Unnatural Issue (24 page)

Peter blinked. “Good Lord, you’re right. All right, not a black sheep. Well then, we had better work out our mutual history.”

“Very good, m’lord,” Garrick replied, his head half inside the mammoth fireplace as he lit the cast iron stove. “I suggest you are the elder, the product of an impetuous marriage that resulted in early widowhood, and I am the offspring of the second marriage. The impoverished vicar would be an excellent choice. And in that way we can have different surnames. Said parent being an excessively stern father, determined that we follow in his footsteps, even though you were not of his blood. You, being of a more rebellious nature, occupied your youth with woodland studies to the detriment of your books and departed at the age of sixteen to take up a position as under-gamekeeper for Lord Alderscroft, who will be certain to corroborate this ruse. I, on the other hand, took to my books but refused to study anything resembling divinity—but dissembled so that our father was unaware I was not obedient to his wishes. He died, leaving me completely unable to support myself in any way, including tutoring; my friend Charles, however, came to the rescue with this position for you on learning of my desperate plight. You, of course, were glad of the opportunity, since you were unlikely to rise to full gamekeeper for at least ten years, and were completely unable in your current position to support me.”

The sound of applause from the door made them both turn. “My word, Garrick, you should be a writer! That’s both a satisfactory story and one that will be easy enough to bring off.”

Peter had come instantly to his feet, and now made a stiff little bow. “It’ll do, Marster Charles,” he said, already in his gamekeeper persona.

“I should think. It’s quite solid.” Charles turned to Garrick. “So how woolly-headed and timid were you, Garrick?”

“Quite, sir,” Garrick replied without losing his composure a bit.

“Good. Then you were my fag your first year and were more or less under my protection for the two years I had remaining. I had a reputation for protecting the easily overwhelmed by appropriating them before anyone with a cruel streak could.” Charles grinned a little.

“So you did, Charles, so you did.” Peter put the servile manner aside and sprawled in one of the three chairs. “And no one here will know the names of your fags; the only reason I still recall them is because my memory seldom lets go of anything, however trivial. I must say, your mother has done the deed proper here. I expected to be camping rough, and here I find the rustic equivalent of a luxurious hotel!”

“It’s occurred to both of us that this might prove to be a good retreat for a mage with rattled nerves, or one who wouldn’t feel comfortable as a guest up at the Hall but would be at home in a cottage,” Charles replied, taking another chair. “How do you intend to approach the girl?”

“Strawberry season, Master Charles,” Garrick replied, still fiddling with the stove. “And please tell your good mother that her choice of stoves was excellent. I don’t expect to have any trouble with this one at all.”

“I’ll tell her. What the deuce do you mean by strawberry season?” Charles demanded, looking at Garrick’s back as if he thought that the man had gone mad.

“For that, I must defer to Lord Peter,” Garrick said with great dignity. “Regardless of my familiarity with stoves, I am a man of the city at bottom.”

Peter laughed. “And for that, old fellow, I am indebted to my first nanny, who was a bright little country lass and a protégé of my grandmother. She taught me that wild strawberries are infinitely tastier than the ones from the garden, and, furthermore, there are no gardeners guarding them like Cerberus at the gates of Hades. M’mater would have been horrified to know that we would go rompin’ through the fields in the season, and I’d stuff myself until I was sticky. You can lay money on it that every one of your servants who doesn’t think it beneath him—or her—is going to be huntin’ berries in the next few days. I’ve got some choice patches spotted, thanks to some cross-Elemental gossip, and I’ll be waiting for our quarry to either find them herself or be led to them. Or at need, I’ll lead her to them myself.”

“And thus,” said Garrick, straightening up from the stove, “the deed is done.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s clever, but deuced if I can see how you come up with these schemes. I’ll leave you to your supper. I suppose it’s poached,” he added, with cheerful resignation. “Oh, what
are
your names, anyway?”

“Clive Garrick and Peter Devlin,” Peter said instantly. “Devlin is my middle name, and Clive is Garrick’s.”

“Good, easy to remember. Well, on that note, I bid you good night, oh feeder on the bounty of my land.” He stood up and let himself out. Peter chuckled.

“Charles knows me altogether too well,” he said.

Garrick made a slight face. “And is it your fault that fish bit on an empty hook?” he demanded.

“I cannot tell a lie, of course it is,” Peter responded cheerfully. “I’m a Water Master.”

Although the girl did not make an appearance in the first two days, Peter didn’t consider the time a loss. He was busy making himself familiar with the woods; although Water Elementals were not as useful as Earth or Air would have been in helping him find the spots where people set their snares, they were perfectly happy to tell him what those other Elementals were gossiping about. The Earth and Air Elementals had no problem with divulging where snares and traps were and where men lay in wait to take animals and birds with guns. And the Water Elementals were second to none at finding the weir nets and fish traps. Charles had given Peter a rough count of how much poaching was going to be allowed; Peter monitored the snares and traps for a couple of days, estimated the populations of fish and game, and removed about a third of the traps. He didn’t break them or throw them up into a tree as some gamekeepers might. Instead, he piled them all neatly beside one he had
not
removed, as an object lesson. “See, you know better than that,” was the unspoken message. “Don’t be greedy.”

The poachers took the hint, and the number of traps dropped by exactly a third.

Meanwhile, Peter was making discreet inquiries among the Elementals about the girl as well. And the first thing he discovered was that the Earth Elementals were utterly besotted with her.

It was partly the fact of sheer novelty. She was the first person they had encountered in decades who was not from the Branwell lands or the Kerridge bloodline. Earth Elementals were highly territorial and rarely left their patches of ground unless they were driven out by something unpleasant or dangerous. So it was only natural that they wouldn’t have encountered this girl before. And it was natural for them to be very welcoming to an Earth mage new to them. Fire Elementals were arrogant and needed to be wooed, Water were retiring and shy and needed to be reassured, Air flighty and absentminded and needed to be charmed with something interesting, but Earth Elementals could always be counted on to welcome a new magician of their stamp in their lands. The stronger the mage—so long as he or she was of the cooperative and not the coercing kind—the greater the welcome. While Earth Elementals were happy to contribute to the welfare and health of the land, they didn’t have the ability to apply power the way a mortal magician did. The bond of mage and Elemental was always a cooperative one when the magic was used properly.

What was not usual was the degree of warmth with which they responded to her. That could only mean that she, in her turn, was a warmhearted, considerate, and thoughtful steward of her power.

The wild things in particular were entirely enchanted with her. A small gang of fauns even came stomping aggressively up to him as he was patrolling the forest to demand that he not “be a-troubling of her.” For a wild Earth Elemental to approach a Water Master with such a demand was almost unheard of. He was both taken aback and utterly charmed. What a remarkable young woman she must be to have earned such loyalty in such a short time!

Evidently they had gotten wind of the questions he was asking about her. He was able to reassure them that he meant no harm, and they vanished back into the undergrowth apparently satisfied. But he had to wonder—why would they be so perturbed that someone had been asking questions about her?

And—besides his—just what questions were being asked, and by whom? That part—that was potentially very troubling.

Susanne was alone in the dairy and would be for the next several days. Polly had leave to go tend her sister, who had just had a baby a day ago. “If I’d thought tha’ couldn’t manage—” she had begun, before Susanne waved her off.

“Tha’s got leave, and tha’rt takin’ one of tha’ holidays for it. I can manage, and Cook’s promised me little Caro for help,” Susanne had replied. Now, she knew, and she suspected that Polly knew, that Caro hadn’t a bit of magic in her. And for one moment, Polly had looked concerned.

But then her expression cleared, as if she had suddenly thought of something. “Oh, aye, tha’ll have no trouble with Caro, she’s a sturdy bit of a thing. Take care she doesn’t gorge herself on cream, though. She’ll make herself sick.”

“I won’t—I mean, I will,” Susanne had laughed.

Everything had gone well. And she had kept an eye on Caro, who learned very quickly that the new dairymaid was even harder to gull than the old. Now Caro was scrubbing out the milk-pans, while Susanne cleaned the churns—a task that required magic, so far as Susanne was concerned, because the least little bit of old milk or cream or butter in them could easily spoil and turn the entire churn sour the next time you used it.

So Polly—and now Susanne—used a little spell that allowed them to “lift” the offending dribs and drabs to the surface of the water and keep them there. She was concentrating so hard on the task that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.

“Aha,” said a satisfied voice behind her. “Caught thee out, then, didn’ I?”

She whirled. It was Cook, who planted her feet wide and nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know what—” Susanne began, trying to suppress her spell and failing entirely.

“Oh, don’t come all coy with me. That there’s magic,” Cook said, pointing to the churn. “Earth magic. I knowed tha’ could see farther into a millstone than most!” She beamed at Susanne, stilling any fears that she might have somehow broken an unwritten rule. “So, learned a bit did thee?”

Susanne nodded. She was not about to let on just how much she knew.

“’Tis the same with a good three or four of us, an’ the rest know all about us,” Cook told her. “Don’t go hidin’ that light ’neath a bushel. This be a place where we use ev’ry gift the Good Lord give us. We know that there Bible verse ain’t ‘tha’ shalt not suffer a witch t’live,’ it’s ‘tha’ shalt not suffer a
poisoner
t’ live.’ We know what we know, and we knowed it for—well, goin’ back to far beyond when King Alfred burned them cakes.”

Susanne sighed with relief. This sounded just like the things Robin used to tell her, and the Coveners, about the Old Ways and the Old Days.

“There’s things as need more than just one, an’ when that happens, we huddle t’gether an’ fix ’em,” the Cook finished. “I’ll be expectin’ thee t’ join now, eh?”

She swallowed, and nodded. “Yes, Cook,” she said

“Thee needn’t think this’s somethin’ hidden, leastwise not from anyone within the walls. Marsters an’ the Missus all knows, an’ more than knows, they has the power too an’ uses it.” Cook smiled at her little start, but how was Cook to know that this fact hadn’t startled her so much as given her a little shock of happiness? The Kerridges themselves had the magic? So Charles was an Earth mage, too! Oh, that was good! Maybe having magic
would
make a difference in her stature! It meant she just
might
be able to convince him and his parents that she was a very valuable asset indeed. Maybe more than just a “valuable asset.”

Which would mean she might have a chance with Charles.