The Mislaid Magician (10 page)

Drina said nothing. It seemed a matter of complete indifference to her what we did or didn’t do.

“She will want her own home and her own mother and father, I’m sure.” I turned to address the child directly. “Or is this your home?”

“Drina doesn’t live here. Her people aren’t here, either, and I want to go home now.” Edward regarded his filthy hands with deep satisfaction. “Could use a wash.”

I drew Edward toward the light. “Darling, you’re simply covered in soot.” Belatedly I realized that I was covered in soot, too. Thoroughly as our son was coated in the stuff, there had been plenty to rub off on me as I embraced him.

Thomas handed me his handkerchief and took up the questioning as I did my best to repair first Edward’s appearance and then my own. “Hid up the chimney, did you?”

“They locked me in with Drina.” Edward gazed adoringly over the handkerchief at his trim young friend. “She gave me a leg up so I could climb into the chimney.”

“Oh, well done.” Thomas turned his attention entirely to Drina. “There’s no one else left in the house. If anyone should return, I will deal with it, trust me. There’s no need to be afraid.”

Drina made no reply, but her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. The tiny movement spoke volumes. Drina feared no one, least of all us.

Thomas asked, “Where do you live?”

Drina looked at him in silence. I put the grimy handkerchief away and dusted my hands briskly. “Thomas, let’s go home. If Drina doesn’t care to accompany us, she can tell us so.”

Thomas seemed at a loss for a moment, but the look we exchanged persuaded him to trust me. “Very well.”

I held out my hand to Drina, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. If she had not clung so tightly, I would have found her entire lack of emotion disquieting. As it was, the minor sign of distress touched me to the heart. Young Drina, whoever she was, had helped Edward in his imprisonment, so she could ask anything of us and I would give it gladly.

I tried to conceal any trace of my curiosity, for to be honest, I found it a trifle vexing that a child of Drina’s tender years could outdo me in the matter of sangfroid.

“I would have climbed out the chimney if you hadn’t come,” Edward informed us. “Even if you hadn’t come, I would have escaped.”

“Yes, dear. Of course, dear.” We left the house and descended to the street, Edward clattering and chattering at our heels, as prosaically as if we were returning from a social call.

Thomas settled Edward and Drina between us in the curricle with his cloak spread over them for warmth. Piers took up his position behind. With all due respect for the exertions the team had endured, we turned for home. I believe that both of the children were sound asleep by the time we reached the Gloucester Road. I dozed a little myself.

We arrived at Skeynes without incident. Edward stirred awake at the hero’s welcome he was given. Happy return indeed. He is in perfect health, although prone to fits of irritability when Arthur and Eleanor pester him for details of his captors. I tried to stop them, but Eleanor was reproachful as she pointed out my error. “We would never pester Edward, Aunt Kate. We are just gathering clues.”

The child Drina remains mute, although it is plain that she understands every word spoken. At first she was such a stoic, I wondered if she viewed herself as our prisoner. If so, I think she has revised her opinion. Edward alone might not reassure her, but Arthur, Eleanor, Diana, and the babies seem to have done it.

Georgy has locked herself in her room, which I find a curious response to Edward’s safe return. More curious still, Georgy helped herself to the last of my best writing paper. I will ask her why when she emerges. Meanwhile, please excuse this paper. It is some the twins were given for their Map.

Thomas is deep in inquiries concerning the house in Stroud.

As soon as Thomas has enchanted this letter so that it can be read by your eyes only, I will post it. Perhaps then I shall lock myself in the nursery. Perhaps I shall stay up there with the children and send down only for meals. When you and James and Thomas have unraveled all these mysteries for us, I may descend. Then again, I may not. It depends on how thoroughly the old nursery tranquility works its spell.

Yours in deepest consternation,

Kate

Dear James,

This was going to be such a brief letter. I was going to make it look like a dunning notice from your tailor. It then occurred to me that, as in all likelihood you’ve never made your creditors wait so much as five minutes for payment, you wouldn’t recognize such a missive should you receive one.

So instead you have my cipher note containing instructions on how to persuade this letter to permit you to read it, a note which you must have deciphered or you would not be reading this now.

Oh, enough of thinking about things from your point of view. Not only does it slow me down, it may make you doubt this letter’s authenticity, and we can’t have that.

I owe you, James. Cecy, too, I suppose. I’m very grateful to the pair of you for loaning us your children. Diana and Alexander still seem harmless enough, but Arthur and Eleanor have been an immense help in the past few days.

No, this is not some new kind of code. I am quite sincere.

Kate will have told you (via Cecy) of all the excitement we have had here. They began without me.

Kate’s finding spell, cast entirely on her own, with no assistance from me or anyone else—not that there was anyone else qualified to help—was a hell of a finding spell, James, a finding spell that would have worked had Edward been shanghaied and shipped out to the Fiji islands. I am so proud of her, I can hardly contain myself.

Edward has answered our questions readily enough. If he knew precisely what happened to him and why, he would tell us. Unfortunately, he has only a dim idea of where he went and no idea why. Indeed, he seems to delight in confusing us with varied accounts of his adventure.

Luckily, his cousins are superb inquisitors (as you have reason to know), and I trust that soon they will have the whole story out of him in accurate and comprehensible form. Arthur makes a particularly ruthless questioner, for he burns with indignation that his cousin should have had this adventure. In Edward’s place, Arthur is sure he would have made a much better thing of it, if only he hadn’t behaved with such foolish good sense and restraint.

I applaud Young England’s desire for adventure, but I have made a point of thanking Arthur for behaving as a true gentleman should. He looked to the welfare of the ladies before his own. If Edward demonstrates even half as much good sense at Arthur’s age, I will be proud of him.

The most unsettling result of this adventure is that we find ourselves in (temporary, I trust) possession of a superfluous child.

I suspect you enter into my sentiments on this matter. That is, after the first half dozen, one child more or less makes little difference to the general chaos, disorder, and stickiness of life. However, I am reliably informed that
this
child (like any other) must possess a name and address, parents, siblings, and a station in life. It is my duty to discover all these things as soon as possible. I would be very happy to oblige, but the child refuses to speak. When I attempt to question her, I soon find myself removed from the room on grounds that I am frightening the child. Believe me when I tell you, that child is not in the least frightened of any of us, least of all me. There is simply no pleasing Kate sometimes.

Still, I have made some progress in this matter. I have made inquiries about the house in Stroud (thoroughly and abruptly abandoned just before our arrival—apparently they felt us coming) where Edward was taken.

I have a name—Adolphus Medway—for the individual who hired the house, but although I have explored the entire street, I can find no two people who agree on his appearance. He has been described to me as entirely common in height and build, extremely tall and thin, and remarkably short and stout. His voice is reedy, deep, and nasal, depending on who it is we talk to. Unless the nefarious Mr. Medway is a committee of some kind, we are dealing with a shape-shifter.

None of the neighbors is able to cast any light on the identity of our surplus child. They never noticed she was there. I can only suppose the versatile Mr. Medway exhausted their powers of observation.

Wrexton has some interesting sources in the ministry. I’ve shared as much of our puzzle with him as I felt proper. He is well connected at the Royal College of Wizards, so his inquiries may bear fruit.

In the very near future I shall be compelled to interrogate my watering pot of a sister-at-law. Kate has been given every opportunity to coax a confession from Georgy. No result. It’s time to take a firm line with the little baggage.

There’s really no excuse for these goings on, and I have every reason to expect her husband, dunce that he is, will be found ultimately responsible. How I wish I had yielded to my baser instincts long ago. I should have broken his neck at the wedding, when he took such pleasure in pointing out to me that Georgy would now take social precedence over Kate. Duke he may be, but his behavior has never matched his supposed breeding.

I’ll write as soon as I have anything of substance to add. Until then, do try to stay out of trouble. I have my hands full here.

Yours,

Thomas

Dearest Kate,

What a fright you gave me! It is the oddest thing, to be sure, but somehow it is not at all soothing to discover an unanticipated reassurance, however sincere, in the middle of a letter where one had expected nothing more stimulating than an account of how many times one’s children had contrived to fall into a creek or pond. I am so very glad that you recovered Edward promptly.

My first reaction to your letter was neither so calm nor so sensible. Indeed, I am afraid that the intensity of my emotions led me to act with uncharacteristic rashness. To be quite plain, as soon as I had read your letter, I thrust it into James’s hands and set off in search of Daniel. Most unfortunately, I found him almost immediately, before I had had time for my head to clear. He was in the gun room, examining a set of dueling pistols with two of the other house-guests. I did at least retain enough presence of mind to say in what I thought was a matter-of-fact tone, “I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I have something of a private nature to discuss with my cousin-at-law. Rather urgently.”

I must have sounded more decided than I intended, for Daniel went pale and began stammering that there was no need, while the two gentlemen with him immediately bowed and left. I managed to contain myself until the door had closed behind them, and then I said in a low voice, “How
dare
you!”

Daniel backed away, for all the world as if I had pulled a shotgun from one of the wall mounts and threatened him with it. “What? What? How dare I what?”

“I was hoping you would tell me the details, my lord,” I said coldly. “I’m sure you have some excellent reason for your actions. Threatening Georgy until she runs away, and then following her and setting gypsies on to kidnap our children—how
dare
you!”

“Georgina?” Daniel blinked, then looked, if possible, even more distressed than before. “Has something happened to her? Lucky said he’d call them off, but that was before … Where is she?”

“She’s with Kate and Thomas, as you must know, and if you think Thomas will let you get away with this, you are very much mistaken. If there’s anyone Thomas cares for as much as Kate, it’s Edward. Duke or not, you are going to be very sorry your people laid a finger on that boy.”

“What has Edward got to do with Georgina?” Daniel said. Then he frowned slightly, and added, “Or with me, for that matter.”

“You know quite well—,” I began, and the door behind me opened. I spun around and found James, wearing a puzzled expression and holding your letter.

“Cecy,” he said in that long-suffering tone he occasionally uses, “why is it of such enormous urgency for me to read an account of the sniffles that have attacked the nursery crowd at Skeynes, along with several receipts for cough mixtures?”

I stared at him, then realized what must have happened. When Thomas enchanted your letter, he did a thorough job of it—
no one
else could read the real message, not even James. I took a deep breath, arranged my thoughts, and gave him a summary of the relevant portions.

“I see,” James said when I finished. “And you rushed out here…”

“To find Daniel and drag an explanation out of him,” I said, turning as I spoke. “And he—” I stopped. The only sign of Daniel was the half-open French door that led to the garden.

“Come on,” said James, and we followed.

We did not find him. We did find the Webbs—or they found us, for they appeared almost the instant we left the gun room. They were perfectly happy to help us search for Daniel, at first, though naturally they refused to split up. They became much less happy as time went on with no sign of my lord duke, and they displayed positive signs of annoyance when news arrived that his mare was missing from the stable. The annoyance was quite clear at tea, when he still had not returned. Mr. Webb said, rather shortly, that he hoped Daniel’s horse had not met with an accident, then sent one of the grooms out to look for him (a singularly useless gesture, since no one had seen him leave and therefore no one knew in which direction to look for him).

And that is how the matter stands at present. It is after midnight now, and Daniel has not returned. I do not think he means to. His valet is very dignified and closemouthed, but I believe that is mere show; the man cannot know where Daniel went, nor why, since Daniel left immediately after our conference in the gun room.

Naturally, everyone wanted to know what “personal matters” Daniel and I had been discussing. Fortunately, I had had plenty of time to consider my response by the time they thought to ask. I told them, with a great show of reluctance, and in utmost confidence, that I had just learned that my cousin Georgy had run away from him and was nowhere to be found, and I wished to know why. Whoever read your earlier letter must know that this is sheer fabrication on my part, but they all looked suitably shocked by the revelation. (I place no dependence on their discretion; if the story is not all over London by the end of the week, it will only be because none of them has any social acquaintance there to correspond with. It is most unfortunate, but there really was no other news that would have served.)