Chapter 10 #2
Zacharias scarcely knew where to look, or what to say.
Affection there had always been between them, whatever their disagreements—and there had been more of these than Zacharias had permitted Sir Stephen to know.
But their relationship could never have been mistaken for one of equality while Sir Stephen lived.
Wealth, influence, age and obligation had separated them, and while never quite pretending to the rights of a son, Zacharias had regarded Sir Stephen with all the respect due a father, a teacher and the chief of their profession.
With Sir Stephen’s death, however, the gap between them had closed imperceptibly. It was one of the many embarrassments of being attended by his guardian’s spectre, that he should begin to see in the spirit the frailties of the man.
“You could not know what had occurred,” said Zacharias finally.
It was out of the question for Sir Stephen to venture across the border himself: it was all too easy for a ghost, under the influence of Fairy, to persuade itself it was a sprite, with deleterious consequences for its hope of salvation.
“It is nothing that poses any immediate peril.”
A disturbing certainty was coalescing within him, however, and he returned to the flexible sheet of light shining above the hedgerow. This time he was more cautious, and only put his hand into Fairyland. He yelped and withdrew it at once.
“What is it?” said Sir Stephen.
“Magic,” said Zacharias. “There is a buildup on the other side.”
It was only atmospheric magic, no different from the weak stuff that pervaded Britain’s ether and made Lady Wythe sneeze.
The magic on the other side of the border differed in one key respect, however—its concentration.
It was only to be expected that the air should have a magical tang to it in Fairyland, but this force was beyond anything Zacharias had expected.
“How extraordinary,” said Sir Stephen. He had not quite recovered from his mother hennish mood.
“Ought you to continue your spells now, if merely putting in your head for a look draws such a response? Perhaps it would be better to wait till morning. Indeed, you ought to refrain from doing anything before noon.”
Zacharias cast a levitation spell. The top of the border was too high for him to reach it unaided, and he wished to examine its whole breadth.
“That scheme is exploded, I suspect,” he said grimly. “I do not think I ought to cast my spells at all.”
Sir Stephen had not had the advantage of sensing the magic on the other side, and he was too unnerved to have embarked upon the chain of reasoning that had unfurled in Zacharias’s mind.
It was only now, as he calmed down, that the questions began to occur to him, that Zacharias had resolved nearly to his own satisfaction five minutes ago.
“How can the creatures be managing with such an excess of magic?” wondered Sir Stephen.
Any surplus of magic in Fairy was wont to be attended by disaster.
It lent too potent a stimulus to Fairy’s excitable peoples, giving rise to numberless feuds, burglaries, love affairs and other misadventures.
The Court had formerly rather approved of the traffic to England, because it siphoned off excess magic, and kept Fairy’s inhabitants tractable.
It was only when the balance began to tilt in Britain’s favour, as a result of the depredations of magicians greedy for glory, that the Court had demurred.
“How curious that they should be encountering the opposite difficulty from ours.”
“Or not so very curious,” said Zacharias. “Ha! I have it!”
Sir Stephen floated up to examine the object he had found. It was affixed in a conspicuous position halfway up the sheet of light that marked the border, and had only escaped observation before because it was so small.
“Fairy always delights in an unsubtle jest,” said Sir Stephen, after a pause. “Leofric used to perpetrate the rankest puns.”
“Indeed,” said Zacharias. He tugged at the object, though without much hope of extracting it. It was a cork, firmly lodged in nothing at all.
“So Fairyland has stoppered the flow of magic into England,” said Sir Stephen. “And this is how the Court has seen fit to inform us. It accounts for a great deal.”
“But leaves much more unexplained,” said Zacharias.
He sighed. The enchantments he had prepared were intended to address a natural decline in England’s magic, not this unnatural stoppage.
With the former his spells would have been chancy.
With the latter, they were of no use whatsoever.
He might as well have stayed in London for all the good his trip had done—and the Spring Ball was in two days’ time.
“There is nothing for it, then,” said Sir Stephen. “You must seek an audience with the Fairy Queen.”
· · ·
AT Fobdown Purlieu’s only inn, Prunella was encountering her own difficulties.
The innkeeper and his lady seemed curiously inattentive to their business, though they had welcomed Zacharias with warmth when they observed the sorcerer’s silver star pinned to his coat.
Mr. Lale had led Prunella and Cawley to a room and abandoned her there with Zacharias’s possessions.
It was only when Prunella ventured out to remind her hosts that no provision had been made for her, that she was given a little room of her own.
“Did the Lales strike you as being a trifle eccentric, Cawley?” said Prunella as she unpacked.
Cawley, of course, did not answer: Prunella had not quite divined the secret of imparting the spark of life to her creation.
“She seemed preoccupied, I thought, and he was scarcely civil! They are an unfriendly people in this part of the country.” Prunella had never travelled so far abroad in her life—at least as far as she could recall—and she was enjoying the novelty of being a visitor in regions unexplored.
“I suppose people will be even worse in London!” she continued.
“Everyone is vastly more agreeable in the country than in town, Henrietta says. Yet she longs to be in London, and talks of nothing else when she has left it. The metropolis must lend even the bearishness of one’s neighbours a peculiar charm.
Now, let us put you away, Cawley. There is hardly enough room here for two. ”
In truth, the effort of maintaining Cawley for the duration of their journey had taken more out of Prunella than she had expected.
She had never been compelled to maintain such a sustained outpouring of magic before, and she was glad to leave the folded bundle of linens on her bed when she slipped away to seek her dinner.
There was no one in the dining parlour, and no fire either.
Though Prunella rang the bell several times, it seemed a long while that she waited, shivering in a dimming room, before the landlady entered—and then Mrs. Lale started and frowned, as though she were offended by the very sight of Prunella.
“Oh!” said the landlady. Mrs. Lale was a sonsy, comfortable-looking creature, and it seemed as though a smile would better fit her countenance than its angular look of disapprobation. “I had thought perhaps Mr. Wythe had returned.”
“No, it is only me,” said Prunella pleasantly.
“But I am just as capable of feeling cold as Mr. Wythe, so I should be obliged if you would send someone to light the fire. There is the matter of dinner, as well. I should very much like some dinner. I fancy Mr. Wythe will require something hearty when he returns, for magic is tiring work, you know.”
She gave Mrs. Lale her best smile, but this enjoyed less success than Prunella was accustomed to having with her smiles. Indeed, it seemed positively to displease Mrs. Lale that Prunella should make so bold as to smile at her.
“And the woman you came with, will she be wanting her dinner as well?” said Mrs. Lale.
“Oh no,” said Prunella, eager to be helpful. They were the only guests at the inn. Perhaps Mrs. Lale had hoped for a peaceful evening, and was put out at having customers to tend to. “Cawley is a little indisposed, and has retired for the evening. She won’t want any dinner.”
“Well, miss, if your companion has retired I think you cannot do better than to join her,” said Mrs. Lale. “We shall have Mr. Wythe’s dinner ready when he comes. But it would look better, and put everyone at their ease, if you did not wait up for him, and I am happy to tell Mr. Wythe I said so.”
Mrs. Lale exited the room while Prunella gaped. She left the door ajar behind her, however, and her voice echoed down the passage, telling a servant to light a fire in the dining parlour.
“But you need not speak to the young female, Mary,” said Mrs. Lale.
“To think of Mr. Wythe bringing the creature here! Such a thing would never have happened in Sir Stephen’s day.
They do say as Moors are more liable to be inflamed than ordinary men, and I suppose it’s to be preferred to his preying on innocent girls.
But it’s not what one likes to see in a decent establishment.
If it were any other gentleman but young Mr. Wythe I shouldn’t have stood for it, but Lale begged me to bear it, for Sir Stephen’s sake. ”
Mary was evidently tenderhearted. She could be heard suggesting that it was hard on Prunella to be denied her dinner. After all, the poor thing had a mother.
“One that could not be decent, or she would be ashamed to see her now!” said Mrs. Lale. “No, you will not have me feeling sorry for her, Mary. You never will persuade me that the creatures do not like it, for if they were decent women they should have done anything rather than come to such a pass.”
An indistinct protest from Mary was followed by Mrs. Lale’s saying sharply:
“Even if natives feel differently on these points, she ought to have learnt to conduct herself properly if she means to live in England. I do not propose to put myself out on her account, I assure you. We shall see if Mr. Wythe has the boldness to complain on his strumpet’s behalf!”