Bewitching Season (26 page)

pulled it open.

To her surprise, this room wasn’t dim at all. The draperies covering its windows had been pulled

back, and cool cloudy daylight filled the space. Several pieces of less decrepit furniture were

scattered about, and it looked reasonably clean. A small coal fire burned on the hearth to dissipate the

damp, and the lamps were lit.

In the far wall was a closed door, and seated in a straight chair by it was a man, absorbed in a

book. He looked up from his page, startled, and Persy choked back an exclamation of surprise and

drew back quickly. It was the auburn-haired man with odd-colored eyes who had accompanied Sir

John that day at Princess Sophia’s—his secretary, Michael Carrighar.

“Who’s there?” he said, staring at the door as he rose from his chair. With one part of her mind

Persy remembered his Irish intonation and the peculiar way he had looked at her, while with another

she tried desperately to figure out what to do. Surely he couldn’t see them! That footman hadn’t, back

on the stairs. If they tiptoed out very quietly, he’d just think the door had opened on its own. That sort

of thing happened all the time in drafty old buildings. He would see no one was there, and close the

door, and go back to his book, so long as—

“Someone’s there,” Mr. Carrighar said slowly. “I know there is.” His eyes searched the doorway

and narrowed. “I can almost see you … .”

Once again, Persy was riveted by his strange eyes. She felt glued to the threshold despite Charles’s

frantic tugging on her arm. How could this man sense that she and Charles were there?

“Please wait. I should like to speak with you,” the man said, and reached behind him to bolt the

door. As soon as he had turned, Persy felt released. She turned and ran blindly down the hall, Charles

hanging on her arm for dear life.

“Where?” he asked as they ran.

“I don’t know. Anywhere!” Persy gasped. The sound of their footsteps on the scuffed wood floor

no longer sounded muffled, and she realized that she had let go of the cloaking spell. No matter—

Michael Carrighar had somehow seen past it, though imperfectly. Finding somewhere to hide was

paramount, and the sooner the better. Any moment now he would realize that they had fled and come

looking for them. And this time he
would
be able to see them.

“There!” She pulled them around a bend in the corridor and toward a pair of large mahogany doors

that flew open in the face of her quickly hurled opening spell. They stumbled several paces into the

new corridor before they were brought up short as the doors slammed shut behind them.

Like the other corridors they had searched, one wall of this one was pierced by tall mullioned

windows. But between the windows, and all along the other wall, were tall, glass-fronted bookcases.

Broad tables below the windows held green-shaded lamps, and dozens of high-backed mismatched

chairs were scattered about. It looked like a very long, very thin library.

“Where—are we?” Charles panted, clutching his side. “What is this place?”

“I beg your pardon?” said a familiar voice behind them. Persy and Charles, still clutching hands,

whirled around, and Persy just smothered a small scream.

Lochinvar Seton sat in a window seat just to the side of the door they had entered. He had a large

book in his hands and a look of disbelief on his face.

“Lochinvar!” Charles nearly shrieked. He dropped Persy’s hand and ran full tilt to the surprised

man.

“Charles!” Lochinvar had managed to set down his book before Charles hurtled into his arms.

“What are you doing here? Who …” He looked up at Persy, and his jaw dropped.

“We must hide, right now,” she said in a mostly calm voice, wishing she could follow Charles’s

example and throw herself into Lochinvar’s arms too. Was she relieved or mortified that he was

here? Both, probably.

“But—it’s—Persy!” Lochinvar stared at her over Charles’s curly head, buried against his chest.

Just then Persy remembered her trousered legs and boy’s hat. She flushed. “I’ll explain later.

Someone’s looking for us.
Please!”

Her urgency finally seemed to cut through his bemusement. “Down here,” he said, and gestured

them under one of the tables.

“That’s the first place he’ll look if he comes in here,” she protested.

Lochinvar shook his head. “It will be all right. Quickly!”

Brisk footsteps could be heard approaching the door. Persy grabbed Charles and dove under the

table, and Lochinvar sat down at it, casually slouching in his chair as if he had been reading there

some time. She tried to ignore one of his feet digging into her knee, and heard him mutter something

under his breath as the door opened.

“Oh,” said a masculine voice. “I beg your pardon.” It was Mr. Carrighar.

“Yes?” Lochinvar replied.

Charles tried to peer up under the edge of the table, but Persy yanked him back. She herself kept

her eyes fixed on the floor as she waited to be dragged ignominiously out from their hiding place.

“You didn’t happen to see anyone come this way in the last few minutes, did you?”

“I haven’t seen anyone since the duke’s butler let me in—No, that’s not true. The footman brought

in coal about ten minutes ago, but that’s all.” Lochinvar’s voice was cool, with just a hint of interest.

“For whom are you looking?”

Michael Carrighar ignored his question as he strolled toward the table where they huddled like

rabbits in a hole. Persy could picture him straining to peer under it. “Are you sure? Not even a hint

that someone might have entered? An opening door? Footsteps? Or …” He trailed into silence, and

Persy guessed he’d realized how strange such queries sounded. But what would Lochinvar make of

them?

“Not a thing. It sounds as if you’re looking for a ghost. Is Kensington haunted, then?” Lochinvar’s

voice held a smile.

His lightness of tone seemed to irritate the other man. “Not at all,” Mr. Carrighar said shortly.

“Good day, sir.”

Persy saw his feet retreat from sight and heard the door click shut. She also saw that a long end of

Charles’s arm bandage had come loose and trailed a good foot from under the table. How had Mr.

Carrighar not seen it there?

“You can let go of my ankle now, Charles,” Lochinvar murmured. “I expect he’s gone to look for

you elsewhere.”

Charles exhaled noisily and clambered out from under the table. Persy followed him more slowly

and stood behind a chair to hide her legs.

“That’s as scared as I’ve ever been. Thanks for hiding us, Lochinvar. You’re a brick.” Charles

pantomimed wiping his brow and grinned up at him.

“My, er, pleasure. This is—I mean, would it be too much to ask why you were running away from

that man? And how you got in here in the first place? And why?” Lochinvar glanced at Persy, and she

saw him color. Well, if he was embarrassed by her costume, how did he think she felt? She gripped

the chair in front of her more tightly.

“We ought to tell him, Persy,” Charles said, gazing at Lochinvar with worship in his eyes. “Maybe

he can help us look.”

Persy swallowed and thought furiously,
Why, oh why, did it have to be Lochinvar who discovered

us?
Charles had no idea how humiliating it was to be standing here in front of him dressed in boys’

clothing, her legs exposed, obviously up to something nefarious. Her first instinct was to buy time.

“Might we also ask what you’re doing here?”

Lochinvar nodded, keeping his eyes carefully at shoulder level. “My father’s an old acquaintance

of the Duke of Sussex, whose library this is. Everyone knows the duke collects dictionaries and

Bibles, but they don’t know he also has a very fine collection of breeding books—horses, that is.

Father wanted to look up a few things here, and the duke very kindly allowed me to come do his

research and have a look around.”

“Oh.” Persy forgot about her legs for a moment. If Lochinvar had entrée to Kensington, maybe he

could be convinced to help them search for Ally, as Charles had said. If she could manage to talk to

him without melting into a puddle of embarrassment, that is. She chose her words carefully. “Thank

you for hiding us. We—er, we weren’t running from that man because we’d done anything wrong.”

“No, of course not.”

Why did he have to look so handsome standing there in a dark blue coat with his hands behind his

back? “It was for a good cause. Really,” she continued.

“Honestly, Persy!” Charles made a face at her and turned to Lochinvar. “We were looking for

Ally.”

Whatever Lochinvar had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. His eyebrows shot up. “Miss

Allardyce, here? Are you sure? How do you know?”

“We’re sure. Um … someone told us she was here,” Charles said. Persy gave a silent sigh of relief

that he had the presence of mind to lie.

“Thus the, ah, disguise.” Lochinvar didn’t look convinced, but he was probably too polite to

challenge them. “Where’s your sister?” he asked. “Or was it just the pair of you?”

“Just us,” Charles replied. “Persy thought it would be easier for just two of us to sneak in, and she

didn’t want to get Pen in trouble too if we got caught. But you aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?

Not even Pen? Please? And will you help us get in again so we can look some more?”

“I can’t quite stroll into it anytime I wish. But if Father sends me again, of course I’ll look. And I’ll

try to make sure he sends me soon.” He looked down at his boots, and Persy saw that he was smiling.

“So you disguised yourselves and sneaked in? That took a lot of courage.”

At least that didn’t sound too loverlike. Maybe her chilly treatment of him had begun to work. “It

was the only way we could think of getting in. And we should probably think about getting out soon

before Mr. Carrighar comes back. If you’ll excuse us …”

Lochinvar had started to bundle up his papers. “I’ll help you. You’ll need a lookout, won’t you?”

“Oh, we couldn’t think—”

“Who did you say that man was? Mr. Carrighar? You knew him?”

Persy knew she should grab Charles and leave now, without Lochinvar, but she couldn’t. This had

seemed to be a fine adventure when they started, but now she was … well, scared. “Pen and I met

him once, taking tea with Princess Sophia. He works for Sir John Conroy, who is part of the Duchess

of Kent’s household. We disturbed him in a room on the other corridor.”

“That’s odd. The duchess’s suite is in this end of the palace, but nowhere near that corridor,

according to the duke’s butler. He gave me a brief tour when I arrived.” Lochinvar stopped sorting

his papers and looked thoughtful. “So why should one of the duchess’s employees be here?”

“You don’t suppose …,” Charles whispered.

Persy frowned. “That he has anything to do with Ally? I doubt it, Chuckles. We probably just

disturbed him taking a break when he shouldn’t have, that’s all. It would explain his being overset.
I

shouldn’t like to get on Sir John’s bad side.”

Lochinvar peered out the door then motioned them out. Persy wished she could put up the cloaking

spell again, but it was impossible now that Lochinvar was with them.

“Which way did you come in?” Lochinvar whispered in her ear.

She pointed down the hall and tried not to shiver at the feeling of Lochinvar’s warm breath on her

ear. “That way and down some stairs. But I don’t think we should go back that way, just in case Mr.

Carrighar’s there.”

“Good point.” Lochinvar thought for a moment. “All right, let’s go this way. It will take longer, but

will probably be safer.” He held out his arm to her. “Charles, hold your sister’s hand. Let’s keep

close, and tread as lightly as you can.”

Persy nodded, feeling both tenser and calmer at the same time. It was comforting to let someone

else plot their sneaking about for them. It was also nerve-racking to have Lochinvar take her arm and

draw her close to his side, far closer than was usual or proper in public, so that her hip almost

brushed his as they walked, without the usual buffering layers of skirt and petticoats. She swallowed

hard and gripped Charles’s hand till he wiggled his fingers in protest.

They tiptoed past more doors, through a small gallery, and down another short corridor. Lochinvar

inclined his head toward the end of the passage. “I think there’s a staircase there. It ought to lead

down, and then we can find your door out again,” he murmured. “Luck seems to be with us. I don’t

think anybody’s—”

“No! I shan’t listen!” cried a voice.

Persy clutched Lochinvar’s arm. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. Come on.” He set his mouth in a grim line and began to hurry down the corridor.

“It sounded like a girl,” she whispered. “Who do you—”

A thump interrupted her. It sounded as if someone had banged a fist on the door a few paces ahead

of them. “Damn it, child,” snarled a voice, “you
will.”

Persy stopped dead. That second voice belonged to Sir John Conroy. She tried to let go of