The House On Durrow Street Part 21

"He did study magick. It did not turn out as Earl Rylend hoped; not long before the earl's pa.s.sing, Lord Wilden perished in a fire. We all of us believed it was magick that started the blaze-some spell Wilden had attempted but was unable to control."

Ivy could only be horrified at this knowledge. "His instructor in magick must have been very poor to allow him to attempt something beyond his ability."

"In that you could not be more correct, for Lord Wilden's tutor in magick was none other than Mr. Bennick."

"Mr. Bennick?" Ivy said, astonished anew.

"Yes, Mr. Bennick," Mr. Quent said, and his voice became a growl as he spoke the name. "How Earl Rylend became acquainted with him, I do not know. Perhaps it was through Lord Marsdel. I only met Lord Marsdel on a few occasions, but I knew he had a fondness for famous personages, so perhaps that was what drew him to Mr. Bennick." fondness for famous personages, so perhaps that was what drew him to Mr. Bennick."

Ivy nodded. Though not famous himself, Mr. Bennick was the grandson-though illegitimate-of Slade Vordigan, who was Altania's last great magician. It was historical fact that Vordigan used magick to help defeat the army of the Old Usurper, Bandley Morden, thus saving the nation and preserving the Crown.

Ivy listened with great interest as Mr. Quent described how Earl Rylend had brought Mr. Bennick to Heathcrest to tutor the earl's son, Lord Wilden. For a period of several years, Mr. Bennick was a frequent guest at Heathcrest Hall. Some of his acquaintances also came with him from time to time-men who belonged to the same order of magicians that Mr. Bennick did.

"So that's how you met my father!" Ivy exclaimed, fascinated to learn a bit of the history of the two men in the world she loved most.

He gave the reins a flick. "Yes, Mr. Lockwell came more often than Mr. Bennick's other friends, for which I was glad. Lord Wilden was of an age with me, but Mr. Bennick and his magician friends were several years older. Thus they showed me little interest or regard."

A grimace crossed his face, as if at some unpleasant memory. But it pa.s.sed after a moment.

"Your father, however, was always very kind to me," he went on. "We spent many hours together rambling over the countryside, for he had a great fascination for all the plants to be found there, and for the structure of the rocks that made up the crags and fells. I had learned about these things from my father before he grew ill, and I was more than happy to share this knowledge with Mr. Lockwell as we walked."

These words filled Ivy with a great warmth. "I am so pleased to know that you and my father were so well-acquainted."

Mr. Quent nodded. "I was always grateful for his friendship, at that time and later. After my father pa.s.sed, other than Mr. Lockwell, I suppose I had no real companion at Heathcrest Hall except for-"

He swallowed, as if something had caught in his throat.

"Except for whom?"

"Ashaydea," he said in a gruff tone.

"Ashaydea," Ivy said, repeating the name. It was beautiful, and though unfamiliar was certainly feminine. "Who was she?"

It seemed to take him a long time to speak. "She was the ward of Earl Rylend, a bit younger than Lord Wilden and me. The earl brought her back with him from one of his trips to the Empire. She was an orphan, a child of an Altanian lord and a Murghese woman, and she had witnessed her family perish in a violent fashion. Lady Rylend never...that was, she was not pleased to have a child of foreign parentage in her house. But Earl Rylend had considered her father a close friend, and so Ashaydea stayed at Heathcrest for many years."

Ivy thought of the large family portrait she had seen on the landing of the staircase at Heathcrest. The elder couple in the painting could only have been Earl and Lady Rylend, and the boy between them their son, Lord Wilden. Then there had been the small figure standing apart from the others, her dark dress merging with the shadows on the very edge of the painting.

"Ashaydea," Ivy said again. "I saw her, I think-in the painting on the stairs at Heathcrest. She was as lovely as her name. But what happened to her after the earl and Lady Rylend pa.s.sed away? Where is she now?"

For a long moment he said nothing, then a sigh escaped him. "She is here in Invarel."

This statement puzzled Ivy. If his old companion from Heathcrest was here in the city, why did he not go on occasion to see her?

Only perhaps he did, she realized with a sudden astonishment.

What a sad and pitiful creature, Mr. Quent had said that day at the Citadel, when they glimpsed a woman in black on their way out. The woman's hair and eyes had been dark-just like the girl in the painting on the staircase at Heathcrest Hall.

"Lady Shayde!" Ivy exclaimed. "She is Ashaydea, isn't she?"

"She was," Mr. Quent said, his voice low.

Ivy shook her head, thinking of all she had ever heard of Lady Shayde, the king's famed White Lady-how a look from her was said to freeze the blood and make one confess to any sort of crime. Those could only be exaggerations and old wives' tales, of course. Yet it was a fact that over the years, no one had captured more spies or traitors to the Crown.

"But what happened to her?"

"Mr. Bennick happened to her, that's what," Mr. Quent said, his expression grim. "It was years ago, back when we were at Heathcrest Hall. I do not know the details of it. No one ever will, save the two of them alone. He performed some magick upon her-some ancient and abominable enchantment. It made her into what she is."

Ivy could only stare, shocked by this revelation. She thought of the pretty, dusky-skinned girl in the painting, and of the woman she had seen at the Citadel, whose face was as pale as porcelain. Could magick really be used to alter someone so drastically? Perhaps the stories of her abilities were not mere rumors and superst.i.tion after all....

Despite the warmth of the lumenal, Ivy shivered. "Why would Mr. Bennick do such a thing?"

"Why would Mr. Bennick do anything?"

Ivy sighed. He could only have done it to advance his own power. After all, that had to be the reason he had schemed to use Ivy and Mr. Rafferdy to gain entry to the house on Durrow Street-in hopes that the magicians of his order would give him his magick back. Similarly, he must have thought he could somehow use Lady Shayde to his benefit all those years ago.

"Only he could not keep her under his control, could he?"

Now Mr. Quent laughed. "No, he could not. And if he had known her then as I did, he would not have thought he could. She was never a pet who could be tamed, as Earl Rylend discovered."

A thought occurred to Ivy. "Is Lady Shayde one of the people you've been arguing with at the Citadel?"

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her as he drove. "You are clever indeed, Mrs. Quent. Yes, Lady Shayde and her master, Lord Valhaine, have a different opinion on some matters compared to the inquirers."

"On some matters? You mean concerning how to approach the problem of the Wyrdwood."

He seemed to hesitate. "It is not the Wyrdwood that is the specific item of our disagreements, but rather those who might incite it to rise up."

Witches-so that was the matter they had been arguing over. "But how can she and Lord Valhaine complain?" Ivy said, feeling some indignation on her husband's behalf. "After all, you captured the witch in Torland."

"Yes," he said, gazing forward as he drove. "Yes, we did capture her."

Then what disagreement could there be? Ivy wanted to ask, only at that moment Mr. Quent pulled back on the reins, and the cabriolet came to a halt before The Seventh Swan.

"I must leave you here, dearest," he said. "I fear I must return to the Citadel to have more arguments before I can leave the city tomorrow. Do not worry-I am sure all will be resolved."

Startled, Ivy blinked. So engrossed had she been in the history recounted by Mr. Quent that she had not realized they were already at the inn.

"Of course," she said. "I will not keep you."

He came around to help her from the carriage, and she kissed his bearded cheek.

"When should I expect you tonight?"

"I fear it is best if you do not expect me at all before you retire."

He pressed her hand to his lips. Then he climbed back into the driver's seat, and with a flick of the reins the carriage moved away down the street.

IT WAS DEEP in the night when Ivy awoke to find the other side of the bed still empty.

At first she tried to return to slumber. However, while she had been oblivious to Mr. Quent's absence when she was asleep, now that she was awake she was keenly aware of the largeness of the bed and the quietness of the room. Besides, it was one of those umbrals that was just a little too long to sleep all the way through.

Ivy put on a shawl, lit a candle, and sat at the desk in the corner of the bedchamber. She longed for a bit of company, but she had no doubt Lily had stayed up late reading, and that Rose had wandered about in the middle of the night, and that both would be fast asleep now.

"I will look to you for companionship, Father," she whispered.

With a touch and a thought, she opened the Wyrdwood box. As always, a pleasant shiver pa.s.sed through her as the tendrils unbraided at her beckoning. Not for the first time she found herself wishing she was back at Heathcrest, walking on the moor east of the house, toward the stand of straggled trees behind the stone wall atop the ridge. However, to do so would be gravely perilous. It was best she was here in the city, far away from any stands of Wyrdwood-and from temptation.

She opened the journal, once again fondly reading the inscription her father had written to her on the overleaf. Then she opened it to the middle, to read again the journal entry that had appeared the previous night by means of some enchantment. She wanted to read it again, for she was not sure she had really understood it.

In the entry, her father had described how he had hidden something called Tyberion from the other magicians of his order, and how they had never known about another thing called Arantus, for he had hidden it earlier. But what were Tyberion and Arantus? She could only suppose they were magickal artifacts of some sort, things like the Eye of Ran-Yahgren, that he did not wish the other members of his order to discover.

Only he had told Mr. Bennick of them.

Well, Mr. Bennick was far away in Torland, and whatever the objects were that her father had described, they were no doubt hidden still. She turned through the pages of the journal. objects were that her father had described, they were no doubt hidden still. She turned through the pages of the journal.

And turned, and turned. Soon she turned the last page of the book, but she had not come upon the entry.

"I must have missed it," she murmured with a frown.

This time she started from the back of the journal, going page by page, making certain no two were stuck together. Every page she turned was blank, until she reached the very first page with the inscription to her. There could be but one explanation: whatever enchantment it was that had caused the entry to appear, it had expired.

Ivy pressed a hand to her brow and let out a sound of dismay. How foolish she was! She should have known a magick that could make something appear could cause it to vanish again just as easily. Why had she not thought to write down her father's words? Only she hadn't, and now they were gone-perhaps never to appear again.

So once again, Ivy had been deprived of the comfort of her father's companionship. She sighed, then shut the journal back in the Wyrdwood box. A weight of loneliness pressed down upon her. At the same time, the darkness encroached as the candle wavered in a draft. It was useless; such a singular, feeble light could do nothing to hold back the vast and eternal power of night.

Ivy surrendered, and blew out the flame.

SHE MUST HAVE finally fallen asleep, for when Ivy opened her eyes sunlight streamed into the room. Mr. Quent stood by the window. He wore his riding coat, and his brow was deeply furrowed as he gazed outside.

Ivy sat up in bed. "Is something wrong?"

He turned around, then smiled. "I didn't realize you were awake."

"Were you thinking of slipping away without saying good-bye, then?" she said, affecting an impertinent tone.

"On the contrary," he said, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed, "I was thinking of all the things I might do while you were insensible, Mrs. Quent."

Her cheeks flushed from the heat of the sun, and from an inward warmth. "In such an instance, I would far rather I had my senses about me."

"As would I, my dearest." He brushed back a lock of her hair and pressed his lips against her throat.

She drew a deep breath and pressed a hand against his bearded cheek. "You do not have to leave soon, do you?"

He kissed her several more times, then drew back with a sigh. "The soldiers are already here with the horses. You would see them if you were to look out the window."

"You are not taking a coach?"

"Riding will be quicker. If we go by horse, and change mounts often, we will arrive a lumenal sooner than otherwise."

"Why must you go so quickly? Surely it cannot matter that much if your surveys in the North Country are resumed one day earlier." However, even as she said this, she thought of the grim manner he had gazed out the window, and the warmth fled her. "There has been some news, hasn't there?"

His brown eyes were somber. "I am not going to the North Country to continue the surveys of the Wyrdwood. Rather, I ride for Torland."

"Torland! But why?" She could not help a gasp. "There have not been more Risings, have there?"

"No, there have been no more incidents, for which I am grateful. However, I must go to see the...to see that the work we accomplished there remains in place. We go quickly only because-well, as you know, there are some in the government who do not understand the labors of the inquirers, and we do not wish them to arrive there before us, lest they perform their own investigations and conceive false notions of what was done there."

"Some people," Ivy said, frowning herself. "Like Lady Shayde, you mean."

He did not disagree, and she took that as an affirmation of her guess.

"Do not worry, Mrs. Quent," he said, taking her hand. "It is all merely government rigmarole. Such nonsense only keeps us from work that is of true importance. I am sorry I have to waste my time on it, but that is the way of politics. All the same, there is nothing that need alarm you. I will not return any later than I would have from the northlands."

Ivy was was alarmed, but she did not say it. If there was something she needed to know, and which it was within his power to tell her, then he would do so. Besides, he had more than enough to concern himself with while he was gone; she would not have him worrying about alarmed, but she did not say it. If there was something she needed to know, and which it was within his power to tell her, then he would do so. Besides, he had more than enough to concern himself with while he was gone; she would not have him worrying about her her as well. She did her best to smile for him, and to a.s.sure him that she would be very well. as well. She did her best to smile for him, and to a.s.sure him that she would be very well.

"My dearest," he said, his voice so low she felt as much as heard it. "How much I have asked of you, and continue to ask of you now. Yet you behave as if I have never done you any wrong in your life!"

"Because you never have."

"You can say that even now as I am abandoning you once again?"

"But I am not abandoned! To be sure, I will miss you terribly. However, I have my sisters for company, and Mr. Rafferdy has promised to call on us the lumenal after next with Mr. Garritt."

"Is that so? Well, I am very glad to hear it. I hope Mr. Rafferdy will come often while I am gone. But what of your evenings, when guests are not here and your sisters retire?"

"Well, this this evening I have the party to attend at the house of the viscountess Lady Crayford. Who knows what other fine people I will meet there, and what affairs evening I have the party to attend at the house of the viscountess Lady Crayford. Who knows what other fine people I will meet there, and what affairs they they will invite me to?" She tilted her chin up. "No, I'm sure I will be very pleasantly occupied while you are gone." will invite me to?" She tilted her chin up. "No, I'm sure I will be very pleasantly occupied while you are gone."

"Not too pleasantly, I trust."

But he was grinning, looking like a mischievous Tharosian faun again, and she could not help laughing at her own little play. She threw her arms around him and held him close, so that she could smell the scent of heather that always seemed to linger in his coat. He might leave the moors, but they never left him. Too soon they drew apart, and he kissed her once more. She threw her arms around him and held him close, so that she could smell the scent of heather that always seemed to linger in his coat. He might leave the moors, but they never left him. Too soon they drew apart, and he kissed her once more.

"The men are waiting," he said, then took up his hat and left the room.

IVY THOUGHT THE loneliness she had suffered the umbral before would return after Mr. Quent departed. However, she soon found she was too busy to entertain such feelings.

Just after breakfast, a note came from Mrs. Baydon that she was suffering great anguish over choosing a gown to wear that night, for everything she owned was hideous and not fit to be seen in public. Ivy knew that was hardly the case, for Mrs. Baydon had many pretty gowns. She composed a letter suggesting that Mrs. Baydon wear a particular saffron gown and gave the note to Lawden.

Not an hour later came a despondent reply: that that gown would only make her an object of ridicule. Several more notes were exchanged throughout the morning and afternoon, so that the only thing moving more swiftly than Ivy's pen was the messengers running between Marble Street and Vallant Street. gown would only make her an object of ridicule. Several more notes were exchanged throughout the morning and afternoon, so that the only thing moving more swiftly than Ivy's pen was the messengers running between Marble Street and Vallant Street.

At last Mrs. Baydon was convinced to take the ribbons she liked from a gown she loathed, and move them to a gown she adored except for its awful ribbons. By then, it was time for Ivy to consider her own attire for the night, only to realize she had given it little prior thought.

At once she was nearly in a panic similar to Mrs. Baydon's. She forced herself to take her own advice and, enlisting the help of her sisters, she removed the pretty lace from an outmoded dress and used it to decorate her favorite, if somewhat plain, gown of green.