Part 47 (1/2)

”None other,” said Mr. Christopher. ”You must know he was pivotal in the pa.s.sage of the Act of Settlement and is said to be one of the electress's most vital agents here in England. At least he was when he was alive.”

”And now he is again,” said Mr. Christopher.

”Indeed,” agreed Mr. Fallows. ”Alive once more, and so an agent once more, I must think. He has been rumored to say, and in the presence of the greatest men in the kingdom, that this necromancer must be stopped at all costs, that to sit a corpse upon the throne would be an abomination, and it would lead to another civil war. Do you know what these great men replied, Mr. January? Can you guess?”

I could not, and said as much.

”I shall tell him,” volunteered Mr. Christopher. ”They replied, behind closed doors, mind you, so no one would know-”

”No one!” cried Mr. Fallows with nose-wagging mirth. ”No rumors would spread!” laughed Mr. Christopher.

”What did they say?” I demanded with a severity that seemed to shock the two men.

Mr. Christopher sharply looked at me. ”No need to be so animated, Mr. January. I shall tell you. Be patient.”

”No rush,” said Mr. Fallows. ”The club is not on fire, I trust.”

”I smell no smoke,” agreed Mr. Christopher.

With great effort, I refrained from speaking another word.

At last, seeing I would not allow them to extend the conversation further, Mr. Christopher sighed, as if having lost something of enormous value, and proceeded. ”They told him that, as he had a nearer connection to the necromancer than any person in London, Sir Albert must do all in his power to prevent the man from granting the queen's wish.”

”It is a bad season for necromancy,” said Mr. Fallows.

”The worst I can recall,” agreed Mr. Christopher.

The two commenced once more to laughter and I excused myself.

I returned home in a state of agitation that evening, and my servants informed me that there was a guest awaiting me in my parlor. I rarely received guests in my home, and so this surprised me, but not as much as when I saw who it was-Lady Caroline.

I stared at her in surprise. She stood by the fire, her back to me, holding a gla.s.s of wine in her hand. Her velvet gown, the color of the wine she drank, highlighted the perfection of her form. Her hair was piled high under her hat, and delightful curls slipped loose.

I was filled with love and desire and loneliness and regret. She had been wrong to reject me-that much was certain-but for all that, I would have done anything to undo my terrible act. However, even I, granted by fate the G.o.dlike power over life and death, could not change the past.

”I am surprised to find you here,” I said. My voice was dry and brittle. I hated sounding weak, but if there was a person to whom I would gladly submit, it was she.

She turned to me, and I could see that she had been crying. Is there anything more melancholy than tears upon the face you love?