The Twelfth Enchantment Part 8

"But what has any of it to do with me?" Lucy asked.

"You have seen these beings," said Mary. "They are drawn to you and you to them. They speak to you, and I believe it is because you are already connected with them. I don't know how, but I suspect they sense that you will be there to stand against the very worst of them."

Mary could not speak with any certainty or authority about the peril that brewed around them, but she believed in her soul it was real. "For now, you must continue with your studies. You must learn as much as you can, and be ready for what dangers may come."

Lucy did not much like the sound of that. She did not like vague threats and uncertain menaces, but Mary seemed disinclined to say more. "I don't know how I shall continue to study if I have nowhere to live. My uncle has threatened to cast me out if I do not marry Mr. Olson, and after what pa.s.sed at the a.s.sembly, I believe he may now finally withdraw his offer."

"Hush, my dear," she said. "We will manage it. Your uncle may be affected by your influence. You know that now. You have taken the first steps down a path that will burden you with many responsibilities, but there are privileges now too. You need be at no man's mercy. You can be mistress of your own life, and want neither for money nor shelter nor protection. These things will all be yours in time, and with application."

Lucy did not quite know if she should believe that these prospects could be realized, but Mary telling her that they could made her feel better, made her feel protected.

"Again, for now," Mary said, "you must continue with your studies. I have chosen some books for you to read, and you will take them with you. They may be rather dry reading, but it is important that you understand the basic principles of how magic works and what it is."

Mary rose and returned with a pile of half a dozen books, each far larger and thicker than the little volume she had presented to Lucy last time. "You must start with Agrippa's Three Books. After Agrippa, I urge you to master Paracelsus's Philosophia Adepta. It is the best of his writing. Then you may wish to attempt this English translation of the Sefer Raziel HaMalakh, though you must keep in mind that cabala is made to be confounding, and your utter bewilderment will be no reflection upon you, but upon the nature of the material. Knowledge comes sometimes only through the struggle to comprehend the incomprehensible. Oh, and this is interestinga"a curious take on Mesmer's animal magnetism that should work nicely with your natural charms. And do look at this translation of Abra-Melin. I sense you have a particular talent for talismans, and his squares may amuse you."

Staring at the books, Lucy felt overwhelmed and frightened. "When may I see you again? I am sure I must have questions."

"I shall do my best to send for you more frequently than I have, but you must not come here if I do not call for you. I do not wish to sound arbitrary, but there are matters I will explain later that I cannot discuss now. I must have your word on this, that you will not call upon me."

"Of course," said Lucy, who could not but feel hurt at this.

"Have no fear. I shall make sure you have all you need. And now, let us see about keeping you safe in your uncle's house."

It was easier than she could have supposed. A talisman found in the first book Mary had given Lucy resolved the issue: To make others comply with your wishes. Lucy copied it out with great care, feeling the supple lines come alive as she drew them, feeling the strokes of the pen meld and link themselves to one another. She then allowed some sugar, melted in a spoon, to fall upon the talisman. When it hardened, she rolled up the paper and sealed it with a thread from one of Uncle Lowell's coats. She then approached him, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Uncle," she said, "regardless of Mr. Olson's plans, you will not cast me out."

"Of course not," he said. "Quite right. It would be unseemly for you to make your way in the world when you have an uncle who can look after you."

The next day she heard her uncle and Mrs. Quince arguing loudly, and Lucy heard her own name mentioned several times. Whatever else her uncle discussed, it was clear that he did not know why he had said what he had to Lucy earlier, and he did not know how he might take it all back.

16.

A FEW DAYS LATER, LUCY AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF UNCLE LOWELL shouting quite angrily. She had been up late at night, attempting to read and understand Agrippa, which was challenging indeed, but the knowledge that it was real, that she had real power of the secrets of the universe, provided a compelling motivation. Sometimes her concentration would slip not because of this difficulty of the material, but because she would think about her father. She recalled sitting and reading with him in his library, and after hours upon hours of struggling, she would lose herself in understanding, only to emerge from her trance and see her father, across the room, looking at her over his little spectacles. How his face had glowed with pleasure, and how her heart had been heavy with happiness to be the daughter who made him so pleased. What, she had wondered, would her father think of her studies now?

Attempting to hold on to all the theorems and speculations and arguments, she dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs to find Uncle Lowell still in full pique shouting at Mrs. Quince.

"It is more than I can endure," he p.r.o.nounced with a gravity designed to end the conversation. It did not.

"She approves of the visit," said Mrs. Quince. "Sir, if you think your quiet is threatened by a little disruption of your home, think what would happen should you earn her enmity."

"What is happening?" asked Lucy, who stood at the entrance to the dining room.

"Youa"all of you!a"have conspired against me to rob me of the one thing I love best, my quiet," answered Uncle Lowell. "I will not have it."

Mrs. Quince turned to Lucy, and flared her nostrils like a horse scenting the wind. "Your sister, Martha, is coming, and she is bringing her infant."

"And her husband and no doubt a nurse and a maid and jugglers too," said Uncle Lowell.

Lucy could not have been happier. Martha had emerged from her confinement a few months earlier, and Lucy had gone to visit her shortly after, but she had not seen her sister or the babya"called Emilya"since.

A dark thought occurred to Lucy. "Lady Harriett is not coming, is she?"

"I hardly think so," said Mrs. Quince, "after the insults you've offered her."

In her exuberance, Lucy turned to her uncle. "Oh, I'm so happy. Little Emily will be near six months now. It is a charming age for a baby."

"These infants scream and cry and they make a great deal of mess," said Uncle Lowell. "I hope the wet nurse will tend to everything." He had evidently reconciled himself to the visit.

"Martha nurses Emily herself," said Lucy. "It is the new fas.h.i.+on."

"How dare you speak to me of such things?" demanded Uncle Lowell.

Martha, Mr. Buckles, and little Emily were to arrive in less than a week, though the day was not set, for Lady Harriett had not yet announced when it would be convenient for her to release Mr. Buckles from his many duties as her curate. Lucy's life was now filled with all manner of expectationsa"some things wonderful, and others dreadful. She would soon see her niece. She would also be forced to face Mr. Buckles for the first time since learning of Mary's suspicions. And as for the matter with Mr. Olson, they had heard nothing, but it was known throughout the county that his prospects were ruined, and so Uncle Lowell presumed the marriage was off. Though he still openly blamed Lucy, his wrath simmered rather than raged. Lucy had been used to living upon thin ice, and she understood that she could not depend upon the calm lasting, but for the time being, she chose to enjoy it.

Meanwhile it seemed as though the world was changing all around them. Throughout Nottinghams.h.i.+re, the machine breakers continued to strike, destroying stocking frames, burning houses down, and in one case firing upon a mill owner while he sat at the supper table with his wife and children. In each case, they left notes proclaiming themselves to be followers of Ned Ludd, their general and king. It was violence and chaos and upheaval, but many feared it was more than that. The revolution in France had begun, after all, with violent outbursts among the lower cla.s.ses, and some sensed a similar uprising could be brewing in England. Only recently had England's mad king been p.r.o.nounced too deluded to remain on the throne, and now the profligate Prince Regent ruled the land.

The war with France had taxed the nation for too long and showed no signs of abating. Because many markets in Europe, the colonies, and the former colonies in America were now closed off, the home trade suffered horribly. The country endured its second disastrous harvest in as many years. Everywhere there was suffering and deprivation as even the oldest could not recall having seen in their lifetimes. In contrast to this misery was the extravagance of George, Prince of Wales, the so-called prince of pleasure, known for his gambling, his immoderate drinking, his excessive eating, and his a.s.sociation with scandalous women and outrageous men. He ruled with an oblivious indifference to the suffering of ordinary men. Though she did not wish to think of such things, Lucy understood that conditions were ripe for upheaval and revolt.

Jonas Morrison had said he had business in Nottingham, and that business had something to do with Mr. Olson, so Lucy feared she must encounter him again, but after so many days, she began to feel more at ease. He'd made an impression upon others at the dance, and so she'd heard rumors among her friends about which inn he'd chosen for his lodgings, and Lucy was careful to avoid pa.s.sing too close to any suspect establishment. Not seeing him, she soon discovered, made it much easier to pretend she had never seen him at all.

Lucy spent as many hours as she could manage with the books Mary had lent her. Sometimes she studied until her eyes stung, but she read, and she reread, and she took notes, and she paced and reread again until pa.s.sages once as dense as oat porridge began to make sense to her. Never had she worked so hard to understand what at first appeared impenetrable, but never before had she possessed such motivation. Power and independence, and all she needed to achieve these things, resided in the knowledge the books contained. She could endure, she discovered, because she had reason to endure.

One night during this period there was a gathering at Norah Gilley's home on Castle Gate. It was a large affair with several dozen people in attendance, all meant to display before the neighborhood Mr. Gilley's glorified status before he decamped for London. There would be food and punch, some dancing, and, no doubt, much preening of the Gilley clan. Lucy had no desire to attend, but Mrs. Quince insisted she go. "You cannot hide in the house forever," she said. "It will make you look pitiable. And we do not know for certain if Mr. Olson has thrown you over. Best to be out and show no shame, no matter how shamefully you've behaved."

The Gilleys lived but a ten-minute walk from Uncle Lowell's house, so no coach would be called, despite the inevitable late return. She had Mrs. Quince to look after her, and that would have to be enough.

The gathering was the usual a.s.sortment of Nottingham men and young ladies of marriageable age, and a few married couples for variety. A card room was set up for the older ladies, and after inspecting the room to make certain that there was no one of concern about, and warning Lucy not to turn s.l.u.t once again, Mrs. Quince withdrew to play at cards with her friends.

Norah, in an elegant blue and yellow silk tunic, greeted Lucy with a brittle hug and expressed how much she must miss the pleasure of her company once she was removed to London, how all the b.a.l.l.s and fas.h.i.+onable friends and marvelous diversions could not make up for what she must leave behind. It was horrible, unthinkable really, that she should go off to such delights while Lucy was left in dreary Nottingham, but what was to be done? Norah then let Lucy go so she could embrace another newly arrived girl, and deliver much the same speech. Lucy chose to put her freedom to good use and fixed herself a plate of food from the table, ladled herself some punch, and quickly sat with her friends that she might better engage in the ritual of looking at the men, pretending not to look at the men, and giggling.

Lucy's heart was not in it, distracted as she was by her recent conversation with Mary, but she kept up her end for form's sake, and when a game of lotteries was announced, she rose to join in so she would have an excuse not to dance should someone ask her. As she walked to the table, however, she observed a young man amusing a crowd of young ladies with a series of tricks involving brightly colored b.a.l.l.s, which he was in the process of making vanish and reappear in a variety of unlikely placesa"in inverted teacups, under hats, bundled into scarves. It was Jonas Morrison.

Mr. Morrison appeared to notice Lucy out of the corner of his eyes, and he hurriedly announced the end of his performance, to the complaints of the young ladies, whom he tried to comfort with promises to show them more anon.

It all struck her anew. The anger she felt toward him, the blame she set upon him, and the helpless embarra.s.sment she had felt upon their last meeting. She had loved this man once, or believed she had, and he had destroyed her life for his own amus.e.m.e.nt. She could condemn Byron for so much, but not duplicity. He said what he believed and lived by his own law, selfish and wicked though it might be. Jonas Morrison, however, was a thousand times worse for pretending to feelings that were not his so that he might prey upon an innocent young girl.

"Miss Derrick. Keeping clear of danger, I hope?"

"I am doing so this minute," she responded, attempting to walk around him.

Shockingly, he reached out and took her by the wrist. It was not a rough grip, but it was firm and undeniable. "No need for that. There are few enough places where we may talk without arousing suspicion. Look, I have brought you a peace offering."

He unfolded her hand, and she discovered a single red rosebud pressed against her palm. Another one of his silly tricks.

"I have not interest in your games," she said in a harsh whisper, pulling away from him. She continued to clutch the flower, for though she did not want it, she did not know what else to do with it. "You've brought me nothing but misery, and the world knows of it. If these people knew your name, my reputation would never recover. How is it you are even here? No one knows you."

"As for that, people can be made to forget whom they know and whom they don't. You should know of such things by now, I think. And you must believe that I regret that what happened caused you so much pain," he said, "but those days are past, and I must speak to you about what is happening now."

"And that is why you come here?"

"That and the food, yes."

Lucy did not want to hear any of his flippant remarks. "You told me I must not involve myself in what did not concern me, and now you tell me it does concern me."

"I have learned things since then. Please, Miss Derrick. Dance with me. People are beginning to stare at us."

It was true. Their conversation was evidently heated, and eyes were upon them. With the rosebud now pressed between her fingers, for she had nowhere else to put it, they stepped out onto the area reserved for dancing. Soon they settled into the rhythm of the dance.

"You know of these Luddites, and the one they call General Ludd?" he asked.

"Of course," said Lucy. "Everyone does."

"Yes, well they have heard of you. Apparently they speak of you a great deal."

"What does that mean?" Lucy demanded, suddenly quite terrified. What did the Luddites know of her? Why did she matter to them?

"Oh, well, that's rather difficult to say. Could mean anything, I suppose, but I'd like to know myself. I am here in pursuit of their leader, so what interests him interests me."

"You mean to hunt Ned Ludd?" asked Lucy, intending to mock him.

Mr. Morrison, however, showed no signs of understanding the humor. "Yes, that is precisely correct. I am here to hunt Ludd."

Lucy was sure he must be teasing her, and yet there was nothing but seriousness upon his face. "There is no Ludd. He is but a story. Everyone says so."

"I've discovered that it may not always be sound to accept what everyone says as the truth. You may depend upon ita"Ludd is all too real, and my order has sent me to stop him."

Lucy could not restrain her curiosity. Had Mr. Morrison become a monk? "Your order?"

"You must understand that I am not the man you once knew. I was never that man, really, but I'm even less he than I once was."

"Yes," said Lucy, turning to hide her disgust. "I heard you married, and married well."

"That is true." He looked away. "I convinced a young lady, beautiful and rich, that she ought to marry me."

"And yet you are dancing now with me and not your wife."

"My wife is dead," Mr. Morrison said.

Lucy swallowed hard. "I did not mean to be cruel. I am sorry."

"She was murdered."

Lucy gasped and stepped away from him. He pulled her back toward him, and when he spoke his voice was low and intense, but somehow gentle. "You cannot know. You cannot understand what this did to me. She was my wife, and I loved her, and someone took her from me. I do not dare think what I would have done or becomea"I might have become the greatest of villains, I might have destroyed myselfa"were it not for my order."

"Have you become some sort of devotee of religion?"

"Not religion, no. I am an acolyte of knowledge, a brother of the Rose-Cross."

"I've not heard of it," Lucy said.

"We are also called Rosicrucians," Mr. Morrison explained. "We are a society of men who persue ancient knowledge and wisdom. The head of my order has sent me to destroy Ludd. After that, I may persue my own goals."

"And what are they?"

"To take my revenge upon my wife's murderer. If nothing else, I am a man who believes in revenge."

Lucy hardly knew how to respond. She did not feel comfortable speaking to him of his wife, particularly when his grief was still so evident, so she chose to speak of other matters. "What danger do the Luddites pose? Perhaps the Luddites attempt to save England from the destruction of nature and of the souls of its workingmen."

"Is that how the cunning women see it? Well, I suppose there is some sense to that, even if it is a bit muddled. Your kind have always tended to the individual, and so the worker who must labor for more hours than he chooses or earn a few s.h.i.+llings less than he would likea"that must cause you grief. My kind looks upon nations, not men. If these Luddites are unanswered, they will bring about a revolution in England such as there has been in France, and I promise you the streets of London will run just as red with blood as did those of Paris. Is that not harm enough? If not, let me paint you the picture of another future, one in which every nation on earth advances its technology. Every nation but ours. There are new ways of manufacturing, new goods we have not yet conceived, but the Luddites will keep England from partic.i.p.ating, and so we will fall behind. Then we will have no trading partners, and the nation will fall into poverty. That means suffering, starvation, want, and misery. This is the future the Luddites offer."

The music now ended, and Mr. Morrison led Lucy to the punch table for refreshment. Lucy was about to ask more questions, particularly why he believed she had some involvement with these Luddites, but their conversation ended abruptly. A hand grabbed Lucy by the shoulder and spun her around roughly. It was Mr. Olson, and hurrying close behind him, Mrs. Quince, who appeared to be doing her best to keep him away.

"I feel certain this is but a misunderstanding, Mr. Olson," said Mrs. Quince. "A young lady may dance when asked."

Olson turned to her, his expression dark and hard and unforgiving. Lucy had not seen him since the destruction of his mill, and whatever he had endured since that night was inscribed upon his countenance. He looked older, and there were heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes. His hair was unkempt, his neck cloth stained and frayed. His fingernails were caked with dirt, and his face was unshaven.

"I thought I might find you here," he said, his voice loud, almost shrill. "But I did not think to find you had taken up already with another man."

"It is but dancing," said Lucy. Then, because she did not like the frightened waver in her voice, added, "It is no concern of yours."

"It is my concern," said Mr. Olson, making no effort to keep his voice low. "You are to be my wife."

"You see," said Mrs. Quince. "All is as it should be. Lucy, you must thank Mr. Olson for his goodness."

"Mr. Olson is mistaken," Lucy answered in a quiet voice. "I do not wish to marry."

Mr. Olson took an unsteady step toward her and gripped her arm tight. "I do not care what you wish. Your uncle promised you to me and I will have you. And what is that? A rose? This man gives you flowers?"

Lucy attempted to pull free, but could not. Mrs. Quince hissed something at her, but she was not listening, because now Mr. Morrison was advancing, attempting to wedge himself between Lucy and Mr. Olson.

"Sir, you ought to reconsider your approach," he said. "Certainly you ought to remove your hand from the lady. That would be an excellent first step. And a fine second step, if I may be so bold, would be to cease behaving like an a.s.s. If there is any more conversation to be had upon the subject, I think it best we conduct it in private. That way, if events should turn badly, no one need see you beaten like a dog. So what say you? A little private chat?"

Mr. Olson gave a hard tug on Lucy's arm, forcing her out of the way, but Mr. Morrison moved to block Olson's path. The two men were of about the same height, but Mr. Morrison was the leaner of the two, and Mr. Olson showed every sign of interpreting his slighter build as weakness. "I'll not be intimidated by a dandy who would take what is mine. Who are you, sir?"

Mr. Morrison gave the briefest of bows and opened his mouth to speak.

To Lucy, it felt as though time had slowed down to an agonizing crawl. She looked about the room, at the food and drink and guests, who were now gathered around, watching the row with scandalized delight. What could she do to prevent him from speaking? If Mrs. Quince were to learn that this man before her was Jonas Morrison, the Jonas Morrison, then she might be cast from her uncle's house at once. No mere charm could protect her from that. Had she a gla.s.s of punch in her hand, she would have thrown it in his face. Had she a plate, she would have struck him in the head. She had nothing, she could do nothing but watch with horror as Mr. Morrison spoke his name.

She fully antic.i.p.ated that Mrs. Quince's jaw would drop, that she might squeal in delight, or grin malevolently. What she did not antic.i.p.ate is that Mrs. Quince would take a step back, as if in fear, cras.h.i.+ng into the punch table, and upsetting the bowl so its contents ran down the back of her gown. She righted herself, and Lucy saw her face had gone pale, her eyes wide. She stood for a moment, punch running off her gown as though she had pa.s.sed water on the floor, and then fled in what Lucy could only imagine was confusion.

While the spectacle of Mrs. Quince occupied the guests, Mr. Morrison did not allow his attentions to be divided. He stared down Mr. Olson. "Miss Derrick is not your property. Take your business elsewhere while you better recollect how to speak to a lady."