The Twelfth Enchantment Part 16

"Too drunk, I should think," said Mr. Brummell, coming closer and examining Lucy as though she were a painting at an exhibition. "She is pretty enough, I suppose, but no more. I cannot see why she commands your attention."

Lucy felt as though she had been slapped. She had seen the cruelty of fashionable life in Londona"the barbs and asides and whispers behind fans. Lucy never doubted that fashionable ladies insulted her from a safe distance, but she never dreamed that anyone would speak to her in such a manner to her face.

The moment hung in the air. Perhaps it was only a second or two, but for Lucy time ground to a halt as she struggled to understand how she must respond to this abuse. Should she do nothing and show herself a meek and toothless thing? She wanted to. More than anything she wanted to walk away, but it seemed to her that there would be more than her share of struggles ahead, and she must learn to show courage when the situation called for it, not merely when she had prepared for it.

"If the prince wishes to speak to me in any manner he chooses, it is my duty as his subject to submit," said Lucy. "You, sir, are rude."

Brummell took a step back and put a hand to his mouth in mock horror. "It is like the cobra of India. Pleasing to behold, but deadly in its strike."

"Shut up, George," said Byron.

"Mon dieu!" cried Brummell. "Your Majesty, this upstart just addressed you by your Christian name and told you to shut up. I think it is time to have him dragged away in chains."

The prince laughed and winked at Lucy. "When there is conversation among three men named George, there is never an end to the confusion."

"The confusion ends," observed Byron, "when two have t.i.tles, and one is a commoner."

Brummell touched his fingers to his chest. "The entire world is commoner than I."

The prince laughed again and turned to Lucy. "He is a buffoon, but he amuses me. I am sorry if he injured you with his inappropriate tongue. How shall I punish him?"

Lucy looked at Mr. Brummell long and hard, and thought she saw something there very sad, like a piece of crystala"beautiful and exquisite, but so delicate that it must, in time, shatter. "I believe," she said, "he shall punish himself in due course."

There was an awkward moment of silence among the three. Then Byron turned to Brummell. "If this lady says such a thing to you, then you are a fool to ignore it." To Lucy he said, "It is time to dance."

Before she could object, or perhaps before she could have time to decide if she wished to object, Lucy was upon the dance floor with Byron, lost in a ma.s.sive swirl of expensive clothes and even more expensive perfumes. One could hardly hear the music, fine though it was, over the low hum of conversation, for every couple spoke in low and meaningful tones, and Lucy wondered who around her was planning an illicit a.s.signation. Everyone? Was she? She could hardly think so, and yet here was Byron, and for all the terrible things he had said and done, she enjoyed his company, enjoyed being near him. And she understood all too well that his beauty was, in itself, a kind of magic.

"You have no idea how I've missed you, Lucy," he said to her in a low whisper, almost a growl. "I've thought of you every minute."

Lucy said nothing. Part of her found him revolting, disgusting, vile. Another part, however, saw him as something far greater.

"You are not still angry with me, I hope? You cannot be jealous of that girl at Newstead, as you had already rejected me."

Lucy could only shake her head. That he would say such a thing, imagine that somehow she had come to see his way of life as normal as he did, struck her as amazing. However what would have seemed like madness only weeks beforea"spells and talismans and magical componentsa"was now perfectly normal. Byron's own dissolute life must seem the same to him. And if it did seem normal to him, no more than the way he lived, then did it make him evil? If he saw no harm in what he did, and no one resented him for his actions, was he a bad man or merely a different kind of man?

"That poor girl loves you, you know," Lucy said. "It is not a simple diversion to her. It is everything."

"More women love me than you would suppose, Lucy," he said utterly without pride. If anything, he sounded weary.

"You need not take advantage of them."

"How advantage? Are they not human beings, free to make choices as well as I? Poor deaf Sophie, as you would style her, is not a child. Her deafness has not injured her mind. She is a clever young lady who knows what the world is, how it condemns those who spurn its petty rules, and she made her choice with her eyes open. I made mine, and I say you are in no position to judge. Indeed, you insult Sophie by presuming to know her life better than she does."

Lucy shook her head, half in disbelief and half in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Lord Byron, you are truly an unusual man. You could argue that up is down, and I fear I would believe you ere long."

He laughed. "If Lucy Derrick believes I am unusual, then it must be so. Tell me, what are you doing in London with those awful people? It is one thing to a.s.sociate with your uncle, which you cannot help, but Gilley is the worst sort of climber, and his daughter looks like a wily s.l.u.t."

"I shall, for the moment, refrain from responding to your insults upon my friends. I am here because it is the only way I could get to London, and so have freedom. Or so I thought. I must get to Kent."

"To find whatever book you and Morrison wished to pilfer from my library?"

"What is between you two, if I may ask? Why do you hate him?"

"I hate no man," said Byron, "but I think him an insufferable prig, and he never hesitates to find fault with how I live."

"But that is enough for you to dislike him so?"

"To dislike a man such as he is its own pleasure. But now it is my turn for a question. Why were you with him? Why did you break open my house in search of a book in my library? It obviously matters to you as well as to him."

Lucy wanted to trust him. He was so astonishingly beautiful and, in his own strange way, completely forthright. What offended her most about him was his very truthfulness, and, when looked at from a certain perspective, that could not be offensive at all. "Lord Byron, I can only tell you that it is important to me, but to say more would strain your credulity and cause me to suffer in the relating. I will also say that Mr. Morrison is no friend of mine. I may have deceived him as to my feelings, but it is no more than he deserves."

Byron smiled at this revelation. "I had not thought I could like you better, but I now do. Deceiving Morrison for your own ends indeed. How can I serve you?"

Lucy took a deep breath. "I must get to Lady Harriett's estate, and I do not know how to go about it. I have no one to ask. Excepta"except you. Can I impose on you to inquire how I would find a coach to take the shortest, fastest route to Kent?"

The dance was now over, and Byron led her away from the dance floor toward the periphery, perhaps choosing the spot in the room farthest from Mr. Gilley and his daughter, who were, even now, straining their necks in search of Lucy. Lucy and Byron stood near the wall thick with paintings, and he smiled down upon her.

"I shall do better," he said. "I shall take you to Kent myself."

Lucy felt, all at once, terror and excitement. To go off alone with Byron! Why, it was scandalous, but perhaps no less scandalous than taking a coach by herself to Kent.

"You are truly kind," said Lucy. "I know not if I should accept your generous offer."

"Oh, your virginity is safe with me, Lucy. I will not again declare my feelings, and you need not worry that I will attempt to persuade you into circ.u.mstances that are not to your liking. You have seen for yourself that I need not resort to cruel measures to find solace in this world."

Lucy blushed so deeply she feared she might swoon. No man had ever spoken thus to her, and yet there was something rea.s.suring in it. With Byron there was no dance of pretense and posture and performance. He said what he meant and expressed how he felt. Perhaps that made him the safest companion she could find.

"You can tell no one what you do. I may be fool enough to trust you, but no one would believe such a voyage to be an innocent thing. I cannot sacrifice my reputation."

"Of course, I will tell no one. You will have to manage to explain your absence to your hosts. That is your concern. I can only take you where you wish to go, and do it with all the discretion you desire."

"Then I shall gratefully accept your generous offer," said Lucy, already thinking about how she would conceal this visit from Norah and her family, and thinking that the time would come, very soon, when she would be alone with Byron, with no one to supervise or interfere or object. This notion thrilled her as much as it terrified her.

It was at that moment that Norah arrived, with her parents in tow. They looked slightly winded, and Mrs. Gilley straightened her gown, as though the effort of finding Lucy had tired her. Nevertheless, now that they had found her, they chose to act as though all was well.

"Ah, Miss Derrick," said Mr. Gilley. "Here you are at last. I did not know you would walk off so readily with a stranger." The moment he stopped speaking, his face drew into a tight line, and he gazed upon Byron through narrowed eyes.

Byron bowed at Mr. Gilley. "Hardly strangers, sir," said Byron. "Miss Derrick is my near neighbor in Nottingham, much as you are, and as you and I are acquainted, it is odd that you should think I do not know this lady's family."

"I see," said Mr. Gilley. "I was unaware there was a connection. In any event, Miss Derrick, you alarmed us by disappearing as you did without a word."

Lucy curtsied. "It is merely that the room was so crowded, and we were separated by the crush of people." Feeling herself blush once more, Lucy turned away. She had vanished for a few minutes in a crowded gathering, and already they implied she had behaved inappropriately. What would they suggest when she vanished, for days perhaps, with Byron? The trick, of course, would be arranging things so that no one would find out.

25.

BYRON COULD NOT DEPART FOR TWO DAYS. IT WAS LONGER THAN Lucy wished to wait, but less time than she would have had to wait without his help, and so she did not complain. It seemed to her that her time might be put to good use. Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more she realized she needed these two days to prepare, and so she asked Byron if there was a shop in London that specialized in books upon subjects occult. She had books aplenty, but she hoped to purchase ingredients she could use for her trip to Lady Harriett's estate. She'd spent long hours sewing secret pouches into her frocks, poring through her books, memorizing spells and talismans, imagining every situation and how she might respond.

There was no guarantee she would find useful materials. Any such shop might be run by charlatans or cynics who sold books and trinkets in which they had no belief, seeing their customers as simpletons. If that were the case, Lucy would have lost nothing.

This left Lucy with the question of how to slip away unnoticed, but a few hours of study revealed this to be an easily mastered problem. When Norah and her mother wished to attend tea at the home of a lady of fashiona"yet another wealthy woman with Tory leanings who would pretend not to be condescending while pa.s.sing a stilted hour with strangers for whom she had nothing but contempta"Lucy affected a headache and said she would stay at home. She did not know how long her expedition would take, and she did not know if she could be home before Norah returned, so Lucy concealed her absence with a talisman. She directed Mrs. Emmett to remain behind in the event something went wrong, that she might best concoct a story to explain where Lucy had gone. Next, she directed one of the footmen to find her a hackney coach, which she took to the Strand, and found the shop Byron had mentioned, off the main thoroughfare on Bridge Street. It was a respectable old building, well maintained and orderly, and when she went in she was surprised to see that it looked like any other London bookstore, of which she had visited quite a few since arriving.

A kindly old gentleman in a spotless white ap.r.o.n smiled at her when she walked through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," said Lucy. "What have you for breaking open houses?"

When she had finished her business, the shopkeeper cheerfully wrapped her purchases, and wished her a good day. When Lucy opened the door onto the street, she came face-to-face, much to her surprise, with Spencer Perceval, who had his hand out and was preparing to knock. His handsome face formed an O in surprise, and his slight form took a step backwards.

"Miss Derrick," he said.

"Mr. Perceval," she responded. Then, on a whim, she curtsied, because she did not know how one ought to behave in the presence of the prime minister.

He could not help but smile. "I see my warnings have had little effect."

"I was but looking at some books," said Lucy, who focused all of her will into not looking like a child caught stealing sweets. "Is that now a crime?"

"Your crimes are none of my concern," he told her. "However, I wish to make certain you do not interfere with our affairs. Your visit here has nothing to do with the events we spoke of the other night, does it?"

"Of course not," said Lucy. It never occurred to her not to lie, and it was this facility that made her so good at deception, especially if the man she deceived thought her pretty.

He studied her carefully, ostensibly for signs of dissembling, but Lucy had the feeling he used this examination to look at her because he liked to look at her. Lucy did not think of herself as vain about her appearance, but she knew when a man admired her, and she saw no reason not to use this advantage to keep Mr. Perceval off balance.

"The order cannot tolerate your interference," he told her. "The next time I see you, I hope it is someplace less suspect than this."

"I hope so too," said Lucy. As she walked away, she had the distinct impression she had gotten away with something.

When Lucy returned to Mr. Gilley's town house, Lucy handed her coat and hat to a servant, went to her room to set down her things, and then proceeded to the parlor, where Mrs. Gilley and Norah were playing cards. Lucy sat near them, with her back to the fire, and opened a novel that happened to be sitting there. Both ladies said h.e.l.lo, and neither asked where she had been or how she had pa.s.sed her day. The spell had worked flawlessly.

It did not work forever, however. It would last no more than two sunsets, and so that meant when she climbed into Byron's carriage the next day, she would have to reach Lady Harriet's estate in Kenta"a distance of some fifty milesa"discover what she could there without being detected, and return to London before two days had pa.s.sed. It seemed to her that this should be possiblea"provided nothing went terribly wrong, but there were any number of things that could go wrong, particularly when one traveled such a long stretch of road in such a hurry, and when one was involved in such risky undertakings as breaking open the house of a wealthy and influential lady, and doing so with a notorious rake.

Lucy collected all she might need for charms she might be forced to make or spells she might have to cast. Most of these she put in a small travel bag, but some she secured in a secret pouch she had sewn in the gown she would wear. She meant to keep emergency provisions in that, and perhaps use it to secure from the world what she did not want the world to see.

Mrs. Emmett declared that she would stay behind to cover Lucy's absence. The good woman wept at the prospect of being apart from Lucy for two days, but she also insisted that she could not go, though she would not say why. Lucy wanted her there as a buffer against Byron, but Mrs. Emmett would not be persuaded.

Byron collected her in the predawn hours, somehow looking perfectly rested and impeccably dressed, despite the early hour. Lucy had been full of apprehension, afraid that he would attempt something inappropriate the moment she entered the coach, but though he smiled at her and snuck glances at her in the dim light, his behavior was entirely un.o.bjectionable. After the first hour, Lucy began to relax and feel as at ease as she would if they were in the presence of a chaperone.

After they rode in silence for some time, Lucy explained her time limitations, and Byron merely smiled and told her that he would certainly have her back by the hour she desired. And perhaps he meant it, but it also occurred to Lucy that he would not be particularly troubled if he did not. Perhaps he would determine it to be in his best interest that she did not return in time. Once revealed as the sort of woman who would run off with a rogue for two days, she would have nothing to lose by accepting his scandalous proposals. Lucy would be on her guard.

Their conversation at first centered around trivial things, as though they were but two unremarkable people upon an exceedingly unremarkable journey. They talked of the gathering at Almack's, of some of the people Lucy had met since arriving in town, the sights she had seen, and the plays she hoped yet to see. Byron talked of his forthcoming volume, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, which would be published soon, and how many voices had agreed that it was apt to bring him significant attention. He was buoyant and witty, and pleased with Lucy's company. He was, in short, very much the man whom Lucy found so charming when she first met him in Nottinghamshire and the man she wished he had remained.

"I cannot thank you enough for helping me in this regard," said Lucy.

"I am happy to offer my help," he said. "If only because I willingly sold a book to Lady Harriett that I would have been so much happier to give to you as a gift. And yet you seem reluctant to tell me what book it is and why it is so important."

Lucy sighed. "The affair is complicated, and so unbelievable. Even having seen what you have seen, you would think me mad if I told you the truth. I would think myself mad. I have spoken it aloud only to Mr. Morrison, and it nearly broke my heart to do so."

"You would tell him what you would not tell me?" He sounded more arch than angry.

"Only out of necessity."

"Then I shan't force you," he said. "But you need not fear for my belief. I have also seen many things. The ghost of my dog, Boatswain, haunts my estate at Newstead, and people think me mad when I speak of it, but that makes it no less true. I would add that I am bound to accept anything that comes from your lips as the absolute truth."

It was this ease that prompted her. "I had an older sister whom I loved very much, and she died very young. My other sister, Martha, named her first child for her. I cannot tell you what that child means to me, and now she is gone, replaced with a vile thing, a changeling. I know how it sounds, but I have seen it, even if no one else has. The book I seek will give me the knowledge I need to banish the changeling and return Emily to her mother."

Byron said nothing for several long minutes. "I am sorry that such a book was in my power and that I let it go. I only wish I had known."

"I did not know until recently. Have you ties to Lady Harriett?"

"Her family is old and established," said Byron, "and because of my t.i.tle, I am often in the company of such people."

"Do you think she would give you what we seek as a favor?"

Byron shook his head. "Lady Harriett does not do favors, and I recall she was curiously eager to buy my collection, which is a poor one. I think she must have known what I had. If she truly wants this book for herself, she will never give it over. Do you have a plan that does not require asking politely?"

"Yes," said Lucy. "It involves breaking open the house and stealing the book."

"Oh," said Byron. "I hope it works better than it did at my home."

Lucy smiled at him. "That effort was planned by Mr. Morrison. I shall plan this one, and I a.s.sure you, it will go far better."

They dined that evening at an inn, and who was to know that they were not husband and wife? It was, for Lucy, a wonderful feeling: powerful and anonymous. The eyes of all the ladies in the room were upon Byron in admiration and upon her in envy, and it seemed to her that she knew, if only in the smallest way, what it would feel like to be Lady Byron.

They remained at the inn until past midnight, and Byron drank more wine than Lucy would have thought wise, but she did not believe it her place to advise him on such matters. As he drank, he talked more about his forthcoming volume, which he both praised as brilliant and dismissed as having been effortlessly tossed off in odd moments. He felt sure that the book would secure him eternal fame, just as he felt sure it would make the world despise him.

When the time was right, they drove on, and Lucy watched the dark countryside pa.s.s before her. They were not fara"less than sixteen milesa"from Harrington, where she had grown up, and she knew the road well enough for it to make her melancholy. She was determined not to feel sorry for herself, however. Mr. Buckles had deceived her, and rather than pitying herself for the life she had lost, Lucy was determined to steel herself for revenge. She was not accepting her fate, but striking back, taking control of those who would order the world around her. Lucy liked how this sense of command felt.

They arrived in the vicinity of Mossings, Lady Harriett's estate, but it was not yet late enough to attempt a forced entry, and so they sat in the coach until another hour had pa.s.sed. Byron a.s.sured Lucy that the lady had a reputation for being a woman who went to bed early, and by one in the morning they could be certain that she, her staff, and any guests she might have would be long in their beds. It was only a matter of reaching the library and identifying the book or missing pages, and escaping before they attracted attention. Unfortunately, Byron did not believe he would be of much use in identifying books from his own collection. It seemed to Lucy a rather odd thing for a poet to so little know his own books, but Byron appeared to take a certain pride in his indifference to works that were not his own.

"I've brought a few tools that should help me to find it," said Lucy, "and if I don't know where it is, I will certainly know it when I see it."

"It may be risky to take the time to search the library. The longer we are there, the greater the chance someone will notice that there are lights or will hear the noise we make."

"No one will notice us," said Lucy as she grabbed her bag. "Let us go."

The estate was large, and Lucy felt exposed and conspicuous as they crossed the expansive lawns, thankfully not populated by dogs. They pa.s.sed fountains and gardens and shrubbery, until at last they reached the main house, ma.s.sive and stately, built in the unadorned style that preceded the reign of Oliver Cromwell. All was quiet upon the grounds, and in the dark, the house looked like a lonely mountain, or perhaps a sleeping giant, pa.s.sive and still, but coiled tightly with danger.

They walked around to the servants' entrance, moving slowly, cautious of dogs or any other unwelcome surprises. None came, and they at last reached the door, which was bolted shut. Lucy reached into her bag and removed something dark. Next she withdrew a tinderbox and made a light, which she applied to several candles attached to the object.

"Are you certain you wish to make such a light?" asked Byron.

"Oh, yes," said Lucy, who affected far more confidence than she felt. Here she was, breaking open the house of a dangerous and powerful woman, attempting to commit a crime that could lead to her going to jail, to standing trial, to humiliation beyond anything she could imagine. She swallowed her fear because she had no choice.

Only by quieting herself, as though she prepared to cast a spell, could Lucy keep herself from shaking uncontrollably. She did this for Emily, she told herself. She did it for Martha and her father and she did it for herself.