The Twelfth Enchantment Part 22

Remaining quiet struck her as the more dangerous of the two options, and so she spoke. She needed to keep him calm at all costs, lest his rage shatter the hold of the love magic she had put upon him. "It is my friend, Mary Crawford."

He put his hands to his face again and turned away. "My G.o.d, I could not have believed it. I would not have believed it. Is it truly possible?"

She took a halting step after him. "What is it Mr. Morrison? What has happened? Who is Miss Crawford to you?"

"Then you truly do not know?" he asked.

"I know nothing of her except what she is to me."

Jonas Morrison lowered himself gently into an armchair and sat with his head down, wiping away tears without care to conceal them. When he raised his face to her, he appeared hardly recognizable. The stony, reserved face was now soft and moist and bloated with sadness. "Mary. Miss Crawford, as you style her, was my wife. It was she who was murdered, and she for whom I seek revenge."

There was obviously an error. "I am sorry to have mentioned a name so troubling to you," Lucy said, choosing her words with great care. "Hers cannot be an unusual name."

"It is not a name, it is she," moaned Mr. Morrison. "Why did not I see it? You, Lucy Derrick, grown suddenly into a cunning woman. It was your friend who taught you what you know, wasn't it? It was she who put you on this path, on my path, was it not?"

"She encouraged me and she was my teacher. But your wife is dead. You said she is dead."

"She is dead," he cried, rising from his chair. "Have you not been listening even to your own words? Do you not understand of what we speak? She is a revenant. She is spirit made flesh. She has come back, in a fragile, immortal form, and it is she whom I seek. She is the one who has set Ludd against the future. Can you not understand the horror of my situation? I loved her and I lost her, and now I must destroy her again, forever. I must destroy her soul."

It was a mistake. It had to be. Mary, dead? Mary, a member of the very race she claimed to fight against? Lucy did not understand it. She could not even make herself think about it. Not now. Not yet. She had to restore some kind of order and meaning to the world.

He turned away from her, but Lucy knew it was her task to comfort him. In the past, he had treated her monstrously, but she had cast a spell so that he would cherish her, and surely in doing so she had inherited some responsibilities. She could not let him suffer like this.

As she approached, however, he spun around. "Dear Lord, how many times must I be humiliated? You cast love magic on me. You have been toying with me sincea"since Nottingham, the chocolate house. I see it all now."

He gave her no time to answer, which was for the best. There was nothing to say.

"You would use me so? I must endure this as well?" He paused for a moment, wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, and then looked at her, his expression as hard and cold as any she had ever seen of him. "I know you are angry for what you believed pa.s.sed between us so many years ago. I know you are angry, and I know you are determined, but never did I think you cruel."

He left the room. She heard some forced conversation outside, and then the door shut. Beyond the other horrible feelings that swirled in her mind, Lucy understood that, in a capital on the threshold of revolution, she was now truly all alone without friends or protection. And yet, beyond all this, she thought that she had been exposed to Mr. Morrison, and he still did not recall that he had given her the pages of the book. She now possessed eight of the twelve pages, and to that one triumph she tried to cling, lest she collapse now in tears.

Lucy remained in that room, frightened and ashamed, unable to think of what to say or where to go. Mary was a revenant. She had lied to Lucy from their first meeting. She had tricked and manipulated her into ends Lucy could not now imagine. Lucy, who had felt friendless before, now felt utterly alone and without help.

Her coach to Nottingham had already departed, and she hardly knew what to do. She could arrange for another the next day, but would it be safe for her to travel the streets? What happened upon the streets? Was there violence and murder and riot? She did not know, and she hardly dared to ask her unwilling hosts for intelligence.

After perhaps an hour Mr. Gilley entered the room. Lucy now sat by the window, looking out upon the cool spring day. If Mr. Gilley noticed her distress, he did not trouble himself to acknowledge it.

"I trust we shan't have any more of your gentleman friends trouble us today? All this coming and going brings in chill air, which is very bad for the lungs."

Lucy did not turn her head. "I expect no more visitors."

"You will do me the courtesy of looking upon me while you are in my house."

Lucy turned to him. "I shall endeavor to try. I have missed my coach to Nottingham today. If the streets appear safe, I shall leave tomorrow."

"You shall leave tomorrow regardless," said Mr. Gilley. "I said you had three days to depart this house, and so you shall have."

"And you'll not trouble yourself if I step out into a riot."

"You chose to behave without restraint. I cannot answer for the consequences. I have my daughter to think of, and it cannot be to her benefit to see the parade of rakes you bring through our halls, and it could prove detrimental to my const.i.tution as well." He rose, closed the door, and returned to her, sitting close upon the sofa. "However, as you are now of so generous a disposition as regards the favors of gentlemen, I think it may be possible for me to find a place to stay here in town, provided you are willing to be generous to me."

Mr. Gilley put his hand on Lucy's shoulder and smiled showing his very good teeth.

After all that had happened, Mr. Gilley's proposal filled her with neither fear nor disgust. If anything, she welcomed his blatant expression of desire, his open willingness to state his terms. And what he wanted, what he wished to trade, was of no matter. There were charms she could use to protect her as she walked through the b.l.o.o.d.y streets. She could make herself safea"she was sure of it. If not, she could alter things otherwise to her liking. Mr. Gilley might desire her now, but it would take relatively little effort to make him love her, and once he did, his demands would be more easily controlled. Or she could make herself invisible to him, or feared by him, or any of a thousand other things. Maybe she was alone and abandoned, but she was not helpless. She had felt helpless her entire life, but she would not feel helpless today.

Lucy looked up at him. "No, I don't believe I shall accept your offer. You may call me disgraced because my responsibilities demanded I travel from your home without your leave or knowledge, but I have done no wrong. I can a.s.sure you, Mr. Gilley, if I could resist Lord Byron's charms, I shall have no difficulty resisting yours. Now, I beg you, remove your hand from my shoulder. You wish me gone by tomorrow, then all shall be as you wish. I shall tend to the coach, and if I must brave riot and mayhem, then so be it."

Her words, direct and calm, horrified him. He took a step back. "You are brazen."

She shook her head. "Shall you tell me so?"

"Perhaps not even another night under my roof is acceptable," he said.

"As you like," she responded as she rose to her feet. She would give him no satisfaction. She had nothing to fear. His mind was not his own, but hers to use as she wished. She did not love to use magic to alter people's inclinations, but in this case, she would do so quite happily.

Just then came a knock upon the door, and Mr. Gilley's urbane serving man bowed by way of greeting. "Sir, I regret disturbing you, but the young lady has another caller."

"I can hardly affect surprise," said Mr. Gilley. "What manner of debauched devil shall we expect this time?"

"He is a rather plain-looking tradesman sort of fellow," said the servant, "and quite old."

"I do not think Miss Derrick is so discriminating as a young lady ought to be."

"What is the man's name?" Lucy asked.

"He gives his name as Mr. William Blake, an engraver."

Mr. Gilley made it known that he did not care for her welcoming more men into the house, let alone men of this Mr. Blake's sort, and that he had no interest in her turning his house into some sort of bagnio, but Lucy nevertheless prevailed upon hima"more through silence than through wordsa"to politely withdraw.

Though she had met him but briefly, and under curious conditions, Lucy was nevertheless delighted to see Mr. Blake once again. He was still little more than a stranger, but his was nevertheless a familiar face and a kindly one, and there were few enough of these in London now.

"We met at Newstead, so I would know you when the time came," Lucy said. "Is this the time?"

"I believe it is," said Mr. Blake with a great deal of good cheer. "It is very exciting."

He settled himself into his chair and looked about the room, but not with the wonder of a poor man in a rich man's abode. No, he gave every impression of watching things that were interesting but not unfamiliar. And his eyes suggested he watched things that moved.

"Miss Derrick, do you know what they are?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake. Do I know what what are?"

"Those creatures that swarm about you. They are unpleasant to look at. I am used to seeing far more beautiful things. There is no shortage of angels in London, you know, and there are other creatures far less grand. But these things are very unusual."

Lucy smiled indulgently. "I do not see them myself."

"No, I suppose not. You give every impression of being a lady who might, otherwise I would not ask. I know others do not see what I see, and I do not expect them to."

"One must be indulgent when your world is larger than that of those around you."

He nodded enthusiastically. "That is exactly right."

"Tell me, Mr. Blake, what can I do for you today? I am told that it is dangerous to travel just now, so something important must have occurred to bring you here. Why is this the time I am to know you?"

"The streets are tense in the wake of the a.s.sa.s.sination, but my brother Bob a.s.sured me I would be safe, and I have come to trust him."

"Is he in a position to know such things?" Lucy asked.

"He is dead, Miss Derrick, and sees with the eyes of the dead."

"Oh," she answered. She had seen too much herself to dismiss anything out of hand, but even so, this man strained her credulity just a little.

"In any event, it is on behalf of the dead that I have come here. There is a very urbane dead gentleman who has been rather insistent that I contact you. Because of my regular congress with Bob, I fear I may have developed a reputation among the dead as a man to whom it is easy to speak. None do so with as much facility as Bob, however, and I have had a hard time understanding what this gentleman wants."

"He is a ghost, then, this dead gentleman, and not some kind of revenant?"

"What a silly question," said Mr. Blake. "If he were one of those revenants then he would hardly need my help in speaking to you."

"You know of them? The revenants?"

"Yes, the fairies. I used to think those little creatures that dance about the flowers were fairies, but it turns out they are a species of angel. The invisible world is very confusing."

"So is the visible one," said Lucy.

"Just so," agreed Mr. Blake. "But, as you say, this gentleman is in the spiritual realm. I do not know if he is a ghost, in the sense that he walks among the living. Rather, he has made his wishes known to me from another place."

"Well," said Lucy, in no mood to answer the commands of yet another pus.h.i.+ng gentleman, urbane or not, dead or not. "Who is he and what does he wish?"

"He wishes for us to be friends," said Mr. Blake. "He believes you will need a place to stay, and he wishes that I offer you my modest home. As to who he is, young lady, he tells me his name is Francis Derrick, and that he is your father."

30.

THERE WERE MORE QUESTIONS THAN SHE HAD TIME TO ASK, LET alone to hear answered. For now, Lucy's chief concern was to vacate Mr. Gilley's house. Though the news that this odd man was in communication with her father came as a surprise, it did not occur to her to doubt it. What struck Lucy above all things was that her father, though three years dead, still looked after her, still cared enough to attempt to help her, though the effort, according to Mr. Blake, of breaking through to our world was a great one.

Mr. Blake, however, conveyed information with an easy familiarity, and while he seemed to understand that most people did not regularly hold congress with the dead, he gave every impression of having grown complacently comfortable with such communication. He explained her father's words not with the deep intoning of a charlatan, but rather with the dull patience of a parent expressing the intentions of a child too shy to speak.

In the Gilleys' parlor, as Mr. Blake told Lucy of his conversations with her father, it became apparent that Mr. Blake considered a third person involved in their conversation. After some minutes, Lucy deduced this presence was the spirit of his brother, of whom Blake was clearly very fond. "Yes, Bob," he snapped. "I won't forget to tell her, but you must wait."

After hearing that her father wished her to accompany the old engraver to his home, Lucy concocted a plausible tale and went out of the room to find Mr. Gilley, who was conveniently nearby, posed as a man who had not been attempting to listen through the door.

"Mr. Blake is my late father's half brother," lied Lucy. "He has offered to provide shelter for me, as doing so for you either is too uncomfortable or comes for me at too high a cost. I would be most grateful if you could have my trunk sent to his address."

"You would be so bold as to walk out of my house?" asked Mr. Gilley.

"You have demanded I leave," answered Lucy.

To this Mr. Gilley had no easy answer, and it was while he stammered in want of a reply that Lucy slipped a talisman into his coat, one meant to make him susceptible to things he most feared. Lucy decided it was high time for Mr. Gilley to catch cold.

Mr. Blake lived on South Molton Street in a less fas.h.i.+onable part of town than where Mr. Gilley resided. The streets there were filthy with rubbish and animal waste, and crowded with workingmen and haggard women, but these were not the desperate streets of the worst parts of the city. These were the laboring poor, people with enough bread, if only just, and so while all was crowded and noisy and dirty, there was also a vibrancy in the air, as though everyone at every time had just been delivered from the terrible fate of being worse off than they were.

Blake's house was above his printing and engraving shop, which appeared a respectable if not entirely profitable enterprise. Lucy had arranged with Mrs. Emmett to arrive later with her things, and so she traveled to the house alone with the old man, a decision she wondered about during the whole of the journey. It ought to have seemed more dangerous and radical than she felt it to be, but the only trepidation and doubt she knew came from her head, not her heart.

When they arrived at his house, Lucy began at once to feel uneasy for Mr. Blake's peace. She had accepted the engraver's offer because she believed he meant her no harm and because he appeared, in all truth, to have been in communication with her father. Only as they arrived at the little house did it occur to her that she would be imposing upon a family.

"Are you married, Mr. Blake? Have you children?"

"My Catherine and I have not been blessed with children," he answered.

"Will your wife not object to your bringing home a stranger to live with you?"

"Should she?"

"No, only I mean, it is an unusual thing, is it not, to bring home a woman because a spirit asked you to do so?"

"Catherine and I have been together for almost thirty years. I hope she is accustomed to me by now."

Lucy need not have worried. Mrs. Blake had not been warned that there would be a houseguest, but nevertheless welcomed Lucy warmly. She was a sweet, plump woman, not at all tall, perhaps once pretty, but now well ravaged by age and the demands of a middling life in London. It took only a minute for Lucy to discern that she was absolutely devoted to her husband, and it would not occur to her to deny him anything. A strange young woman was no burden if it was Mr. Blake who asked that she take a place in their home.

Lucy's accommodations were not nearly what they had been at Mr. Gilley's house. She had but a garret with a broadly sloping roofa"clean, but small and narrow, and inclined to be drafty. Yet, she loved it, and when she sat upon her low, rather lumpy mattress, Lucy let out a breath of relief. The Blakes were not affluenta"they appeared almost poora"but here, at last, she was in the company of people with whom she did not have to pretend. She could say anything to them, for nothing would sound so strange as what they said to her.

Within two hours, Mrs. Emmett arrived with her luggage. When Lucy introduced her to Mr. Blake, the engraver examined her with a peculiar expression. "I've never seen one such as you," he said.

"Nor I one such as you," answered Mrs. Emmett.

"We shall have to talk, I think," he said.

"We shall mean to do so," said Mrs. Emmett, "and yet never will."

"Yes," said Mr. Blake. "That is true, isn't it?"

And with that, the two peculiar people seemed at ease with each other.

Once Lucy was settled, Mr. Blake invited her for tea alone in his sitting room. She sipped nervously, and took none of the macaroons he offered her, though she was usually very fond of macaroons.

"You must have many questions," said Mr. Blake.

"Tell me about my father," she said.

He nodded, and then nodded to someone invisible. "He is not himself with us. It is only Bob, who has been a helpful intermediary in this matter. The dead are difficult to hear, Miss Derrick, though they hear one another better than we hear them. Your father has tried to speak to you, but he cannot reach you. It is much easier for him to speak to Bob, even though Bob inhabits our realm, not theirs."

Lucy felt the tears build in her eyes. Her father had tried to reach her and she could not hear. She felt as though her heart must break.

"There is no deficiency in you," said Mr. Blake, who appeared to understand her grief. "Do not think so. It is not a matter of will or love or openness. To hear the dead, even those who dwell near us, you must be a different. I have always been as I am. When I was a boy, my mother had to keep my father from beating me as a liar after I spoke of seeing angels in the trees. I soon learned to keep such observations to myself, for I understood, even at that age, that the things I saw could not be seen by others."