the Duke of Hexham, but suspected she might have learned that Robert Penwood would be there. Lady Sylvia and Thomas exchanged dark looks over the news that Miranda was not planning to attend the Prince’s ball after all. As soon as the meal was over, Thomas took his leave, with the unstated intention of investigating Miranda’s sudden change of plan. It developed that with Dorothea along there would be no space in the carriage for me, so I was able to accept Lady Sylvia’s offer of a place in her coach, instead. The others departed and we waited in the blue saloon for word that Lady Sylvia’s coach was ready.

From the instant the others left, my heart began to lift. It was true that Thomas and I were not really engaged. It was understandable that he had abandoned the ball to hunt Miranda. But it was also true that on the strength of my sham betrothal, I had been allowed a silk dress—far grander than anything I’ve ever had—the color of a ripe peach: rich gold with shifting highlights of deep rose. And it was also understandable that I felt my spirits rise when I was alone with Lady Sylvia, whose opinion of me, even when she is frowning at my coiffure, is so much easier to bear than Aunt Charlotte’s.

“I can’t understand how you produce that effect,” she said, squinting at my hair critically, “but I wish you would not, my dear. Do you have a comb?”

I did, of course (
and
a clean handkerchief), but to get at it I had to turn out my reticule on the side table. Among the hairpins and other small debris I carry, she spied the pair of charm-bags you made for me. I returned my own to my reticule when I bundled up my things again, but she took the one containing Thomas’s handkerchief and turned it over and over in her hands with a pensive expression.

“So you carry this with you,” Lady Sylvia said.

I explained what you told me about the bloodstains.

“They turned violet?” repeated Lady Sylvia. She regarded the charm-bag in thoughtful silence for a moment, then nodded. “You are wise to guard it well. The handkerchief links you with Thomas, did you realize? Oh, yes. And such a link may not always be to your benefit. Remember the headache he gave you at Countess Lieven’s? You had a charm-bag and it ought to have protected you from such slight magic as that. Of course, charm-bags can’t protect you from everything. They work best when their existence goes undetected, or when a spell has been cast and left to do its work unattended. If Miranda were to try to enchant you this evening, for example, it would be very little use against her, save perhaps to delay the spell’s effects a trifle. Of course, it would be the worst of bad taste for Miranda to employ magic at Carlton House. The magical precautions cast over that place are very precise; it would be rank folly to interfere with them. And after all, whatever his personal habits, the Prince is still our heir to the throne. Still, you must remember that since you and Thomas are both in this charm-bag, you are linked. It is a small thing, but sometimes small things can cause more misery than you might expect. These magical bonds can sometimes prove painful.”

I remembered the day Thomas came to cry off, when I thought Dorothea had enchanted him. Thomas needed no magical assistance to make people miserable. “What should I do, Lady Sylvia? I don’t wish to prolong such a link, but I daren’t do anything to harm the charm-bag if it is protecting us—and even if I opened it, I don’t know where I’d be able to keep the handkerchief safely.”

“If the blood were out of the silk,” said Lady Sylvia, “the pair of you would be disentangled. I think I shall try, with your permission. May I keep this?”

I agreed and she tucked the charm-bag into her own reticule.

“And now,” she said, “your comb, my child.”

In the three minutes before the carriage arrived, she unpinned my hair, made me bend over until it nearly brushed the carpet, and combed until the tears came to my eyes. Then she twisted it all up into a loose coil, told me to straighten, and produced an intricate knot at the crown of my head. She thrust six hairpins in, apparently at random, and turned me to the mirror to judge the effect, which was, to my eyes, entirely lovely but very precarious.

“It’s perfect,” I said glumly, “but it will never stay up.”

In the mirror I could see Lady Sylvia standing behind me. Her reflection held my eyes as she said very distinctly, “It will stay up. It will stay up
all evening
.”

Our arrival at Carlton House was festive, for many of the guests were old friends of Lady Sylvia’s, anxious to welcome her home to England. I could see Georgina among a swarm of young men, and from the presence of the Duke of Hexham in the group, I judged Dorothea must be there, too. Of Thomas there was no sign.

Lady Sylvia made me known to her friends and conducted me on a brief tour of the marvels of Carlton House. There are marvels there, too, and you will be amazed, as I was, when you see them. In one long corridor they display some of the artifacts the Prince brought back from his tour of the American colonies last year, some very fine beadwork and a Mohican shaman’s drum, which casts out illness (Mohican illness only, unfortunately). There was also a gleaming obsidian disc that belonged to Doctor John Dee, and an exquisite chessboard with enameled pieces. I bent close to admire the detail of the white queen’s cloak (I could see the black-tipped ermine) and jumped.

“Oh, it moved!” I exclaimed—for as I watched, the queen had taken a step to her left, to a black square, where her cloak showed to best advantage. As I stared, the white knight beside her stepped aside politely to clear the next square. “That’s not a proper knight’s move,” I protested. “They’re just wandering around at random.”

Lady Sylvia smiled. “This is the King’s pride and joy,” she explained, “but the enchantment merely animates the pieces. It doesn’t instruct them in the finer points of play.”

“How dreadful,” I replied, “to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules.”

“It’s not a plight unique to this chess set,” Lady Sylvia observed dryly.

“Well, someone should teach them,” I said.

Lady Sylvia nodded. “It’s been tried. All they do is display their clothes, jostle for position, and, very occasionally, crawl back into their velvet case to sleep.”

“Oh,” I said. “Just like real people.”

“Indeed,” replied Lady Sylvia, and continued the tour.

A little past midnight, I received a message via Michael Aubrey that Dorothea wished to speak with me particularly, and that she waited for me with Georgina in the conservatory. Thinking she had some message to give me for Robert Penwood, who was not among the guests after all, I accompanied Michael to the little assembly of bamboo chairs set in the heart of the glass-roofed and walled conservatory. Dorothea and Georgy were sitting with their backs to the door. At our arrival, Michael claimed Georgy’s hand and took her off to search for refreshments. I took one of the delicate bamboo chairs beside Dorothea.

I arranged my skirts carefully, folded my hands over the reticule in my lap, and composed myself for another lengthy discussion of Robert’s virtues. And realized that Dorothea’s eyes were not blue, but dark and very hard. The woman sitting next to me was not Dorothea, but Miranda.

I had to squint a little to see her as she really was, and as I did so something in my expression must have betrayed my recognition, for she smiled at me icily and said, “I
have
been looking forward to this moment, you meddlesome little chit. It is about time I discomfited you as you have discomfited me, don’t you think?”

“Is that the reason for this little masquerade?” I asked. Really, it was so satisfactory to speak bluntly to Miranda for a change that I almost forgot to be frightened. “To discomfit me?”

Miranda put her hand up to conceal the smile on her lips. “In part,” she said. “You will prove useful to me. But I work best with an audience. Time to arrange for the rest of my entertainment. Thomas is being so slow about finding me, I think I’m entitled to give him a hint.”

She put out her hand to me. I found myself lifting my left hand and holding it out to her. It was a strange sensation—my hand had fallen asleep and there was the same feeling I’d had in Sir Hilary’s garden in it, first pins and needles and then numbness. Miranda made a slight sound of annoyance and pulled off my long glove. Beneath the glove, on my index finger, I wore Thomas’s ring. Miranda plucked it off and inspected it with a sneer.

“Quite the ugliest betrothal ring I ever saw.” She tossed it on her palm, caught it, and clenched it in her fist. Her knuckles went white—there was a flash of brilliant light—she opened her fist and the ring was gone.

“That ought to fetch him,” Miranda said.

For a moment I wished it would; then the thought of Thomas confronting Miranda’s reckless malice made me wish him a thousand miles away. From that thought, it was a small step to wish myself a thousand miles away, too. But wishing accomplished nothing.

It would have been nice to call for help, or even turn my head toward the door to see if Michael and Georgina were returning, but I could not. The pins and needles spread from my hand up my arm and slowly all through me—more slowly than that first day in Sir Hilary’s garden, but just as thoroughly in the end. I was held fast in the deep hard chill of Miranda’s gaze.

“You ought to have settled for life as a tree,” Miranda informed me. “I have always heard it is a most restful way to spend time. I won’t offer you such a pleasant fate now. You’ve had your chance at painless alternatives. When it seemed Dorothea had enchanted Thomas it should have been simple enough to break your neck, but you managed not to—and later it became plain that although you were solidly in the way, your death would do nothing to forward Dorothea’s cause with Thomas. So it is your own fault that you are finally providing me with a method of inflicting the pain that Thomas so richly deserves.”

As in Sir Hilary’s garden, I found I was able to speak, though my tongue was woolly and my words slow. “What did he ever do to you?” I asked muzzily.

Miranda rose and began to pace back and forth in front of my chair. It hurt me to follow her with my eyes, but I could not look away. I think, from the expression on her face, that she realized this and enjoyed it. “He interfered,” Miranda replied. “He has always interfered. He objected to his brother’s devotion to me, and interfered with it. He objected to my research with Sir Hilary and interfered with that. He had the audacity to threaten to expose us. We put a stop to that, and when he had run away, we put a stop to his brother, too. It seemed an appropriate means of replenishing our resources. And from the moment he arrived back in England, Thomas began to interfere again. He might have been of some practical use to me before Sir Hilary leached away most of his magic—but now my only interest in him is the entertainment value he provides. It will be amusing to witness his reaction to your death.”