The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 19

If she is not otherwise occupied, I think the eldest would do the best, being of an age (if I recollect rightly) to carry some weight of authority with my two charges. This would be beneficial. While they are kind children, and clever, since the pa.s.sing of their mother they have wanted for the benefit of a regular household and the influence of solid governance. I fear this is something I can little provide myself, being so occupied with the duties of my work, which often require me to be away.

I trust you will present this opportunity to your eldest. While I can offer nothing that compares to the brightness and busy society of the city, there are goodly folk in this part of the country, and it is possible she might make some acquaintances that are both fitting and pleasing to her. I fear there is nothing else I can promise her, save my grat.i.tude and fifty regals a month she may put to her future.

It is long since I have seen you both, but I hope in honor of our past acquaintance you will treat me to a reply as soon as possible.

Yours with Respect, Alasdare Quent, Esquire Heathcrest Hall, Cairnbridge, County Westmorain Ivy folded the letter and creased it. She went to the kitchen, warmed a knife on the stove, and held it against the circle of wax. Once softened, she pressed the letter shut and let the seal cool.

Though she performed these motions calmly, her mind raced. Fifty regals a month! How such a sum would alter their lot. They would have enough to buy all that was needed, as well as a few things that were merely wanted, and still have a good amount to save toward the future.

Why her mother had not presented her with the proposition expressed in this letter-and the letters prior to it-Ivy could not imagine. There was no reason keeping her in the city, unless it was the reason that her mother imagined, and that was no reason at all. She did not know this Mr. Quent; Mrs. Lockwell had never mentioned him. However, it was clear he had been a friend of the family, or at least a friend of Mr. Lockwell's.

So why had Mrs. Lockwell kept these missives a secret?

Ivy heard heavy footfalls coming down the stairs. She rushed back into the hall and slipped the letter into the stack, turning just in time to see her mother coming down the steps.

"You are up very early," Mrs. Lockwell said. "And you have a bright look about you. Have you already been out for a walk? By the saints, I can hardly imagine such a thing! I feel as if I could sleep through a greatnight. What have you been doing?"

"Nothing," Ivy said. "The post just came. I will put on water for tea. Mrs. Murch is not yet risen."

As her mother took up the letters, Ivy moved down the hall toward the kitchen door.

"Ivoleyn, wait. This letter here-"

Ivy halted, her hand on the doork.n.o.b, then turned around, a coldness descending in her stomach. Mrs. Lockwell frowned at one of the letters, then held it out toward Ivy.

"This note is addressed to you. I can see no sign of who sent it. Were you expecting anything?"

Ivy murmured that she had not. So relieved was she that her mother had not noticed her handiwork with the wax seal that she took the note without looking at it. She tucked it into the pocket of her skirt and went to the kitchen.

It was not until after breakfast, when she sat at the secretary in the parlor to look at the ledger, that she recalled the note in her pocket. She glanced over her shoulder. Rose was sewing contentedly, and Lily stared at the window with a rather less contented air while Miss Mew made a nest in her poor basket. Ivy returned her attention to the note, which had been folded so as to make its own envelope. Miss Ivoleyn Lockwell was written in an elongated hand on the front, but there was nothing to indicate the ident.i.ty of the sender. Ivy opened the note.

I believe you will find this of interest was the message in its entirety. It was signed simply Bennick.

Before she could wonder at the exceeding brevity of the letter-or the fact that Mr. Bennick had sent her a letter of any length at all-a sc.r.a.p of newsprint fell to the secretary. Ivy unfolded it, seeing that it was an article clipped from one of the broadsheets-The Messenger, perhaps, by its stodgy typeface. She read it but with more confusion than interest.

The article concerned the new celestial object, the one she had seen the other night. Some men of science were now suggesting it was not a comet after all but rather a planet. This idea seemed remarkable, given that the object had not been observed in the heavens during all the course of recorded history; not even the ancient Tharosians had ever noted it. However, according to some astrographers, it was not beyond the realm of possibility.

The eleven known planets moved in the heavens as the spheres of aether, on whose surfaces they resided, turned about their axes. Ivy had observed this motion herself when she turned the k.n.o.bs of her father's celestial globe. The furthest planets resided on the surfaces of the largest spheres, and these spheres were so great, and turned so slowly, that some of the planets did not complete their grand circuits for a generation. Indeed, it took Loerus a full forty years to make its rounds.

It was theorized by some, the article went on, that if the celestial sphere that contained the planet was sufficiently large, and its axis was offset from the other spheres to an extreme degree, it might take many thousands of years to complete its circuit. Therefore it was possible that it had been eons since the last time this planet had drawn close enough to be seen, before the ancient precursors of the Tharosians first put stylus to clay.

Ivy set down the article and could not help frowning. It was fascinating, to be sure. That there could be a thing so great and important as an entire planet that had heretofore remained undiscovered was remarkable. However, that there was much left in creation to discover Ivy did not doubt; after all, it was only a few centuries ago that the New Lands were found across the eastern sea.

What Ivy found equally-if not more-remarkable was the fact that Mr. Bennick had thought to send her the article. They were acquainted in only the slightest way. At Lady Marsdel's he had told her about Mr. Rafferdy's descent from one of the Old Houses, that was all.

No, that was not all she and Mr. Bennick had spoken of. Ivy reached again for the note. I believe you will find this of interest.

She set down the note and opened a drawer, taking out the riddle she had found in the old book, the one her father had left for her. Ivy had concealed it under a stack of demands and receipts, confident it would not be disturbed in that location. Again she read the cryptic lines.

When twelve who wander stand as one Through the door the dark will come.

The key will be revealed in turn- Unlock the way and you shall learn.

Upon reading the riddle, her first thought had been of the planets; her father had been something of an astrographer himself, and he had taught her long ago that the Tharosian word for planet meant wanderer. However, she had dismissed that line of reasoning, for the planets were eleven in number.

"No," she murmured, picking up the article Mr. Bennick had sent her and holding it alongside the riddle. "Not eleven anymore."

All this time her first guess had been right; the riddle did concern the planets. Mr. Bennick had said he knew of no myths that spoke of twelve wanderers, but what if this planet was more ancient than myth itself? What if it had last appeared before men first looked up at the sky-or before there were men at all? If that was the case, it was no wonder it was unknown in story and legend.

Yet Mr. Lockwell had known of it, or at least he had seemed to. So, you have returned at last from your wanderings, he had said two nights ago, when she first saw the red glint in the sky.

How her father had come to be aware of a celestial object whose existence had never been noted in all of recorded history, she could not guess. However, she owed Mr. Bennick thanks for remembering her odd question.

Again she studied the riddle. She had to believe she was capable of solving it; her father would never have left it for her if he didn't think it was within her abilities to fathom. But why use a riddle at all? Why not just tell her?

Because he wanted you to be ready, she thought. And, more darkly, Because he did not want others to know.

She read the first line, and now that she knew it referred to planets, its meaning was clear. When twelve who wander stand as one. It had to refer to some sort of conjunction-a grand conjunction of all the planets, appearing together in the sky.

The next line described what would happen when this celestial event took place. It spoke of a door and the dark coming through. Ivy could not help but shudder; the line reminded her of how she felt sometimes when night fell, how the darkness seemed to creep into the house, eating the light. And it also reminded her of the man she had encountered at the old house on Durrow Street.

The way must not be opened, the man in the mask had said.

Ivy closed her eyes, recalling that strange meeting. She had thought back to it several times since then, trying to remember everything that had happened, everything he had said. Only it was vague to her, as if from a dream. The fever she had succ.u.mbed to that night had dimmed her memories of the day. And it had all been so peculiar: the outlandish and outmoded clothes he wore, the dark mask, the way she had been unable to speak. He had spoken about a door and about a group of people: the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye. None of it made sense to her. But could it be a coincidence that both Mr. Lockwell and the stranger had spoken of a door?

You should listen to me, he had said from behind the mask, because that is what your father did.

She had listened to her father. He had taught her how the planets Vaelus and Cyrenth never stood in conjunction, just as their namesakes were doomed never to meet. Which meant the first line of the riddle made no sense after all. Even if there were twelve planets, they still could never stand as one. She was missing something in the riddle. Her father would not have gone to such trouble to leave her a piece of nonsense. There had to be an answer.

Her head ached from staring at the papers. With a sigh, she returned the riddle to the drawer, and the article from Mr. Bennick with it.

T HE MONTH DREW on, and still no carriage stopped at their front door.

Mr. Rafferdy was merely waiting for the right moment, Mrs. Lockwell made a point of declaring every day.

"It must be that he is making certain all his affairs are in proper order," Mrs. Lockwell said as they took an early breakfast after a long umbral, "so that when he makes his proposal it will appear as attractive as possible."

"No doubt," Ivy replied solemnly, "for a woman of my position can be compelled by only the strongest of persuasions to accept the proposal of a young, wealthy, and charming man."

"I should think not!" Mrs. Lockwell exclaimed. "But I would begin to think you are not interested at all in him, Miss Ivoleyn Lockwell, for the way you talk. You had best not act like that when he comes. You will be sorry if you cause him to take his proposal to some other woman. Don't think there aren't plenty who would accept in your stead!"

Of that, Ivy had no doubt. In fact, she thought as she went into the parlor, she was certain there were any number of young women who would receive such a proposal long before she would. She had not her mother's unfounded hopes nor her sister's romantic notions. The sound of horses and wheels clattering came from the street. A cart, no doubt. She paid the noise no heed and moved instead to the secretary to look over the ledger.

"Ivy!" came a cry from downstairs. "Ivy, come down here at once!"

It was her mother, and such was the shrill sound of her voice that Ivy thought at first some terrible thing must have occurred. She set down her pen and started for the stairs.

"Ivy, where are you? Come down here this instant! He's here, oh, bless us, he's here!"

Ivy halted, gripping the top of the banister, then hurried to the window and glanced out. A black four-in-hand decorated with gold trim had pulled up in front of their house.

In that moment, with one gasp of breath, all her arguments and a.s.sumptions that this could never be-that it was impossible, that it defied logic in every way-were dismissed. Instead, reason lost out, as it always must no matter how strongly founded, to wonder and delight.

For so long she had not let herself so much as entertain a hope that, when proven false as it surely must, would cause a pain that could not be borne. To not hope, to expect nothing, to dismiss at every turn-these had been her only protections against certain devastation. Disappointment could not ensue when one failed to gain what one had never wished for.

But now...She lifted a hand to her mouth but could not contain her smile. Now there was no reason to refuse hope any longer. Her logic had not been wrong; it was impossible. All the same, he was here; he had come. And now that a joy she had previously forbidden from her mind and heart was at last allowed to enter, it could only expand rapidly and quickly filled her. Speech was quite beyond her, but it felt as if a light streamed outward from her, radiating all around.

"Wonderful," she managed to murmur at last. And it was so. This would make her life-all of their lives-wonderful indeed.

There was another cry from below. Ivy descended the stairs, moving with deliberation despite the frantic wavings of her mother's hand. She regretted the plain dress she had put on that day, and she had done nothing with her hair, but there was no use in worrying about that now. If all the obstacles of position and wealth could not deter him, she could not imagine a plain frock would. She began to open the door, but Mrs. Lockwell held her back.

"This is a moment you will remember as long as you live, Ivy. You are a very lucky girl." She smiled, smoothing Ivy's hair with a touch. "And a very pretty one. No wonder he is so attached to you. Now go." She opened the door, and when Lily started to follow, Mrs. Lockwell shooed her inside. "Back in with you, Liliauda. Go be a bother to your other sister. This is something Ivoleyn can do only by herself. Don't give me that frown-I said go!"

Then the door shut, and Ivy stood alone on the front step. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She could hardly draw a breath. All those thoughts, all those feelings so long held in check by sense, now given their freedom, welled up. Her eyes strained to behold him. She wanted nothing but to be near him. Yes, she would say when he asked her; with all her heart, yes. She gripped the railing as the driver came round and opened the door of the four-in-hand.

A woman stepped out.

Ivy blinked the sun-dazzle from her eyes. So unexpected was the sight that she could hardly comprehend it. But, no, she was not mistaken; for there was Mrs. Baydon pa.s.sing through the gate and walking up to the steps, looking smart in blue silk. She reached the steps and greeted Ivy. The words were polite, but even in her confusion Ivy could not help but notice that they were spoken coolly; she did not reach for Ivy's hand.

Ivy willed herself not to look past Mrs. Baydon toward the carriage, to search for the one she craved to see but who was not there. Instead, she gave Mrs. Baydon her full attention as well as a greeting that was every bit as welcoming as the other woman's had been distant. At this, Mrs. Baydon's cheeks colored. Ivy asked if she would come in, but Mrs. Baydon asked if they might sit in the garden instead.

"It is so pretty here. There is not a garden along the Promenade that blooms as wonderfully as your little yard here does. And there is that inviting bench under the wisteria. May we sit there?"

They went to the bench and sat. For a minute or more they did not speak. The wind made whispers in the ceiling of leaves above them.

"You have perhaps been given the wrong idea, Miss Lockwell," Mrs. Baydon said at last. The words were stiff and practiced.

Ivy shook her head. "The wrong idea, Mrs. Baydon? About what?"

"It is not his fault," she went on. "I do not blame him. Nor do I blame you, Miss Lockwell. You can hardly be faulted for wis.h.i.+ng to better yourself. Rather, I blame myself and my husband's aunt. We went too far in welcoming you into our circle, I think. We thought only of ourselves, of our own amus.e.m.e.nt, and gave no thought to how it must seem to him as well as to you-how it must appear as if some form of approval had been granted, some degree of favor, when in fact none was intentioned or even possible."

Ivy did not know what to make of these words; she was at a loss. "Lady Marsdel's kindness in allowing me to stay at her home is something for which I will always be grateful. However, I can think of no special favor I sought while I was there. Indeed, it was always my wish to be as out of the way, to be as little trouble to anyone, as possible. If there is some particular thing I did that made it seem I desired such attention or approval as you've mentioned, I hope you will let me know it so I can make an apology. For I confess, I cannot remember any such occasion myself."

Mrs. Baydon's expression softened, and now she looked at Ivy. "Please forgive me, Miss Lockwell. In your absence I was persuaded to...that is, I am ashamed to say I allowed myself to believe something unkind about you. Only now that I am here with you and see you once again, I know it was awful of me. Of course you went out of your way to have as little effect as possible upon my aunt's house. Even so, be a.s.sured that you did have an effect-a most profound effect-upon our household and acquaintances.

"Nor was he the only one. We were all of us taken with you. Your charms are many and were much in evidence during your stay at my aunt's. So you cannot think it so wrong of us, so terribly absurd, that we thought it was intentional on your part, that you wished to make yourself as agreeable to all of us as possible and that you had designs on him. Of course, a connection between two of such disparate positions can only be unthinkable. I felt it was my duty to tell my aunt, and she wrote to his father at once."

The garden air went cold, or at least so it felt to Ivy. It took her a long moment to find the ability to speak. "I am all astonishment, Mrs. Baydon. I have been accused of something that I am sure I have never done. Who is this you speak of? Upon whom did you think I had designs?"

"Why, Mr. Rafferdy, of course," Mrs. Baydon said with a puzzled look. "You mean to say you did not-you do not-seek to marry him?"

This was too much. To have restrained herself from engaging in any act, even any thought, that might have been deemed the least infraction against propriety, only to be accused of such a great crime-it was too awful to suffer. "I a.s.sure you, I have never sought after such a thing in any way! And if there was ever any sort of intention on his part, it was never something I looked for or encouraged. And I cannot imagine there is any such intention on his part. He considers me an acquaintance, a friend perhaps, nothing more."

"I believe in that you might be mistaken, Miss Lockwell, or at least might once have been. But you mean to tell me he has never spoken to you of a proposal?"

"Never!" she said, and after that she could speak no further. Her voice fled her.

However, Mrs. Baydon brightened and took her hands. "I am relieved, Miss Lockwell. I am so relieved. Not only for him, but for myself. Of course such a thing would never have occurred to our dear, sensible Miss Lockwell. How could I have thought otherwise? And it was in no way Miss Everaud's fault. She has never met you; she cannot know your goodness as we do. But for the rest of us-it was awful of us to believe as we did. We deserve in every way to be chastised for such foolish thoughts as we engaged in.

"But more importantly, I am relieved for you. I should have hated for you to have to suffer a disappointment. Yet now that I know the truth-that you never had such thoughts for him-I am a.s.sured you will be as happy as I am to hear the news that I came here to tell you today."

"News?" Ivy said, certain she was beyond any further astonishment. "What news, Mrs. Baydon?"

She squeezed Ivy's hands. "News of the grandest sort. Perhaps you remember me discussing my friend Miss Everaud? If so, then you know how dear she is to me, just as you know how much affection I have for our Mr. Rafferdy. How could I not find joy in something that gives happiness to two for whom I care so much? And he could not possibly do better. Not only is Miss Everaud the most beautiful thing you will ever see, she is the daughter of one of the finest families. It is an excellent match, I am sure you will agree."

The heavy perfume of the wisteria blossoms dulled Ivy's mind. "Match?" she said. "What match do you speak of?"

"Why, Mr. Rafferdy's, of course," Mrs. Baydon said, laughing. "And I know you will rejoice in it even as I do. He and Miss Everaud are engaged. It is all done and arranged. They are to be married in two months' time!"

I VY HARDLY REMEMBERED saying farewell to Mrs. Baydon or going into the house. She found herself in the front hall, the door shutting behind her. Her mind could hold on to no thought other than a single one.

Married! Mr. Rafferdy was to be married.

She could not be shocked. A little bit, perhaps. It was hard to believe he was ready to be settled in such a manner. But given his age, and the importance of his family and that of his betrothed, it was not truly surprising. A match would have been wanted on all sides.

"I will be happy for him," she said aloud. She would hope Miss Everaud was half so pretty as Mrs. Baydon said, and half so sweet. She had no doubt she was every bit as rich. She should suit Mr. Rafferdy well-very well indeed. Yes, she would be happy for him.

A sob came out of her, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

There came the sound of shuffling steps. Wilbern was coming into the hall. Wiping her cheeks, Ivy dashed up the stairs. Lily and Rose were in the parlor, but Lily was pounding away upon the pianoforte, and the music did not halt as Ivy ran past the door.

She did not stop on the third floor, afraid Mrs. Lockwell might be in her room. Instead, she went around to the back stairs and up to the attic. Sunlight poured through the window, turning the dust on the air into sparks of gold, like some illusionist's phantasm. Ivy went to a chair in a corner next to one of the bookshelves and sat there and wept.

It was only when she felt a touch on her shoulder that she realized she was not alone. She looked up and saw Mr. Lockwell standing above her. His hair flew in a white cloud around his head. His blue eyes, usually focused on some distant place, were instead intent upon her. She tried to speak, to tell him there was no cause for worry, but she could not voice the words.

He patted her shoulder. "Do not cry, little one," he said. "This is your house now."

Despite her tears, a wonder came over her. She took his hand, holding it against her cheek. "I love you, Father."

He smiled at her. Then he pulled his hand away, moved to the bookshelf, and muttered as he ran his fingers over various tomes.

Ivy wiped her cheeks and stood. She drew a breath. There, it was done. There was no more need for crying. She had never really had a hope, after all. That Mr. Rafferdy was to marry in a way that suited his position was hardly something she could fault him for. She would never think ill of him, not after all the kindness he had shown her and her family. And she hoped that one day she would be able to meet him again, to give him all her wishes for happiness, as a friend who had only the warmest regard for him.

She would be well. They would be well. Their life here on Whitward Street was everything she could ask for. Any such small concerns she had about finances were nothing to detract from their contentment. It would all be worked out. She had no need to hope for a better situation.

"Besides, why would I ever wish for anything that would take me away from you?" she said to Mr. Lockwell, taming his hair with a touch.

"It was here," he said, frowning. "But I can't find it." He pulled out a book and let it fall.

Ivy retrieved it, put it back on the shelf, and kissed his cheek.

"I'll go see how dinner is coming along," she said, and went to find her mother.

Mrs. Lockwell was not in her room, so Ivy went downstairs. She found Rose in the parlor, petting Miss Mew.

"Where is our mother?" Ivy asked. "I thought I would see if she needs help with supper."

However, Rose didn't know where Mrs. Lockwell was, so Ivy went in search of Lily.