Chapter 15
March 4, 1847, London, England
“It was Owein.”
Merritt sat in the parlor with Prince Friedrich early the next morning, before breakfast had been served. The encounter last night had stirred a few in the house, but Merritt had managed to put off an explanation until daylight. Hulda had her first meeting in East London today with the tutor Lady Briar recommended; at the moment, however, she was poring over Owein and Cora’s marriage contract. Unfortunately, Owein’s magically charged nightmare hadn’t gone undetected, and thus Merritt found himself assuring his host that it wasn’t the dead marquess acting out after an attempted exorcism.
Merritt ran a hand down his face. “He’s been struggling with sleep lately.” He wanted to explain the situation without invading Owein’s privacy. This sort of thing had happened at Whimbrel House, too, but not so ... severely. Merritt wondered if the new place—and the new stressors it brought with it—was affecting the poor boy’s nightmares. “Bad dreams. I suppose it’s a wizardly form of sleepwalking. I’m terribly sorry for any damages. I’m of course willing to compensate you.”
Hopefully the Leiningens would accept the funds in installments.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s a few dishes, really.” Prince Friedrich nodded, punctuating the statement.
And a few pieces of furniture, but Merritt didn’t feel the need to remind him. In truth, the episode had been ... alarming. Not just for the injury it had caused him—which, thanks to wardship’s weakening of the body, Merritt was still nursing—but the intensity, particularly at the end. Like all the chaotic energy Owein put out had been amplified inside the box Merritt had created, setting it off like a bomb.
Friedrich continued, “Honestly, I understand. My dear sister used to have bouts of anxiety that had similar outcomes. She grew out of it.”
Merritt nodded. “That gives me hope.”
Prince Friedrich stroked his mustache. “But the first room, in the other wing?”
Merritt leaned back. “Not Owein. He was with me. He can’t project his spells so far, regardless.”
“Blast.” The prince snapped his fingers. “That would have been a simple answer to it, no?”
“If you want to worry about the house collapsing around you as you slumber each night of our visit, I suppose so.”
To his relief, Friedrich grinned. “Well, all of this has certainly brought some excitement to Cyprus Hall.”
Merritt countered, “I have a hard time believing you lack for excitement.”
His smile faded. “I must apologize, again, for my daughter’s unseemly outburst.”
“It’s quite all right,” Merritt assured him. “I understand where she’s coming from. It’s hard to—”
The door to the parlor opened, and Lady Helen stepped in, blue skirts swishing around her. She wore a high-necked dress with layers of lace draping off the collar, something Hulda would likely find excessive, though it suited the woman well. She took a seat on the sofa beside her husband. “Will Owein be able to keep his appointment with my dear Cora today?”
It took Merritt a beat to recall the promised drawing room visit. “Yes, that should be fine. Though, I must ask—our arrival and stay here was somewhat ... obscure in details—”
“Oh, but you must stay as long as you like!” Lady Helen batted at the air as though intending to slap his knee, but her arm wasn’t nearly long enough to do so. “You’re practically family now.”
“Or will be, when that contract is signed,” Prince Friedrich added in a stern tone, obviously still upset about last night’s dinner.
Lady Helen snapped her fingers. “Oh, yes, I’m to meet with Miss Larkin this morning about that.”
Merritt smiled. “Of course, and thank you for your hospitality. It probably would be good for Owein and Cora to spend a little more time together.”
Lady Helen leaned across her husband conspiratorially. “Do you think he likes her?”
Merritt tried not to fish-mouth. “I mean, he doesn’t dislike her, certainly.” He would not relate Owein’s claim that he’d be equally ready to marry a toad. “All of this is very new to him.” Worried he’d been offensive, he added, “But your daughter seems very well mannered and kind.” Soft-spoken and shy, but good-hearted.
“Mother.” A new voice entered the room—Briar stepped in from the hallway, and Merritt wondered how long she’d been lingering there. There was no sign of anger in her bearing. She wore a simple pink gown, a stark contrast to her mother’s, and crossed the room quickly, perching at the far end of her parents’ sofa. “I’ve something I’d like to speak to you about.”
Feeling the tension instantly rise, Merritt stood. “I’ll excuse myself.” He nodded to the three of them, earning an appreciative smile from Briar, and slipped into the hallway. He honestly did not think Briar a hotheaded or unkind person; by all means, it was good to be protective of one’s sister. But her actions affected Owein, and therefore him, so Merritt allowed himself to linger long enough to catch the beginning of their conversation.
“I know what you’ll say, but hear me out. The Earl of Derby has a nephew who shows great promise in the earth element. He’s only a couple of years younger than Cora. The spells wouldn’t add, but perhaps they would make a better match—”
“Briar! Enough of this,” Lady Helen snapped, and it was the first time Merritt had heard anything truly unpleasant pass her lips. “You weary me! Be more open-minded. Go to Victoria if you must! But the queen herself approves of this match—”
Feeling an intruder, Merritt quietly continued down the hallway, out of earshot of the conversation. He couldn’t blame Briar for trying—it was, truly, an absurd situation.
At the same time, he feared Owein losing his one chance to be human again. Perhaps it was time he started taking these arrangements more seriously.
Hulda’s glasses perched low on her nose as she studied the six-page contract. She was a quick reader, but here she mulled over each and every word. She’d passed through the contract once already, and now scrutinized it even more closely. It gave her a headache, even with Blightree’s clean handwriting, but she persisted.
When she finally turned over the last page for the second time, Lady Helen quietly asked, “What do you think?”
“The provisions for the ethics of finding a body are sufficient.” She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and turned in her seat to better address her hostess. “I appreciate the effort put forth there.”
Lady Helen smiled.
“I do not see, however,” she continued, “anything clearly stating Owein Mansel’s rights.”
Lady Helen blinked. “His rights?”
“As to his person.”
The woman hesitated a moment. “Miss Larkin, why would he not be treated as any person would be treated?”
Hulda took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Mr. Mansel will be marrying into a noble family. Your noble family. In doing so, he will become a nobleman. But the specifics of that change of title are not clarified within the document.”
A patient smile curved Lady Helen’s mouth. “He will, of course, be given a courtesy title and treated as any other member of the family.”
“I’m sure you would do no less.” Hulda pressed her index finger into the center of the contract. “However, this is a legally binding document. Mr. Mansel needs these protections and promises in writing—what title he will be receiving, how his marriage to Lady Cora affects her inheritance, what dowry he’ll receive, whether he’ll be given a seat in the House of Lords, and of course the granting of British citizenship. Without these things delineated in the contract, I will have to advise both Mr. Mansel and Mr. Fernsby to forgo signing.”
Lady Helen frowned.
“Please understand I am only looking out for the well-being of my family.” Her future family, but she didn’t feel the need to specify.
The patient smile returned. “But of course. I am embarrassed to think neither myself, my husband, nor Mr. Blightree considered it!” She moved forward and collected the papers. “I will see it redrafted at once.” She turned from the table but stopped halfway to the door. “I truly do think it will be a good match.”
Hulda nodded. “I think so, too.”
And with that, Lady Helen departed. Hulda gathered her things and followed right after. It was time to meet with the man who might have the answers to controlling her foresight.
Gethin Griffiths, augurist and professor at Durham University, did not live quite as far from Cyprus Hall as Hulda had anticipated, which meant she arrived rather early for her appointment. His office was located in a house that had been converted into office space not far from the Admiralty House; three stories of white brick with simple trim, dark oak door left ajar. Hulda pushed it open and peered within, immediately greeted by a stairway. Though she had the instructions memorized, she checked the note written in Lady Briar’s hand: Second floor on the right.
In Britain, that meant the third floor.
Picking up her skirts, Hulda climbed two flights, her trusty black bag a weight on her right shoulder. Fortunately, Griffiths was written on the door, assuring her she had the right place. After smoothing her skirt and adjusting her glasses, she knocked firmly.
A bass “Come” responded.
She pushed the door open. The office within was cluttered, stacks of books, journals, and papers on nearly every available surface. Three sets of ink vials and four assorted pens occupied a modest desk. Three simple chairs lined the wall directly to her right, though two of them also sported teetering stacks of paper, as did some of the floor, which was carpeted scarlet. Scents of wood polish and ink hung heavily in the air, and the morning sun hit the window in just such a way that made everything look slightly yellow. Not in a putrid way, but in an old-book sort of way.
Professor Griffiths himself looked to be in his early fifties, with a well-trimmed beard speckled gray. He still had a full head of hair, also speckled gray, though it had gone nearly white over his temples. He wore dark, round spectacles and a broad-shouldered tweed jacket, giving him the refined look of an academic.
It took a beat for him to finish his sentence and glance up. He blinked a few times.
“I apologize for being early, Professor Griffiths,” Hulda said, remaining in the doorway. “My name is Hulda Larkin. I’m here on recommendation of Lady Briar Feodora of Leiningen.”
She had sent a telegram.
“Right, yes.” He stood abruptly, removed his glasses, and looked her up and down. She envied the ability—the second one, that was. He only needed his glasses for reading. Hulda, unfortunately, was cursed to keep hers perched upon her nose regardless of activity.
“You’re American,” he added.
“I hail from Boston, yes.”
“Excellent.” He stepped around the desk. “You’ve come all the way here for training?”
“I ... am here on business.”
“Of course.” Professor Griffiths gestured to a door on the far side of the room that led into another, smaller office, somewhat less cluttered but not without its stacks of books and newspapers. A table that could seat six sat within, as well as four chairs matching those from the first room. Hulda followed him inside.
“Please, sit.” He indicated the closest chair, and Hulda obliged. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he took his seat, though he managed to slip his glasses into a front pocket. “A recommendation from Lady Briar is quite the recommendation.”
She nodded. “Indeed. I happen to be staying at Cyprus Hall, as is she. The meeting was fortunate.”
“Ah! Very good. The Leiningens are good folk. How are Prince Friedrich and Lady Helen?”
“They appear to be in good health.”
He nodded. “And if I may be so bold, how are you acquainted with them?”
Knowing she was unable to relate the details of the situation, she merely offered up a separate but distantly related fact. “I’m the director of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms. I’ve come across the pond to speak with my London counterparts, and Lady Helen was gracious enough to offer me a room.”
“You don’t say!” Professor Griffiths beamed, and Hulda couldn’t help but be charmed by the reaction. “What an accomplishment, and from one so young.”
She barely held back a snort. “I have not been called young in some time.”
“My dear, when you get to be my age, everyone is young. Now.” He pulled out his glasses, slipped them on, and grabbed a piece of paper from a random stack. A pencil appeared from within another pocket. “You’re an augurist. I know it’s in bad taste, but might I ask your concentration? It will help me understand what we’re working with.”
“I am. And only eight percent, I’m afraid.”
“Eight is rather good, for today.” He jotted it down. “I myself am twelve, and only because of a few carefully selected marriages once upon a time.”
That gave Hulda pause. “Might I make further inquiries?”
He stabbed the paper with punctuation before glancing up. “Ah yes, it’s rude to bring up things of interest without explaining them, isn’t it? Especially to a woman in your line of work.” He grinned. Removed his glasses. “My bloodline is purely English, save for a bit of Swedish influence in the 1600s. My uncle was a baron. At this point, there’s no special title reserved for my father, nor for me, but we do descend from a noble line. You know how the English are with their nobility.”
“Indeed.” It was the very reason Owein had been summoned, to keep magic in the blood of Queen Victoria’s kin.
“What spells have you manifested?” he asked.
It felt strange to so openly talk about her limited gifts, but Hulda forced herself to relax. She’d get nowhere otherwise. “Divination only.”
“Truly!” He wrote without looking down. “That is also my situation.”
“Diviner?” Hulda leaned forward, interested.
“Only.” He cut the air with his pen in emphasis. “We will be a most excellent fit, Miss ...” His eyes shifted to the pearl ring on her finger. “Mrs. Larkin.”
“Miss, for now,” she corrected. “Unless you’d like me to begin keeping house for you.”
He chuckled. “I obviously need it.” He patted the nearest stack of papers like it was a dog. “Ever since Evelyn’s passing, it’s been a bit of a wreck.”
Alarm straightened Hulda’s spine. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Was she your ... wife?”
He nodded. Put the glasses back on and scribbled away. “Thank you, but I’m quite all right. It was some time ago.” He underlined something, but from her angle, she couldn’t quite read the tight, messy handwriting. “I haven’t had a student of magic for over a year. This will be a breath of fresh air. Is it reasonable to conjecture you can’t control the ability?”
“Yes! It merely comes and goes as it pleases.” In truth, one of the outcomes she hoped for in this tutoring was not merely better control of her magic, but control , period. Something to make her feel purposeful and in command of herself. Something to ease her occasional bouts of uncertainty about her impending marriage.
“We might not be able to fix that entirely.” Professor Griffiths now looked over his glasses instead of removing them once more. “But we can hopefully hone your skills well enough to take out the guesswork. Now, I’ve a set of dice here ...”