Faebourne, page 18
It surprised him, yet Odette’s explanation had affected him badly. That fairies existed? Well, all right. With everything he’d witnessed, he could believe that. But that they demanded such tribute just because someone had the ill luck to fall in love outside the bounds of humanity?
Falling in love outside accepted norms was the story of his life.
He was down the path, around the bend, and out of view in a trice. He barely noticed the petals, now gleaming softly in the growing twilight. Romantic, he thought, but the word felt spiteful in his mind. He kicked at some of the petals to see if that would cheer him. It didn’t.
“Fitzbert!” And then more breathlessly, “George!”
The sound of his Christian name struck him like a thrown pebble, the more because of who spoke it. He turned to see Davies hurrying to catch him up.
“You can’t go wandering out here alone,” Davies admonished.
“It’s a clearly marked trail,” said George. “Anyway, if Duncan can manage it, so can I.” He kick some more petals, but his anger continued to simmer.
He could feel Davies’ gaze, intent and perceptive. To escape it, he turned and began to walk again. But Davies fell into step beside him.
“We don’t understand their ways,” Davies said. “Their… culture.”
“Stealing children is a culture now?”
“We don’t have any reason to believe the children are harmed.”
“But the parents must be!” George insisted. “To have to give over a child, not know his or her fate, never see it again!” He stopped and looked at Davies, though the blackening shadows made it difficult to see more than the glint of the valet’s dark eyes and the white of his shirt. “If it had been me and Henry, how could my parents have chosen between us?”
“And yet some parents exile their children quite deliberately,” Davies retorted, “without fairies or anyone else to care for them.”
“You are angry on your mother’s behalf,” said George. “Even though the connection has been reestablished.”
“And you are angry on behalf of a hypothetical that does not touch you at all,” said Davies. “Or is it that you wish to avenge the Milnes?”
“Every generation of that family has been forced to honor a contract they never agreed to!”
“Well, Edward Milne appears perfectly willing to—”
“And if Duncan and Miss Milne marry and have children?”
Davies rocked and took a step back, apparently momentarily stunned. After taking a moment to catch his wits, he said, “Then that is something they must decide between themselves.”
“Will they ever see Edward again?”
“I don’t know!” Davies burst. “It’s not my place to know, nor is it yours. One cannot spend one’s life worrying about things that may or may not happen, or—or—other people’s lives!”
“That’s it, then, is it?” George asked. “You plan to go sit at Montcliffe and never think about anyone else?”
“I haven’t decided what I will do,” Davies told him, “but once again, you are concerned about things which do not impact you. Do you not have enough in your own life to keep you occupied?”
“You are in my life!”
The air of the forest suddenly seemed very quiet around them. George was grateful it had become too dark to clearly see his companion’s face.
“And Duncan,” George added, seeking to cover his indiscretion. “If you go off to Montcliffe and he falls sway to Faebourne…”
“We do not know his intentions,” said Davies. His voice sounded strained, though George supposed he could be imagining it. “But even if he did marry Miss Milne, he would surely take her to Dove Hill.”
“Where I never go.”
“Still on about that, are you?” The thread of amusement in his tone relieved George. “Well, the offer to visit Montcliffe stands. Assuming I do inherit.”
“You would accept the title?”
“A man should know where he comes from,” said Davies, echoing Odette’s earlier words.
“That doesn’t exactly ans—”
“There you are!” Duncan’s voice sounded unnaturally loud on the night air. “We thought you were lost.”
“We’re on the path,” Davies pointed out as Duncan, Edward, and Odette approached. Duncan had brought the cauldron, George noted, though he held it on the opposite side of where Odette walked.
Despite the gloom, Duncan seemed to notice George’s attention. “It is needed for the ritual.”
Irrational and blazing, George’s anger flooded back. “Just what is this ritual? Where is it from? Where is the curse from, for that matter?” He thrust a forefinger at Odette. “You expect us to believe Tabitha Milne had some mystic ability to turn her daughter into a beast? You’ve already said she could not understand Faebourne when it spoke to her!”
But it was Edward who answered. “Books,” he said sadly. “Our library was full of strange, old books. Heirlooms. Mummy became obsessed with them. The spell came from one of those. Eventually Richard packed them all away somewhere because he felt they were making her—her affliction worse. ”
George fancied Odette looked triumphant. She said to him, “I understand you do not approve of my kind or our way of doing things. But take a moment to consider that you yourself know what it is like to be condemned, if not directly then implicitly, and for something over which you exercise no control.”
Duncan frowned at her. “I don’t follow.”
“No,” she agreed, “but he does.”
Duncan turned with what George took to be a questioning look, though in the near dark it was difficult to tell. He ignored it, just as he pretended not to see Davies’ thoughtful frown. Instead, he simply turned again in the direction of Faebourne. “Sooner there, sooner done with all this,” he said and started off at a long stride, leaving the others to follow.
Chapter 37
Though he realized he shouldn’t let George go off alone again, Davies felt rooted to the place where he stood. All he could do was watch George’s retreating form as the shadows swallowed it.
Odette’s voice nearby broke the temporary paralysis. “I think,” she said, “you may also understand my meaning.”
He turned to find her at his shoulder. Despite the fall of night, which left everyone else’s faces partially obscured, she appeared to glow. Only faintly, but enough to make her expression clear. That same knowing, provoking look he’d seen on her before.
“Am I to assume you would choose differently if you could?” he asked her. “That you would not hold the Milnes to this agreement if you had a choice?”
She tilted her head to regard him. “Would you be different if you could choose?”
“There is a difference between enforcing a cruel covenant and choosing to be, say, fey at all to begin with.”
She held his gaze a moment longer before nodding. “The difference between being who you are and being forced into painful arrangements,” she said. Davies fancied he heard a snatch of pianoforte music underscoring her words.
“He’s a very good valet,” Duncan said suddenly. He turned to Davies. “Though of course I understand your choosing another course now that one has been presented to you. I do hope serving me wasn’t so painful an arrangement. You will make a fine addition to the peerage.”
Davies blinked, unable to formulate a response that would put his employer—nay, friend—at ease without compromising the true meaning of his conversation with Odette. “We should not let Fitzbert get too far ahead,” was all he said.
Luckily, George had not kept up the speedy pace with which he’d departed. If anything, he appeared to be tiring by the time Davies caught up, the others not far behind. George glanced at him as he fell into step alongside but did not say anything. The remainder of the walk back to Faebourne occurred in silence save for the shuffle of feet and the sighing of the evening air through the tree branches. A half moon unmasked itself from behind the silhouetted leaves and lent light to the apron of lawn as the house finally came into view. Without a word, Duncan removed the grass slippers and handed them to Odette for her use. Then, by yet another wordless accord, they prompted Edward to the front of their assembly and he led them inside.
“Adelia?” Edward called as they entered through the back veranda and walked to the front entry hall. His thin and somewhat reedy voice bounced back at them. “Richard?”
Adelia appeared in the doorway to the Small Room, Aloysius cradled in her arms. His eyes were open, and he seemed to Davies to be much improved, though he supposed that was little enough. Having been stabbed counted rather as a nadir in one’s day, if not life. Assuming one survived, improvement was not difficult.
Adelia, however, looked the worse—her pale skin yellow and wan, her silvery hair beginning to fall from its pins in lank strings rather than shining waves. Her feverish blue eyes fastened on her brother, but she said nothing.
Edward understood all the same. “He told you.”
“How could you?” Adelia rasped. Her gaze shifted to Odette. “And you. Why have you come back? Why—” she rounded on Duncan, “have you brought her back?”
When Duncan failed to respond except to let his mouth fall open, Davies spoke. “She is needed for the ritual.”
For a moment Adelia only stared at him. Her entire body shook with fury, her pale cheekbones blazed with heat. At last, she commanded, “Then put her in the cauldron! Do not allow this creature to walk free in our home!”
Edward stepped forward, hands up in supplication. “Adelia, please. She’s agreed to help us. To help you.”
“For a price,” George murmured.
Adelia whirled on him next. “At what cost?”
George’s amber eyes shifted in Edward’s direction.
Edward cleared his throat. But instead of explaining, he asked, “Where is Richard?”
“I have not seen him,” said Adelia.
“Did he leave the house last night?” Duncan asked.
She looked at him as if his wits had flown, but before she could answer, Richard’s voice sounded from across the entry: “I did.”
The party turned to see him framed by the open double doors of the Green Room. His arms were crossed, his expression as dour as ever. “I went to fetch the cauldron,” he said, “but the house would not allow me to bring it back.”
“So you put it in the tree,” Duncan said.
Richard did not deny it.
“Why?” Edward asked.
Richard’s eyes slid to where Odette stood. “You tried to kill my tree,” she said.
“I tried to save my family,” Richard told her. “When I found the tree, I knew the old story was true. I thought there might be a way to break the covenant.”
“If the tree no longer existed…” said Duncan.
“Nowhere to leave the babies,” George finished. “You knew about the agreement?” he asked Richard.
“When Mother told me, I thought it was part of her madness,” said Richard. “I saw no reason to repeat it to my siblings. Even if it was true—as it seems it was—it was too late to do anything about it.”
“But the mirror?” Davies asked. “Why break it? Didn’t you know it was needed for the ritual? You knew your sister’s affliction was real enough.”
Richard’s gaze settled on him, somehow cold and hot at once. “The house would not allow me to bring it back, either. I tried to bring back smaller pieces instead, but—” He pursed his lips, seemingly unwilling to admit his full failure.
Ah, thought Davies, he discarded the shards on the path when he could not bring them home.
“Will it work if it’s broken?” Edward asked.
“Your brother’s instincts were correct,” answered Odette. “A mirror functions regardless of the number of pieces it is in; one only requires a shard. In this case, the mirror in question is designed to show one’s true self.” She smiled at Richard in the same knowing way she’d done at Davies before, and he noted she had begun to change again. Her hair had turned red-gold in a shade similar to Edward’s, her eyes a soft brown, her dress jonquil. It seemed that somehow, when she left her home, she could not retain her true shape—she was forced to adopt a guise. Would the fairy mirror show her differently? “This is why it is needed for the ritual,” she went on. She turned to Adelia with an almost apologetic smile. “The mirror will show whether the beast your mother created in you remains. In short, it will show whether the ritual is successful.”
Duncan’s brow furrowed and his mouth thinned. Davies recognized the expression as the one his (soon to be former) employer often wore when faced with an unpleasant task. Duncan Oliver avoided confrontation whenever possible, but he also had a determined streak; he kept his promises and did what he thought right. Davies admired these qualities. He could not have so willingly served anyone less honorable.
“We must gather the items,” Duncan declared.
“The mirror is still here,” said Adelia, indicating the Small Room behind her. She grimaced and drew Aloysius closer to her. “I left the knife in the dining room.”
George strode toward the dining room doors. “I’ll fetch it.”
“I have the cauldron,” Duncan added, holding up the pot still in his hand. He looked to Odette. “You have the blood?”
She nodded and, to Davies’ amazement, withdrew a small glass vial from the inner cuff of her sleeve. Either the glass itself was dark in color, or the contents were—perhaps both. Davies could not distinguish.
“And you are the song,” he said. He looked first at Richard, who had not moved, then to Adelia. “That is everything?”
“Except the book,” said Edward. “Which details the ritual.”
They all turned to Richard then, even as George re-emerged from the dining room with the silver knife gleaming in his fist. Richard only stared back until Adelia asked, “Richard?”
“I do not have it,” he told her.
“You stored it somewhere?” Edward asked. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to—”
“I burned them,” said Richard. “All of them.”
Chapter 38
For a moment it felt as if the room had been robbed of air. George felt positively lightheaded as they stood in the entry, staring at Richard. Finally, Edward asked the question none of them seemed able to catch enough breath to utter: “Why?”
Richard’s countenance grew grimmer—something George had not thought possible. Yet the eldest Milne did not speak.
“When?” Adelia asked, her voice thin and wavering.
Without waiting for Richard to answer, Duncan said, “You mean to say you let us go through all this—” He waved the hand not holding the cauldron. “To no benefit?”
Richard’s face fell then, collapsing into sorrow as he looked to his sister. “I am sorry, Adelia. I did not believe he would succeed.”
“When?” she asked again, stronger than before.
“Years ago,” Richard admitted. “Mother was so fixated. I would sneak them out a few at a time and burn them in the kitchen fireplace.”
“But the list of items…” Edward said.
Adelia turned her wide, blue eyes on him, her expression evincing horror at whatever thought had just struck her. “Have you ever seen it?” When Edward only blinked at her, she added, “The list!”
“Well, no, but…”
Again all heads swiveled toward Richard.
“The list is true,” he insisted. “That much I memorized. Adelia,” he said again, “we were young, and I truly thought Mother had…” He drew in a deep breath. “I did not think the curse was real. The effects, as you recall, only became evident later. I wanted to—to—” He flexed his fists at his sides as he sought the words. George supposed Richard Milne was not particularly articulate by nature, not given much to conversation in the normal course of things. Whatever counted as normal at Faebourne.
Richard forged on. “I wanted to be rid of everything that provoked her malady. I thought by getting rid of the books, they would lose their hold over her and she…” His face twisted with grief. “She would get better.”
“And now your sister cannot get better,” Duncan growled, “because we haven’t the text we need to aid her.”
Easy enough for Duncan to be angry, George thought. Seeing that Richard had more than once shown a lack of faith in Duncan’s abilities, George could somewhat empathize with his friend’s ire. But Richard looked so miserable that George couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “At least he remembered the list,” he offered in weak support.
“Assuming his memory is any better than his judgement,” snapped Duncan.
George recoiled. He had never seen his mild-mannered friend so agitated. He glanced at Davies who likewise frowned in Duncan’s direction.
“Tongue lashing a man over his youthful follies does nothing to solve our present crisis,” Davies said, and George inwardly cheered the would-be lord’s level head. “To the best of our knowledge, we have the necessary items. We know that the mirror will show us the outcome once the ritual is performed. We can reasonably guess that the blood and music are to be combined in the cauldron in some way?” He looked around for affirmation.
“And the knife?” Edward asked.
George, having forgotten he held it, was so startled he nearly dropped it.
No one answered.
“Well, if we don’t know…” Duncan began testily.
Odette cleared her throat in the light, polite way George thought of as peculiar to women hoping to draw attention. Once everyone had turned her way, she said, “I may know.”
“You know the ritual?” Edward asked, his colorful eyes lighting with hope.
“Not specifically,” she answered, “but I know enough about fairy spells in general to guess.”
“And if you guess wrong?” Duncan asked. “You cannot trifle with Miss Milne’s well-being!”
“I think that is a decision Miss Milne must make for herself,” said Davies. “Whether to risk it, that is.”
