Chapter 30
March 11, 1847, London, England
Hulda paced the length of the library, wringing her hands together, heels clacking where they met the tile between Indian rugs. The blue drawing room was completely destroyed, as was the bedroom above it. The conservatory shared a wall with the blue drawing room and had been badly damaged as well. Other adjoining spaces, including the gallery and grand hall, sported some cracks, as if an earthquake had rolled through. A very nauseous Mr. Blightree had taken over the yellow drawing room, where his nephew’s body had been placed under a slew of spells to keep its blood running and lungs breathing ... spells that had hopefully held up during this whole debacle. Cora was bunkering with her mother in the ladies’ morning room, and the local doctor administered to the others in the gentlemen’s morning room. Hulda had already been seen, requiring only a few bandages for cuts she’d gotten from flying debris. Now all she suffered from was immense nerves, anxiety, nausea, trepidation, uncertainty, jitters, and suppressed panic.
She still hadn’t heard about Merritt.
Servants had flocked in the moment Lady Cora’s storm subsided. To think the culprit of all this destruction had been under their noses the entire time, and such a seemingly demure girl! But while thirteen was old enough for an educated child to know better, education did not equal maturity, as Hulda had reminded herself dozens of times to abate her fury. Surely it was only the child’s possession of a luck spell that had let her get away with it so long. She’d certainly blown out every ward and stone placed in and near the blue drawing room! Cora had been in hysterics as soon as that cursed bead left her fingers, sobbing and apologizing, her hand burned as if she’d grabbed a hot poker by its sharp end. Hulda didn’t understand the working of such magicked artifacts. She wished to learn more, but other things were, presently, more imperative.
Once the magic had ceased, Lady Helen had switched on like a fire rune and taken complete control of the catastrophe. It had been her shoe in Hulda’s earlier vision. Her shoe, Blightree’s pen, and Cora’s stolen bead, for what little good the soothsaying had done. Now Merritt’s dual-possessed body was in the yellow drawing room with Mr. Blightree, footmen had been sent to retrieve doctors, maids to deliver missives, and Lady Helen had dismissed all other staff for holiday before her house collapsed further. It would cost a fortune to repair Cyprus Hall, between this incident, the breakfast room, and the guest bedroom.
Hulda could not bring herself to care.
So she paced, as quickly as a person could pace without running. Merritt will be fine, she chanted to herself. She’d had multiple visions of the future in which he was alive and hale. Still, her hands chafed and her teeth threatened to break from gritting. Somewhere in the household sounded a symphony of footsteps and greetings, likely another person replying to those emergency missives, but Hulda did not crack the door to check. She wished she’d taken the time to eat before coming here, just so her stomach would have something to throw up.
“Hulda.”
She nearly tripped over herself, hearing the sound of his voice. Spinning toward the door, she couldn’t help but cry out at the sight of Merritt, whole and standing, though bandages stuck up from his collar and sleeves, and his left arm was in a sling. She ran to him and hugged him, earning a gentle oomph from the collision. His good arm wrapped tightly around her back and held her close.
Neither of them spoke. He smelled like iodine and frankincense and dust, but he was warm and breathing. Hulda’s tears soaked into his shirt. If he felt them, he didn’t comment.
After an eternity, she pulled back. Touched his face just below a cut on his cheekbone, which he’d gotten shielding her . “Does it hurt?”
“Oh, everything hurts immensely .”
Pulling on his arm, she led him to the closest sofa and made him sit. Knelt on the carpet beside him. “Owein?”
“Not in here anymore.” He rubbed his chest as though it were sore. “Blightree moved him to the body, but he hasn’t woken yet.”
Fear tightened her middle. “And if it doesn’t take?”
Merritt worried his lip, then shook his head. “I suppose a spirit in the walls of Cyprus Hall would fix the place up quickly.”
Hulda chewed on the inside of her cheek. If Owein stays. If he’s able to. What if the shock of nearly dying was too much, and the boy finally passed on to the other side?
Her resolve started to crumble.
Merritt’s hand came under her chin. “Blightree seemed hopeful. As hopeful as he can be. How are the others?”
She swallowed. Let out a breath. “I haven’t checked on them in a while.”
Merritt glanced toward the door. “Certainly noisy out there.”
“As should be expected.” She smoothed her skirt. “No one is dead, outside of ...” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. The memory of that boulder crushing Owein, the mewling sounds, the blood, she’d rather forget her own name than remember that. Swallowing, she steeled herself. “Cora’s all right. She’s apologized to everyone over and over and has made herself sick from sobbing.”
“I don’t think ...” Merritt paused, as though carefully choosing his words. “I don’t think it was entirely her.”
“This time, perhaps not. She seemed wildly out of control. But the other times, it was. The carriage house, the breakfast room ... I’m not sure what will become of her.”
He rolled his lips together. “I wonder if it will nullify the contract.”
Hulda drew her brows together. “What of it?”
“I signed it, Hulda.”
Her mouth formed a silent O.
“Blightree insisted I sign it before he’d pull Owein out of me. So I did. I didn’t want Owein’s soul to be lost on a technicality. It’s done.”
“I see.” She mulled over this. Would she have done any differently? Probably not.
He leaned forward, planting the elbow not in a sling on his thigh, and rubbed his face with his hand. “I just ... don’t know.”
“How can we?” She set her hand on his knee. “And to think ... Poor Mr. Blightree. To have the loss be in his own family. He must be devastated.”
“He is.”
She ran her thumb over his kneecap. “And Owein ... That line is a necromantic line.”
Straightening, Merritt ran his hand down his face. “It is. I asked Blightree about that, before I left. But ... his nephew ... hadn’t shown any skill, despite the bloodline. Not something we need to worry about at the moment, anyway.” He rested his chin on his knuckles, a faraway look settling into his blue eyes. “We just have to hope both body and spirit survive. The delay ...”
He trailed off, unfinished. If only to distract him, Hulda said, “In good news, the baron’s act of bravery seems to have done very well for his marriage. Briar was fussing over him when I left, ensuring he was comfortable.”
A half smile pulled at his mouth. “That’s good.”
Hulda nodded, unsure what else to say. They both seemed at a loss for words. So they simply sat there in each other’s company, worrying in joined silence, waiting for any sort of word on their future.