Underbelly (25 page)

“
Your groundkeeper could do with learning some manners,” the attractive young blonde said as she dismounted her horse. “Can I trust him with the reins?”

“
That’s my lover. Georges, do you mind taking the horse while I deal with our guest?”

“
I’ll get him some water,” Georges said, walking off with the horse.

“
Jemima Harding,” Jemima said, offering her hand.

“
Laura Spencer.”

Laura shook her hand and felt a tremendous charge from her. Jemima felt it too and as they both pulled away she addressed it, saying, “The handshakes of our appointed leaders agreeing the worlds fortunes don’t have that much power.”

“
A politician’s handshake is worth less than a forgers painting,” Laura said pithily, weighing up the situation. She appeared totally composed, yet she was very wary of this upstart. This Harding woman was a relative newcomer to the occult scene yet was much talked about lately in certain circles, rumoured to be off the chart when it came to mystical power. Her senses had revealed the extent of her power and during the handshake she had felt Jemima present her power to her – this was a fucking god, and that disturbed her.

Jemima smiled and said, “I heard you were quite the cynic, Laura. I hope you believe my word when I say that it is a pleasure to meet you, sincerely.”

“
Come inside,” Laura said begrudgingly. Jemima followed her inside and took a proffered seat and started bleating away about her great-granddaughter marrying a laird, trifling small talk that Laura struggled to feign an interest in.

“
...And as I was in the area for their union I felt I had to look you up. England hasn’t produced that many great occult figures so to meet an important forbear means a lot to me.”

“
We are a small island with a small population. Centuries ago there were more,” Laura said.

“
They must have been interesting, if tumultuous, times. Now there’s just six of us left lucky enough to have eternal life. I know there’s a lot of other minor transient figures, clairvoyants and prophets, but we are an exclusive breed. You don’t tend to mix with any practitioners now, or so I gather. Is that due to your advanced age? Pardon my wording. What I am trying to say; has the long length of your eternal life led to a sense of ennui? Have you seen it all and done too much and now you’re sated or content to withdraw? Having a lover at your retreat provides some entertainment – he has a sliver of power too.”

Laura looked at her, hiding her displeasure well, though her stare and lack of an immediate response prompted Jemima to say, seemingly genially, “I don’t mean to offend. One drawback to high society is that we are led to believe we can say anything. Outsiders believe there is protocol and decorum and etiquette is practised at all times; that’s complete bullshit, Laura. I brought my children up that way and I believe in breeding and manners, but generally I say whatever I want to, within limits, of course. I was born to a good family, married into a better one, and then became powerful in another way. I’m still uncomfortable with the word witch. Yourself?”

“
I don’t advertise the fact, purely because I’ve lived through too many witch hunts. Privately, I take pride in the title. I haven’t withdrawn because I’m different to the humans out there, though, as a true witch, I no longer consider myself the same species.” Laura saw little point in hiding what she was or her true nature from her, understanding that Jemima would have done her research before venturing here, though she still picked her words carefully, so as to appear candid while still playing her cards close to her chest.

“
I haven’t reached my century yet so I have a long way to match your years, though I would hope that even then I wouldn’t view myself as removed. I am fortunate to have my family to ground me in my humanity. In a way that makes me humanity’s defender, an unlikely heroine standing in the way of Inge and Ramon Nevos and whatever else may present itself. You fought Inge once. I can’t imagine she will prove any competition, though if you have any hints I would appreciate them.”

Laura took her words as a veiled threat. Because of her past misdeeds, perhaps even atrocities, she had a bad reputation, and could be perceived as a threat to mankind. Laura was too savvy to argue with her and create a drama here where there didn’t need to be conflict which meant she could not visibly take offence and she found herself giving hints that Jemima seemed so indifferent about receiving because she was so superior. Of the two of them Laura found herself preferring Inge, as at least when she had met her for a second time they had proved capable of having a civil conversation, unlike this faux polite meeting. Jemima kept claiming to hold her in some reverence as a prehistoric relic, while continuing to subtly – fuck no, it wasn’t even subtle – belittle her. Laura did not care for a millisecond that this woman was younger and more attractive than her, yet the obvious truth that this woman was vastly more powerful than her, which was exposed to the pair of them as their energies briefly repelled as they shook hands – that detail cut to the bone.

Jemima led the conversation and brought up the topic of the late, ‘great’ Octavius, commending Laura for surviving the greatest threat of her lifetime. At first Laura dismissed this as further futile blandishments and let her ramble on before the reality of what she was saying hit her like a sledgehammer. Jemima wasn’t praising her for surviving Octavius at all; she was commenting on how her approach to Octavius, of keeping her head down, was her best option going forward.

Laura could not be silent at this egregious behaviour, though still tempered her response based on this creature’s incomparable power. “Politics and power play have never remotely interested me,” Laura said languidly.

“
You have always had more esoteric interests, which is the reason for your longevity. I am in a different position whereby I still occupy this world, though find the other fascinating too. For a time I did turn a little too much to the other side; Charles had his politics and his seat and I considered what we do my own distaff hobby. I quickly discovered I need a balanced life.”

“
Everybody’s different,” Laura observed coolly.

“
Very true.”

Georges joined them and Jemima apologised for how she had talked to him (which would not have been acceptable even if he was staff) and yet she still talked down to him for the rest of the long afternoon. Georges was always quick to self-deprecate and genuinely took no offence – he didn’t need to as Laura was offended enough for the pair of them. He fetched his beloved rabbit, which was small even for its breed, and he stroked the lop-eared dwarf and made introductions.

“
Mrs Harding...”

“
Lady Harding, though you can call me Jemima,” Jemima said, unable to hide her disdain for him, having lost too many relatives to the damned French.

“
Jemima, meet Tarasque. Would you like to hold him?”

“
Heavens, no! I’m sure he’s a lovely creature but horses are my only animal passion. His wild cousins are pests.”

“
He’s a pest too, like his owner,” Georges said. “He rarely bites.”

“
I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”

“
He’s the star of my show.” Laura cringed as Georges said this as she knew where this was heading. Georges had long been a showman of limited success. She enjoyed his shows (though usually pretended otherwise) but she knew that this vile woman would loathe his act and would find him even more a figure of ridicule than she already did. Georges had thick skin and was used to shows going awry and negative reactions but she didn’t want this for him and she vetoed the suggestion as he began to explain about his shows.

“
Lady Harding has travelled far and doesn’t have time for your show.”

“
I can keep it short.”

“
It’s not the time,” Laura said crossly, unable to refuse him softly or he’d badger her continually.

“
I think you’d better listen,” Jemima snickered to Georges.

“
That’s not my forte. Another time then. You’ll change your mind about rabbits when you see what this artisan does,” Georges said, offering Laura the opportunity to hold his pet, which she ignored.

Jemima stood up and said, “I have a wedding to prepare for so I should really depart. It has been lovely to meet you, to finally put a face to the name or should that be names? I have probably repeatedly offended you, and I apologise unreservedly if I have. If you are ever in the area please feel free to visit me on my estate.”

“
I hope you enjoy the wedding,” Laura said, remaining seated.

“
It’s the first of my fourth generation to wed, so it is a momentous day for me. It ages me further! Goodbye, Laura,” Jemima said, having worded her farewell entirely at Laura, ignoring Georges initially even though he had the good grace to stand up to see her out. “Good luck to you two with your shows,” she added, and while Georges took her words as complimentary and chatted to her as he showed her out, Laura seethed and was spoiling for a fight when Georges returned.

“
Not the pleasantest of women but it’s not worth getting agitated about,” Georges said amiably, trying to pacify her as he returned to join her on the couch.

“
She was laughing at you and you made it easy for her to do so,” Laura sniped.

“
Many have before and many more will. You know I don’t mind playing the jester if it gets people to explore their own spirituality.” Georges put his rabbit on the floor and reached for Laura’s cheek only for her to turn from him and he settled for placing his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be upset by the enfant terrible. There’s only one goddess.”

“
You’ve got rabbit shit on your trousers,” Laura said flatly. She didn’t want his optimism at this difficult time. There was no positive spin on this uncomfortable truth. Her time as the unofficial ultimate force was over as she was deposed by a relative babe who effortlessly surpassed her centuries of arduous practice.

Even now, 50 years later, remembering this meeting still rankled. She came under the guise of friendship but her subtext was clear – the two of you together won’t make me break into a sweat, so don’t fuck with me or mine. Laura had been a practising witch for around 1200 years longer than she had and to feel how much more powerful and developed Jemima Harding was over her burned inside. Perhaps that was what motivated Georges to risk everything for power, and fail. Laura heeded his lesson and settled for researching first, refusing to let them harry her into making a mistake. The time for rites and spells would come, and on that day all would be advised to take a backward step.

On paper the idea of rodeos did not appeal to Laura, and she was surprised by how enthralling it was in person. The smell, the atmosphere, as she waded through the enraptured and vocally expressive hordes around her, and especially the element of danger, raised the experience above a cattle mart. She’d seen brilliant actors in the best plays in the best theatres and they didn’t play to the crowd and entertain as well as the cowboys (and occasional novelty cowgirl) did.

James Grey seemed to be enjoying it as much as she was, wearing a ten-gallon hat, very animated as he watched the scenes below. Germaine looked to be enjoying the show too, though Laura noticed that from time to time she covered her face with splayed fingers when it looked like the riders were in trouble. Laura would not have expected such squeamishness from most farmers’ daughters – from Germaine it was no surprise, Germaine not the hardiest of girls, and the first to admit her shortcomings. She had blossomed from a pretty girl into something beautiful, her long strawberry blonde hair arranged in two plaits, and even her husband, a man of average, nondescript looks, grew handsome, the warmth that emanated from him largely responsible for this, an attractive quality. He was dressed like the riders below (and like a high percentage of the male spectators) in a ten-gallon hat, check shirt and jeans, a look which suited him better than she would have thought, and she watched them from afar. She waited until Grey went to purchase some refreshments and crept up behind him as he queued and said, in her best Southern drawl, “Excuse me sugah, y’mind if I take your place? I’m in a hurry.”

“
Be my guest,” Grey said, turning around and instantly spotting that it was Laura – he had studied her face and body long enough and was not fooled by a radically different hairstyle. He was taken aback, surprised but very pleased to see her and before he had chance to say anything she muttered,