Angel of Ruin (10 page)

Amelia left the room in a swoosh of black silk. Mary leaned forward, shaking her head. “This is pointless. A summoning which Anne must be a part of? We will never be able to use it.”

“We will try our best,” Deborah said. “I must see this angel with my own eyes. I must ask him how I may best help mankind.”

“First worry how we convince Anne to help us.”

“So far only you have tried to convince her,” Deborah said. “She may listen to me.”

“Yes, perhaps. She expects my attempts to manipulate her, but she does not expect them from you.”

Amelia returned with a piece of paper in her left hand. She blew gently on the ink and once more sat across from them. One of her cats put his nose in the air and she leaned down to receive its kiss. The paper drew Deborah’s curious eyes.

“Is that the —?”

“The summoning? Yes.” She blew on it once more then handed it to Mary. “You must speak the incantation together. That is the only thing I have specified. You may change the wording if you like, but be very careful.”

Mary scanned it quickly then passed it to Deborah, who read the instructions with awe.

“I have left out the name of the angel. That is for Anne to tell you. You say his name instead of ‘angel’. As long as you have his name, he must obey you.”

“Do you have any advice on how we might convince Anne to join us?” Mary asked.

Amelia smiled. “Words, Mary Milton. There is no more powerful force in the universe. Choose your words carefully, and the world will be in your hands; choose them poorly and …” She spread her hands and shrugged. “Still, ’Tis growing late and you must go.”

Within moments, the girls found themselves once more out on the cold street. The sun was sinking and birds were wheeling high above, finding their way home before dark.

Deborah clutched Mary’s hand. “We could command an angel.”

“Anne is all that stands in our way. If it were only we two …”

“Mary, don’t imagine dear Anne out of our lives,” Deborah said. “We’ll convince her, we’ll find a way.”

Anne said no a hundred times before the end of that week, and a hundred more the next. She reached such a frenzied state of stuttering and blinking that Deborah eventually told Mary they had to stop and leave her be a while.

“But how can we?” Mary groaned. “This is all, this is everything to me.”

“We are making Anne so anxious I fear for her health. No, we must stop and think and find another way to solve this problem.”

But Deborah could think of no solution, and began to accept that her learning must come from books as it always had. Anne’s awful fear that the angel would harm or kill someone was an impassable monolith. Despite Mary’s occasional pleading, Deborah refused to allow the subject to resurface.

One evening close to Christmas, while Mary was in the street looking for Max, Anne slipped into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

“What is the matter, Anne?” Deborah asked. She
stood in front of the curved glass which they all shared, combing knots out of her hair. In the reflection, she could see Anne’s downcast eyes, the twisting of her hands. Fresh candles burned in the candlestands by the bed.

“You have not mentioned the angel for some t-time now.”

“Your anxiety was too much for us,” Deborah said. “We have all but given up hope.”

“Why do you want t-to summon the angel? Knowing what he d-did to Johnny?”

Deborah put the comb away and turned to Anne. “I don’t believe he killed Johnny, Anne. Amelia herself said that angels do not kill.”

“And you believe her?”

“Angels, Annie, angels.” Deborah perched on the edge of the bed next to her sister. “Like the angels you adore in your hymn book.”

“He did not resemble those angels. He was not … serene.”

“Not serene?”

“Not like the angels in pictures.”

“Are you saying he was not an angel?”

Anne’s lip twitched a moment. “I suppose he was. Just not as I have d-dreamed of angels.” She fell silent. Deborah could hear Mary calling to Max downstairs on the street. Eventually, Anne turned her face upwards. “You must hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“M-m-m—”

“Mary doesn’t hate you either.”

Anne nodded. “You must t-try to understand me, Deborah. What if M-Mary wished Betty dead? And the angel took her at her word? What if she wished an illness upon Father? Or me? I have lived with such a g-guilt for so long — that my actions k-killed a loved one. Do you not wish to avoid such a burden?”

Deborah stared at Anne, listening to her protestations clearly for the first time. “Your sole concern is that the angel will injure or kill someone?”

“Yes, of course. For what other concern can there b-be?”

Deborah thought of the summoning, of Amelia’s words.
You may change the wording if you like.
Was it possible that Anne’s fears could be allayed so easily?

“What is wrong, Deborah?” Anne said, and Deborah realised she hadn’t spoken for nearly a full minute.

“Anne,” she said slowly, “we can make the angel’s summoning dependent on a promise that he will injure nobody.”

“What do you mean?”

Deborah leaped up and searched in Mary’s top drawer for the summoning. She clutched it in her left hand as she sat down again, noticed her heart speeding. “The only condition Amelia has specified is that we speak the incantation together. But we can change the wording. Look you.” She pointed to the last line and Anne peered at it, reading slowly. “We can say in here,
only if he injures nobody.”

Anne frowned. “I d-don’t know.”

“Anne, please! We have to try this.”

“How do we know he’ll do as we say?”

“He is at our command. He must obey us.”

Anne stared at the summoning, her brows drawn tight together.

“Oh, please, Annie, please. This way we’ll stay together. Betty’s plans for us will be foiled and nobody will be hurt.” Deborah could hear footsteps approaching. Mary chastised Max as she brought him up the stairs. Mary’s arrival would surely shatter the intimacy she had cultivated with Anne. Deborah willed Mary away. Her own breathing seemed very loud and she told herself she mustn’t grow too excited.

Suddenly, Anne dropped to the floor, pulled open her drawer.

“Anne, what is it?”

“Naughty Max, naughty boy.” Mary was directly outside.

Anne thrust a prayer book in Deborah’s hands and backed away. The door flew open.

“He was all the way down in the park!” Mary said. Her hair was damp and her dress was muddy. “I was mightily worried.”

“I must help Liza with supper,” Anne said, slipping out the door and closing it behind her. Deborah glanced from the door to the prayer book to Mary.

“What’s the matter, Deborah?” Mary asked, dropping Max and untying her cap.

“I don’t …” She opened the prayer book, flicked through the ageing pages. A folded piece of paper slid out. She smoothed it, read the lines written upon it; lines her dead mother had composed. Then she caught her breath.

“Deborah? Answer me. What is wrong?”

Deborah looked up at her sister in the dim light of evening. “Lazodeus.”

“What?”

Deborah turned the piece of paper around to show Mary. “Our angel finally has a name. It is Lazodeus.”

By Christmas Eve they had learned their parts. The house smelled of the fresh evergreen branches which Betty and Liza were pinning up over all the doorways. Betty was in such high spirits that she didn’t even blink when Max went barking through the house, overstimulated by the trees inside and the hot biscuits Mary had been feeding him as Christmas treats all day.

Mary chased him through the kitchen, laughing. He yapped, wagged his tail in a frenzy. Just as she was
about to pick him up, he took off again in the other direction. Towards Father’s study.

“Max, no!” she called as she saw his little white tail disappear around the corner. She raced after him, burst into the room to find Father holding out a hand to Max, having his fingers soundly licked.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Mary said.

“I thought you were supposed to keep control of the dog in the house. You will upset Betty.” Despite his words, he didn’t seem genuinely angry. Mary found her father a mystery most of the time.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, scooping Max up into her arms and scurrying out. Perhaps she could wish the angel to make Father more generous, more loving. To all of them, not just to Deborah who was clearly his favourite. Now that Anne had insisted on a clause that the angel injure nobody, it would be safe to make all kinds of wishes.

Max yapped, not as sobered by the exchange with Father as she had been.

“Come, Max. Calm yourself.”

He licked her face and she felt the familiar, happy wash of feeling. Dear little Max. “After supper, Max,” she whispered, close to his fur. “After supper, I shall wish our angel to protect you always.”

Over supper, she glanced between her sisters, hoping they were clever enough not to give away on their faces what a momentous act they were to perform tonight. Anne stuttered and stammered her way through the meal with her head bowed and her hands shaking, but Mary doubted anybody would notice a difference from her usual anxious jittering. Deborah was cool. Any excitement Mary showed could be attributed to Christmas. As Liza cleared their things away, Mary shot back in her chair.

“Oh, I’m so tired. I’m going straight to bed.”

“Me too,” Deborah said.

Father turned his unseeing eyes on them, a slight frown drawn down between his brows. But if he suspected something, he said nothing. “Goodnight, then,” he said. “We shall go to church in the morning, so don’t sleep too late.”

Goodnights were exchanged. Mary raced up the stairs. She and Deborah were the first to the bedroom, Anne limped in a few moments later.

“I wish you weren’t so excited,” Anne said, “for I am t-terrified and certain we are doing the wrong thing.”

“Anne, you agreed to go through with this,” Mary said. How dare she cast her pall of malcontent over the proceedings?

“Only because b-both my sisters begged me,” Anne replied, glancing from one to the other.

“And because we promised to make it safe,” Deborah said, taking one of Anne’s hands in her own. Mary wondered that Deborah could be so patient when Anne was such a moaner. “Don’t forget that, sister.”

“I haven’t time for this,” Mary interjected. “You agreed, and now we are proceeding, and I shan’t spend another breath on the preliminaries.” She scooped Max up and shut him in Deborah’s closet so he wouldn’t be frightened, then kicked over the mat to reveal the triangle they had whitewashed on the floor earlier in the day.

“Take your places, sisters,” she said. “Soon we shall command angels.”

D
eborah slid the dresser in front of the door, made certain it couldn’t be opened, then took her place at one of the peaks of the triangle. Anne reluctantly limped into position.

Mary extinguished the last candle and found her way to her place. “We must wait a few moments for our eyes to adjust to the dark,” she said. “I want to be sure I stand in the correct position.”

A minute passed, the only sound in the room their breathing. Far away in the distance, a bell tolled the hour. Revellers in the street below burst from a house and went on their way, their voices trailing away on a winter breeze.

“Our lives will change forever,” Anne said, and something about the weight of her words in the dark sent a chill through Deborah’s bones.

“Don’t talk such nonsense, everything will be fine,” Mary said. She glanced at Deborah, who could see trepidation in her eyes. They both sensed the truth in Anne’s statement.

No stopping now. They linked hands.

“Lazodeus, angel of the fifth order,” Mary began. Her sisters joined in.

“Come to us this night, stand within this triangle and,
under a solemn vow that you will injure nobody, appear to us. Come, Lazodeus, that we may command you.”

They held a collective breath. Nothing happened.

“Once more, let us repeat it,” Deborah said.

“Lazodeus, angel of the fifth order …” Again and again, their voices soft in the dark spaces, the chant going around three, four, five times.

On the sixth repetition, light glimmered weakly along the edges of the triangle. Deborah’s heart hammered under her ribs. Her excitement was almost choking her.

“Lazodeus, angel of the fifth order …” Seven times, and suddenly it all happened. Light shot up in bars towards the ceiling, creating a brilliant white cage between them. Deborah’s heart jumped as though it might stop altogether. As they intoned the last line, “Come, Lazodeus, that we may command you,” a sucking sound filled the room. Then, as though being pulled from the air, a male figure appeared within the bars. He cried out in pain.

The girls’ voices trailed off. Their hands were firmly linked, and Deborah could feel her sisters’ perspiration, their anxiety in their desperate grasps. The room was suddenly very quiet.

Deborah licked her lips and tried to swallow. “Are you Lazodeus?”

“Yes,” he said, turning to her. She caught her breath. He was easily the most beautiful creature upon whom she had ever gazed. Under arched brows, his eyes were blue-green, brilliant and clear, and fringed thickly with black curling lashes. His dark chestnut hair fell to his shoulders, and gleamed in the unearthly light. His face was exquisite, with wide cheeks and rounded jaw; his clean-shaven complexion flawless but for the white crevices of two deep scars, one across his left eyebrow and one on his top lip. His skin was ivory,
smoothly extending across a body the like of which Deborah had only seen in sculptures; not on the barrel-bellied men she passed every day on the street. He was entirely naked, taller than anyone she had ever met, towering over the three of them. But there was more to his beauty than merely the collection of these physical characteristics. Such a clarity seemed to freshen her eyes while looking upon him, a sharp focus which made the rest of the room seem dull and fuzzy.

Mary gulped. “Are you an angel?”

“I am an angel.”

“Anne, is this the angel you remember?”

“Y-y-y—”

“My name is Lazodeus. Please, let me out of this prison.”

“How … how do we do that?” Deborah asked.

“Ask me to join you in your world. I’m caught between at the moment.”

Deborah and Mary exchanged glances. Anne had screwed her eyes tightly shut and Deborah could see the gleam of tears on her cheeks.

“Very well,” Mary said, “Lazodeus, join us in our world.”

With a flash of white light, the bars disappeared and Lazodeus remained in the middle of the room, now fully clothed. He wore a plain black tunic, buttoned closely over a lace-edged black shirt, black breeches and black leather boots to his knees. The glowing bars were gone, but Lazodeus, despite his sombre clothes, glowed faintly, lending a cast like luminous moonlight to the room. Deborah dropped her sisters’ hands and palmed her eyes. She was beginning to feel as though events weren’t real, as though she may be dreaming.

He bowed deeply, then said, “How may I serve you, sisters?”

“Be at our command,” Mary said boldly. “Always.”

“That I am. I am your guardian. But you have called me for a reason?”

“Our stepmother wishes us sent away as apprentices; make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“But harm nobody!” Anne cried, suddenly finding her voice.

The angel turned on her. “I am an angel. I do not harm anyone.”

Anne gaped at him in terror.

Deborah had expected an angel to be more patient. “Please, don’t lose your temper with our sister,” she said.

He shook his head. “It is difficult to come through the worlds. It causes me great pain. Forgive me, I am not myself.”

“Here, sit down,” Mary said, leading the angel to the bed. He sat heavily with his face in his hands, breathing slowly. He wore a large silver ring, set with a black stone, on his left hand. A long scar ran from the base of his thumb up to his middle finger. Mary looked urgently towards Deborah.

“Would you … er … would you like a drink of wine?” Deborah asked.

He looked up. “No, I neither eat nor drink mortal provisions.”

“What can we do to help you?” Mary said.

“There is nothing you can do. Every time I make the transition it will cause me tremendous pain. Unless you wish to keep me always by you. But I suppose, as I have not heard from you in fifteen years, that I am to be consigned back to my own realm.”

“No, no,” Mary said, recovering far quicker than Deborah was able. “We didn’t know about you, you see. Anne never told us. If you want to stay with us and watch over us, you can.”

“But where will he stay?” Deborah asked. “We can’t keep him up here in our room.”

The angel burst into loud laughter. Deborah looked at him in hurt puzzlement. It seemed he mocked her.

“I can be with you, and not be in the same sphere of existence,” he said. “I require no bed, no fire, no fancy hangings …” He indicated around him with a gesture almost disdainful. “You only have to tell me to stay.”

“Then stay!” Mary cried.

“All three of you must agree.” He turned his blue-green eyes on Deborah. “Deborah?”

“Are you sure you are an angel?” she asked.

“I am certain.” His gaze was very steady.

She considered a few beats.

“Please, Deborah,” Mary said.

“I command you to tell me the truth,” Deborah said.

“I am an angel,” Lazodeus said confidently, an amused smile twitching the corners of his mouth. For the first time, Deborah liked him. “I swear that I am an angel, Deborah Milton.”

“Very well, stay. Anne?”

They all turned to the eldest sister. She said nothing.

“Anne Milton,” Lazodeus said, “you must understand this: I am incapable of inflicting physical harm on anyone. People injure people, angels do not.”

“But Johnny …”

“If you wish me to stay, then you may command me to explain his death to you,” the angel said.

Anne hung her head.

“Anne, please,” Mary said, taking Anne’s hand in her own and squeezing it. “Please, Anne. We can command him away again. Can’t we, Lazodeus?”

“I am at your command.” He bowed his head.

“Stay,” Anne said quietly. “Stay with us.”

Lazodeus’s shoulders sagged with relief. “It is agreed. Now, you wish me to ensure that your apprenticeships do not eventuate?”

Mary’s voice was excited. “That’s right. Anne and I are to be sent away to Surrey as lacemakers — our stepmother is responsible.”

“I will fix it this night.”

Mary clapped her hands together in glee. “And can you make Father kinder? And protect my dog, Max? And can we have some nicer things in here? Velvets like Amelia’s place?”

Lazodeus laughed again, this time louder, and Deborah feared he would be heard downstairs. “Mary Milton, you should ask to be cured of your greed. I cannot change your father, your dog is your responsibility, and do you not think your stepmother would notice if your room was suddenly filled with velvets?”

A creak on the stairs. Betty was on her way up.

“Quick! Go!” Deborah said, racing to the door. “Betty has heard you.”

“No, don’t go!” Mary wailed. “Stay and do as we say.”

“I shall go, but you may summon me again.”

A knock on the door. “Girls?”

“Just a moment, Betty,” Deborah called.

“Another summoning? With the triangle and the chanting?” Mary asked.

“No, now you have asked me to stay close by, it will be easier. You don’t have to be together. Just close your eyes and say my name as a whisper. I will hear you, and I will come.” He touched Mary’s cheek lightly. “Goodnight, Mary.”

“Goodnight, angel.”

Betty was trying the door. “What’s going on in there? Have you barred the door?”

Lazodeus turned to the others. “Goodnight, Deborah. Goodnight, Anne. I look forward to knowing you better.” The white glow around him began to intensify. With a mock-solemn bow, he disappeared, leaving them in darkness.

Betty pounded on the door. “Open this door at once. I can hear what’s going on in there.”

Deborah raced to the door and pushed the dresser back. She pulled the door open and Betty strode in.

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Mary asked, with a look of obviously feigned innocence.

“I heard a man’s laugh.”

“No, ’twas merely Anne coughing,” Deborah said. “She has a chill. Look you, she weeps for the pain in her chest.”

“Then why is the fire not stoked? ’Tis freezing in this room.” Betty lit a candle from her own and went to Deborah’s closet, and flung the door open. Max scurried out.

“This is the only man we have in our room,” Mary said, scooping the little dog up. Betty recoiled as he tried to lick her.

“I heard a man’s laugh, and then a man’s voice. I’m not an idiot.” She stalked to the window and pulled the curtains. Threw open the sash and looked down. “Did he go out the window?”

“’Tis a long way to jump,” Mary said, stifling a laugh.

Betty turned and glared at them. “You think I’m a fool. You think I’m a halfwit like your stupid sister.” She indicated Anne with a wave of an impatient hand.

Mary squared her shoulders. “You are a fool. Anne is a thousandfold smarter and kinder than you.”

Betty took two steps forward and stood nose to nose with Mary. Max whimpered and cringed into Mary’s arms.

“In twelve days, you will be gone,” Betty said. “You need not feel superior to me.”

Mary opened her mouth to retort, but Deborah kicked her. “I’m sorry if we have disturbed you, Betty,” Deborah said, “but as you can see ’Tis only the three of us up here. Perhaps you heard a voice from outside. There are some loud revellers in the street.”

Betty sniffed. “Lie your lies, girls, I don’t care. I shall be rid of you two soon enough.” She turned to Deborah. “Don’t make me plan to rid myself of you withal.”

She left, slamming the door behind her. The three sisters exchanged glances, the excitement of the night overwhelming them. As one, they burst into laughter, though Anne’s cheeks still ran with tears.

Betty’s first Christmas as Mrs John Milton was chaotic. First, the argument with the girls on Christmas Eve. Did they think her a fool? She had heard a man’s voice, a man’s laughter. Where they had hidden him was still a mystery to her, but she knew they had been entertaining him in their bedroom. She hadn’t told John — he would die with the humiliation. Then Christmas morning, very early, the message had come from the Powells in Forest Hill: the girls’ grandmother was mortally ill, and she had requested Mary to join her immediately. Of course, Betty was glad to see the annoying girl leave, but there had been such a tumult of weeping and pale faces and shaking limbs that even John had been moved. The house had been plunged into a darkly sombre mood.

But on Boxing Day, the worst news of all had come.

The letter looked innocent enough: she had expected something from the lacemaker in Surrey, a confirmation of the details for the girls’ arrival. When she tore the letter open, though, it was vastly different from what she had expected. After the usual formalities of inquiring after her and her husband’s health, he had written:

Betty read it twice, trying to comprehend it. An angel? She felt a chill thread through her body, for this was surely an omen. Bad luck would attend upon this.

But then she began to grow angry. Yes, bad luck was already in attendance because this meant the girls would stay. Angelic visitations? Why would an angel carry tidings of a pair of draggle-tails like Mary and Anne Milton?

She screwed up the letter angrily and threw it towards the fire. It bounced off the hearth and clattered into some hanging pots.

“What’s going on?” John called from his study.

Betty meekly picked up the letter, placed it among the flames, and joined her husband.

“I have had a letter from the lacemaker in Surrey. He believes he has had a religious vision warning him not to take Anne and Mary.”

John repressed a chuckle. “A vision? About my ungrateful daughters?”

“’Tis no matter for laughter.”

“I am not laughing.” Still, a pull at the corner of his mouth.

“We can make him take them, you know. He breaks the law, for he made a promise.”

“Betty —”

“Or we can find them another apprenticeship. Surely not every lacemaker in England is foolish
enough to believe a drunken dream is a religious vision.”

“Betty —”

“I can write to my sister in Suffolk, see if she knows anyone who —”