The Master of Heathcrest Hall (54 page)

“So do you understand now, Lady Quent, that I have not come to mock you, or take any sort of pleasure in your misfortune?”

There was a certainty in the voice, one so cool and inexorable that Ivy found herself nodding without even thinking to.

She forced herself to be still. “If that is so, that you cannot feel such things, then why ask me what you did? Surely logic would have sufficed in the absence of empathy.”

“So it did, but I wanted to confirm what I had concluded, that you must miss your husband, and would go to great lengths to have him returned to you. What I am to say would have no purpose if you had wished him to be gone, as some wives might wish of their husbands. But I see now that I was right, and this is not the case.”

“I do miss him,” Ivy said, not wanting to, but unable to keep the faint words from escaping her aching throat.

“Yes, you do. We both know it now. And what if I were to say that you might have him returned to you?” Lady Shayde took a step closer, her black dress whispering, as if echoing each of her words. “What if I told you there was something you could do—something
that would not be a great effort on your part, but which would be for the good of Altania? And more than that, it would assure your husband’s release from prison as well. Would you not leap at the chance to do such a thing?”

Ivy opened her mouth, though what she was going to say, she did not know. She hoped it was to ask what thing this was. She feared it was to simply cry out the word
Yes!
Before she could utter anything, though, a figure in pink appeared in the doorway of the parlor. In a motion as quick and supple as that of a serpent, Lady Shayde turned to face the door.

“Oh!” Rose exclaimed, her brown eyes growing large. She clutched a large book to the bodice of her pale pink gown.

Ivy took a hurried step forward. “Rose,” she said when she could draw a breath. “Can you not see I have a guest? You should not interrupt us.”

“You need not admonish her on my behalf,” Lady Shayde said, and now there was a sound almost like a cat’s purr in her voice. “I presume she had no idea we were here. After all, I arrived without notice.”

Rose nodded, still gazing at Lady Shayde. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in the parlor. I only wanted to come in before Lily noticed and put this … that is, I wanted to put something back on the pianoforte.”

“The book, you mean?” Shayde said languidly. “But did your sister not know you had it? Here, give it to me and I will put it back for you.”

And just like that, Rose handed over the book. How simply had Shayde convinced another to comply and give up what had previously been held close. Ivy could only imagine the White Lady was skilled indeed at extracting secrets from others. And now she held Lily’s folio.

“Rose,” Ivy said gently yet firmly, “you may go now.”

Rose did not move, though Ivy could see her trembling. She was like a little bird faced with a cat, too frightened to fly. Lady Shayde set the book on the pianoforte, then opened it and turned slowly through the pages.

“These illustrations are done with great skill,” she said. “Did your younger sister draw all these?”

Ivy willed Rose not to speak, to turn and go at once.

“Yes, Lily made them,” Rose said, clutching her hands together. “I know it was wrong to take it. But she leaves it out sometimes, and at night when no one else is up I like to look at the pictures.”

“Of course,” Shayde said, turning another page. “What harm could there be in merely looking at pictures? You were not ruining the book in any way, were you?”

Rose took a step forward. “No, I would never! The pictures are so beautiful. They remind me of the time we read from the old Tharosian play with Mr. Garritt and Mr. Rafferdy, in the parlor on Whitward Street. It was the most marvelous day. I remember how handsome they were, and how solemn as they read from the play—well, Mr. Garritt at least. And I remember the way the colors grew brighter around them both even as they read.”

Lady Shayde shut the book and turned back toward Rose.

“The colors?” she said, and though her voice remained calm and low, interest sparked in her dark eyes. “What colors do you mean, Miss Lockwell?”

Now Rose shrank back a step under that gaze. “I mean, the colors of the light all around them.”

“Rose!” Ivy said, sternly now. “Leave us at once.”

“You say you saw a light around them?” Lady Shayde advanced on Rose. “Do you often see light around people?”

Rose looked at Ivy, then back at Lady Shayde. “No. I mean, that is, not often.”

“But you do see it around some people. And for such people, the light is there each time you encounter them. Perhaps a little brighter or dimmer, but always there.”

“Yes.”

“And what of me? Do you see a light around me?”

Rose shook her head.

“But you do see something, don’t you?” Shayde took another step closer. She was within arm’s reach of Rose now. “Tell me, what do you see around me, Miss Lockwell?”

“A cloak of shadow,” Rose said in a very small voice. “Like a cloud over the moon that drains away all the light. It’s—”

Rose’s words were lost in a sob. She picked up the hem of her pink dress, then turned and fled from the parlor, her footsteps echoing away in the front hall.

“Remarkable,” Lady Shayde said quietly, gazing through the door.

Ivy dared to approach her. “Please forgive my sister’s interruption. You must think nothing of her utterances. Rose is very sweet, but she is simple in some ways, and often says peculiar things.”

“No, the things she said are not peculiar at all.” Lady Shayde turned to regard Ivy. “I know from our prior discussions that your father was a doctor, and I believe you have inherited some of his interest in the sciences, is that right?”

Ivy could only nod.

“Then I will share something with you, Lady Quent, that I think you will find fascinating. Not long ago, during an investigation of a peculiar occurrence in High Holy, the Gray Conclave came into possession of a man. He was a wretched and broken thing. He had been deliberately blinded, and even allowing for the fact that he had recently suffered a violent blow to the head, it was clear his mind was utterly ruined. Yet, in questioning him to see if he knew anything of the fire at the old chapel in High Holy, something very interesting became apparent.”

“What was it?” Ivy said, curious despite herself.

“Despite the fact that he had lost his eyes, he seemed to be able to see a few certain people as they approached him in his cell. In time, we learned it was because he could detect a light around them.”

Ivy’s heart stuttered in its rhythm, then started up again, more quickly than before. “A light?”

“Yes, but given that the man had no eyes, it could not have been any sort of usual light. And we noticed that the individuals that he saw the light around were all members of the High Order of the Golden Door. That is, they were all magicians. So we made
more experiments, and brought more people to see the blinded man. And do you know what we discovered?”

Ivy could only shake her head.

“We learned that it was not only magicians that the prisoner could see a light around, but illusionists as well. Now, I am sure you know what many believe about the Siltheri—that they are the sons of witches. In fact, they would be witches themselves had they been born female rather than male, and this is said to account for both their abilities and their perverse tastes.” Her black dress made a crackling noise as she shrugged. “I care little about such things as that. What interested me was this question—if the man could see a light around illusionists, could he perhaps detect it around witches as well?”

A terror came over Ivy. “Can he?”

Shayde returned to the pianoforte. “We do not know, Lady Quent. The Inquiry always kept any witches they discovered a secret from the Gray Conclave. Then, recently, the prisoner fell deeper into his madness, and finally was found choked to death on his own tongue.” She pressed the lowest keys on the pianoforte, striking a deep, thrumming chord.

Despite that ominous note, Ivy felt a keen relief. Whoever this man was, he had perished, and his ability with him. Only then Shayde went on, and Ivy’s relief quickly became a horror again.

“It seemed we would never be able to understand the prisoner’s ability. But then two things happened. First, as you know, the Inquiry was ended. And then we discovered, in the course of our investigations, that there were others like the prisoner.”

Ivy gasped. “Others who had been blinded?”

“No. While we believe the prisoner’s eyes were taken from him to increase his sensitivity, we have found that the ability to detect a light around someone occurs quite naturally in people, if rarely. Yet there is one thing we have discovered that increases its likelihood of occurring. Do you know what that characteristic might be, Lady Quent?”

Ivy felt made of clay. It was hard to move. At last she shook her head.

“I am surprised a clever mind such as yours cannot guess at this commonality, Lady Quent. We have only ever found a few individuals with this ability, but all of them have been either the sisters of illusionists, or they have been illusionists themselves. That is, they are all of them the offspring of witches. And now, quite by chance, I discover that your own sister appears likely to have this very same proclivity.”

Ivy knew she was in grave peril, and Rose as well. She made herself speak as calmly as she could. “I’m afraid you can make no examination of Mrs. Lockwell, as she has passed away.”

“Yes, I know that. But while Mrs. Lockwell was Miss Lockwell’s mother, she was not yours, was she, Lady Quent? I understand your mother was childless for many years of marriage. Only then you were brought into the house as a small child, and hardly a year later your sister Rose was born. It seems very curious, doesn’t it?”

Again Ivy thought of the hawthorn and chestnut trees in the garden. Her father had written how the seeds he took from the Wyrdwood had failed to sprout—that was, until he brought Ivy into the house. Not long after that, Mrs. Lockwell, who after losing her infant son had been unable to bear another child, suddenly conceived a daughter. So Rose was not the child of a witch. But was it because of the presence and influence of a witch—because of Ivy herself—that Rose had been born at all? If so, that might explain Rose’s ability to see light around others.

Yet, despite these thoughts, all Ivy said was “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Lady Shayde closed the cover over the keyboard. “Very well then, Lady Quent, let us put scientific discussions aside and turn to practical matters. As I said before, there is something you can do—a thing which would be for the good of Altania. And were you to do this, I think it would be possible for you to make a plea of leniency on behalf of your husband. He would still be stripped of his post, and of his title as well. After all, there must be some penalty for the crime he committed. But a display of patriotism on the part of his wife would help the Gray Conclave to
believe that he had only ever had the good of Altania in mind, despite his flawed actions, and so he would be released.”

As Lady Shayde spoke, an eagerness arose in Ivy, a willingness to do anything it would take to assure her husband’s release. She cared nothing for posts or titles. She wanted Mr. Quent returned to her, that was all.

“What is this thing?” she said, cautiously.

Then Shayde spoke, and Ivy knew that she was not being rescued from the steel jaws of a trap that had closed around her. Rather, she was being asked what limb she would prefer to sever in order to free herself from the snare. Her horror was too great to be felt anymore. Numbly, she listened as Lady Shayde described the proposal.

It would, in all, take no great effort on Ivy’s part. As she must be aware, Lady Shayde explained, all magickal orders were forbidden except for the High Order of the Golden Door. Magicians possessed abilities that could be of great advantage to Altania. Yet they could not be trusted to operate according to their own devices, not when magick was a thing that could be used to open doors and undo locks, uncovering things which must, for the good of the nation, remain protected.

That was why Lord Valhaine had commissioned an official order of magicians, one that could be watched and controlled. But it was known that there were still other arcane societies in existence, ones operating in secret, and with purposes that were opposed to those of the government. While Huntley Morden might assail the nation from its shores, these magicians were working to sabotage Altania from within. Lord Valhaine wanted an end put to all of them.

And this was how Lady Quent could prove her loyalty to the nation.

“We are aware that Lord Rafferdy continues to visit you with some regularity,” Lady Shayde concluded. “You need not appear surprised. The Gray Conclave makes many observations in the city, and as a result we know many things. All that is important is that you continue to encourage Lord Rafferdy to call upon you as
often as he can. Remain in his confidence, and listen to all that he says. Then, each time after he leaves, simply compose a report that recounts everything that he has said. You need not try to discern what is important and what is not. We will do that. Rather, just write down everything he relates to you, however small or insignificant it might seem.”

Ivy’s legs could no longer bear her weight, and she found herself sinking down into a chair.

“Do you see how little a thing it is I ask of you, Lady Quent? It would be like dashing off a brief note to a friend, describing your conversations with Lord Rafferdy. That’s all.”

The parlor seemed to tilt at a dizzy angle, as if some titan from Tharosian mythology had lifted up a corner of the house.

“And what if I were to refuse?”

Lady Shayde moved around the pianoforte to Lily’s folio. She opened it once more and turned through the pages.

“Sir Quent will soon be brought again before Assembly, this time to be tried for the crime he is accused of. What do you think would happen if, during the trial, it was revealed that a sister of his wife had an unhealthy interest in illusionists, and another sister possessed an ability known to be associated with illusionists and witches? What if it was also revealed that this wife of Sir Quent maintained a close acquaintance with a man publicly known to wear the House ring of a magician? I do not think it would bode well for his defense if such things were made known.” She closed the book again and looked at Ivy. “Do you, Lady Quent?”