Chapter 21
March 6, 1847, London, England
I’m excited to see them again, Owein said as he and Merritt wound their way through Cyprus Hall, careful to avoid the crew of men hastily repairing the breakfast room. They passed another hired patrolman; would they be relieved of their duty, or would Lady Helen keep them on in case another “revolutionary” came by? Not that Merritt condoned the violence in any way, but he could certainly understand why a poor man—and Benjamin Dosett was poor, judging by the clothes he’d worn—would be frustrated by the privileges granted to a small elite class while others toiled endlessly for their bread. There were a lot of similarities between the States and England, but there were a lot of differences, too, and Merritt found himself noticing them in stark contrast.
As for the Druids, to whom Owein referred, Merritt believed they were genuine. His interest in them certainly was. However, that outing, plus the walk, plus his questioning had left him very cold, and Merritt wanted nothing more at that moment than a fire. Owein, of course, seemed completely unaffected by temperature and recent arrest alike.
Still, it was good to see him with friends, even if one was a hawk. But was tomorrow too soon to reunite with these folk? Granted, they didn’t live here. There would be only so many opportunities before they departed for Ireland.
“We’ll go,” Merritt agreed, “if the Leiningens don’t have need of us.” He imagined there’d be some sort of church attendance and luncheon on the morrow, but Lady Helen hadn’t disclosed any plans in particular.
The door to the blue drawing room was ajar, so Merritt slipped in, instantly relaxing when warm air hugged him. Then tensing when he spotted Briar on the sofa. She sat with Cora, a book in her lap.
“I didn’t expect you,” he blurted, then politely amended, “that is, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He dipped his head. “I’ll ... go upstairs.”
“You’re quite all right,” Briar said, gesturing to chairs by the fire. “Your nose is red; might as well warm up here. I’m hardly going to bite you. Have the police left?”
She asked so casually Merritt wondered if law enforcement came by regularly. “They have.” Doing as directed, he removed his coat and slung it over the back of the armchair near the fire. Owein padded in as well. Hi, Cora.
“Owein also sends his greetings.”
Cora smiled. “Did you both go on a walk?”
“Yes, a rather long one.” Merritt rubbed his hands together. The fire was burning brightly, slowly driving back the chill. “But perhaps not as long a trip as you took,” he suggested, looking at Briar, who frowned.
“It’s much more pleasant in the spring,” Cora offered, then rubbed her eyes. “My apologies, I don’t mean to be rude, but I was about to retire. All this excitement has left me tired.”
Briar put a hand on her shoulder. “Go on, then.”
She stood, offered a brief curtsy to both Merritt and Owein, and departed the room. Merritt watched her go. Such a quiet girl, save for that last conversation they’d had. He wondered what had prompted her to open up. Was it dependent on her health, or how well she knew a person? She was certainly being patient with the entire affair. More so than her sister.
As though hearing his train of thought, Briar said, “She is still young and na?ve. She doesn’t wholly understand what our parents are signing her up for.”
Merritt kneaded his hands together. “I don’t think anyone really knows. Not to repeat myself, but there is more at stake here than what pertains to you and your sister.”
The noblewoman frowned.
Merritt steeled himself. “Where is the contract, Briar?”
She scoffed. “Now I suppose you’ll interrogate me, too, hm? I’ve gotten plenty enough of it for the day. Why do you think I’ve escaped here?” She looked away, perturbed, but her expression relaxed after a moment. “I have solicitors of my own, you know. Victoria is the queen, but she is not the law, not entirely. I will do what I must to protect my own. Surely you understand that.”
Merritt considered her a moment. “And where is the contract now ?”
She flipped a curl of hair over her shoulder. “Dear me, I believe I misplaced it.” Her tone was dry and flat, and her eyes dared him to challenge her.
Goodness, Lady Helen must have been exhausted, dealing with this.
I think we should leave, he pushed to Owein, but just as he moved to stand, Briar blurted, “If I could get Owein a body without a betrothal contract, would you accept it?”
She looked at him, not Owein.
Owein lifted his head. Yes.
“Yes,” Merritt repeated. “If it were morally come by.”
She blinked. “Well ... that is a relief.”
“Is it?”
“That it’s not about power or money,” Briar affirmed. “Though if I’m completely honest, I’ve no idea how to go about it, especially when the lineage is at stake.” Her tone took on a sour note. “My parents are quite decided. Which is why I will continue pressing the queen.”
Merritt watched the fire dance for a moment. “I find it interesting that you waited for Cora to leave when discussing the matter,” he said carefully, “but don’t give a second thought to Owein’s presence.”
Her gaze shot to Owein. She sniffed.
“He’s human. Just as human as I am. He simply doesn’t look it.” Merritt reached over and stroked between Owein’s ears. “He was a boy who became a house, who was torn from his walls and shoved inside a dog. His own body was taken at the age of twelve.” He sighed. “What he wants, what we want, is the opportunity for him to live the life he lost too young.”
Briar’s mouth twisted. She mulled over that for a few beats. “I do appreciate you being open to the discussion, unlike my parents. It is my understanding that Owein is quite old. Not merely a boy.”
Owein laid his head on his paws, pulling from Merritt’s grip. Merritt said, “It’s complicated.” Seeking another line of conversation, he asked, “What were you reading?”
“Nothing my mother would care for,” she said, turning back a page. “It’s American fiction called A Pauper in the Making . It’s different. Rather interesting. Perhaps considered a little grotesque by polite society.”
Merritt couldn’t help grinning. “I don’t think it’s grotesque. Perhaps enthralling .”
She glanced at him. “Have you read it?”
“I wrote it.”
Her eyes widened. She turned to the cover and checked the author’s name. “My goodness. Right there. Merritt J. Fernsby.” A laugh choked out of her. “What are the odds?” She studied the cover a second longer before turning back to her place. “It is enthralling.”
“No need to appease me,” he offered.
“I think I’ve made it clear my goal is not to appease either of you,” she said, though not in an unfriendly manner. “I don’t think I could ever write a book, but I do enjoy reading.” She paused, looking him over much as she had the book in her hands. “It’s a pity you didn’t come around sooner. You’ve probably enough magic to appease even my family, and then at least I’d have someone to discuss books with.”
Merritt wasn’t prone to flushing, but the fire did suddenly seem a few degrees warmer. He thought to make a comment about her being a little young for him, but it died on his tongue.
Fortunately, Briar, unruffled, added, “I do hope you and Miss Larkin will be happy.”
Owein lifted his head, ears up.
An awkward chuckle escaped him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Th-Thank you. I think—”
Lady Helen walked in just then, hip hitting the door and opening it wide. “I’ve come up with the most splendid idea!” She passed a peeved glance at Briar before sitting as far from her as the room would allow. “Now that this predicament has cleared up, we shall have a distraction. A tour of the Tower of London and a grand luncheon! Outside, if the weather cooperates, but of course we won’t hold our breath for that, unless I can hire some wizards to make it pleasant for us. I think it will be a great opportunity for Owein to get to know us and the royal family a little better, and to get out of this dreary house. As early as Monday, I think. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?”
Rising to his paws, Owein asked, What’s the Tower of London?
Before Merritt could ask, Briar said, “I’m afraid I will not be in attendance. I’m scheduled for Buckingham.”
Lady Helen’s good mood instantly evaporated. “Really, Briar. Even if you’re still set on that fool’s errand, must you bring it up in front of our guests ?” She shot an apologetic look to Owein, then to Merritt. “All the better you don’t come! As I said, I want the outing to be pleasant .”
Briar closed the book and stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Lady Helen waved a hand in dismissal. “I think it would be quite fun. And a great way to learn a thing or two before our dinner Tuesday night. Did I mention that? I’m having some cousins over, and”—she glanced behind her to ensure Briar had departed—“I’ve invited the queen herself, ha! Whether or not Her Majesty can attend is undecided; she’s a very busy woman, but it was she who had the brilliant idea of arranging this match, however much my eldest daughter wants to deny it. As for the Tower of London, we’ve turned it into a royal agglomeration in recent years, after filling in that dreadful moat. Some of the Crown Jewels are kept there, as well as a display of our magical history I think you’ll find most interesting. And the armaments are certainly impressive. Now, in regard to food, Mr. Mansel, do tell me if you have a preference between fowl. I mean to make up for every harrowing happenstance that has occurred under my roof and work my way into both of your good graces! My cook has a most excellent pheasant recipe, but it’s come to my attention that canines cannot consume raisins—”
Once Lady Helen moved on to a general discussion of weddings and noble life, Merritt slipped from the drawing room—after making sure Owein was comfortable, of course. Owein had his letterboard, not that replying was particularly essential when Lady Helen got into one of her orations. He’d come back for his coat later. He was warm again, thank goodness, and had other things on his mind he needed to address.
Fate sensed he needed to address them as well, for the number-one item on his list walked through the front doors just as he entered the vestibule. Hulda nodded politely to the footman letting her in but didn’t look up enough to notice Merritt. Seemed she had quite a bit on her mind as well.
He met her near the stairs. “How was it?”
She started, hand flying to her chest. “Oh, Merritt. Well enough, though my brain feels like it’s been filtered through a very fine sieve.”
“You were gone awhile.” They started up the stairs.
“I stopped at LIKER.” She patted her black bag. “And Professor Griffiths had me do a number of exercises, and when it comes to the mind, nothing can be rushed. Granted, augury isn’t strictly of the mind, like psychometry, but it’s what’s used ... oh, I don’t need to detail it to you.” She rubbed her forehead.
“Headache?” he asked.
“Only a small one. It will pass.”
“I can get you some tea. Or ring for tea. You ring for tea here. Did you know that?”
She rewarded him with a small smile. “I am aware, yes. I used to be one of the people rung.”
“They arrested the man who’s been wreaking havoc on the house. Well, suspected of.”
Merritt hadn’t quite gotten the words out before Hulda whirled on him. “What? Who? When?”
Standing one stair below her, he summed up what had happened with the constable, who Benjamin Dosett was, and also that he had no recollection of the man.
Hulda considered this a moment. “I suppose that bedroom is closer to the drive. Easier to access, if he meant only to make a statement.”
“If I were making a statement”—Merritt touched her elbow and guided her up the stairs—“I’d leave a note. Broken windows and such have a habit of being lost in translation.”
Atop the stairs, they passed through the lobby toward the visitors’ morning room, which was a little dark, given the time of day, but empty. Hulda pushed open the door and hung a dark-orange bag half the size of Merritt’s palm on an unlit brazier—one of the promised wards. “If he’s only a suspect ,” she said, “then I might as well stick to the original plan.” The original plan being stones and wards throughout the house, to either stop or detect anyone trying to use magic. Lady Helen had banned her family from doing any spells without express permission.
A fire was going within the hearth, but not as robustly as the one in the blue drawing room. Merritt added only a quarter log to it as Hulda sat at the edge of a sofa, spine erect and hands daintily folded in her lap.
“Hulda, darling”—Merritt took a seat next to her and pulled one of her hands loose—“there is no one here to witness your weariness. Relax.”
Letting out a long breath, Hulda let her perfect posture go and leaned back on the sofa. “There’s just so much going on.”
“And so much of it is finished, for now.”
She sighed. “I am not one for naps, but I’m sorely tempted.”
“If it will make you feel better, you should.” He shrugged. “No one here has a real occupation. Napping seems to be a favorite pastime.”
“They are not without occupation, it’s merely different.”
“Very different,” Merritt agreed. “Lady Helen wants us all to go on a tour of the Tower of London Monday, and she’s currently describing Owein’s son-in-law duties to him.”
Hulda snorted. “I do feel a little sorry for him.”
“I think he likes it. People don’t talk directly to him that often.”
She sobered. “That is true.”
“But”—he opened her hands and massaged her palm with his thumbs—“we did meet some interesting folk on our walk. Are you familiar with Druids?”
That had Hulda sitting up. “You met Druids?”
He took that as a yes. “Four of them, two children—well, I assume the hawk was a child—and two adults, a man and a woman. Kegan, Fallon, Morgance, and Sean. Friendly folk. Also, apparently we are the most entertaining thing in the Western Hemisphere, because they’ve also been tracking us. No offers of marriage, though.”
He went on to describe the meeting in detail. “And they want to see us again tomorrow.”
Hulda mulled over this. “Whatever for?”
Merritt shrugged. “They seem to see us as kin because of our ‘Druidic abilities.’ Honestly, it’s not very different from the Genealogical Society and the desire to preserve and extend magical lines.”
“Owein is not a Druid,” Hulda pointed out. “And you are certainly not permitted to extend any magical lines with anyone outside this room.”
He smiled. Wondered if that vision of hers was popping into her head again or not. He didn’t ask. “I’ve no desire to. Outside of this room, that is.”
The faintest dusting of pink crossed her nose. How long would it be, Merritt wondered, before Hulda grew used to his teasing, and such fetching blushes became extinct?
“You should come,” he offered. “Tomorrow.”
She sighed. “I would like to. It’s been a long time since my last conversation with a Druid. But I’m not sure I can spare the time. I have to return to BIKER soon, and these lessons from Professor Griffiths are already proving useful; I want to get in as many as I can while I can. And if Cyprus Hall is safe again, I need to utilize the spare time. I suppose that’s one benefit of this nonsense with the contract. More time.” She scoffed. “But more so—” She reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew a telegram. “Stones and wards aren’t the only thing I found at LIKER. Myra sent this.”
He took and unfurled the paper. This new book is interesting. You should read it.
“Starting a book club?” he asked.
Rolling her eyes, Hulda retrieved the paper and shoved it into her pocket. “She won’t say it right out.” She glanced at the door, but they were still alone. Still, she continued at a quieter volume: “Myra’s discovered something new and interesting at the facility. Something she wants to talk to me about. Nothing monumental, I’m sure—not this early on, and not with our— her —limited resources. But something consequential enough that it spurred her to contact me here. Perhaps the start of a road that leads to what she’s been hunting.”
Merritt nodded. Murmured, “I wonder what Blightree would think of this.”
“We will not tell him,” she whispered. “I don’t want to discuss it outside the challenge of obtaining approval for a lab dedicated to the study of magic, which I’m presently querying.” She eyed him, a look that said, This is all I know, and all I want to know. Smoothing her skirt, she added, “I considered querying the British government as well. If we were approved, we could move the facility here, though it would be difficult to maintain privacy while doing so, and honestly, there isn’t a government in Europe more open to experimentation than that of the United States. But either way, it will be a slow process, and the hebetude of it all makes me nervous.”
“Pardon?”
She met his eyes. It took her a beat to understand. “The languidness. The waiting. The longer we wait for answers—”
“The more anxious you feel, of course,” he finished. “Perhaps you could move it farther west. Won’t have to worry about the law, then.”
“For a time, perhaps.” She turned her hand around and clasped his fingers. “But sooner or later, secrets catch up with everyone.” She looked away, not at anything in particular. Almost like she was future-seeing, but not quite.
She was thinking about that bizarre vision of him with another woman. He knew it, somehow.
With his free hand, he touched her chin, encouraging her to meet his gaze. “Hulda. You trust me, don’t you?”
She searched his eyes a moment. “I do.”
He nodded. It would have to be enough.
Hulda did retire to her room for a nap, although she did so only after placing some wards and stones. The guards were still about, as Lady Helen intended to keep four of them on in case another revolutionary came knocking.
Once in her room, Hulda rang for tea. And while she waited for it to arrive, she debated whether or not she could sleep on her hairpins. Napping was not conducive to good hair. Unfortunately, it was conducive for headache relief, so out the pins came and off the dress went.
She drank her tea in a plush chair by the window, feet pulled up, sipping slowly. What is your secret, Merritt? That was the thought that had come to her in the morning room. She’d chided herself for it. She hadn’t lied, either—she did trust Merritt. But her augury was also never wrong.
She reminded herself, yet again, that Merritt had been entirely clothed in the vision. That fact was somewhat helpful.
Tea half finished, she glanced to her black bag, set at the foot of her bed. Putting down the teacup, she crossed to it and pulled out her receipt book with all her notes regarding the goings-on in Cyprus Hall.
Flipping toward the back of the book, she wrote new notes—everything she knew about the vision, and everything she’d thought since the vision. It took longer to jot it all down than she’d expected.
Then, making herself comfortable at the small table, she set the open book before her, took off her ring, and laid it on top—something of Merritt’s, technically, that might help with the reading. Eyes closed, she practiced one of the exercises Professor Griffiths had led her through, focusing all her attention on Merritt. She replayed her first trip to Whimbrel House, recalling the disheveled manner in which he’d answered the door and pled for her to get him out . The bathroom nearly flattening them. The dejected look of him in that hole in the kitchen. The gradual way he’d started to light up whenever he saw her. Untying him in that dreadful basement in Marshfield in her underwear . Their first kiss. He’d been so gentle, so perfect.
The way he’d shoved Mr. Baillie up against the wall after the hysterian hurt her. Ice skating. Prison sitting ... that had been a low, though it was also the first time they’d discussed marriage, and Hulda had nearly wept at the idea that he wanted her. Running off to the docks, hiding from the police, finding a new normal once Myra cleared everything up. Lunches in Boston and dinners at Whimbrel House. The way his hands felt on her waist—
Hulda opened her eyes and rolled her set of dice. Nothing. Reread her notes, rolled again—
Merritt filled her vision. He was shadowed, like someone stood over him, but his gaze was fixed downward on something else—something Hulda couldn’t make out. And he was panicked. Breathing hard, sweating, tense.
Something rolled across the floor.
A shod foot came down.
Hulda’s heart thudded in her chest, and the vision dissipated as quickly as it had come.
Picking up her engagement ring with trembling fingers, Hulda whispered, “What’s going to happen, Merritt?”
But she didn’t have the answers.