A Matter of Magic (61 page)

“Mairelon told me—I mean, I—” Kim’s face grew warm and she stuttered to a stop, unable to think of a way to phrase what she wanted to say. She should have just let him speak, instead of trying to refuse him before he’d even begun.

The marquis looked at her. His eyebrows flew up and his expression stiffened slightly. “Am I to understand that you are aware of my intentions, but are not willing to entertain my offer?”

“That’s it,” Kim said with relief.

There was a pause. “May I inquire as to the reason?”

Kim hesitated, searching for a way of expressing her difficulties that would be neither insulting nor wounding. “We’d both end up being miserable. I’m no wife for a gentry cove.”

“Is it your background, then?” Lord Franton smiled and shook his head. “That need not worry you. You’re a wizard now; what you were before does not matter to me.”

“Yes, it does,” Kim said softly. “Because part of the time you’re sorry about it, and part of the time you think it makes me interesting, and part of the time you ignore it. But you never
forget
it.” Mairelon was the only toff who truly didn’t care that she’d been a street thief . . . but she’d best not think of him just now.

“I do not—” Lord Franton cut off his automatic denial before it was well-launched. He considered for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together, then looked at Kim once more. “I think I see what you are getting at,” he said with reluctance.

“You never really forget it,” Kim repeated. “And I don’t think you ever would.”

“I could try,” he offered tentatively. “That is, if your sentiments are such that you would reconsider . . .”

Kim could only shake her head wordlessly.

“I see,” Lord Franton said after a moment. “I . . . honor your frankness, and I wish you well. Give you good day.”

He bowed and left. Kim stood staring at the door for a long time afterward, wondering why she did not feel more relieved and hoping she had not just made the biggest mistake of her life.

By evening, preparations for the spell to disenchant Mairelon were well underway and Kim felt more excluded than ever. A message from the duchesse arrived late in the day, and was apparently very promising, for it set off another round of notes and letters to the proposed participants. Mairelon spent the remainder of the evening shut up with his books, and the following morning conferring with his mother; then Renée D’Auber and Prince Durmontov arrived, and the four of them went into the ballroom to prepare for the casting ritual.

Under other circumstances, the activity would have been fascinating, for Kim had not previously seen a major ritual spellcasting requiring several wizards. All of the participants, however, were too occupied with learning the parts required of them, and with making certain that every aspect of the spell was precise to a fault, to explain anything to Kim. Nor could she bring herself to distract any of them with questions—not when Mairelon’s magic depended on their getting everything exactly right.

So she ran whatever mysterious errands anyone thought to ask of her, supplied the wizards in the ballroom with new grapes, sour wine, and powdered pearls on request, and concealed her fears as best she could. Lord Kerring and Lord Shoreham turned up shortly after the preparations had begun and went instantly to join the others, leaving only the duchesse still unaccounted-for.

Mrs. Lowe was somewhat disturbed to learn that callers other than the participating wizards were to be denied, but after expressing her opinion of the imprudence of such a move and of the folly of suddenly determining to perform a major spellcasting at the height of the Season, she retired to her rooms and did not reappear. Consequently, it was Kim, waiting impatiently in the drawing room for the duchesse to arrive, who heard the commotion from the front hall. Slightly puzzled, she hurried out into the hallway and down the stairs.

“Don’t go gammoning me!” a young voice said belligerently as she made her way downward. “I come for the frogmaker. I got a message, and I ain’t givin’ it to nobody else. So you just hop to it and tell him so, see?”

“Mr. Merrill is not at home to callers,” the butler said with the air of someone repeating himself.

“That’s nothing to me,” the belligerent young voice said. “I got a message for that Kim, and I’ll see him straight and no bobbery.”

“I’m Kim,” said Kim, coming around the last turn. “What do you—Matt!”

The dark-haired youth who had somehow insinuated his way into the front hall turned and gaped at her. “Garn!” he said after a moment. “I knew you was a frogmaker, but—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and shook his head. “Well, I’m scunnered, that’s all,” he announced.

“You said you have a message for me?” Kim said sedately, imitating as best she could Lady Wendall’s calm, matter-of-fact responses to startling announcements and events. Tom Correy’s nephew could think what he liked; she owed him no explanations. Tom would be another matter.

“Tom needs to see you, right away,” Matt said, confirming her misgivings. Well, she’d known she was going to have to face Tom sooner or later and tell him the truth about her sex; she just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

“Tell him I’ll come by this evening,” she said. They’d have finished reworking the spell on Mairelon by then, and they’d know the results. One way, or another.

“No,”
Matt said with considerable force. “Right now! You got to come back with me.”

Kim frowned. “Something’s happened?”

“Yes—no—You just got to come,” Matt said desperately. “Tom’ll explain.”

“Oh?” Kim’s eyes narrowed. Matt was Jack Stower’s nephew, as well as Tom Correy’s. But Jack was safe in Shoreham’s hands, and had been since yesterday morning. Still. . . . “How do I know Tom sent you?”

“He said to tell you to mind when the rattling cove took you for a mumper, and the old fussock rang a peal over him to get you off.”

Kim nodded, satisfied. No one but Tom and Mother Tibb knew about that incident, and Mother Tibb was dead.

“You’ll come?” Matt said anxiously.

“Let me think a minute,” Kim said. There was nothing for her to do here but fret; running off to see Tom would at least occupy her while the spellcasting went forward. It felt like abandoning Mairelon—but she couldn’t help him, and if she
could
help Tom, shouldn’t she do it? She’d known Tom Correy longer, and she owed him a good deal. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she told Matt, and ran upstairs to the ballroom.

The wizards had finished the preliminaries, and were standing in a clump near the door. In the center of the ballroom floor, two overlapping triangles had been drawn by carefully spreading wet rowan-ash in straight lines, forming a six-pointed star. A small table had been placed just outside each point to hold the various items the wizards would need for their parts in the spellcasting.

“We’ll begin as soon as the duchesse arrives and checks everything over,” Mairelon was saying as Kim entered. “It shouldn’t be—Kim! Has the Duchesse Delagardie come?”

“Not yet,” Kim said. “They’ll bring her up as soon as she gets here, though. I got to go down to see Tom Correy; something’s happened.”

Mairelon frowned. “You’re sure—no, of course you are. But. . . . Now?” He glanced at the windows, alight with the afternoon sun.

Kim shrugged. “Tom’s got to find out I’m a girl sometime.”

“All right. But take Hunch.”

Kim nodded, swallowing a small lump of disappointment. She had, she realized, been hoping he would tell her to stay. Well, that was Mairelon for you. She hurried back toward the stairs, and nearly ran into Mrs. Lowe.

“Kim! Really, you must not race about like that.”

“Sorry,” Kim said, intent on getting past her.

Mrs. Lowe grasped Kim’s arm and gave it a gentle shake. “Whatever is your hurry?”

“I’m going out,” Kim said. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

“Without your abigail?” Mrs. Lowe said, maintaining her grip on Kim’s arm.

“It’s . . . wizard business; Mairelon knows all about it.” At least, he knew as much as she did. “And I’m taking Hunch.”

Mrs. Lowe considered. “Hunch is no doubt very useful, in his way, but it is hardly proper for you to wander about the city in his company, even if it is on
wizard business.
” She sniffed. “I shall come with you myself.”

“No! I mean, I don’t think—”

“I was under the impression you were in a hurry,” Mrs. Lowe said. “Shall we go?”

“It isn’t anywhere proper,” Kim said. “You won’t like it.”

“I had already formed that conclusion,” Mrs. Lowe replied. “I may also add that I am neither blind, nor deaf, nor foolish, and if you think I am unaware that something is very wrong and has been for some time, you are very much mistaken.”

Kim could only stare at her in consternation.

“It is not my place to pry into matters which my nephew plainly does not wish to confide in me,” Mrs. Lowe went on. “I can, however, make sure that his ward does nothing disgraceful while he is otherwise occupied. And I intended to do so.”

“It isn’t disgraceful. And I told you, he knows about it already.”

“Richard,” said Mrs. Lowe austerely, “is frequently oblivious to the social niceties.” She paused. “Should you wish to continue this discussion, I suggest we do so in the carriage. That is, if you are in fact in so much of a hurry as you at first appeared.”

“Oh, I am,” Kim muttered, and started down the stairs, wondering what Tom would make of this.

Matt was eloquent in his disapproval of Mrs. Lowe’s presence; fortunately, he expressed himself in terms utterly unintelligible to her. He was somewhat mollified when he realized that they were to travel in a bang-up gentry coach. Mrs. Lowe ignored him. Hunch, on seeing the oddly assorted group, blinked and began chewing on his mustache. Kim felt entirely in sympathy with him.

As they drove off, they passed the Duchesse Delagardie pulling up in a landau.
That means they’ll be starting the counterspell soon,
Kim thought, and shivered. Such a complex spell would take considerable time to cast, but even so, everything would probably be finished by the time she returned.
One way or another.

Possibly because he was feeling the same anxiety as Kim regarding Mairelon’s welfare, Hunch not only took the most direct route to Tom’s but also drove the horses rather faster than was either wise or required. Matt was much impressed, and said so at some length until Kim advised him to stubble it. Somewhat sulkily, he did so.

When they pulled up outside Tom’s shop at last, Kim descended and hurried inside without waiting for Mrs. Lowe or Matt. Tom was sorting through a pile of old clothes on one of the tables, but he looked up when he heard the door. His eyes widened in startlement, and he said, “ ’Morning, miss. Anything I can do for you?”

“You’re the one that sent Matt to get me,” Kim said, half enjoying his bafflement, half fearing his reaction when he finally realized who she was.

“
I
sent—” Tom stared at her and his jaw dropped.
“Kim?”

“Matt said you wanted to see me right away,” Kim said nervously. “And I didn’t think I’d pass for a boy in daylight, and I thought it was time I told you anyway, and—What was it you wanted?”

“Kim.” Tom’s astonished expression slowly gave way to something very like horror. “I never knew. I wouldn’t of done it if—I mean, I thought—I—you—”

“What’s the matter?” Kim said, frowning. “Why’d you want to see me?”

“He didn’t,” said a deep voice from behind Tom. “I did.” The owner of the voice moved out of the shadows as he spoke. He was not much taller than Kim, but broad and square and as solidly built as the cargo-handlers on the London docks. His clothes, however, proclaimed him no dock worker; they were the neat and well-tailored wear of a respectable businessman who might be expected, on occasion, to deal with members of the
ton.
Though “respectable” was not the usual term employed to describe the sort of business Kim knew he engaged in.

“Mannering!” she said in disgust, and looked at Tom reproachfully. She was more annoyed than frightened, even when a second man with the look of a bully hector about him joined Mannering. She was considerably nearer the door than they were, and the carriage was no more than two feet beyond that; if anything looked like trouble, she could pike off in a twinkling long before it came near.

“I’m sorry, Kim,” Tom said. “But he—I wouldn’t of done it if I’d known you—I’m sorry.”

Kim shook her head. Tom’s betrayal had surprised her, but only a little. Kim knew well enough the pressure that someone like Mannering could apply to compel cooperation, and the sort of loyalty that could stand up under such an assault was a rare commodity. Or at least, rare in the rookeries, tenements, and stews; she was quite sure that no threat could have persuaded Mairelon to bend to Mannering’s schemes.

“Hold your tongue!” Mannering said to Tom. “Your young friend and I have business.”

“Indeed?” said Mrs. Lowe from behind Kim. “Then I suggest you execute it so that we may be on our way. This is
not
the sort of establishment at which I wish to linger.”

“What? Who’s this?” Mannering demanded.