Part 13 (2/2)
Besides, she could claim no imperfection in the situation, for to drive through the New Quarter on a warm evening was such a novelty that Ivy found, like her mother, she could not think of what had happened to her that day, or of what might happen that night. Instead, she watched the lamplighters move along the avenues even as their celestial counterparts set the stars alight in the sky. The rain had washed the city clean, and the air was a confection of clematis and violets and peony. Music and light spilled out of so many grand houses that the two seemed at once ubiquitous and united, as if to play a note was to send forth a ray of illumination, and a quartet was enough to set the grandest halls aglitter.
Too soon the carriage stopped, and Ivy found herself walking up the steps of a great house of white stone toward that music, and that light, and the bright sound of laughter.
A terror seized her at entering the parlor, in which her own familiar sitting room would have barely served for a nook. Just as her mother had predicted, all eyes turned toward her, though it was in no way a cause for delight. Fortunately, though severe, her discomfort was brief, for almost at once she found herself greeting Mrs. Baydon, who was, she knew, a friend of Mr. Rafferdy's. Given their mutual acquaintance, and this being the house of her husband's aunt, Mrs. Baydon felt free without any fear of impertinence to make the introduction herself.
”Besides, I feel as if I know you already,” Mrs. Baydon said, taking Ivy's arm and leading her into the parlor. ”We have heard such a great deal about the three Miss Lockwells. You will discover you are quite famous here. Our dear Mr. Rafferdy hardly speaks of anything else.”
”Then I imagine you must make every effort to talk instead of the weather or the doings of a.s.sembly,” Ivy said, genuinely startled.
”But it is not so at all!” Mrs. Baydon replied. ”We ply him for every detail of his encounters with you and your sisters. We have not had such amus.e.m.e.nt in a long while.”
Ivy could not believe that was the case, but her companion was all kindness, and of an age with her, and she was grateful for the security of Mrs. Baydon's arm as they made their way about the parlor. Her companion was light-haired, like Ivy, but taller, and her pink gown was of the latest mode. Ivy could not help but notice how old-fas.h.i.+oned her own gown was in comparison, but the brilliance of Mrs. Baydon's charm was enough to illuminate them both, and more than one older fellow remarked that he had never seen a pair of more handsome women.
A moment of dread came upon Ivy when she was presented to their patroness. Lady Marsdel asked where she lived, and what the situation of her sisters was, and why Mr. Rafferdy had taken such a fancy to her family. Ivy answered Lady Marsdel's questions as plainly as she could, in no way attempting to inflate her situation, though neither did she try to demean it. As for the last question, she said she could not speak to another's feelings, but she did not think that she or her sisters were the object of any sort of special regard. She thought only that Mr. Rafferdy, possessed as he was of so agreeable a manner, had simply made the best out of the chance events that had precipitated their several recent encounters.
”I am pleased to see you are a young lady of good sense,” Lady Marsdel said with a snap of her fan. ”Yet you are also very pretty, Miss Lockwell, if not very tall. I think the reports of your charm have been understated. And while I believe you are correct that Mr. Rafferdy has made the best out of his meetings with you and your sisters, I am not inclined to a.s.sign chance much credit for their frequent occurrence. I should say instead that you would do well to be on your guard against them in the future. You understand, don't you?”
”Yes, ma'am,” Ivy said, though in fact she could not say she did understand, and she felt quite rattled. Thankfully, with that they were dismissed; she curtsied again and was led away.
”Do forgive Mr. Baydon's aunt,” Mrs. Baydon said. ”But you see, she takes a great interest in Mr. Rafferdy. He is the child of her cousin, and very much a favorite of hers, for she has no sons of her own.”
”And where is Mr. Rafferdy?” Ivy said, looking around and thinking that they had gone all around the room by now.
”But did he not tell you? Oh, I can see by your expression he did not. How awful of him! Yet I cannot be surprised, given his general want of character. The dreadful man has abandoned us.”
Ivy came to a halt. ”Abandoned us?”
”He is not coming. He sent me a note claiming he is ill.”
”Ill? Is it very serious?”
”But you must not worry!” Mrs. Baydon said with laughter. ”You do not know our Mr. Rafferdy well, or else you would not. I have never seen him afflicted by a physical ailment. I am certain his complaint is of a far different sort, and I suppose there was someone he feared he would meet if he attended tonight, someone disagreeable to him. However, it will be his loss, and I cannot say I am sorry, for I have you all to myself this evening. Come, we shall have a grand time.” She led Ivy onward through the warm and noisy room.
They spoke as they took several more turns about the parlor, though most of the energy in the conversation was on Mrs. Baydon's part, for which Ivy was grateful, as for her own part she was distracted. She could not keep her thoughts from Mr. Rafferdy.
It was strange that he was not here. She could not help but consider Mrs. Baydon's suggestion that he had not come because there was someone he wished to avoid. And who could that someone be but Ivy herself? After all, Mr. Wyble was not in attendance tonight. Yet if that was the case, why invite her in the first place?
It was a thing done on a whim, she decided, after they stopped to sit and a gla.s.s of wine and a bit of cake had steadied her. The impulse to invite her had come out of his benign nature, and his understanding of her limited situation, and a kind wish to expand it. However, he had soon after realized his mistake; it had been inappropriate, just as she had said at the time. But once extended, the invitation could not be rescinded. The only solution was to not attend the party himself, to avoid any appearance of impropriety or indiscretion-on his part or on hers.
Good. She applauded his sense. She was grateful he had not placed either of them in an awkward position; she was utterly relieved. She could not be more glad that he was not here.
Still, as she looked about the room, she could not help thinking how pleasant it would have been to see him, if only to catch his eye for a moment and win one of his smiles.
However, he was not here, and with the matter resolved, Ivy was able to properly enjoy herself. They were invited to play cards with Lady Marsdel's brother, Lord Baydon, and her nephew, Mr. Harclint. Ivy was paired with Lord Baydon, and in that she was lucky, for Lord Baydon was corpulent and jocular and an excellent player, while Mr. Harclint-inclined to be thin, serious, and to forget which suit was trump-caused Mrs. Baydon to at last surrender her cards with a sigh. She rose and begged her leave of the two gentlemen, claiming she needed some air.
”Will you come with me, Miss Lockwell? I think another turn about the room would do me good.”
”I imagine a turn away from Mr. Harclint's playing is more what is needed,” Ivy murmured as they strolled.
”I hope my motivation for leaving was not that obvious.”
”It was perhaps to Lord Baydon,” Ivy said. ”As for Mr. Harclint, I fear such a thing is no more obvious to him than when to put down his queen.” For a time after that, if anyone they pa.s.sed inquired as to the cause of their mirth, the two young women could only lean upon each other and laugh.
At last they ended up at a table where Mr. Baydon sat reading an issue of The Comet. He gave Ivy's hand a firm shake upon their introduction, though that hand was the only portion she was able to see of him aside from a crop of curly hair, as the balance remained hidden behind his broadsheet. Mrs. Baydon brought out a puzzle, and as they fit together the wooden pieces, a little group gathered around them.
Before long they had completed enough of the puzzle to see it was a painting of a country scene. Mossy trunks slanted beyond a fieldstone wall, and twisted branches disheveled with old leaves wove together against a stormy sky. Red tinged the clouds, but whether from a sun that was rising or setting, Ivy could not say.
More than once Sir Earnsley remarked upon their skill in fitting the puzzle. ”The speed with which you work is most impressive,” the old baronet proclaimed. ”By Loerus, I could no sooner piece together a picture than I could paint one.”
”If I could paint a picture, I am sure I should not like for it to be cut up into small pieces,” said Mr. Harclint, who had wandered their way and plopped into an empty chair. ”I am sure Lord Farrolbrook has never turned any of his pictures into puzzles. It is said he's a painter of extraordinary skill.”
Ivy mentioned that she was not familiar with Lord Farrolbrook, and they were treated to a rather long discourse on the man who was ”surely the most ill.u.s.trious member of the upper hall of our a.s.sembly.” Ivy thanked Mr. Harclint for the education. Her words seemed to encourage him to continue, but at that moment a fit of coughing on Mrs. Baydon's part prompted him to go fetch a cup of water. Ivy noted that Mrs. Baydon's affliction was well-timed, but she could not complain.
”For all his descriptions, Mr. Harclint has failed to tell you the most important fact about Lord Farrolbrook-that he is purported to be a skilled magician.”
Ivy looked up at the speaker, a tall man with dark eyes standing beside the table. She was not certain when he had joined their little group; she had not made his introduction.
”A magician!” Sir Earnsley s.h.i.+fted in his chair and blew a breath through his mustache, looking very much like an old walrus on his rocky throne. ”Do spare us that topic again, sir. I'm sure Lord Farrolbrook is no more a magician than anyone else you might meet in this room.”
”It is true,” the tall man replied, ”that many who claim to be skilled in the occult arts do so out of a wish to appear important and a desire to impress others who are easily misled.” His dark eyes flicked in the direction Mr. Harclint had gone.
”Yet for some few at least it must be true,” Ivy said, and only when the others looked at her did she realize she had spoken the thought aloud. Her cheeks grew warm, yet with everyone gazing at her she had no choice but to raise her voice. ”I mean only to say that the existence of magicians is well doc.u.mented in our histories. While some accounts must be treated with skepticism, logic alone would argue that not all who claim to practice can be false.”
Ivy lifted her gaze toward the tall man. She found him fascinating to look at. He was at least twenty-five years her elder and in no way handsome; his features were all angles, his nose aquiline, and his eyes so dark they seemed only to catch light and reflect none back.
He nodded to her. ”Your argument is persuasive, Miss...”
Mrs. Baydon, upon realizing an introduction was necessary, made the required exchange. His name was Bennick, and he was an old friend of the late Lord Marsdel.
”You ask magicians to identify themselves,” he went on, ”when by its very nature magick is a secret art. I would say it is an axiom that the more likely one is to speak of it, the less likely one is to practice it.”
”Then I imagine you practice it not at all!” Sir Earnsley said.
Mr. Bennick bowed toward the baronet. ”In that, sir, you cannot be more correct.”
”I wonder,” Mrs. Baydon said as she laid another piece in the puzzle, ”given that magicians all go about it so secretly, if we haven't all met one and don't even know it.”
”I cannot say if you have met a practicing magician,” Mr. Bennick replied-though it was Ivy he looked at. ”But I know for a fact you are acquainted with a young gentleman who is often a guest at this house and who is a scion of one of the seven Old Houses from which all magicians can trace their descent. That some among his forefathers were enchanters is a fact. I have read many histories of the arcane in which their names appear.”
Mrs. Baydon looked up from her puzzle. ”Indeed! And who is this remarkable individual? Do point him out!”
”I cannot. He is not here tonight.”
”Well, I suppose that wouldn't be mysterious enough if he were.” She resumed fitting the puzzle.
Ivy, however, could not let the topic go so easily. What young gentleman could Mr. Bennick speak of who was so often at this house but not tonight? There was only one such person she could think of-and it was not her cousin Mr. Wyble.
<script>