Chapter 8
PRUNELLA’S FIRST THOUGHT had been to board the stagecoach to London at the Blue Boar, but the difficulties inherent in this scheme soon made themselves obvious.
Chief of these was expense: she had taken sufficient funds to supply her wants for a period, but the longer she could preserve that amount untouched, the better.
If only Mrs. Daubeney were going to London! Not that Mrs. Daubeney would take Prunella along, since she was in disgrace. But if only Mrs. Daubeney had a friend who was going there, who might permit Prunella to accompany him; if only she knew anyone travelling in that direction . . .
When Prunella recollected that the Sorcerer Royal was leaving the next day, she felt that the fates had contrived to give her such a chance as she ought not to throw away.
No doubt the Sorcerer Royal was travelling in his own chaise, which would save the expense of a stagecoach, besides being a vast deal more comfortable.
Had not Henrietta spoken of his good nature?
It seemed to Prunella that she possessed such a piteous tale as would persuade anyone who had not a heart of stone to help her.
When she arrived at the inn Prunella had every intention of employing the time till Mr. Wythe’s return in concocting a plan for inveigling him into taking her to London, but she betrayed herself.
No sooner had she settled down on the floor of the coffee-room and drawn her invisibility enchantment around herself than she fell asleep, worn out by the misadventures of the day.
She started awake when Mr. Wythe entered the room, but before she could decide what to do, he began to talk. After a moment’s confusion Prunella realised he was not speaking to her. Indeed, he did not seem to be addressing anybody that she could see.
This was pleasingly sorcerous of Mr. Wythe.
Prunella refrained from announcing her presence in favour of following his monologue.
There is nothing so revealing of a person’s character as the manner in which he conducts himself with his nearest connections.
His language, gestures and attitudes, what he does and does not say, all serve to give the completest illustration of who and what he is.
Prunella did not know that it was to this useful species of discourse that she listened. But it was soon evident to her that the Sorcerer Royal was, as she had hoped, precisely the sort of forbearing gentleman upon whom it might just be possible for an unscrupulous young woman to impose.
“I beg your pardon,” said the Sorcerer Royal, when she had declared her intention. “I cannot have heard you aright.”
“It sounds strange, I am sure,” said Prunella, trying to look tragic.
She ought to be very good at it, she reflected, with such a model as Mrs. D constantly before her.
“It must seem inconceivable that a gently bred female should lower herself to such a shift. But my desperation must be my best defence, for— Oh, sir, you are my only hope!”
She descended into noisy weeping, but not being much of a hand at acting, Prunella was forced to have recourse to a large white handkerchief, appropriated from Mrs. Daubeney’s boudoir, to conceal the absence of tears.
Fortunately Mr. Wythe was so befuddled that he did not seem to observe the pretence.
“My dear young lady!” This manner of address would have seemed impertinent in any other gentleman of Mr. Wythe’s youth and handsomeness.
But his manner possessed such a splendid unconsciousness of these attributes—he spoke so much like a man who believed himself over the hill, and beyond all flirtations—that Prunella was overtaken by an irresistible fit of the giggles.
She hastily contrived to bury them in counterfeit sobs.
“I beg you will be calm,” said Zacharias. “I am sure it is not so bad as it seems, whatever the trouble is. Shall I ask the landlord to summon Mrs. Daubeney?”
“No, call no one else! You are the only creature in the world who can help me, if you would,” declared Prunella behind the shelter of her handkerchief.
“I knew when I saw you that you would understand. Some instinct told me that you would not support those who would oppress a female, and deny her her birthright of magic!”
Above the lace edge of the handkerchief, Prunella’s sharp eyes saw Zacharias stiffen.
“I knew that you would understand the secret I have been forced to conceal for these many years,” she continued, infusing her voice with a passionate intensity.
“For you must know, sir, that I long to study thaumaturgy! All my life I have dreamt of nothing else. I had scarce means enough to attain my dream, but I learnt what little I could from our ill-stocked library and untrained mistresses. I was happy in picking up scraps and rag-ends of wisdom. But that is all at an end. Even what little opportunity I had of acquiring magical learning is beyond me now—unless you, sir, condescend to help me!”
Mr. Wythe’s defence to his invisible interlocutor of the need to educate magical females had given Prunella some notion of how to craft her petition.
It was, after all, only an exaggeration of the truth.
Prunella had picked up all her magic from books and indifferently taught lessons.
She had learnt even more from the schoolgirls—both in getting up mischiefs with them as a child, and in restraining their inventive wickedness when she grew older—but she was not about to confess that to Mr. Wythe.
The only falsehood lay in the wish she expressed to study thaumaturgy.
Prunella had no more interest in magical lore than a fish has in the philosophical properties of water.
Magic as a substance, a living force, was the air she breathed and the ground beneath her feet: she would no sooner give it up than she would willingly surrender her sight or speech.
Stuffy old thaumaturgy, however—by which Prunella meant magic in books, particularly the deadly tomes to which Mrs. Daubeney’s schoolgirls had access—was another matter altogether.
But the Sorcerer Royal was a scholar, and she had formulated her little speech with that in mind. Even so, she was charmed by its effect. Mr. Wythe was all sympathetic attention, his eyes fixed upon her countenance with a glowing look of interest.
“But this is extraordinary,” he exclaimed. “Fate must have directed you here. I shall certainly try to help you, to the extent that it is within my power.”
This readiness to enter into her feelings surprised Prunella.
But she had not accounted for the fact that a passionate yearning to steep oneself in the principles of unnatural philosophy must seem the most natural thing in the world to a young man bred to the office of Sorcerer Royal.
Nothing needed less explanation to Zacharias than a professed love of magic and a desire to know more of it.
He was not to be so easily persuaded of the wisdom of abetting an unaccompanied maiden in her own abduction, however. Even as Prunella’s spirits rose, and she began to think this business of running away very easy, he continued:
“It may take some time to convince Mrs. Daubeney of the utility of teaching women thaumaturgy, but you will be patient, I know, Miss Gentleman. My office lends me some authority, and it is to be hoped that that authority will lend weight to my appeal. The change will feel slow to one of your laudable ambition, but it will certainly occur in time. Such a foolish, unjust system as now obtains cannot long survive determined resistance. And in the meantime, there are books!”
“Books?” said Prunella blankly.
“Yes, for even Mrs. Daubeney cannot object to my supplying her library with books,” said Mr. Wythe.
“Even if she disliked their contents, it is unlikely she would refuse such a mark of attention from the Sorcerer Royal. You see there is no reason to lose heart, Miss Gentleman! Much benefit may be gained by solitary application. A good tutor makes learning pleasanter and quicker, of course, but many of our best thaumaturges had no teacher but books.”
“I am obliged to you, but books will be no earthly good to me,” said Prunella firmly. “For I cannot stay at the school. That is why I must come with you to London. There is nothing here for me!”
Zacharias had already begun to devise a suitable reading list, but this returned him to earth with a thud that knocked all the titles out of his head.
“But what is the matter?” he said, looking at Prunella with concern. “Have you disagreed with Mrs. Daubeney? Is it possible that I might assist in resolving the conflict?”
Prunella had not expected this solicitude. To her astonishment she felt tears burn her eyes. She blinked furiously, looking away: Prunella might have no compunction in indulging in a show of weeping, but she had far too much pride to give way to real tears in the presence of a stranger.
She thought suddenly, I could tell him about the treasures. Mr. Wythe was kind; he seemed honest; and he would know, if anyone did, what to do about seven familiars’ eggs locked by an enchantment. The mere revelation of her secret must guarantee what she most desired: an escort to London.
But the memory of Mrs. Daubeney’s perfidy stopped her. If Prunella could not trust the one creature in the world she had known from her infancy—the one soul who remembered her father—what reason had she to trust a stranger?
“I have parted from Mrs. Daubeney forever!” said Prunella, and she did not trouble to suppress the tremor in her voice, since it served to reinforce the impression she wished to give.
“She thinks me too magical, and has ordered me to give up all enchantery. I may not even devise illusions to amuse the children, or soothe them to sleep with charms! I could not endure such a life. Sir, you are a friend to magic. If you deny me, I do not know where I shall turn.”
Mr. Wythe looked at her with pity. Speaking gently, but with an immovable resolution, he said: