Boy of Chaotic Making (Whimbrel House #3)

Chapter 19

March 5, 1847, London, England

“Gone?” Merritt repeated, rising from his seat as well. “You mean it’s missing?”

“I had it in the study,” Blightree explained, clasping and unclasping his hands. “I’d recently redrafted it. I need Her Majesty’s approval, of course, but I understand your reasons for departing.” He stepped forward to be better seen. “It’s not there.”

Hulda said, “You misplaced it?”

Blightree shook his head. “I am getting on in years, but I assure you, I left it in Prince Friedrich’s study, which he’s graciously lent to me during my stay.”

Friedrich nodded. “I recall. It was folded in thirds on the left-hand side of my desk.”

Lady Helen shook her head. “But ... a contract doesn’t merely get up and walk away!” She cast an apologetic look toward Merritt, Hulda, and Owein. “We must have simply ...”

She paused. Set her jaw. Grabbing a fistful of skirt, she marched toward the door; Blightree stepped out of her way. After wrenching it open, she must have found a footman or a maid waiting nearby, for she said, “Fetch Lady Briar at once.”

They think Briar took it? Owein asked.

“I guess,” Merritt murmured, catching Hulda’s attention as he did so. “She’s a likely suspect.”

Hulda stood and gently placed her hand on the inside of his elbow. “Well,” she tried, pulling on her business tone, “contracts are not carved into gold. We can simply draft a new one.”

“Aye, we can draft a new one,” Blightree said, “though not simply . We’ll need to review everything to ensure I haven’t forgotten anything, especially with the new amendments.”

Hulda frowned. “Which we haven’t had a chance to review.”

Blightree nodded. “My apologies, Miss Larkin. Mr. Fernsby, Mr. Mansel. I did not think it necessary to place it in the safe.” He sighed. “It was only a draft.”

“You mentioned it needed to be reviewed by Queen Victoria,” Merritt tried, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a headache began to sprout in his forehead. “If we were to sign it and she did not approve it, we would need to review and sign an entirely new draft, correct?”

“Correct,” the necromancer replied.

They can mail it to us, Owein suggested.

Merritt cleared his throat. “Owein makes a valid point. Perhaps the contract could be mailed to us.”

Blightree and Friedrich exchanged a glance.

Merritt released a long breath. “What is it now?”

“English Soil Law,” Hulda said.

Prince Friedrich gestured with a turn of his wrist. “It’s my understanding ... magic laws in the United States are not very strict.”

We don’t have required breeding programs for it like you do here, Merritt thought to himself, but nodded.

Lady Helen returned to her chair, obviously flustered. Prince Friedrich continued, “They are much stricter here. Any charter or decree of magical origin pertaining to British land or British citizens must be signed on British soil. It’s a protection, really. With the empire expanding as it was, laws in India weren’t matching laws in the islands, or there was that whole mess with Ireland ...”

“Such a bother,” Lady Helen murmured.

Merritt glanced at Hulda. “Perhaps ... there’s always LIKER.”

She considered.

Lady Helen interjected, “I swear to my Lord in heaven, Mr. Fernsby, there is no plot against you. Not in my house!” Her voice rose enough to startle Owein. “I want this to work. Truly I do. I want Cora to have the fortnight promised to her. I will hire and post guards around this house and all its grounds, day and night. I do not mind the expense. We will get to the bottom of this, and to this bloody contract.”

Prince Friedrich paled. Less at the promise and more at the language, Merritt suspected.

“I could,” Hulda began, withdrawing her hand from his arm, “go to LIKER on the morrow and obtain some more wards and stones. Wardship stones that can detect magic, and perhaps even counter it.” She looked at Merritt. “If anyone did attempt a spell, the stones would catch it.”

“Like with Baillie,” Merritt supplied.

She nodded. “Like with Baillie. The house is large ... but if I can get my hand on some counterspell wards, those could be placed around your person.”

Merritt considered this. “Isn’t it detrimental to wear a ward?”

“ Around your person, not on it.” Knitting her fingers together, she added, “It might be a pain, but with the guards, I’m sure we can get the new contract drafted and ready in record time. Yes?”

Blightree said, “Of course.”

The door opened, revealing a young footman. “Pardon my intrusion.”

Lady Helen motioned him inside. “Well?”

The servant swallowed. “She’s not here, my lady.”

Lady Helen surged to her feet. Her hands balled into tight fists. “What do you mean, she’s not here ?”

Bowing his head, the footman answered, “The baron explained she’d left for the borough of Westminster.”

Lady Helen rolled her eyes and barely held in a growl. “This child of mine!” She pointed accusingly at Prince Friedrich. “She’s gone and done just that, I tell you! I hope Victoria refuses to see her!”

“My dear”—the man came forward with his hands raised, as though Lady Helen were a rabid wolf—“let’s consider this rationally—”

What’s happening? Owein asked.

Merritt slumped down into his chair. I think we found the contract thief. And I think we’ll be staying here another night, at least.

Lady Helen was true to her word—guards roamed the estate the very next morning, and Merritt and his retinue slept the night without any disaster. Slept, thanks to the tincture Hulda had ordered up from the kitchens. Bless that woman, he thought as he walked, Owein taking two steps for his every one.

Saturday rolled in as all English days in March seemed to—overcast and crisp. The Leiningen grounds were looking quite green, thanks to magic from a grounds crew, though in the wooded area beyond what the family had manicured, a few daring leaf buds were starting to peek out of winter branches. Mayhap it was better for Merritt to stay indoors, where the guard was thicker and magical wards would soon be placed, but he had the desperate need to stretch his legs. He would also be hard to target if no one knew where to find him, and Owein was the best guard he could possibly ask for at this point, truthfully. Still, Merritt rubbed his fingers together in his trouser pockets, not because they were cold, but because he was ready to cast a wardship wall at any moment. He’d need only a second to do so. The collapse in the breakfast room had taken him so off guard he hadn’t had a chance, but he wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

In addition to the hired guard, the repairmen for the damaged rooms in Cyprus Hall had arrived and taken over the house, and Hulda ... who seemed to be faring better today ... had gotten an appointment with that augurist in town, so Merritt had decided to take Owein out, away from the noise and the expectations. Lord knew they had a lot to chat about, and Merritt had a lot to think about.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to process this vision of Hulda’s. Could she have misread it somehow? But Hulda wasn’t a woman prone to flights of fancy. It had physically hurt him to see her cry, to see the look of betrayal in her eyes, even though he hadn’t yet done anything. And he wouldn’t. He’d made a mistake with Ebba, but even then, he’d been loyal to the woman he’d pledged himself to. Ready to own up to everything and be there for her and their nonexistent child.

He sighed. Climbed over a log while Owein squeezed under it. The only future Merritt wanted was with Hulda. He’d convince her of that, however long it took. Hopefully this Griffiths fellow would help her home in on the vision, though Merritt would prefer it if she didn’t relate too many details.

Hell, the way things had unraveled for him, maybe Merritt had a secret twin brother. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised at this point, though the revelation would be a little melodramatic for his taste.

After the missing contract debacle, Hulda had privately shared her sleuthing into who could possibly be breaking Cyprus Hall and why. Merritt had taken notes—stress aside, this would make for an excellent book. And it eased his anxiety, thinking it a work of fiction instead of his life. He really did hope no one was trying to kill him. Again.

He listened to the fall of his footsteps punctuated by Owein’s for several seconds, a rhythm just a little too off to be even.

But enough of his problems.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merritt asked when the trees thickened. Owein would know what he meant. He’d had another nightmare last night, though he’d woken himself up from this one before he could do any unconscious magical damage.

Owein didn’t respond immediately. Merritt took in their surroundings, trying to picture the forest in the lush greens of summer. There was a deer nearby, listening to him as he listened to it. He sensed it more than heard it. No more guards this far out, but when he looked over his shoulder, he saw one patrolling in the distance. Fingers and magic ready, Merritt trudged forward. A trail wound through the trees, so he didn’t worry about getting lost.

I was alone a lot, Owein said. I would get so bored. I kept waiting for someone to take the house, to move in, and no one did.

“The witches?” Merritt asked softly.

They didn’t stay. Whimbrel House had been a safe house for women accused of ill deeds during the Salem witch trials—the only reason BIKER had known of the house’s existence in the first place.

They stepped around a mud puddle and ducked beneath a fallen branch caught on the boughs of another tree.

I watched them die. My parents, I mean.

Merritt’s stride slowed. “I’m so sorry, Owein.”

My dad went first, then my mom. I remember it, and I remember them, but at the same time, I don’t. But I think they were in my dream last night. Not their faces, not really. But they were there, and they were far away, and they were calling for me.

Heavy stuff. Merritt mulled it over.

Do you believe in heaven, Merritt?

“I do.” His voice took on its usual communion-induced rasp. “What’s the point of all of it if there isn’t something beyond? Seems life would be pretty dismal if it were strictly sealed cover to cover.”

Owein took a moment to consider that, which gave Merritt’s voice a chance to recover. I wonder if they’re there, waiting for me. My family.

“Maybe.” Merritt quickened his step and let his hand drop from his coat pocket so his first knuckles grazed Owein’s head. “And you have family waiting for you here.”

I miss Beth.

“You’ll see her soon enough. I—”

Wait.

Owein slowed, stopped. Merritt followed his lead. His nose pointed ahead and to the south, ears perked, tail erect. Tensing, Merritt readied a spell. How large could he make a wall? His practice was usually on a smaller scale—

A gray hawk flew through the trees ahead, landing on a branch, regarding them.

Merritt let out a breath. “Just a bird. Don’t scare me like that.”

A woman’s voice behind him said, “We don’t mean to be frightening.”

Both Merritt and Owein jumped. Merritt whirled and threw up an invisible wall. Two people approached, one a woman about Hulda’s age, another a man in his midforties. The first wore a gown that didn’t look warm enough for the weather, reminiscent of something one might find on a Greek statue. Her long, dark-blonde hair was loose down her back. She had large, deerlike eyes and full lips, which smiled at him. The man was tall, dressed as a dedicated hunter might be, in colors of the forest. The material of his clothes seemed foraged from everything and anything, patchworked to fit over broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was dark, and he wore a beard that fell about to his Adam’s apple.

Merritt backed away. “Who are—”

Merritt! Owein barked. He can hear me!

Merritt’s voice caught in his throat. What?

Owein danced in place. The man, he can hear me! His name is Sean.

Merritt met the dark eyes of the stranger. “... Sean?” he tried.

“I would confirm that you are Merritt Fernsby,” said the man in a distinctive Irish lilt, “and this is Owein Mansel. I don’t know any other creature that has a mind like that.”

All right, Merritt admitted it. He could still be surprised.

As though sensing his thoughts, the woman said, “The royal family is not the only one with eyes and ears.” Her gaze lifted up toward the hawk in the tree. She stepped off the path, her footfalls oddly light, and walked around the wall, fingertips grazing it as she went. “We’re not armed,” she assured him. Her dialect matched the man’s. “When we heard of you, we wanted to meet you.”

Merritt turned, unsure of whether it was more important to watch the woman or man. “And since you’re familiar with us, perhaps you’d like to formally introduce yourselves.” He willed himself to relax. If nothing else, he could throw up another wardship spell and Owein could, oh, throw some trees or the like and give them time to run back to Cyprus Hall.

“My name is Morgance,” the woman said. “We’re Druids.”

That gave him pause. “Druids?”

She nodded. “We live off the land, outside of the queen’s rule. We let her believe we’re small in number and weak so we’re not bothered.” She stopped walking and smiled. Tipped her head. “If you want a better look, then come have it.”

The hawk sailed off the branch farther up the trail and took perch on Morgance’s arm.

Merritt dismissed his unseen spell. Tried to commune with the bird, but it didn’t answer. “And that ... is also a Druid?”

She nodded. “Fallon’s abilities allow her to see what many of us cannot.”

Owein turned his head, catching something behind them.

“And how many of you are there? Here?” Merritt asked warily.

“Only one more,” Sean answered this time. “Hurry up, boy!”

Once the demand came, Merritt heard what Owein must have—a trudging through the brush. Seconds later, a boy of about ten appeared, wearing clothing similar to Sean’s. Something about the arrival of the child immediately put Merritt at ease.

“This is Kegan, my son,” Sean said. “He’ll be able to hear you, too.”

Owein’s tail wagged. He was silent a long moment, presumably speaking mind to mind with the new arrival. It was awkward. Was this how Hulda, Beth, and Baptiste felt whenever Merritt and Owein had private conversations? He’d need to do something about that.

“Druids,” Morgance went on, “are those with Druidic magic. We have many in our numbers without gifts, of course, but that is how we started.”

“Druidic magic?” Merritt asked.

“Communion, elemental, and alteration spells.” She gently stroked the hawk’s—Fallon’s—neck. “Or anything else that lends to Mother Earth.”

Sean added, “We’ve a necromancer who specializes in equines back home.”

Merritt processed this quickly. “And home is ...”

“Wherever we choose, but our kind hail from Ireland,” Morgance answered, which made Merritt think about that whole mess with Ireland that Prince Friedrich had mentioned. She took the hawk off her arm, letting it perch on two fingers, then held her arm out so it could flap to a close branch. “We heard of you and wanted to see for ourselves. But Owein is not a shape-shifter, is he?”

“No. He’s human, or his soul is. A necromancer put him in that body.”

She nodded. Knelt so she could look Owein in the eyes. “It’s a beautiful body,” she offered.

A moment later, Sean stiffened. “A human one? Really?”

Merritt supposed Owein had just offered up information about the marriage contract. That’s private, Owein.

To you, maybe, the boy countered. Then, suddenly, Can I play?

“What?” Merritt asked aloud.

“Please?” The boy, Kegan, clasped dirty hands in front of his chin. “We’ve been traveling forever and I’m bored and can we please play?”

The hawk screeched from the branch.

Merritt rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is bizarre.” I don’t know if it’s a good idea.

Please, Merritt?

Merritt suddenly remembered what they’d been talking about before the newcomers’ arrival. Death and darkness and loneliness. In truth, Owein needed more friends. Friends who weren’t adults trying to care for him, teach him, and corral him. Even before Owein had died and joined his spirit with Whimbrel House, he’d been cloistered on that island.

He eyed the Druids. “I don’t suppose you’re part of a secret murder plot, are you?”

Sean’s brows drew together. Morgance asked, “Pardon?”

Merritt sighed. To Owein, he said, “Go on. Not too far.”

Owein barked and took off into the trees, followed by Kegan and Fallon.

Once the children were gone, Merritt asked, “So what interest do the Druids have in blokes like us?”

“We are always interested in our own kind,” Morgance said, dropping to the dirt and smoothing her skirt around her legs.

“Owein isn’t your kind. He has alteration spells, yes, but not the sort I imagine that hawk possesses.”

“Yes, I can see that, but I spoke of you . You speak to them. Animals.”

“Only animals?” Sean asked.

Merritt chewed on the inside of his lip, wondering how much to share.

“You have nothing to fear from us. We might not like the rule of Britain,” Morgance murmured, “but neither are they our enemies. We simply ask for peace and freedom—not much different from the pilgrims who settled your own country. We mean no ill to the Crown or the Leiningens.”

“Do they know you’re here?” Merritt asked.

“Land cannot be owned,” Sean countered. “At least, it shouldn’t be.”

Merritt searched his face, seeing no malice there. Letting his shoulders relax, he said, “I can also hear them.” He tipped his head toward the tree Fallon had been perched in. “They’re not saying much. Still waking up.”

Morgance smiled. “How wonderful. You would fit in with us well. Teach us what you know.”

He snorted. “I don’t know much. Only discovered the abilities some months ago.”

“Oh?” Her brows rose. “Perhaps we could teach you, instead.”

“Let the children play,” Sean said, crossing the trail to sit on a half-rotted log. “And we’ll talk. If we only accomplish one thing today, it will be to earn your trust.”

“You’re one of us, Merritt Fernsby, even if you don’t live the way,” Morgance offered. “A man who can hear the thoughts of the creatures around him can never truly step out of their world.”