The Twelfth Enchantment Part 11

Curiously, the girl wore a slate around her neck, held on by a piece of thick cord, and in her hand she held a piece of chalk. The book she'd been reading lay on the ground, and Lucy read the spine. It was Byron's Poems on Various Occasions.

"h.e.l.lo," Lucy said cautiously. "We are sorry to have startled you."

Martha had now come around to face the girl, who had begun to mark up her slate with furious speed. I am Sophie Hyatt. I am deaf.

Lucy gestured that she would like the slate so she might respond, but the girl shook her head and gestured toward her lips. Lucy had read of deaf people who could understand words by watching a speaker's lips, though she had never seen the thing done herself. Overwhelmed by the wonder of it, Lucy said, speaking slowly and moving her mouth in exaggerated gestures, "I am Lucy, and this is Martha and Mr. Blake."

The deaf girl laughed, and in her laughter, she appeared remarkably beautiful. Speak as you are used, she wrote on the slate, and held up the sign with her eyes twinkling. Not so slow.

"I am sorry," Lucy said. "I did not mean to offend you. Or to startle you. We heard you weeping, and wished only to make sure you were not in distress."

"Not in distress," said Mr. Blake. "In love."

She wiped at her eyes with her fingers and wrote, Yes.

Unable to help herself, Lucy said, "Not with Byron, I hope."

Sophie took a step backwards. Do you know him? she wrote after a moment's reflection.

"Only a little," said Lucy, not wis.h.i.+ng to set herself up as a rival to this deaf girl, though she was pretty, and a certain kind of man liked a vulnerable woman. Was Byron such a man? Would he prefer this poor creature to Lucy? She hated herself that such thoughts occurred to her, and she summoned the will to set them aside. In this she was very near successful. "I do not know him well enough to be invited to Newstead. I come merely to look at the grounds with my sister, and we met Mr. Blake along the way."

Do you love him?

Lucy and Martha exchanged looks. Lucy liked him, certainly, but she was almost entirely confident that she did not love him. Martha took the uncertain look upon Lucy's face as amus.e.m.e.nt, and began to laugh, and Lucy laughed too. She did not wish to mock the deaf girl, and tried to stop herself, but to her surprise the girl laughed with them.

I am very jealous, she wrote. It is silly, for he does not love me. She paused for a moment, studying Lucy, her head c.o.c.ked like a bird's. I think you are like me.

"What does she mean, Lucy?" asked Martha.

Sophie smiled. Three years ago they came. They showed me the wordless book. Very powerful, but I pretended not to know the good pages from the bad.

Lucy felt a sudden pang of paralyzing fear. These phenomena were unavoidable. These people were ubiquitous. It seemed as though she had been living in a fantastical world her whole life, one that willfully ignored the magic all around. She had been too blind to see it, but now that her eyes were open, it was everywhere.

"Who came to you?" asked Lucy.

A lady, very proud, all in black, as if mourning. A simpering man. A curate.

Lucy put a hand to her mouth. It had been Lady Harriet and Mr. Buckles. It could be no one else, and they too were interested in the Mutus Liber, the book with the false pages. They wanted it for themselves. It could only be that Lady Harriet wanted the power of eternal life. She wanted to become one of those revenants of which Mary had spokena"a broken, inhuman thing. It seemed to Lucy that Lady Harriet was already upon her way.

Martha took her hand. "You look so pale, Lucy. And I cannot understand a word the two of you exchange. This is more curious even than Mr. Blake, if you will forgive me for saying so. What is all this?"

Lucy forced a smile. "Just local lore, too tedious to explain." She looked at Sophie and gave another easy smile. "Have you been in the house?"

No, said Sophie. When I go, it will be with you.

Martha stepped closer, looking concerned. "Do you want anything? Food? A ride somewhere? We have a coach just at the roadway."

The girl shook her head. I live close. I am done here. She gathered up her things and wandered into the woods without looking back.

Mr. Blake watched her go and then rubbed his hands together. "What a remarkable day! But now I have a long journey back to London. May I see you ladies off?"

He escorted them back to their coach, and waved kindly as they rode off, as though he were an uncle or an old friend. Several times Martha turned to Lucy to ask questions, but each time she stopped herself. It soon became evident that, whatever she might wish to ask, she was not certain she would want to hear the answer.

20.

IT WAS A STRANGE DAY, FULL OF NEW PEOPLE AND NEW INFORMATION, and when she returned to her uncle's house, Lucy excused herself, claiming fatigue, and retired to her room, determined to be alone until dinner. There was so much to think about. Lady Harriett Dyer and Mr. Buckles had, three years earlier, shown the Mutus Liber to the deaf girl Sophie Hyatt. It was evident they had been searching for someone who could identify the true prints from the false. Did they know that Lucy could do that? Was there a link between Lucy's natural talent and Mr. Buckles's theft of her property? Did these new facts somehow explain why Lady Harriett had been so adamant that Lucy marry Mr. Olson?

Much to her own surprise, Lucy found herself feeling jealous that this deaf girl had been shown the pages. Her pages. She wished Mary had lent her the book, because she longed to look at them. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the complex images she'd seen, but they were too elaborate, too elusive to be summoned.

Since his arrival, Lucy had done her best to avoid Mr. Buckles, either by staying out of any room that he might occupy or by directing all of her attention to the baby when he was around. He had, she was now certain, stolen her birthright and her independence, and she hated that she must pretend he had not. But now, it seemed to her even worse. It was not simply that he had stolen from her out of malice and greed. If Lucy's suspicions were right, Mr. Buckles was involved in a complicated and long-standing conspiracy against hera"a conspiracy whose scope and goal was beyond her understanding.

After she and Martha returned from Newstead, Lucy had excused herself by saying she was tired so that she might go to her room and pursue answers in her books. She had found none. She did not even know what she looked for, but she could not bear to do nothing. After several hours, she abandoned the effort and joined the family in a late dinner.

That night, after her sister had retired to bed, Ungston once again informed Lucy that Miss Crawford awaited her in her carriage. Lucy rushed outside, and even in the dark, the lady's grim expression was evident.

"Mary, is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, no," said her friend. "Please step inside for a moment. I must speak with you."

Lucy entered the coach and sat next to Mary, hardly knowing what to expect.

The lady turned to her, eyes seeming to glow in the gloom of the coach. "Matters are serious, Lucy. I am afraid I cannot long stay. I have business that I must attend to, and it may be many days before I return. Since I saw you last, grave circ.u.mstances have come to my attention, and I must speak to you before I go."

"I have learned things too," Lucy blurted out. She wanted to be more patient, to wait to hear Mary's news, but she could not contain herself. "Mr. Buckles and Lady Harriett have been looking for the Mutus Liber too. Everything is connected, though I don't know how."

Mary appeared little surprised by this news. "I know you are frightened, Lucy, but the book has always been important. It is more so now. That is why you must find the scattered pages before our enemies do."

These words struck Lucy as dire and true. She was supposed to find the missing pages. Now that she heard it, it made perfect sense. She formed the words, though they felt thick and bitter in her mouth. "I must gather the leaves."

"Yes, that is what you must do."

A strange calm came over her. It was not as though she understood why these things happened, but at least there was purpose. She must find missing pages of a book. It was a task, and tasks could be accomplished. "And when I have them?"

"Then we will determine what to do together." She leaned in to hug Lucy. Her skin was icy cold. "I know this is much to ask of you, and I hate that you must do it alone. I will be by your side again as soon as I can, but I am needed elsewhere. You must remember, Lucy, that the Mutus Liber is strongest in the hands of the person to whom it belongs, but a things have become so complicated. And never before has it been more important to trust me."

She handed Lucy a writing tablet, upon which was set a piece of paper with dense writing on it, too small to read in the dark. Mary then set forth a quill and an ink pot.

"What I must ask you now will sound outlandish, but I beg you to trust me. You must sign this, Lucy."

"What is it?"

"A will."

Lucy could not believe what she heard. After everything that had happened with her father's will, did Mary believe Lucy would sign a will in haste, without reading it?

"In this will you leave everything to your sister, which is I know what you would wish. Everything except any pages of the Mutus Liber that you might find. Those you entrust to me."

Lucy opened her mouth, but she could not even think of the words she would say if she could.

"You must wonder why," said Mary. "And I shall tell you. If you do not sign this, the revenants will kill you. If the pages are left to me, they will not. It is that simple. I am your friend, and I would do anything to help you. You must believe me. I want you to leave me the pages for that reason and for no othera"because your enemies would risk anything than that I should become the true owner. To protect you, we must make the consequence of your death terrible to those who seek to harm you. If you have ever trusted me, trust me now. I know not what I can do for you if you will not."

There was such pleading in her voice, such desperation, that Lucy could not but believe her. This was Mary Crawford, the one person in the world who knew her secret, the one person, besides her own sister, she trusted. Though unable to understand the request, Lucy decided she had to believe in her friend's good intentions. She signed where Mary directed her. They blotted the signature, and then Mary rolled up the paper and handed it to Lucy.

"I do not need it. I would not have you think I am about some deception with it. Only, keep it safe. The will must exist to protect you." She hugged Lucy again. "Remember, I am your friend. Do not doubt me." She then handed Lucy the copy of the Mutus Liber she had shown her previously. "Hold on to this. Add pages to it as you can."

Dazed, Lucy stepped out of the coach, and watched it drive away, holding in her hand a paper that granted, upon her death, the most powerful book in the world to her only friend.

Lucy rushed inside, only wanting to retire to her room, but Mrs. Quince confronted her on the staircase. She had been avoiding Lucy since the encounter with Mr. Morrison at the Gilley house, but now she stood, blocking her way, a disdainful expression upon her face. She knew something. Lucy was sure of it.

"Some secret nighttime a.s.signation, Miss Derrick? What do you have planned? I wonder. What do you think to do? No money, no husband, no friends? Do you believe your little tricks will work forever?"

Rather than retreat, Lucy took a step forward. The knowledge that Lady Harriett had been scheming against her for years made her angry, and her anger emboldened her. She leaned into Mrs. Quince's face and said, in a bold whisper, "Jonas Morrison."

Mrs. Quince flinched and stepped away. "You are brazen," she said, attempting to act unperturbed, "to flaunt your wh.o.r.edom before me."

"I had no wish to see him, and hope I never set eyes upon him again," Lucy said, stepping close again, "but you fear him. Why?"

"You are mistaken," said Mrs. Quince as she smoothed her ap.r.o.n.

"Then go tell my uncle," said Lucy, wis.h.i.+ng to test Mrs. Quince, perhaps wis.h.i.+ng to hurt her. "Tell Mr. Buckles. Tell them all with whom I danced. Go on. Tell them."

Mrs. Quince did not move.

Lucy pushed past her, entered her room, and closed the door.

Her triumph over Mrs. Quince, glorious though it may have been, left Lucy more confused than happy. What was Mr. Morrison to her that she should be so frightened? And what did it mean that Lady Harriett had been seeking someone to identify the Mutus Liber in the past few years? Was there some link between that and Mrs. Quince's failed efforts to teach Lucy to read the cards? And now came this will that Mary has asked her to sign. She did not suspect Mary of trying to cheat her, but she did believe her friend knew more than she was saying, and that made Lucy uneasy.

Lucy slept badly and was awakened by the baby, whom she could hear fussing through the walls. Martha was not at the table when Lucy went downstairs for breakfast. There was only Mr. Buckles and Uncle Lowell, who appeared very angry indeed. Lucy glanced at Mr. Buckles, but he offered only a foolish smile before turning away. Was it hard for him to look at her, she wondered, to see the young lady whose life he had stolen? Lucy doubted his thoughts were ever troubled by such things. She did not believe him even conscious that he had done wrong. He had done it, and now it was over, so he thought no more of it.

After a brief period of silence, and then the baby began its shrill wail again. Mr. Lowell slammed down his fork. "I cannot see what your baby is doing, crying so violently."

"It is usually very placid," said Mr. Buckles. "Even Lady Harriett has condescended to observe how very a how, ah, very placid it is."

"It weren't placid last night," said Uncle Lowell.

Lucy set aside her breakfast and went up to see Martha, who was still in bed, but quite awake. The bags under her eyes testified to the difficulties of her night, but she brightened considerably when she saw Lucy.

"I shall go quite mad," said Martha. "Poor little Emily is really not herself. She's never been like this, and I fear she may be ill."

Lucy brushed some unruly hair from Martha's face. "Does she nurse?"

"Like nothing I've seen." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I am quite bruised. Emily is ravenous, and has taken to biting me with the little teeth she has. Why, it seems she has grown more teeth overnight, which may explain her sadness. In truth, if she does not cease hurting me, I will have to hire a wet nurse after all."

Just then the door opened, and the nurse came in with little Emily wrapped in a blanket.

"How is she?" asked Martha.

"She won't settle, mum," said the woman. "I reckon she wants her milk."

"It cannot be," said Martha. "She has done nothing but eat."

"She's been trying to nurse off me, mum."

Martha reached out and the woman handed her her baby, and as she did so, some of the blanket fell away. It was all Lucy could do not to scream, for instead of little Emily, there was a monster, a foul thing of skin so white that its bulging, pulsating blue veins showed through. It had pink eyes, little tufts of black hair curling from its head, sharp and narrow eyes, pointed ears, and a predator's sharp teeth. It looked at Lucy and grinned.

Lucy looked to the nurse and then to Martha, but neither of them noticed anything unusual about the child. Neither observed that it was not Emily at all.

Lucy saw what was invisible to the othersa"that baby Emily had been replaced by some foul thing, by a changeling. But how had it happened, and where was the real Emily?

"My sweet, you must not hurt your mama so," said Martha to the thing as it suckled greedily upon her breast.

Lucy swallowed hard, and tried to speak. She failed and made the effort again. "Martha," she said a ragged voice, "when did the baby begin to fuss?"

"Now that I think on it, it was right after we went to visit your friend, Miss Crawford."

Lucy took another step backwards. "You saw Mary? When did you see her?"

"After we returned from Newstead and you retired to your rooma"to nap, I presume. Your friend sent her coach around, inquiring after me. She said she had no wish to disturb you, but she longed to meet her friend's sister and niece. I cannot believe I neglected to tell you, but it is almost as though I forgot about it until this moment. How odd."

A secret meeting between her sister and Marya"a meeting her sister happened to forget! And Mary had said nothing to her when she had seen her after this meeting had taken place. Now Emily was gone, replaced by a changeling. And all of this after Mary had insisted Lucy leave the still-undiscovered pages of the Mutus Liber to her in a hastily composed will. Could Mary have been deceiving her all along? Lucy found herself trembling with the realization that the one person in the world she trusted, other than Martha, had betrayed her.

She excused herself, not caring how she surprised Martha with her abruptness, and ran downstairs and out of the house. She ran down the street, pus.h.i.+ng past and over and around whoever or whatever came across her path. She cared not how women stared or tradesmen shouted. It was nothing to her. She ran as fast as she could across the square to High Pavement.

When she arrived at Mary's house, she knocked heavily upon the door, but received no reply. She knocked again and again, and finally she peered into the window.

What she found made her heart thunder in her chest. The house was all but cleared out. There was nothing upon the walls, no furniture upon the floors. The rugs were gone, and the curtains too. All was closed up and removed. Lucy saw but one thing, a single crate with a piece of paper attached to it, and upon the paper was written "Miss Lucy Derrick."

Trying the door, Lucy found it unlocked. She rushed inside and unfolded the paper, but it contained no information. It merely denoted that the crate and its contents were hers. Lucy looked inside and saw it was a large collection of books upon the practice of magic.

Lucy remained frozen. Martha's baby, dear little Emily, was gone, replaced with some goblin monster, and Martha did not know it. Mary was gone, and it seemed that she had played some terrible role in all this.

Lucy staggered backwards and felt tears coming on, but she fought them back. No, she thought. No more crying. Mr. Buckles and Mary Crawford and Uncle Lowell and Mr. Olson and even General Ludda"Lucy would discover who was set against her, and she would give them cause to regret it. She would take back what was hers, what had been robbed of her fathera"and she would find Martha's baby. For so long she had been powerless, but not now. She would save her niece. She did not know how she would do it, but she would find a way. By force or by stealth, she would challenge those who had made themselves her enemies, and she would have victory over them, because Lucy understood that at the center of all these events was the Mutus Liber, a book whose authenticity she, and perhaps only she, could determine. They wanted it, and Lucy would have it, and once she did, she would be in a position to dictate terms, terms they would not like at all.

21.

IT IS ONE THING TO BE DETERMINED TO ACT, AND QUITE ANOTHER to know precisely what needs doing, and so Lucy spent a long and sleepless night as she weighed her options and considered her alternatives. In several trips, so as to avoid the notice of anyone in her household, Lucy removed the books from Mary's house to her own room. If Mary were her enemy, why would she give Lucy these books? And yet all evidence suggested that Mary had played some part in Emily's being replaced by a monster. There was nothing to do now but study, learn what there was to be learned, what paths there were to explore. It all had to be done soona"very soona"for Lucy could not endure that Martha must live another day with that vile, grinning monster suckling at her.