Chapter 11
March 3, 1847, London, England
The adults seemed quite put out by the fox hunt by the end, since they hadn’t actually caught any foxes. Owein got a whiff of one’s scent at one point, he was pretty sure, but he and the hounds had been unable to find it or its den. But the run had been the best run of his life. Fallen trees and moist earth, new scents and clamoring bodies ... that was, he enjoyed the clamor of the dogs, not the horses. He’d nearly been stepped on multiple times.
The hounds weren’t possessed by a person, like he was, but those lingering terrier instincts inside Owein understood them, in the simplest of terms. Their wants and reasons weren’t complex like people’s were, and after all this jumble about politics and marriage, Owein rather liked simplicity. Perhaps it was a bad thing, to prefer the company of hounds to people. But after they returned to the house and he took a nap in the kennel, he quickly got bored with the dogs and their eagerness for a friendly hand and a treat. He left to spend time with Merritt, half suspecting his nephew was the actual reason they hadn’t caught the fox.
“I just feel bad,” Merritt had remarked after lunch, under his breath, “hunting something we’re not going to eat.”
Merritt seemed distracted. The bad kind of distracted. But didn’t he know Owein would protect him, should anything bad arise?
Nothing bad did arise; the rest of the day was just as packed as Cora’s mother had promised. Cora did play the pianoforte well; Owein enjoyed listening to her, though he did so from the back of the room, finding the instrument too loud for his ears. He couldn’t tell Cora he liked her song, so he had Merritt tell her for him, and she scratched his ear and smiled, so maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Merritt let Owein sleep in his room again, and when he woke, he couldn’t remember whether his dreams had been dark or light. They’d only just exited to the hallway when a muffled sound caught Owein’s attention. He paused, lifting his ears to listen. Merritt noticed a beat later. “What?”
I hear Hulda. He pushed his way back into the room—Merritt hadn’t latched the door—and followed the sound to Merritt’s suitcase. He huffed.
“Hulda?” Merritt knelt by him and quickly opened the case, digging through it until he found his communion stone. Pulling it free, he heard Hulda say, quite distinctly, “—send a telegram, but I ought to be near enough—”
“Hulda?” Merritt asked the pale stone.
“Merritt!” she replied. “Merritt, I’m in England now, on my way. Are you and Owein all right? I had a vision of a smoky hallway in the dark—”
Owein barked.
“You’re here?” He smiled. “Yes, we’re fine. And yes, there was a rather dusty hallway two nights ago.” Better, he communicated to Owein, not to tell her the details until she gets here, or she might panic. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get here. We’re at Cyprus Hall. Do you know it?” Might not be a bad idea to have another ally here. We’ll keep her safe.
Owein huffed his agreement.
“I do,” the stone chimed, “and I’ll be there shortly.”
“This is where it happened?”
Hulda would never have guessed anything was amiss from the appearance of the hallway; the corridor was swept and polished and looked every bit as it should. But when Merritt opened the door—which stuck to its frame—her lips parted in surprise. The entire ceiling had collapsed. Sunlight glinted through slits where curtains didn’t quite touch. The bed frame had buckled. The shattered glass from the windows and other debris—it had been dust clouding that hallway in her vision, not smoke—had been cleaned up. It was the tidiest disaster Hulda had ever beheld.
To her great relief, no one had gotten hurt. But news of the room’s original assignment put her on edge, as did that sense of danger from her vision.
When a vision had concluded, and moved itself from future to past, did its warnings still pertain to futurity? There had been danger, yes—Hulda could see as much—but it had passed. Still, Hulda found herself wishing for something extra . If only she had a class or even a pamphlet to help her hone her minute skill. The thought brought another one—a reminiscence of Myra’s attempts to synthesize magic and the possible merits therein, but she pushed it from her mind. Priorities. There were always priorities.
After setting her black bag down, Hulda removed her dowsing rods and gingerly stepped into the room, surveying the ceiling first, then the floor.
“Should be safe,” Merritt offered, stepping in behind her.
It looked secure enough, at least. Still, Hulda trod lightly, circling the room with her dowsing rods in hand, then crossing its center, circumventing the bed. She lifted her hands toward the ceiling as well.
“Nothing here that I can find.” She tucked the rods under her arm and slowly turned, surveying the damage. Merritt had drawn the curtains; every window was cracked, but only one pane had shattered. “And you just found it like this?”
“Heard the rumbling from my room. Thought it was Owein at first.”
Stepping to the nearest window, Hulda peered out over the manicured grounds. Owein was on a walk with Lady Cora, chaperoned by both Lady Helen and Lady Briar. He’d seemed hesitant to leave Merritt’s side, but if the boy was willing to “marry a toad” for a human body, he could also go on a walk with his potential intended. Fortunately, Owein did seem to be adjusting to Cyprus Hall well enough.
“And you can’t think of anyone”—she chose her word carefully—“who might wish you ill?”
A dry laugh escaped Merritt as he stuck a hand on the back of his head. “No one. I’ve never been here before, Hulda. I don’t know anyone. And I’m certain my books aren’t that offensive, if any copies made it overseas.”
Hulda didn’t smile.
He lowered his hand. “Truthfully, though. I’m supposedly here on the queen’s errand, and the Leiningens have been nothing but hospitable. Lady Helen’s apologized to me ...” He counted on his fingers. “... maybe a dozen and a half times already.”
Pressing her lips together, Hulda lowered the dowsing rods and carefully studied the room with her own eyes. It didn’t make sense for Merritt to be a target, but she was far too monomaniacal to rule it out. How could it be happenstance? Perhaps the Leiningens had enemies, and said enemies didn’t know where they slept. Perhaps it was errant magic ... somehow. If the house had suddenly gained sentience, her rods would have picked up on it. And the matter of the collapsing room was not the only issue at hand ...
“I can’t fathom how they’ll do it.” She kept her voice low; Merritt had left the door ajar. “How could they possibly find a body for Owein? Other than what happened with Silas Hogwood, I haven’t heard of soul-switching happening in centuries ... If Mr. Blightree is powerful enough to make the switch, would he not be powerful enough to save whatever boy or young man he selected?”
“My thoughts precisely.” Merritt seemed eager for the subject change, drawing closer and folding his arms. The gesture emphasized his shoulders, and Hulda took a brief moment to appreciate them.
“The contract?” she tried.
“We’ve some time to ponder on it,” he offered. “But I wanted to get your thoughts. I know it’s been drafted. Honestly, they probably had it written up before we arrived.”
Tapping her fingers against the dowsing rods, Hulda said, “I suppose if the ethical boundaries are clearly stated ... but how does one clearly state it? Perhaps we should hire a lawyer.”
“I don’t know how much lawyers understand ethics.”
She rolled her eyes at the joke.
“Regardless,” Merritt continued, “the family wants to keep this close to the chest. I don’t know how well the general public would take to a princess being betrothed to a dog . Briar certainly doesn’t seem to care for it.”
“Do take care to use their titles where they can hear you,” she pressed, “and the correct ones at that. Prince Friedrich’s title is from his German estate, but Lady Cora’s comes from her mother.” While his casual demeanor could be refreshing, Hulda didn’t want to risk any faux pas.
Merritt merely shrugged a shoulder.
She added, “And he’s not a dog ... not really.”
“Not judging Owein by the body he’s in is like not judging a book by its cover.” He scanned the room. “Not possible.” He waited a beat. “Anything else in that bag of yours that might prove handy?”
“I don’t think so. Not after the fact. If I’d been there ...” But there was no point in tracing the possibilities of the situation. “Perhaps I’ll find something of use at LIKER headquarters. You’re sure this was supposed to be your room?”
“Yes, but Lady Helen moved both Owein and me closer to the family after meeting us.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I would honestly consider it happenstance if I’d never met you. You keep me looking over my shoulder.”
Because Silas Hogwood and Alastair Baillie had taught them to be suspicious of happenstance.
“Perhaps it’s haunted,” he continued.
“Unlikely. Though—” Her train of thought caught as a trickle of memory lit. She focused on it, whisking back to a table and a bowl of soup in Boston.
Merritt touched her arm. “Hulda? Premonition?”
She blinked. “What? Oh, no. I was just remembering something.” She snapped her fingers. “There was an obituary in that newspaper that published your article on Owein. An announcement. It was ...” She closed her eyes a moment, thinking. “Yes, it was about the death of the Marquess of Halesworth. Member of the Queen’s League of Magicians.”
Merritt’s brows drew together. “And this is relevant because ...?”
A shiver coursed up her arms as she pictured that newspaper in her hands. “Because, if I’m not mistaken, I believe he died here , at Cyprus Hall.”
Lady Helen, Lady Cora, and Owein were just returning from their walk when Hulda and Merritt found them near the kitchen. Heavy cloud cover promised rain, but so far the weather had stayed dry.
“Oh yes.” Lady Helen’s face fell when Hulda inquired about the marquess. “My poor, dear father. His health had been in decline for some time.” She took a moment to breathe deeply and still her emotions, and Hulda almost regretted asking. “It wasn’t a surprise, that he passed, but yes, he was staying with us when it happened.” Turning to Cora, she said, “Why don’t you show Owein the library, my dear? Perhaps share a book with him.”
Merritt tilted his head—something he did when Owein was speaking to him. He said nothing, however, only shifted his eyes to and from Owein, as though offering silent encouragement.
Lady Helen waited until the two had departed before saying, “Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious about the incident with your guest room,” she explained, then hid a wince when Lady Helen blanched. “I’m sure it’s no misconduct of yours,” she hurried to add. “Indeed, Merritt told me your gift was advantageous in clearing the air after it happened.”
“Well, thank you.” She rubbed her hands together, perhaps banishing the chill from her walk. “And you are, of course, more than welcome to stay. I know LIKER is accommodating, but we’ve rooms to spare, and the others shouldn’t collapse. Oh dear.” She touched a hand to her face.
“That is very generous of you. I would love to accept, if it doesn’t put you out.” Hulda had been hoping the offer would come along; she’d rather be near Merritt and Owein than across town at LIKER headquarters. Especially with yet another magicked house mystery to solve. She happened to be a specialist in that area.
Her acceptance seemed to warm Lady Helen, who lowered her hand and smiled. “It’s always lovely to have guests. But about my father?”
“Did he,” Merritt asked, “pass away in that same room?”
Lady Helen’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked, gaze shifting from Merritt to Hulda. “Hm? Let me think ... No, I believe he was staying elsewhere, near Briar’s old room.”
“We ask,” Hulda explained, “because I wonder if his spirit might not be inhabiting Cyprus Hall.”
“Oh. Oh. ” Lady Helen pressed a palm to her chest. “Oh dear, I see. That can happen, can’t it?” She looked upward, as though her deceased father might manifest himself in the moldings.
“Have there been any other manifestations of magic not intentionally caused by you or members of the family?” Hulda asked, mayhap with a little too much animation. If the hunch proved sound, it would both elucidate their problem and allow for it to be quickly resolved.
Lady Helen took a moment to consider. “No ... none that I can think of at all, though I will ask the staff. But my father ... he wasn’t a destructive fellow.”
“Nothing less than a gentleman, or so I thought when I had the pleasure of meeting him,” Hulda agreed. “But death can be, understandably, a shocking experience.”
Lady Helen nodded. “Of course. But it’s been ... oh, almost two weeks now.” She blinked rapidly, then smiled. “I’ve seen and heard nothing that might indicate a ... a haunting . But if you think there might be a chance, is there something you or LIKER could do? Don’t misunderstand me, I loved the marquess, but I also love my house being in order and ... standing.”
Merritt chuckled.
“Once I confirm a haunting, the London Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms would be more than happy to offer assistance in keeping Cyprus Hall tamed and protected. Enchanted homes are becoming quite singular; I would take care of the registry, special staff, and auxiliaries personally.”
Lady Helen folded her hands together. “I appreciate the offer, Miss Larkin, but there is plenty enough magic in this house as there is.”
Hulda tipped her head in acquiescence. The world could do with more magicked abodes, but she had to respect the wishes of the family. And of course, if the spirit was indeed in residence, he was causing exorbitant destruction, which was a non sequitur, given her past experiences. “I’ll perform an exorcism to be thorough,” Hulda offered. She’d love to dive in deeper, but Cyprus Hall was a large abode, and not one she’d been hired to oversee. She’d be overstepping her bounds. “I’ll collect what I need today.”
“Let me send for our driver, if you need to head out.”
Hulda smiled. “Thank you. That would make it easier.” She glanced at Merritt, wishing she could commune with him mind to mind the way Owein did.
Fortunately, Merritt caught her intention. “Afterward, Lady Helen”—he bit down on a smile, and Hulda knew the emphasis had been for her benefit—“I know you and your husband have been eager about the contract.”
She lit up. “Yes! The contract.”
“If I could review it. Just to assure everything is in order.”
“Of course, of course. And Miss Larkin, I’ll have a very sturdy and nonhaunted room ready for you by supper. I can situate you near Mr. Fernsby. Oh”—she touched her bottom lip—“that is, unless a farther room would be more appropriate?”
Hulda’s ears warmed. “I’m happy to go with your recommendation.”
“Wonderful. Freddy!” she called past them, and Hulda turned to see a footman passing by. “Would you alert Mr. Hensfork to bring the curricle around for Miss Larkin? She has some business in town.”
The footman nodded and departed.
A curricle was a two-person carriage, so it wouldn’t do to ask Merritt to come along with her. Best he stay with Owein. With the puzzle of her vision so nearly solved, she felt comfortable leaving for a short time. She nodded her thanks. “I’ll be sure to return in time for supper.”
After Hulda departed, Merritt put on his coat and stepped outside for some fresh air and fresh thinking. The idea of dealing with another ghost, oddly enough, lent him some confidence, but the thought of the marriage contract still made him uneasy. Then again, if a usable body wasn’t found—a very likely outcome given the demanded ethics clauses—the issue would be null. Of course, Merritt had no idea how the extended royal family worked behind the curtains. They could simply kidnap someone, annex his spirit, and present a body and an entirely innocent backstory, and Merritt would be none the wiser.
That idea sat uncomfortably in his gut as he passed by a winter-trodden flower garden. Spring was on its way and would certainly brighten up the gray grounds, but Merritt didn’t intend to stay long enough to witness it.
An icy drop of rain hit his cheek. Merritt glanced skyward, waiting for another to fall. If it did, it struck him where he couldn’t feel it. He quickened his pace. He’d like to get at least a lap in before returning indoors. The Leiningens were hospitable folk, but Merritt wouldn’t say he was comfortable here. Especially if there was a ghost lurking in the walls. But in truth, he got his best thinking done when he could walk out in nature. Figuring out what to eat for dinner, unwinding plot holes in stories, deducing how to best confess his feelings for his housekeeper ... all had been accomplished on purposeful strolls.
While he’d intended to sort out this mess with Owein on this particular jaunt, he passed a leafless rosebush, which made him think of Rose , his mother, and the tight redness on the face of his father, Peter Fernsby, when Merritt had finally returned home. It had so starkly contrasted his mother’s teary joy.
He’d sent his mother a wedding invitation. To the house, in case she was able to receive it before Peter got his hands on it, and a backup had gone off to Ruth Portendorfer, her neighbor and the mother of Merritt’s best friend. His ribs squeezed. Would his mother be able to come to the ceremony? He had to accept that she might not. So long as Peter Fernsby had his way, Merritt would have no place in that family. He wondered, briefly, if the separation was meant to punish him or her . His father had known from an early age that Merritt wasn’t biologically his. A better man might not have penalized him for the sins of his mother. Then again, Merritt would gladly bear the penalties on her behalf.
She’d insisted Peter was good to her. His sisters, too, had promised Rose Fernsby lived well. He’d have to take solace in that, even if he didn’t see his mother again until her husband’s funeral.
As he followed the walking path between bare trees, he noticed another body moving toward him. It took only a beat for him to recognize her as Lady Briar, Cora’s older sister. She had an umbrella in hand, though it wasn’t unfurled, and strode alone. She must have been lost in thought, for she didn’t notice him until they were only a few paces apart, and only then with a start.
“Mr. Fernsby! I didn’t see you.”
Merritt dug cold hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t blame you; the pavers are vastly interesting.”
She glanced down at the stones underfoot. “Ah yes.” She smiled. “Very interesting.”
Merritt really should start wearing a hat; this would have been a prime opportunity to tip one. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“Not at all.” She glanced back the way she’d come. “Are you against company for your stroll?”
That surprised him. She’d seemed of a mind to be alone. “Not at all. To be honest, I’d love a conversation that doesn’t involve magic or weddings in some form or another.”
She nodded. “I absolutely understand.” She turned and fell into step beside Merritt, retracing the way she’d come. “The woman in taupe, wearing glasses—was that Miss Larkin? I didn’t have an opportunity for an introduction.”
“Yes. She took your curricle out to LIKER headquarters for some supplies for an exorcism.”
Briar missed a step. “An exorcism?”
“Just in case your grandfather is haunting the walls.”
She studied his face as they walked. “Goodness, you’re serious.”
“I am serious at all times.”
She studied him a little longer. “I think you’re fibbing about that , Mr. Fernsby. I’ve heard about your sense of humor, and I don’t for a minute believe you find the pavers interesting.”
“Oh? What are they saying about me behind closed doors?”
She waved a hand. “Nothing worth gossip, I assure you. Cora merely told me everything that happened before our arrival.”
“And Cora—Lady Cora—how is she handling things?”
Briar’s steps slowed. She waited a beat before speaking. “Thank you for asking. She’s involved in this more closely than anyone, and no one seems to ask how she’s faring. But.” She sighed. “All things considered, she’s doing well. She’s optimistic. It’s expected, in our family, to have things like this arranged. Just never ... I mean, no offense, Mr. Fernsby—”
“Never to a suitor with four legs?” he offered.
She looked relieved. “Precisely that.” She flushed. “My goodness, here you’ve specifically requested we not speak of magic and weddings, and I’m prattling on about them anyway.”
He enjoyed her candor. “It’s all that’s on our minds. What else is to be expected?”
She nodded, and they followed the path toward the front of the house, silent for several seconds. Briar broke the beat of their footsteps by asking, “Miss Larkin. You’re engaged to her, correct?”
“I am.”
She grinned. “Tell me how you met.”
Hands growing warm, Merritt moved them from his pockets and clasped them behind his back. “That is a story that deserves an entire novel. But in short, I inherited a house that was haunted. By Owein, actually.”
“I ... that is, I’d heard that he’d only recently become a dog.”
He nodded. “Anyway, Hulda was sent by BIKER to oversee the transition and make everything comfortable. I suppose we took a liking to one another.” That was the very condensed version of it.
“How charming.” Her grin faded slowly, a little with each step. “We, my siblings and I, that is, weren’t permitted to search among common folk for a spouse.” She laughed. “Not that we had the freedom to choose from among the elite, either.”
Her tone was light, but there was a slight edge to it. One Merritt might not have picked up on had he not breakfasted with her twice. Had he not seen how cool she was to the Baron von Gayl, her husband. It didn’t take a scholar to know that marriage had been arranged, just as Cora and Owein’s would be.
“I’m sorry,” Merritt offered.
“It is what it is. It’s been only a few months. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll learn to care for one another.” The statement was devoid of hope. “We’re very ... different,” she went on. “But he does have an excellent magical pedigree.”
A kineticist, if Merritt remembered correctly. His pace slowed a bit.
Would someone with strong kinetic powers be able to collapse the ceiling of a house?
Gooseflesh rose over his skin. Merritt returned his hands to his pockets. Realizing he should speak or else draw attention to the revelation, he said, “Hulda is an augurist.”
“Is she?” Briar latched on to the change in subject. “I am, too. Not exclusively, but I’ve a streak of luck. Proves useful, at times.”
Merritt looked her way and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Perhaps you need only give it time for it to be useful again.”
Pinching her lips together, Briar looked away. “Thank you. I should remember that.”
“Hulda is a soothsayer—sees flashes of the future. Frustrates her, though. She’s not as rich in the ability as your family seems to be.”
She perked up. “I know a great teacher I could put her in touch with, if she’s interested. Magic is all in the blood, yes, but understanding how to wield it can multiply its effectiveness. Such has been the case in my learning, at least.”
“Mine as well. I’ll let her know, thank you.” He had a feeling Hulda would appreciate the opportunity to study.
Briar clapped her hands. “I’ll write to him as soon as we return to the house.”
LIKER’s headquarters were seated on the Thames, just across Westminster Bridge, almost parallel to Big Ben. While it was no Palace of Westminster, it was far more eye-catching than the Bright Bay Hotel in Boston. Gothic in design, the narrow four-story building had dark-ribbed vaults and pointed arches around its doorways. It resembled a cathedral but without any spires or stained glass to beautify it. From the outside it looked a thing of the past, and from the inside it appeared entirely modern. The tiles underfoot as she entered were blue and yellow, where they weren’t covered in scrolling Indian rugs, and there was an alarming number of large potted plants, nearly enough to qualify the place as a jungle. The hallways and reception area were tastefully beige with the occasional flourish of fleur-de-lis, while individual offices and rooms sported a variety of patterned wallpapers. The place had twice the space and far more people than its Boston counterpart.
It was good to see a familiar face as Hulda approached an overlarge, polished oak reception desk. “Miss Richards, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
Miss Richards, whose attention had been split between an open novel and a cup of tea, startled, spilling a few drops of the latter onto her skirt. She didn’t seem to notice as she stood. “Miss Larkin! You certainly travel fast. Are you wanting to speak with Mr. Walker?”
“That would be lovely, if he’s available. I realize I’m arriving outside his normal schedule.” Her own schedule had been decimated by the time change.
The secretary checked the clock. “I think you’re fine to go up. It’s been a slow week.” She set down her teacup before resituating herself in her chair. “Anything else I can help with?”
“Yes, actually. I need materials for an exorcism.”
“Exorcism?” She thumbed through several open files before her.
“I’ll be sure to make a full report.” She pushed her glasses up her nose; no matter how tightly the arms were adjusted or how large her nose grew, the lenses never would stay in place.
“I’ll get right on it; I cataloged the stones just last month, so I know we’re flush.” She turned the novel upside down on the desk to mark her place. The secretary jaunted off toward one of the materials closets.
Hulda knew her way around, so she set off down the corridor behind the desk, heels clacking on tiles, and took a spiraling staircase up to the second floor. A muffled noise from her ever-present black bag caused her to pause and fish out her communion stone, which glimmered with a smooth, unbroken sheen as she pulled it into the light.
“Come again?” she asked.
“Lady Briar says she knows an augury professor in London.” Merritt’s voice was a little garbled, but Hulda understood him, and her pulse picked up as he spoke. “I thought you might be interested—”
“Very much so.” She cleared her throat, lowering her volume. “Yes, please get his—her?—information, and I’ll send a contact card immediately.”
“Already have it.” She could hear his smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The stone quieted. Hulda clasped it in her hand. A professor! Would he—or she—be willing to meet with Hulda? Surely it was a possibility, or Lady Briar would not have suggested it. Perhaps God had heard her quiet prayers and was sending her a much-needed boon.
Bolstered by this revelation, Hulda continued on her way. Mr. Walker’s office was just down another hallway. She couldn’t help but tense as she passed the one for LIKER’s lawyer, though a new face lingered over the desk, buried in work and unaware of her presence. Mr. Baillie, of course, no longer worked at LIKER. Or anywhere, unless they were giving him unpaid tasks to complete in prison.
Mr. Walker’s door was open, but she knocked anyway. The man was halfway through a crumpet.
“Mm!” He swallowed, waving her forward with a free hand. “Miss Larkin, wonderful to see you. Come in, come in. How are things in the States?”
“As to be expected. I’ve nothing new to report.” That was a partial lie. She had a great deal worth reporting, and it included a dead wizard suspended in goo in a glass tube in Ohio. But the laboratory was neither an enchanted room nor under LIKER’s jurisdiction, and by all means, she didn’t know a thing about it. Still, out of habit, she found herself quickly focusing on a portrait of the queen on the far wall. She was used to working with a superior who had the ability to read minds. Though even without psychometry, it had always been difficult hiding a secret from Myra Haigh.
Unfortunately, that had not been a two-way street, but she mentally digressed.
“I’ve a rather interesting conundrum I’d like to discuss with you.” She sat on a chair on the opposite side of Mr. Walker’s desk and situated her bag on her lap. “Without giving any specific names, for the sake of propriety.”
As she disclosed the facts pertinent to the situation with Owein and the offer of a body, Mr. Walker’s eyes doubled in size. His half-eaten crumpet lay forgotten near his elbow.
“That is ... quite a surprise.” He rubbed his chin. Stubble was already growing in from his morning’s shave. “For many reasons. Most necromancy spells only work on humans.”
“He is human. Or at least, he was. His mind and his soul are human,” Hulda offered. “But you understand the predicament.”
Nodding, Walker knit his fingers together. “I can’t think of any specific laws that would apply, but then again, the royal family sort of is the law, aren’t they?”
“Has it been done before?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I highly doubt any documentation would be at my disposal. And ... this dog of yours is a very special and extreme case.”
“That he is.” Hulda let out a long breath. “Obviously we would be against murder. Stripping the soul from an able body would be nothing less than that. Nor from an unable body that might be healed from a master necromancer’s services. So what else is there?”
“Volunteers, I suppose.”
Hulda blanched. “You think someone would just volunteer their life for the Crown?”
Mr. Walker shrugged. “There are many poor lads out there who might be willing, if it meant financial comfort for their families.”
Hulda found herself twisting the handle of her bag. “But accepting the sacrifice of a boy who has volunteered out of desperation is hardly ethical.”
“I agree. I’m merely thinking aloud,” he offered. “Perhaps one might volunteer because he is unhappy.”
A shiver coursed through her shoulders and into her neck. “I cannot fathom a single situation where obtaining any body, volunteered or not, would feel right and honorable.” She sighed. “I do want it for him. He died very young. He hasn’t had human form in centuries. But ...”
“But,” Mr. Walker said in absolute agreement. “There are occasions when a babe is born without a mind, or an accident befalls a man and strips away his ability to think or function beyond anything a doctor, necromancer, hysterian, or psychometrist can hope to mend. Perhaps in the days of old, when magic was stronger, but today, even with advancements in science, there is little to be done for it. Perhaps the unnamed nobles in this situation are looking for something like that.”
Hulda mulled this over. “I could see something of the sort working. But to find one in the next few years, before Lady—before the girl this concerns comes of age, and to find one suited to her. If they put the boy in question into the body of an infant, well, his adulthood will come too late. And to find a lost mind among the elderly ... all sorts of things could go wrong.” How utterly unfortunate it would be for Owein to gain a human body, only to approach death shortly thereafter. Then again, as a dog, his years were already limited.
Would this be his destiny, then? To constantly pop between bodies and buildings, never truly having one of his own, the only escape being death? Death was not something to fear—they would all have to meet their maker someday. But Owein ... what did he think about the situation? Was he afraid to pass on?
He’s just a boy. The thought saddened her. And yet, regarded in a different light, Owein had lived longer than any of them.
She stood. “Thank you, Mr. Walker. You’ve given me something to think about. I hope you don’t mind; I’m concerned there may be a recently deceased wizard in the walls of ... an undisclosed manor nearby.” To name Cyprus Hall would banish any sense of privacy Hulda had been trying to give the Leiningen family. “I’ll write a report.”
Two lines formed at the center of his brow, then relaxed. “Yes, go ahead. I’ve already learned the hard way to trust you, Miss Larkin. I look forward to reading your findings after my trip to Constantinople.”
She paused. “The manor in ?engelkoy again?”
“The very one.”
She replied with a tip of her head, then saw herself out.
Miss Richards had the stones and spells waiting for her.
Hulda returned to Cyprus Hall as the family was meeting for dinner; she had just enough time to change into something a little more formal and then meet the others in the sitting room connected to the dining hall. Lady Cora was playing the pianoforte when she arrived, her sister, Briar, turning the pages; Owein seemed to be asleep in the far corner of the room. Lady Helen de Clare, Prince Friedrich, Merritt, and two men she didn’t recognize sat on two sofas, enthralled in some sort of conversation. Merritt lit up at the sight of her, and his expression sent pleasant nerves drifting down her torso like snowflakes. He crossed the room to her, took her hand, and brought her over. “Miss Hulda Larkin of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms. I believe you’ve acquainted yourself with everyone but the Baron von Gayl, Ernst, uh ...” A lopsided smile tilted his mouth. “I’m so sorry. Your names are so formal and ... long.”
Back in September, Hulda might have been embarrassed by the confession. Now she merely appreciated that Merritt was honest.
As did the baron, for he slapped his thighs and laughed. “Ernst Freiherr von Gayl.” He stood and offered a shallow bow. “It’s excellent to meet you, fr?ulein. Mr. Fernsby has spoken of you at length.”
“Hopefully only positive things,” she said with a smile and a curtsy. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Don’t worry,” Merritt assured her, “this one is much simpler. This is William Blightree, of the Queen’s League of Magicians.”
Mr. Blightree was the oldest of the group, and he nodded his head respectfully. “I’m here to help oversee the contract and any questions that might arise with the arrangement. Mr. Fernsby has put all of us off, insisting he get your opinion.” He said it in a kind, almost teasing way. “He thinks very highly of you.”
Hulda felt herself flush. “Thank you. You must be the queen’s necromancer?”
Lady Helen put a hand on Mr. Blightree’s shoulder. “Yes, he is very esteemed at court. You won’t find a more skilled magician than he in all of Europe, I assure you that!” She grinned fondly at him. “Mr. Blightree is a longtime family friend as well. He’s put off his own personal business to stay with us.”
Merritt said, “I hope nothing too unsettling.”
Mr. Blightree opened his mouth to respond, but Lady Helen beat him to it. “More settling than unsettling! He’s finally come into a long-overdue inheritance. The whole mess was tied up in the courts for years .” She turned toward him. “And we’re so excited to visit the place when things calm down. I’ve always wanted a tour of Gorse End.”
Hulda’s smile froze on her face.
Gorse End. She knew Gorse End. Knew it far too well. She’d dug through Hogwood’s family tree to find no direct relatives, and the Crown had yet to seize the estate. But if William Blightree was its heir ... heaven help her.
This man was Silas Hogwood’s family .