Sorcery & Cecelia: Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot (22 page)

I felt a reminiscent chill as the memory of that dreadful day when Mr. Strangle came to tea presented itself. “I will be careful,” I said.

Thomas looked at me with an expression of skeptical surprise. “Don’t let your aunt pitchfork you into Strangle’s company for a brisk sermon on vice, either,” he said. “The fellow has done altogether too much research on that topic. And
don’t
take that ring off. Now, I must tell you how much I admire your tactful remarks about my health. I wish I could insult you in turn, but you are looking very healthy indeed. And I do admire this new fashion of wearing your hair half-tumbled down in back.”

As I engaged in a desperate effort to restore my coiffure without benefit of a mirror, Miranda arrived with Dorothea in tow. From our vantage point in the corner, we could watch them sweep into the ballroom, Dorothea looking perfectly enchanting and Miranda fairly glittering with self-satisfaction. Dorothea disappeared behind a wall of young men, and Miranda surveyed the room with an air of calm disdain that suggested she found the marble floors and crystal chandeliers poor stuff indeed compared to her customary surroundings. I could tell the instant she caught sight of Thomas, for her eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead and then drew down into a frown. After a moment her bland expression returned and she began a circuit of the room, her progress bringing her steadily toward us in a procession of greetings and snubs.

“What a dreadful woman,” said Thomas, watching her approach.

“But how well she dresses,” I replied.

“Thomas,” purred Miranda, “how divine to see you here. How very seedy you are looking these days. Have you been ill?”

“Not at all,” Thomas replied. “I see you’ve trained Dorothea to look at her partner when she dances and not at her feet. What a wonder you are, Miranda. Why don’t you take Frederick Hollydean in hand?”

“Dear Thomas, always such delightful company,” said Miranda. “Do you know, from your appearance I would judge I am about to lose a little wager I made with a dear friend of mine. But I can’t regret it. Remember the promise I made you once, that I would dance at your funeral? Perhaps that glad day is not so far off. And even if I am unable to take full advantage of your company before your departure, no doubt your charming fiancée will provide me with diversion of her own.” Her eyes when she said this rested upon me with cold merriment.

I glanced from Miranda to Thomas to see his response to this savage pleasantry. To my surprise, he was not looking at Miranda, but past her, with an expression compounded of equal parts exasperation and fondness. I followed his gaze to see, sweeping up to stand beside Miranda, the most striking woman I have ever beheld.

She was old. I am not certain how old, but over sixty at least. She was tall, as tall as Thomas (and a great deal taller than Miranda). Her hair, which must once have been as dark as Thomas’s, was touched with silver and dressed in a heavy knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a black gown of such elegance that she seemed almost foreign, and the only outward mark of her age was the ivory walking stick she carried.

“Sylvia Schofield,” hissed Miranda, at the same moment that Thomas rose smiling and said, “Good evening, Mother.”

“Good evening, Thomas,” said Lady Sylvia. “Do sit down dear boy.” She let her dark gaze sweep Miranda from top to toe. “How very daring of you to wear that shade of yellow, Miranda. What a pity whoever tinted your slippers was unable to get a closer match. Still, it is the price one pays to live in England. In Paris they know about these things. And who is this young lady, Thomas?”

Thomas presented me.

Lady Sylvia’s brown eyes narrowed as she studied my curtsey. “Talgarth. Not one of George Talgarth’s girls?” I nodded and she went on. “Isn’t it amazing, Thomas? George Talgarth was a great friend of Sir Percy’s. What an excellent liar the dear boy was, too. A man after Sir Percy’s own style. A face like an angel and a voice like silk. Now I fancy he married a Rushton, did he not? Ah, I have it. Celia Rushton. You must be the eldest. I’ve heard it is the younger girl who has George’s looks. Not that you haven’t a great deal of your mother’s charm, my dear. That very insouciant fashion of wearing your hair, for example.”

Thomas paid no attention to his mother’s suggestion he seat himself again. Throughout Lady Sylvia’s speech, he stood swaying silently beside me, growing steadily paler. I slipped my hand under his elbow to steady him.

“I understood you were living in Paris,” said Miranda. “How obliging of you to travel so far to inspect your future daughter.”

“But how fortunate I did,” replied Lady Sylvia. “Now, Thomas, you may be annoyed with me, but I have sent my things directly on to Schofield House, so you must come away with me at once and see me settled in. Very boring for you, dear boy, I’m sure, but I shall let the Grenvilles know the fault is entirely mine. Forgive me, Kate, for taking him away from you so early in the evening. Come to tea when I am settled at Schofield House, and I shall tell you all the dreadful scrapes Thomas got in as a child.”

“How charming,” said Miranda, “but doubtless it will require several days to cover so much material.”

“I shall only tell Kate of the ones I heard about, of course,” replied Lady Sylvia. “In general, Thomas was a most resourceful boy, very well able to manage on his own. It has been interesting to meet you again after so many years, Miranda. You haven’t changed at all, I see.”

Miranda seemed troubled by this remark, though it was delivered in very cordial tones, for she excused herself and went away, doubtless to tally up Dorothea’s latest admirers. Lady Sylvia watched her go with unconcealed dislike and then turned to Thomas.

“Thank heavens,” she said softly. “I thought she would never leave. Now, dear boy, tell me. If you hold my arm as if to steady me, can you walk out of here, or ought Kate to keep hold of your elbow?”

“I can manage,” said Thomas grimly.

“Excellent,” said Lady Sylvia. “Then good night, Kate. Don’t forget. Come to tea.”

They departed with deliberate care, but from my vantage point it did not look as though Thomas were retreating. It seemed to me as though the pair of them swept out together in slow and deliberate dignity.

Need I say, I shall accept the invitation to tea at the earliest opportunity?

Your,

Kate

26 June 1817

Rushton Manor, Essex

Dearest Kate,

Your letter arrived late this morning, and I must say that I am glad that for once the post was a trifle slow. For this morning James was waiting in the woods when I went for my ride, and I am sure that had I had your letter I could not have kept from telling him the whole. (Well, not about Georgy’s shocking behavior, of course. That is nothing to do with James or Thomas. I do not see that you can do much about it, either, except to keep a sharp eye on your remaining jewelry. I am afraid Aunt Charlotte would be far more likely to scold you for looking through Georgy’s jewelry box than to blame Georgy for taking your earrings.)

James looked very tired when I met him, and he greeted me with an abrupt demand to know whether I had any word from you yet.

“No,” I said. “But I’m sure Kate will write as soon as she gets my letter. I should hear something today or tomorrow.”

James shifted restlessly in the saddle. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” I said indignantly. “Kate knows how important it is.”

“Does she?” He sounded as if he were talking to himself, more than to me. “But it may be too late already. Sir Hilary has been at work in his laboratory for four nights running.”

“How do you know what Sir Hilary has been doing?” I asked.

“I’ve been watching Bedrick Hall until past three in the morning every night for the past two weeks,” he said. “And before you begin making comments about my sneaking abilities, may I inform you that I’m quite sure I wasn’t seen.”

“You were quite sure the last time, too,” I pointed out. He had sunk back into gloom again and did not seem to hear me.

“If Sir Hilary has finally found out how to use that damned chocolate pot—,” he said in a dull voice.

“Then we must do something,” I said briskly. It felt like a rather obvious thing to say, but I could not stand hearing James talking in that miserable, half-dead tone. “But
not
until we are sure that things are as bad as you seem to fear.”

“
We
are not going to do anything at all,” James said. “This is my responsibility, Miss Rushton, not yours.”

“Oh, stuff!” I said. “Kate is as much my friend as Thomas is yours.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “This is my fault.”

“How is it your fault?” I demanded. “Really, you and that Marquis of Kate’s are quite impossible. How do you expect us to do anything sensible if you won’t tell us what is going on?”

“My dear Miss Rushton,” Mr. Tarleton said with a smile, “I do not think I would ever expect you to do anything sensible.”

“What an odious thing to say!” I commented. “And you still have not explained why you think the Marquis’s condition is your fault.”

“I let Sir Hilary have the chocolate pot,” he said. “If I’d known—but I’m not a wizard, and Thomas didn’t tell me.”

“Then it’s Thomas’s fault for not telling you,” I said firmly.

James shook his head. “Thomas trusted me, and I let him down,” he said in that infuriatingly stubborn tone men use when they are discussing things like cards and politics and the military, which they don’t think females understand.

“Oh, well, if it’s a matter of honor,” I said. “You should have said that to begin with. Not that it has anything to do with deciding what we ought to do next, but I am sure you would have felt better for saying it.”

He gave me a surprised look, tinged with amusement. “Quite so. But may I repeat, Miss Rushton, that this is my responsibility, not yours.”

“You may repeat it as many times as you like,” I assured him. “Only I wish you will leave off calling me ‘Miss Rushton’; it makes me want to look around for Aunt Elizabeth.”

He laughed, which was what I had intended, and spent the remainder of the ride attempting to convince me that he ought to do whatever needed to be done alone. I refused to agree to anything, and ended by telling him to go back to Tarleton Hall and get some sleep before he decided anything at all.

“For even Papa admits that it is impossible to come to a sensible conclusion about anything when one is very tired,” I pointed out.

Eventually I got him to agree. You can, therefore, imagine what a quandary I was in when I returned home to find your letter waiting, with news every bit as bad as James Tarleton seemed to fear. Fortunately, Aunt Elizabeth was going over next week’s menus with the cook, so I was able to slip up to my room to consider.

I thought for quite a long time. I saw that if Sir Hilary had been using the chocolate pot in his spells for four nights running, as James feared, then Thomas might well be in a dreadful state. I also saw that as soon as James discovered this, he would very likely do something foolish. He might decide to break into Bedrick Hall after the chocolate pot, for instance, and if he tried he would certainly be discovered. He has no talent whatever for subterfuge. Unfortunately, I knew I would have to tell him the whole when I saw him next morning. (I was quite certain he would be waiting, and quite apart from the fact that I promised to give him any messages from Thomas, he has a remarkable talent for worming things out of one.) So I determined to do something myself, immediately.

I then went downstairs to find Aunt Elizabeth. I managed to persuade her to pay a morning call on Sir Hilary, to inquire about the proposed party. This was a rather difficult task, because she dislikes wizards so, and calls at Bedrick Hall only when she must, if Sir Hilary is there. I dropped a hint that Mrs. Everslee ought not to have things all her own way, and Aunt Elizabeth was forced to agree.

I wore Georgy’s made-over dress and my blue shawl again with the dreadful Tanistry book in one pocket. It had occurred to me, you see, that if Sir Hilary was using the epicyclical spells, he might well need to refer to the dreadful Tanistry book, and if he did he would certainly discover that it was missing. Returning the book had, therefore, become a matter of some urgency, and I knew that Papa would not be sending his stack back to Bedrick Hall for at least a month. So I took the book with me. I was quite sure that I could come up with some excuse to wander about the house while we were visiting, and I could easily return the book to Sir Hilary’s library while I was looking for the chocolate pot.

Mrs. Everslee was already at Bedrick Hall when we arrived, and to my utter amazement Sir Hilary was once again using Thomas’s chocolate pot with the rest of his tea things. “Ah, Miss Rushton and her admirable aunt,” Sir Hilary said as he rose to greet us. “And have you, too, come to advise me about my party?”

“We will be happy to do so if you wish it, Sir Hilary,” Aunt Elizabeth said stiffly. “I cannot think why you should suppose it the reason for our call, however.”

“Can you not?” he said, and his eyes flickered briefly to Mrs. Everslee, who colored. “Then perhaps we can find something else to discuss. Your family is well, I trust?”

I listened with half an ear while I studied the chocolate pot, trying to decide whether it was the real thing or simply an imitation like the one Miranda used. It seemed to me very foolish for Sir Hilary to use the chocolate pot so openly; then I remembered that Mrs. Everslee had been present when Aunt Elizabeth and I payed our duty call. No doubt Sir Hilary thought she would find it odd if he did not use the same dishes. And, I told myself, he would not worry about any of us seeing it if he thought we knew nothing of its history and use. (Beyond, of course, the obvious use of pouring chocolate.) I decided that it probably
was
Thomas’s chocolate pot, and resolved to take the chance.

Sir Hilary’s smooth voice broke in on my reflections. “You seem fascinated by my chocolate pot, Miss Rushton,” he said. “I do not recall your being so intrigued on your previous visit.”

“It has occurred to me that my cousin would look simply wonderful in that shade of blue, and I am trying to fix it in my mind so that I may match it later,” I said, for that was the first thing that came into my head. I do not know why Sir Hilary has this effect on me lately; I used to be much better at facing him.