The Midnight Queen (11 page)

“But what happened earlier today, then?
That
was a significant expenditure of magick, certainly . . .”

As soon as he had said it, however, the answer came to him: “It was
stronger
than the interdiction,” he said, awed. “It—broke through the Professor's spell. Not a deliberate channelling of magick, but . . . a dam bursting. A conflagration.”

He shuddered, imagining how that conflagration might have ended.

“Do you mean—” This from Joanna. “Do you mean that Sophie has
stronger
magick than Father's?”

Gray nodded. “Considerably stronger than his, and almost certainly stronger than mine.”

“Small wonder that he does not like either of you, then,” said Joanna.

Into the thoughtful silence that followed this pronouncement came the jangle of the bell from the large drawing-room, shockingly loud. Sophie jumped, and Joanna clapped her hands over her ears.

“Miss Amelia's drawing-room must be put to rights,” said Mrs. Wallis, as if to herself, rising from her chair with a sigh.

At the kitchen door she turned and spoke again. “You put yourself in great danger this morning, Miss Sophia. I should advise you to retire to your room—and to sleep, if you can. I shall send your dinner up to you. As for
you
—”

The drawing-room bell rang once more, a long impatient peal.

“I shall go up to my room and stay there, Mrs. Wallis,” said Joanna meekly.

Mrs. Wallis paused to fix her with a penetrating stare. “See that you do,” she said.

When she had gone, the three of them regarded one another in consternation.

“What has become of our Mrs. Wallis?” said Sophie. “And who, in the name of all the gods, was
that
?”

*   *   *

The locked doorknob rattled softly; someone was turning it from the outside.

“Sophie?” Joanna called softly. “Sophie, may I come in?”

Sophie waited in silence, hoping that Joanna would think her asleep and go away. Instead, the knock and the call were repeated.

Grimacing, Sophie unlocked the door and opened it an inch.

“I had rather be alone, just at the moment,” she said.

“Why?” Joanna demanded. “What are you about?”

“Nothing. I only—Go
away
, Jo. Please.”

Joanna slid her boot-toe into the gap between door and jamb. “I shan't,” she said. “Not until you have told me
why
. You know I can keep a secret if I must, Sophie.”

Sophie tried to shut the door, but her sister was too quick for her. The booted toe kept door and frame apart just long enough for Joanna to lean her full weight hard against the door; Sophie was knocked off balance, so that Joanna half fell through the doorway and fetched up rather violently against a bedpost. Sophie leant on the edge of her dressing-table, flushed and breathing hard.

“Are you all right, Joanna?” Gray's anxious baritone inquired.

At the sound of his voice Joanna whirled to face him, looking astounded and incensed.

“I
told
you to go away!” Sophie hissed. It was now too late to exclude Joanna from this conference, but still vital to preserve its secrets from other ears; hastily she shut the door and locked it again.

“But you—you—” Joanna began.

There was a certain satisfaction, Sophie thought grimly, in having rendered both of her sisters speechless in the course of a single day. “Yes, Joanna, I am indeed aware that there is a male person in my bedroom,” she said. “I should be grateful not to have the whole household's attention drawn to the fact, however.”

Joanna opened her mouth again but quickly clamped both hands over it. Having drawn several deep breaths, she lowered her hands and said, very quietly, “What is Mr. Marshall doing here?”

Sophie looked at Gray, who returned her gaze with a barely perceptible lift of brow and shoulder. Then turning to her sister, she said fiercely, “Swear on the bones of our mother that you'll tell no one.”

Joanna's grey eyes grew wide. “I swear,” she whispered.

“We intend to run away.”

For a moment Joanna stared at her, and then at Gray. Sophie held her breath for the inevitable outburst, but when it came it took a most unexpected form.

“Horns of Herne!” Joanna exclaimed. “This is
dreadful
. I shall owe Katell ten copper coins.”

“What?”
Sophie's incredulous exclamation was doubled in her ears by Gray's.

“We had a wager,” Joanna explained, impatient, “and Katell has won it. She heard him call you ‘Sophie' in the garden last week and wagered me ten coppers that you and Mr. Marshall would be away to the Sisters of Sirona before summer's end.
I
said that you would never be so foolish.”

The manic laughter rose to Sophie's lips again—would there never be an end to this day's absurdities?

“I am not running off to be made handfast to Gray, Joanna,” she said, as patiently as she could manage. “I do not want—that is, I am not ready to marry just yet, and if I
were
to marry, I hope I should do it properly, and not by eloping to the Sisters of Sirona in the middle of the night. But you must see that I cannot stay here, in the Professor's house, after what has happened today—nor can Gray, either.”

Joanna frowned. Sophie ought to have known, she told herself, that her sister would not be so easily put off. But the rest of the story was Gray's secret, not her own, and he had not authorised her to repeat it.

“Where
are
you going, then?” Joanna demanded. “And how did you intend getting there? I hope you did not mean to steal one of Father's carriages; you would be found out and dragged back here within the hour.”

“I have at least
that
much wit left to me, thank you,” Sophie retorted, at last goaded beyond caution. “We thought to take two of the riding horses. They will not be missed so quickly. As for our destination—”

Her near indiscretion was stopped by her sister's laughter. “You meant to go on horseback, with that valise?” Joanna pointed to the large case open upon the bed, filled haphazardly with Sophie's belongings. “And if Father should come after you, in the carriage-and-four? How did you think to get away unseen? And how much coin have you? What will you live on, until you reach wherever-it-is?”

The justice of all these criticisms struck Sophie of a sudden, deflating at a stroke her furious anger at her father, her determination to remove herself from his influence, and her confidence in the plan she and Gray had concocted. They had neither of them enough experience with subterfuge—not even so much as Joanna had gained, from an addiction to minstrel-tales and servants' gossip; their entire scheme was at once revealed to be jury-rigged, ludicrously ill planned, and amateur in the extreme, and Sophie felt all the absurdity of having believed they might succeed.

“Joanna is right,” she said, turning to Gray with a heavy heart and seeing her own melancholy state reflected in his face. “We shall have to stay and take what comes.”

“I did not say you ought not to go,” Joanna protested. “I only said that your plan was stupid. Now that I know what you are about, we shall be able to think of a better one. For if we are to leave, it must be tonight, while he is not here to stop us!”

“If
we
—”

There was a knock at the door. Startled, they turned to look; the door opened—though Sophie knew she had locked it—and in the doorway stood Mrs. Wallis, wearing a lawn apron and a determined expression. Over her right arm hung several heavy leathern bags. “Fortunately for all of us,” she said, as she distributed these to her astonished audience, “Miss Sophia's safety does not depend on Miss Joanna's inventiveness alone.”

She surveyed Sophie's ransacked bedroom, marking Gray's presence only with a slightly lifted eyebrow. “Pack your things, all of you,” she said. “Only what you can carry. We shall take our leave an hour past midnight.”

In Which a Journey Begins

Already growing stiff
and sore after less than an hour on horseback, Gray peered over his shoulder, looking back the way they had come. Callender Hall lay still and dark, and all about its nest of gardens and follies, fields and woods, men slept.

As they passed the limit of the Hall's grounds, Gray had felt the upwelling of magick as the interdiction lost its hold on him and marvelled that he had not recognised it on their last departure. Having never been deprived of his magick before this summer, he was unprepared for the elation attendant on its renewal, for the sense of wholeness that he only now understood to have been lacking. He fancied that Sophie, too, ahead of him on her placid brown mare, sat a little straighter now.

They had spent the time between Mrs. Wallis's dramatic pronouncement and the hour after midnight in a quiet, covert flurry of activity. Thinking over the day's events as he hastily stowed his belongings in one of the proffered saddle-bags, Gray could not help but wonder at the extraordinary good fortune that had juxtaposed Sophie's outburst with the Professor's absence from home. Perhaps it was only natural that after such an extended run of ill luck, they (and he, in particular) should be blessed by the Fates through the removal of one obstacle, but even if the cause were nothing more than the chance turning of Fortune's wheel, the effect was cheering. It was an inexpressible relief to Gray merely to know that his captor—for such the Professor must be called—was not in the house with him; the thought of leaving this prison behind made him nearly dizzy with hope. Further than the leaving, however, he would not yet allow himself to think, so many things were there that might still arise to prevent even this from taking place.

It had not occurred to him then to question how Mrs. Wallis came to have such a comprehensive plan of escape at the ready. He did so now. Certainly she was not the ordinary cook-housekeeper he had once thought her, but for what reason had she been so well prepared for flight?

For so she had certainly been—for how long, Gray could scarcely guess. Before their astonished eyes parcels of food, pouches of coin, and dark cloaks were produced from hidden recesses in the kitchen and offices; arriving, at the appointed hour, in the stables, they had found a groom waiting—Gray did not like to think what threat or inducement had been offered him—with Joanna's pony and three of the Professor's best riding horses, their hooves wrapped in rags to muffle the sound of iron shoes striking the cobbles of the forecourt.

One might almost think that Mrs. Wallis had done this sort of thing before.

*   *   *

Though they were riding at a walk, when the sun rose their small party was already well away from Callender Hall, bearing northeast towards the coastal road that connected Kerandraon with the port of Douarnenez to the east and with the Pointe du Raz far to the west. At Mrs. Wallis's direction, they stopped shortly after dawn where their path crossed a stream, dismounting and leading their horses into the trees, where they could drink and graze without attracting notice.

Joanna looked about her with evident interest. Despite the loveliness of their surroundings, however, Sophie's gaze lingered on Gray.

It was not that he had grown larger or taller (being already—Sophie chuckled silently—rather taller than necessary). Certainly he could not be said to have improved in looks, being still sandy-haired and suntanned, with a crooked nose and, to make matters worse, a day's growth of beard, at which he scratched absentmindedly with one long hand. Still, she could not help staring. Perhaps he stood straighter, or perhaps his gaze was more direct and confident, or perhaps . . .

“He looks different,” remarked Joanna, who had approached unseen and unheard, so deep was her sister's concentration. “And so do you. Even Mrs. Wallis does.”

Startled, Sophie at last withdrew her gaze, turning instead to frown at Joanna—who certainly looked just the same. “What do you mean?” she demanded, sotto voce, hoping that she did not look as dreadfully fatigued as she felt. “Different . . . how?”

Joanna shrugged. “Not
bigger
, exactly,” she said. “But . . .
more
.”

She trailed away and began to forage in Mrs. Wallis's saddle-bags.

Sophie turned again towards Gray, to find him gazing back at her with a speculative expression. He smiled and took a step towards her.

She had been used to consider Gray as a boy of about her own age, earnest and anxious and apt to need looking after. Now however, she looked at him and saw a man.

“Did you feel it, too?” he asked her. “When we passed the limit of the Professor's spell?”

Exhausted, saddle-sore, and hungry—recklessly fleeing the only home she knew, in quite inappropriate company—uncertain where they were bound, or what awaited them there—Sophie nonetheless felt that at last her luck had turned.

*   *   *

Mrs. Wallis appeared to consider their journey as being under her direction. This was only natural, as she had made all of the useful arrangements; still, Gray disliked not knowing where she was leading them, and it had become clear that her plans, whatever they might be, conflicted with his own. About midmorning, therefore, he abandoned his place at the rear of their little column to pull his mount alongside hers, noting as he did so that she rode remarkably—suspiciously—well for a female servant.

The time had come for Gray to test some of those suspicions.

“Mrs. Wallis,” he began, pitching his voice to reach her ears alone. “I should like you to answer me a question or two.”

She turned her head briefly to look at him, then returned her gaze to the path ahead, so that the brim of her capote hid her face. “You are most welcome to ask, young man,” she said. “I cannot promise to answer so fully as you may wish.”

Quashing the urge to demand an explanation of this statement, Gray reminded himself to tread carefully. “Our destination has not been discussed,” he said.

“That is not a question.” Her tone held a trace of amusement. “But I shall answer it nevertheless. You intended to travel southward, to make for your brother-in-law's estate—an excellent plan, had not your sister so lately visited Callender Hall and made your connexion to Kergabet known there. The servant girls may gossip about your sweeping Dim'zell Zophie away to the priestesses of Sirona, but their master will expect you to take refuge with the most powerful friends at your disposal.”

“You believe the Professor will seek us there?”

Gray saw at once the likelihood that she was right, and his heart pounded at the narrowness of Sophie's escape—and Jenny's. How could he have been so stupid?

“Where do we ride, then?” he inquired. “I see that we skirt the road, and that we bear east . . .”

Mrs. Wallis now turned again and fixed on him a penetrating stare which made him squirm within, though he met her eyes steadily enough. He could not seem to keep hold of all the questions he had meant to ask, but at least he should persist in asking this one.

“Your scheme was to deliver Miss Sophia into your sister's hands,” said Mrs. Wallis, “and yourself ride hard for the nearest seaport, for some urgent purpose of your own.” By her expression, she saw Gray's astonishment at her knowledge of intentions he had not revealed even to Sophie. “You have some good reason for this, I am sure?”

“I—”

“You could not have persuaded her to remain behind, Mr. Marshall—not without violence—and young Joanna still less. Were I you”—here Mrs. Wallis smiled thinly—“I should not mention to either of them that ever you entertained such a thought.”

“Mrs. Wallis—”

At last she seemed to remember his question: “We ride for the port of Douarnenez.”

“Douarnenez!” For a moment Gray's dismay overcame his discretion. At Mrs. Wallis's raised eyebrows, he lowered his voice: “Is it not . . . ill-advised . . . to take ship so close to home? Shall we not be followed?”

“I am sure we shall eventually be followed, Mr. Marshall, wherever we may choose to go.” She turned away again. “In Douarnenez there are friends who will conceal the evidence of our passage. Elsewhere we may not be so fortunate.”

Gray nodded slowly, beginning to see the outline of her plan.

He slowed his tall bay gelding, meaning to let the others overtake him and resume his rearguard post, and glanced back along the path to reassure himself that their party remained intact. Some dozen yards behind and below him, Joanna sat her pony with stolid determination, her gaze fixed on the way ahead. Catching Gray's eye, she smiled grimly. Gray returned her look, wondering idly whether a lady's sidesaddle was as uncomfortable as the ordinary sort; then he raised his eyes to look behind her.

Sophie swayed with her mare's gentle gait and closed her eyes; and then, appallingly slowly, she toppled forward and down, headfirst over the mare's off shoulder, to fall to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Sophie!”
Horrified, Gray wrenched his mount around and kicked it into a canter, covering the fifty yards between himself and Sophie in a moment. He dismounted in a slithering rush and knelt beside her, scarcely aware of anyone or anything else.

Close to, fumbling with Sophie's bonnet-strings, he could see the marks of utter exhaustion on her face. He bent his face to hers; feeling against his cheek the phantom touch of her breath, he exhaled on a long sigh of relief, discovering only now that he had been holding his breath in fear. Little wonder that after yesterday's ordeal, their
nuit blanche
, and today's long ride, she was at the end of her strength. They were all of them fatigued, but the rest had not borne the burden of a recent brush with magick shock.

Carefully—little as he knew of healing, he had better have left this task to Mrs. Wallis, but he felt that it was his—Gray felt along Sophie's hands and arms for any sign of injury. Finding none, he turned his attention to her head, dreading to find that it had struck a stone in her fall, and was relieved to see no evidence of harm. He murmured thanks to the horse goddess Epona that Sophie had avoided tangling her foot in the stirrup and her skirts in the pommels of her saddle, shuddering as he imagined her dragged limp behind a bolting horse.

“Sophie,” he said again, chafing her icy hands. “Sophie, come back to me.”

He remembered, suddenly, the time eight years ago when, during one of the family's rare visits to London, his sister Cecelia had nearly died of a fever. Their frantic mother had sent Gray, Jenny, and their brother George to temple after temple with offerings of wine, candles, and coin—and Gray himself had felt as frightened and almost as helpless as he felt now.

“She must have let her foot slip out of the stirrup,” said Joanna, startlingly close behind him. “She
will
do it. She is a
dreadful
horsewoman.”

It reassured him to hear Joanna thus disparaging her sister, despite the trembling voice in which she did so.

At last Sophie's eyelids fluttered; the hands Gray held gripped his fingers in return. “
Petra . . . ?
” she murmured, blinking drowsily, as though she merely woke from a deep sleep.
“Pelec'h emaon?”

Despite his summer's haphazard tutelage in the language, it took a moment for Gray to parse the Breton for
What?
and
Where am I?

He and Joanna helped Sophie to sit up. Mrs. Wallis had by now taken charge of all the horses; she passed four sets of reins to Joanna and knelt at Sophie's side, producing from some pocket a copper flask. “Drink,” she urged. Sophie did so and gave a choking gasp.

“Aquavit,” Mrs. Wallis explained to the others. “Now, then, Miss Sophia: Can you ride? We had best not linger here.”

Sophie looked bemused. “I . . . I am not sure,” she said, reverting to English. “I do feel tired. So
sleepy
. I should be afraid of falling off again . . .”

“You can ride with me,” said Gray at once, “and we shall put your mare on a leading rein.”

The others looked doubtful, Sophie most of all. “Or,” he added, “perhaps Mrs. Wallis has brought some rope.”

Sophie only seemed more bewildered, but Joanna had heard him aright: “He means, you shall ride with him or he will
tie
you into your saddle,” she translated in a reverent whisper.

“I shall try,” Sophie said, looking up rather doubtfully at Gray's leggy gelding. “If you think I ought.”

*   *   *

Most of Gray's many questions remained unanswered—even unasked—and his every conversation with Mrs. Wallis seemed to raise more puzzles than it solved. He thought he might trust her to act in the best interest of Sophie and Joanna, as she saw it; so far their paths converged. But who
was
Mrs. Wallis, and what other schemes might she have afoot?

For the moment, he was forced to concentrate on the task—much less easy than he had first supposed—of directing his mount while preventing Sophie, now slumbering more or less in his arms, from taking another tumble. She had already slept several hours, and Gray was relieved to see a more natural colour creeping back into her cheeks; he had never known anyone to die of magick shock, but neither was it usual to possess so much magick unawares. For all her study of grimoires and spells, Sophie had very little idea what she might be capable of—or how to bend her talent to useful pursuits. He had promised to teach her, it was true, but he would have been happy to see her in more able hands.

Perhaps Master Alcuin might teach her. He has not the prejudices of so many of the others—and Sophie would like him, I think.

An earlier conference with Mrs. Wallis had determined—or had she simply decreed?—that they must halt before nightfall at whatever inn or wayhouse offered, though they would not yet have reached Douarnenez—Sophie's accident having delayed them some considerable time.