26 June 1817

Rushton Manor, Essex

Dearest Kate,

Your letter arrived late this morning, and I must say that I am glad that for once the post was a trifle slow. For this morning James was waiting in the woods when I went for my ride, and I am sure that had I had your letter I could not have kept from telling him the whole. (Well, not about Georgy’s shocking behavior, of course. That is nothing to do with James or Thomas. I do not see that you can do much about it, either, except to keep a sharp eye on your remaining jewelry. I am afraid Aunt Charlotte would be far more likely to scold you for looking through Georgy’s jewelry box than to blame Georgy for taking your earrings.)

James looked very tired when I met him, and he greeted me with an abrupt demand to know whether I had any word from you yet.

“No,” I said. “But I’m sure Kate will write as soon as she gets my letter. I should hear something today or tomorrow.”

James shifted restlessly in the saddle. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” I said indignantly. “Kate knows how important it is.”

“Does she?” He sounded as if he were talking to himself, more than to me. “But it may be too late already. Sir Hilary has been at work in his laboratory for four nights running.”

“How do you know what Sir Hilary has been doing?” I asked.

“I’ve been watching Bedrick Hall until past three in the morning every night for the past two weeks,” he said. “And before you begin making comments about my sneaking abilities, may I inform you that I’m quite sure I wasn’t seen.”

“You were quite sure the last time, too,” I pointed out. He had sunk back into gloom again and did not seem to hear me.

“If Sir Hilary has finally found out how to use that damned chocolate pot—,” he said in a dull voice.

“Then we must do something,” I said briskly. It felt like a rather obvious thing to say, but I could not stand hearing James talking in that miserable, half-dead tone. “But not until we are sure that things are as bad as you seem to fear.”

“We are not going to do anything at all,” James said. “This is my responsibility, Miss Rushton, not yours.”

“Oh, stuff!” I said. “Kate is as much my friend as Thomas is yours.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “This is my fault.”

“How is it your fault?” I demanded. “Really, you and that Marquis of Kate’s are quite impossible. How do you expect us to do anything sensible if you won’t tell us what is going on?”

“My dear Miss Rushton,” Mr. Tarleton said with a smile, “I do not think I would ever expect you to do anything sensible.”

“What an odious thing to say!” I commented. “And you still have not explained why you think the Marquis’s condition is your fault.”

“I let Sir Hilary have the chocolate pot,” he said. “If I’d known—but I’m not a wizard, and Thomas didn’t tell me.”

“Then it’s Thomas’s fault for not telling you,” I said firmly.

James shook his head. “Thomas trusted me, and I let him down,” he said in that infuriatingly stubborn tone men use when they are discussing things like cards and politics and the military, which they don’t think females understand.

“Oh, well, if it’s a matter of honor,” I said. “You should have said that to begin with. Not that it has anything to do with deciding what we ought to do next, but I am sure you would have felt better for saying it.”

He gave me a surprised look, tinged with amusement. “Quite so. But may I repeat, Miss Rushton, that this is my responsibility, not yours.”

“You may repeat it as many times as you like,” I assured him. “Only I wish you will leave off calling me ‘Miss Rushton’; it makes me want to look around for Aunt Elizabeth.”

He laughed, which was what I had intended, and spent the remainder of the ride attempting to convince me that he ought to do whatever needed to be done alone. I refused to agree to anything, and ended by telling him to go back to Tarleton Hall and get some sleep before he decided anything at all.

“For even Papa admits that it is impossible to come to a sensible conclusion about anything when one is very tired,” I pointed out.

Eventually I got him to agree. You can, therefore, imagine what a quandary I was in when I returned home to find your letter waiting, with news every bit as bad as James Tarleton seemed to fear. Fortunately, Aunt Elizabeth was going over next week’s menus with the cook, so I was able to slip up to my room to consider.

I thought for quite a long time. I saw that if Sir Hilary had been using the chocolate pot in his spells for four nights running, as James feared, then Thomas might well be in a dreadful state. I also saw that as soon as James discovered this, he would very likely do something foolish. He might decide to break into Bedrick Hall after the chocolate pot, for instance, and if he tried he would certainly be discovered. He has no talent whatever for subterfuge. Unfortunately, I knew I would have to tell him the whole when I saw him next morning. (I was quite certain he would be waiting, and quite apart from the fact that I promised to give him any messages from Thomas, he has a remarkable talent for worming things out of one.) So I determined to do something myself, immediately.

I then went downstairs to find Aunt Elizabeth. I managed to persuade her to pay a morning call on Sir Hilary, to inquire about the proposed party. This was a rather difficult task, because she dislikes wizards so, and calls at Bedrick Hall only when she must, if Sir Hilary is there. I dropped a hint that Mrs. Everslee ought not to have things all her own way, and Aunt Elizabeth was forced to agree.

I wore Georgy’s made-over dress and my blue shawl again with the dreadful Tanistry book in one pocket. It had occurred to me, you see, that if Sir Hilary was using the epicyclical spells, he might well need to refer to the dreadful Tanistry book, and if he did he would certainly discover that it was missing. Returning the book had, therefore, become a matter of some urgency, and I knew that Papa would not be sending his stack back to Bedrick Hall for at least a month. So I took the book with me. I was quite sure that I could come up with some excuse to wander about the house while we were visiting, and I could easily return the book to Sir Hilary’s library while I was looking for the chocolate pot.

Mrs. Everslee was already at Bedrick Hall when we arrived, and to my utter amazement Sir Hilary was once again using Thomas’s chocolate pot with the rest of his tea things. “Ah, Miss Rushton and her admirable aunt,” Sir Hilary said as he rose to greet us. “And have you, too, come to advise me about my party?”

“We will be happy to do so if you wish it, Sir Hilary,” Aunt Elizabeth said stiffly. “I cannot think why you should suppose it the reason for our call, however.”

“Can you not?” he said, and his eyes flickered briefly to Mrs. Everslee, who colored. “Then perhaps we can find something else to discuss. Your family is well, I trust?”

I listened with half an ear while I studied the chocolate pot, trying to decide whether it was the real thing or simply an imitation like the one Miranda used. It seemed to me very foolish for Sir Hilary to use the chocolate pot so openly; then I remembered that Mrs. Everslee had been present when Aunt Elizabeth and I payed our duty call. No doubt Sir Hilary thought she would find it odd if he did not use the same dishes. And, I told myself, he would not worry about any of us seeing it if he thought we knew nothing of its history and use. (Beyond, of course, the obvious use of pouring chocolate.) I decided that it probably was Thomas’s chocolate pot, and resolved to take the chance.

Sir Hilary’s smooth voice broke in on my reflections. “You seem fascinated by my chocolate pot, Miss Rushton,” he said. “I do not recall your being so intrigued on your previous visit.”

“It has occurred to me that my cousin would look simply wonderful in that shade of blue, and I am trying to fix it in my mind so that I may match it later,” I said, for that was the first thing that came into my head. I do not know why Sir Hilary has this effect on me lately; I used to be much better at facing him.

“Your cousin?” he said, and there was an undercurrent to the words that I did not like. “If I remember correctly, her coloring is much like yours. This particular shade of blue would never do for her.”

“You are thinking of Kate,” I said, feeling my mouth go dry. “I was speaking of Georgina.”

“Quite right,” said Sir Hilary. “I was indeed thinking of the elder Miss Talgarth.”

“Dear Kate!” said Mrs. Everslee in sentimental tones. “Do you know she is betrothed, Sir Hilary? And to the Marquis of Schofield!”

“Yes, I saw the announcement in the Gazette some weeks ago,” Sir Hilary replied. His eyes flickered back to me. “Your cousin is to be greatly complimented on her good fortune.”

“I will tell her you have said so, when I see her again,” I said.

Aunt Elizabeth had poured herself a cup of tea, and was just beginning on a second cup for me. “No thank you, please, Aunt Elizabeth,” I said. “I will have chocolate. It was so good the last time we were here,” I added to Sir Hilary as I leaned over and picked up the chocolate pot.

As soon as I touched it, I was quite sure that it was Thomas’s, for I could feel the magic in it sending tingles up my arm. I kept my composure as well as I could and poured half a cup of chocolate very slowly. Then I raised my head and stiffened, as if I had heard something. “Oh, what was that?” I said, looking toward the windows. As I spoke, I started to rise, still clutching the handle of the chocolate pot.

Everyone, including Sir Hilary, looked automatically toward the windows for the briefest fraction of a second. And in that second, Kate, I put my knee under the edge of the tea table and tipped it over. It was rather difficult to manage in a casual fashion, but I believe I succeeded admirably.

“Oh, dear!” I cried, and gave a little jump backward. This, of course, let me knock into the chair, and as I pretended to struggle for balance I threw the chocolate pot (with as much force as I could conveniently manage) down on top of the whole tangle of tea things. For an instant I was afraid it would not break, but it hit the edge of the tea table with a most satisfactory crash and splintered into a thousand pieces, sending chocolate flying everywhere.

I fell on top of the chair, and for a moment everyone was busy sorting things out. Mrs. Everslee fussed, Aunt Elizabeth scolded, and Sir Hilary rang for the servants to clear up the mess. I, of course, was busy scrubbing at the chocolate stains on my gown, spreading them around as much as I could so as to ruin the gown completely, if possible. I was determined that this would be the very last time I would wear this particular make-over of Georgy’s.

Aunt Elizabeth noticed, and changed course in midscold. “Stop that, Cecy, you’re only making doings worse,” she said. “I shall have to get you home at once. How did you come to be so clumsy?”

“I thought I heard something outside,” I answered. “And, indeed, Sir Hilary, I am very sorry.”

I looked at him as I spoke, and went cold all over. Sir Hilary was looking at me with all the affability of a cobra, and when I saw his eyes I was suddenly quite sure that he knew that what I had done was deliberate. I clutched at my reticule, feeling very frightened and small, and it was just then that Aunt Elizabeth tried to wrap my shawl about me to hide the chocolate stains.

“There, Cecy, I think this will—What have you got in your pocket?” she said. “Cecy, you know I have told you not to carry books in your shawl; it spoils the hang, and—” She drew the book out of my pocket as she spoke, before I even realized what was happening. And so I could not stop her from seeing Epicyclical Elaborations of Sorcery on the spine.

Aunt Elizabeth immediately had an absolutely frightening attack of the vapors. When she began to recover herself a little, I braced myself for another, far worse scolding. To my utter amazement, she did not tear into me, as I expected, but began abusing Sir Hilary in the most amazing manner.

“How dare you, sir?” she demanded, shaking the book in Sir Hilary’s face. “How dare you attempt to corrupt my niece? Well, I shall not allow it!”

“Aunt Elizabeth, pray—,” I started, but she cut me off with a wave.

“You be quiet, Miss! I’ll speak with you later.” She looked back to Sir Hilary, and her eyes were positively flashing fire. “I could not keep you from destroying my William with your filthy magic, but this time I will not be alone in my efforts. You may be sure Cecy’s Papa shall know the whole before the day is out.”

“I believe you are seriously overset, Miss Rushton,” Sir Hilary said calmly. He appeared no more put out than was reasonable for a gentleman having an inexplicable scene enacted in his sitting room, but when he looked at me his eyes were even colder than before. By this time, however, I had resigned myself to his realizing that I was involved in Thomas’s affairs, and that I might well have some magical ability of my own, so I was able to meet his glare with tolerable composure.

“Overset!” Aunt Elizabeth raged. “I’ll show you overset!” And she threw the book at Sir Hilary’s head.

Sir Hilary ducked, and the book knocked a bit of plaster out of the wall behind him. Aunt Elizabeth glared at him, then turned to me with magnificent unconcern. “Come, Cecy,” she said in a controlled voice. “It is high time we were going.”

I could not have agreed more. The next half hour was, however, the worst I have ever spent in my entire life. Aunt Elizabeth berated me in low tones for the entire drive home. She appears to labor under the impression that Sir Hilary has been teaching me magic, and that he had provided me willingly with the dreadful Tanistry book. I did not feel able to set her straight, as it would have involved lengthy explanations of Thomas’s business, as well as that of James and Mr. Wrexton. Upon reflection, however, I cannot help but wonder why she was so certain the book was Sir Hilary’s, and what exactly she meant by the accusations she hurled at his head. Who, for instance, was William? And whatever did Sir Hilary do to him?

I shall not, I fear, have much chance to investigate these interesting tidbits. When we arrived home, Aunt Elizabeth stormed up to my room and went through all my things. Naturally, she discovered my charm-bag and my supplies for making others. She confiscated everything, and opened the charm-bag despite my protest that it was only a protective spell. It is just as well, therefore, that I am now confined to my room until further notice. I do not think I would feel at all safe going about in public without the protection of the charm-bag, particularly now that Sir Hilary is aware that I know more than I had let on.

I expect Aunt Elizabeth will write to Aunt Charlotte very soon. I suggest, therefore, that you find a very good hiding place for all the various charm-bags I have sent you, though I suppose you might contrive to pass them off as presents from Thomas. I don’t suppose Aunt Charlotte would find it at all out of the ordinary for a wizard to give such things to his betrothed.

You may also tell Thomas that I apologize very much if he does not like it, but I have smashed his chocolate pot to smithereens. It is unfortunate that it was necessary to do so, but the pot was not doing Thomas any good where it was, and I saw little likelihood of its being recovered. This way, Thomas will have to make himself a new focus, but at least Sir Hilary will not be able to use the chocolate pot against him any longer. (Thomas and James seem to have been determined to get the thing back, instead of being practical, which is just the sort of thing men do when they are being stubborn. You need not tell him I said so, however.)