The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) (32 page)

Mrs. Northe was watching me, likely making clairvoyant notes about my mood, but she said nothing. I noted the dark circles under her eyes, and I wondered if she too had wept the night through. I debated about telling her about Maggie’s spirit, but Jonathon interrupted us before I opened my mouth. Nathaniel and Lavinia were standing close behind him.

“Three o clock?” he asked Mrs. Northe, coming close to kiss me upon the head. She nodded.

“Will you be seeing me off or coming with me?” I asked quietly, trying not to let the desperation I felt edge into my tone.

The idea of taking another trip without him, the idea of being parted as we’d been several times during our ordeals was too much for me to bear at present. Yet I had to allow for him to deal with whatever business he had to arrange and manage. But for my part, I could not leave my father in such an emotional lurch as I had left him. I owed him my return and reassurances of my love.

Jonathon wound his arms around me as he sat next to me on the divan. “New York has captured my heart, because New York’s prettiest, bravest girl has agreed to become my lady. Wherever we can remain furthest from the dark magic, there is where we should be. Though I would be anywhere. Provided I am at your side.”

“So New York?” I asked hopefully. “With seasonal trips to London, of course,” I added.

“A home in Greenwich, New York, to match mine in England. Rosecrest must remain in the Denbury name, and its wing shall be rebuilt, but I can’t bear beginning our life and family there...” He shuddered. “Too haunted.”

I nodded and kissed him my agreement, all my worries fading into excitement for our future.

The steamer trip was pleasant and blessedly uneventful. And very quiet. None of us dared speak much. None dared try to encapsulate what had happened. The scope and depth was too vast to digest, too overwrought and unbelievable, even for those of us who had experienced the Society’s madnesses before. The fact that none of us had been carted away to England’s infamous Bedlam was as impressive as coming out of it alive.

For most of the journey, we sat on the main deck, in a line of reclining chairs, and watched the water. A line of fine funereal clothes one after the other, our deck chair procession afforded us quiet and space from other passengers. The unchanging expanse of water allowed our tired bodies and minds to rest whenever rest claimed us. Otherwise we exchanged fond looks, held hands, and let tears come as they would.

I couldn’t shake the knowledge that Maggie was there with us too, down below in the cargo hold. Her body crossing the great ocean with us. I hoped the great beyond was treating her beautifully. I was grateful Mrs. Northe took the lead on the transfer of her body once we docked in New York, Lavinia stepping up to assist. Those kinds of logistics I simply couldn’t face.

We collectively returned to Mrs. Northe’s home and fell into respective tasks. Our group reverie was broken by the crazed bustle of the city that intruded upon contemplation. Lavinia and Nathaniel went their separate ways, needing to check in with various friends and family members who were nearly hysterical about their disappearances.

I knew my duty at hand was to reach out to Father, but I wanted Mrs. Northe’s advice and protection as I was unsure what sort of anger I might be facing. Jonathon kissed me softly before going off to first open a New York bank account and then talk to a broker about a home. He wanted to keep busy.

I was left alone for a moment in the parlor while Mrs. Northe checked in with her staff about the goings-on during her absence. I took a long, deep breath and tried to stop myself from pacing a hole in her parlor carpeting.

“Keep yourself together, Natalie,” I demanded. “It’s over. It’s all over, and you have to let go or you won’t actually have won...”

My eyes fell upon a letter that the maid had left sitting out at Mrs. Northe’s writing desk. It was in familiar handwriting. It was addressed to her and to me. And the moment I saw it, tears sprang to my eyes.

I found Mrs. Northe midconversation with one of her newer staff. The look on my face had her immediately escorting me by the elbow back to the parlor.

I lifted up the note in a shaking hand. I saw Mrs. Northe swallow hard. We sunk together onto the golden velvet settee, and I opened Margaret Hathorn’s last letter.

Dear Natalie and Aunt Evelyn,

By the time you read this, I am likely dead. Writing that phrase has finally driven home to me the reality of what is about to occur. I can’t say exactly what will happen or how it will. All I know is that I am slated, scheduled, and prophesied to die.

I wish I knew how to prepare for this inevitability. Karen has envisioned it, in two different ways. I have dreamed of it with a sort of surety. Auntie, you’d call it prophecy. And it was very clear, from Karen’s visions and from my own dreams, that I could either be tortured by the Society and used as a sacrificial lamb, or I could try to take down the devil with me.

I was never very brave, you both know that, but I was always curious. Look at me, talking about myself in the past tense already. Perhaps that’s for the best. I do hope you’ll make sure I’m wearing an exquisite dress when I am laid out for mourning. And you’d both better mourn bitterly. If I can, I’ll be watching. I don’t exactly know how much control I’ll have over being a ghost. Haunting you might be terribly fun.

Karen has been giving me laudanum so that I can sleep, as I’ve been having such fits, and I must say the effects are most pleasant. I can understand how so many women of our station are a little too fond of the stuff. It manages to deaden the abject panic that facing death creates in a girl.

Dear, dead Amelia—who I now know for certain was Karen’s lover (ghosts don’t care much about keeping proper secrets. Still, scandal! But the scriptures say judge not so I’d best not be judging before I’ll soon be judged)—has come to visit. Amelia is what you’d call my spirit guide. She promises she’ll be with me when the event happens and will help ease any discomfort, fear, and pain. She’ll help me let go.

There’s a great deal of bloodletting and various violations if the Society is left to kill me. I think, if our plan of holy water does the trick and I take the initiative, the pain will be less. At least, that’s what I fear the most. Pain.

Here I thought I’d fear a season without suitors. A poorly made dress. A betrothal to a hideous old man I hated. Unjust gossip. Being thrown from society—well, I’ve already faced that fear. After dreaming of a bloody, gruesome death night after night, suddenly millinery and couture all seem very faint and somewhat laughable.

What you mustn’t do is blame yourself. I know you will. I can’t know if anything would have been different. We can’t know that. All I know is that something is about to come to a head in England, and I am supposed to be there for it. As part of the grand finale. The Society craves a coming out party, a debutante ball. I would like to make sure it is instead their final curtain call.

I knew what I’d been doing wasn’t right. Now I’ll pay for it. Magic has consequences. Courting evil can’t be undone. But, I confess, it was delicious at first. You know I always did love a good delicious secret, a hint of scandal, something seductive and grand. The demon and the vein-like net of its powers certainly knew that. What an easy fly I was for that web. I’m embarrassed. I’d crave a good old, normal deflowering by a handsome stable boy over all this shame and guilt.

At first I didn’t understand what I was dealing with. I knew I’d gotten in too deep, that I was under the influence of dark magic too far to ever be truly free of it. I let it nearly take my life and that of Natalie. I don’t remember much about that; all of it feels like a terrible, distant dream. Being in Chicago has helped me regain perspective, and I no longer see through such veiled eyes. It was smart of you, Auntie, to send me away from the hazy fog and into clearer skies.

What I had once exoticized and romanticized I now abhor, thanks to Karen and ghostly Amelia’s efforts. They have withheld nothing from me in terms of spiritual realms and gifts. I see now just how backward the Society is from anything useful and fair in the world. An enemy to all things holy, they are the direct inversion of corporeal and spiritual progress.

Amelia promises me I’ll walk with the angels for my sacrifice, lifted up as we send demons to their depths. When you read this, and I hope you both remain alive to pray for my spirit, for you’ll know how it all turned out. Spare fond thoughts for me.

None of us can be exactly sure if a past life will return into a new life, but at least I’ll have done right by this body, in the end, after having done wrong. I hope I return female. I know we don’t have the rights and the votes that you want us to have, Auntie, but think of all the beautiful dresses... ‘That’ll be the hardest thing to leave behind. Maybe God will be very kind and bring me back as landed aristocracy! That’s only fair…

Be well. Live well. Every day, be sure to steer clear of that which dragged me under and which will be the death of me no matter what I do.

With love, prayerfully and sincerely,

Maggie

I looked at Mrs. Northe, and we just watched each other’s tears roll down our faces for a moment before I managed to choke out a few words. “She...did. She visited,” I finally murmured. “Her spirit.”

Before Mrs. Northe could answer, my father was shown in to the parlor. My face went red. I ran to him and threw my arms around him. My head hurt violently from all the crying.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasped. “I’ll never disappear again.”

“I don’t understand it,” Father replied, clutching me tightly. “But your mother came to me and said it had to be done, that you had to go to England and face the enemy. I always trusted her. And I see so much of her in you. And thank God you’re alive for me to see that.”

I pulled back and lifted up my finger to show Father the ring. “Before we saved each other’s life, again, we got engaged! He’s a good man, Jonathon. Please don’t let any of this damage your opinion of him.”

Father smiled weakly. “I don’t really think I have a choice about accepting him into our life. But at least he’s an honest man. A haunted, but honest, man.”

“The haunting is over, Gareth,” Mrs. Northe assured. “Terrible tolls were paid. But the haunting is over. Justice is being served. There’s still mess to clean, but Lord Denbury’s part in all of it, and thusly Natalie’s, has come to a blessed conclusion. And he truly loves your daughter. That is abundantly clear.”

Father breathed a sigh of relief as Mrs. Northe continued. “Now please, Gareth, I insist you stay for dinner.” She turned to me with a sparkle in her weary eyes, her body straightening to fully inhabit the beautiful blue dress she wore. “Finally, that engagement supper I’ve been wanting to throw you!”

We had the loveliest dinner we’d perhaps ever had. Mrs. Northe sent word to Lavinia and Nathaniel, Reverend Blessing too, even the enigmatic Senator Bishop. Everyone was in a festive mood, so glad to have a fine dinner in a lavish setting without fear of demonic arrival and bloodletting between courses.

A huge weight collectively lifted from our shoulders. Maggie’s letter had given both Mrs. Northe and me a much-needed closure and perspective to our grief and guilt. The weekend would bring Maggie’s funeral. In the meantime, there was life to live and love to celebrate. When Jonathon returned to the Northe townhouse to tell me he’d found some lovely options of townhouses and flats for us to consider and warmly greeting my father as if he were greeting his own, I refused to let go of his hand.

Mrs. Northe opened the finest champagnes and toasted to us many times. The bubbles went delightedly to my head. We talked about utterly meaningless things. Senator Bishop told a few scandalous jokes that Reverend Blessing laughed the loudest at.

Not one of us said one word about blood, magic, death, or demons, and I couldn’t have been more delighted.

At one point, having eaten so much rich delicious food and imbibed a bit too much champagne, I laid my head on Jonathon’s shoulder. When I woke up, I was terribly disoriented. I was again in Mrs. Northe’s guest room. My father was asleep in a chair. When I sat up, a ray of sunlight hit me directly on my aching forehead. I woke Father with my subsequent groan.

“It isn’t that I didn’t want to bring you home,” my father rushed to explain as he rubbed his eyes, “and I wasn’t about to leave you here, but Mrs. Northe said the dark magic...”

“Carries traces with it. Yes. We’ll have to slough all of it off, day by day, prayer by prayer,” I murmured. Father fetched me a glass of water, and I downed it eagerly.

“I have to go to work. Will you be all right? Jonathon is out on business again, he wanted me to tell you. Evidently he’s buying you things,” he said with a slight grin.

“I promise I’ll be all right,” I said, rising to throw my arms around him. Smoothing the dinner gown I’d borrowed from Mrs. Northe—I would have to do some shopping to believably be seen in the world as Lady Denbury—I escorted Father down and out the door.

Mrs. Northe was sitting in the parlor in a saffron day gown, smiling at me.

“Champagne,” I said, making a face, rubbing my temple.

“The drug of the angels.” She chuckled. “I bet you slept soundly, though, did you not?”

“Indeed. No dreams. No nightmares. Since I’ve been so vividly living the nightmares, thankfully none have come to collect their tolls for a little while.”