The Master of Heathcrest Hall (18 page)

Ivy drew the curtains over the window, then returned to bed.
When it was daylight again, she would proceed to Greenly Circle. She would seek out the dim side lane and the crowded shop with grimy windows and a faded silver eye painted on the sign above the door.

And there, she would pay the toadish Mr. Mundy a visit.

B
Y THE TIME IVY WOKE, the morning was already well under way and passing swiftly.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Ivy said as Mrs. Seenly entered the room with a fresh pitcher of water for the basin.

“Do forgive me, ma’am, but the day caught us all by surprise. The umbral ended with hardly a moment’s notice, and the next thing we knew the sun was leaping into the sky as if something gave it a fright. Nor do I think it will be very long until it departs again. I wouldn’t be surprised if the lumenal was no more than four hours today.”

Ivy realized she had been peevish to be so critical of Mrs. Seenly. The housekeeper’s silver-and-copper hair was not drawn into as neat a knot as usual, and she had spoken rather breathlessly. No doubt she had been rushing as quickly as possible to ready the household for the day. Not that it seemed worth it. Four hours! Ivy could not recall there ever being a lumenal of such a short duration. At this rate it would practically be afternoon by the time they finished breakfast. Which meant, unfortunately, there was no possibility that she could go to Mr. Mundy’s shop.

It was not that she thought the shop would be closed once the sun set. With the lumenal being so brief, most businesses in the city would have little choice but to light lamps and candles and continue conducting commerce. Yet Greenly Circle, where the shop was located, was a less than reputable part of the Old City. While it was not completely untoward for her to visit there during daylight hours, especially if Lawden drove her, being there after nightfall was not something she would consider. Propriety aside, it could not be deemed safe for a woman of any means to be in
such a place after darkness fell, even in the company of a manservant, given the number of desperate people who had entered the city of late.

All this meant there was no point in hurrying now. She would simply have to hope the umbral was as short as the lumenal, so that she might get to Mr. Mundy’s shop as soon as possible.

She smiled at Mrs. Seenly to let the housekeeper know she was in no way upset. “I fear I am a bit out of sorts to discover I had woken up not early but late. I’m sure tea will help matters.”

Mrs. Seenly appeared greatly relieved. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll have it waiting for you downstairs.”

Ivy poured water in the basin to freshen her face, then proceeded to ready herself for the day—and night—to come. As she was not going out, she gave her hair only the most perfunctory brushing, then put on a high-waisted dress of pale yellow lawn that was more notable for being comfortable than either fashionable or flattering.

For a moment she paused, examining herself in the mirror. Her figure was as small and slight as ever. Ivy laid a hand upon her stomach, but there was not the least amount of swelling, and nor would there be, at least not for now. She suffered a sharp pang, but it had nothing to do with any physical malady. Dr. Lawrent had pronounced her completely recovered. And while illness might afflict the spirit or mind even as it did the body, Ivy could not claim she was really unwell.

True, she still felt a lingering sorrow, but that could only be expected after what had happened. And there were moments when a dread gripped her as she considered the news she would have to tell Mr. Quent upon his return. But the feeling of foreboding—the sensation of some awful, imminent thing—had not returned since her condition had changed. She had not even had the peculiarly vivid dream again, the one in which she collected shells on the beach, or hid with other people in a cave.

Indeed, with all that had happened, she had all but forgotten about the dream until that moment. It had been especially clear
that last time. But now, with the light of morning pouring through the window, it was hard to recollect such ephemeral visions, and presently she began to suffer a keen craving for tea. Given the oddness of the umbrals and lumenals of late, she could hardly remember when she had taken any last. She made only the most cursory effort to thrust a few pins in her hair to keep it out of her face, then departed her bedchamber and went downstairs.

She crossed the large expanse of the front hall, making for the small dining room off the east end. When Mr. Quent was away, the sisters had a habit of taking breakfast and tea in the parlor, but as they still had Dr. Lawrent in the house, that would not do.

Yet as Ivy passed near the door to the parlor, she heard the sound of a voice speaking within. Had Mrs. Seenly, in her haste at the sudden morning, forgotten about Dr. Lawrent and defaulted to the habit of bringing tea to the parlor?

Ivy approached the parlor door, which stood ajar. By the sound, it was Rose who was speaking. Ivy could not make out what her sister was saying, but she seemed to be uncharacteristically loquacious, chattering away in a light tone. It was hardly usual for Rose to speak so with anyone outside their family, but Ivy had a difficult time believing Lily was already up and dressed. Had Rose finally grown accustomed to Dr. Lawrent and engaged him in conversation? Thinking this must be the case, Ivy opened the door and entered the parlor.

Rose turned away from the fireplace. There was, Ivy saw, no one else in the room, not even Miss Mew.

“Hello, Ivy,” Rose said cheerfully, moving to embrace her elder sister.

Ivy could only smile and return the embrace. Rose’s affections were like a bouquet of flowers; one could only be delighted to receive them, even if one did not know exactly what occasion they were for.

“Good morning, dearest,” Ivy said as they parted. “You are in very good spirits today.”

“I’m just glad we’re all of us here together, at last.”

As so often was the case, Ivy didn’t quite know what to make of Rose’s words. After all, they had dwelled in the house for well over half a year now. Besides, Mr. Quent was not home at present.

Despite her puzzlement, Ivy only said, “I am glad we are here as well.”

Rose smiled, then moved back to the fireplace. On the mantelpiece, one of the carved eyes rolled in its socket to peer at her for a moment, then at Ivy. As if satisfied by what it saw, its wooden lid drooped shut.

“Were you reading aloud from something?” Ivy asked.

Rose shook her head, running a hand along the mantelpiece. “No, I wasn’t reading anything.”

“It’s just that I heard you speaking a moment ago, when I was out in the hall. I thought you were talking to someone, but there’s no one else here.”

Rose appeared suddenly startled. She took a quick step away from the fireplace and clasped her hands together. This behavior renewed Ivy’s puzzlement.

“I didn’t mean to pry, Rose. If you were simply speaking to yourself, there is hardly anything wrong with that. I do the same very often!”

“But I wasn’t talking to myself,” Rose said, looking up.

Now Ivy felt a growing sense of alarm. Her eyes went to the window, but she could see nothing through the screen of wisteria that covered the glass panes. Despite her sudden concern, she kept her voice light. “Then who were you speaking to, dearest?”

Rose hesitated. “I don’t think you would believe me.”

Ivy did not always understand her next youngest sister, but to deliberately tell a mistruth was not a capability that Rose possessed. And while Ivy did not want to press, a worry had begun to grow in her: a fear that the man in black had appeared to Rose.

“Of course I would believe you,” Ivy said seriously.

Rose bit her lower lip. “I was speaking to Father,” she said at last.

Her voice was so soft that Ivy wasn’t quite certain she had heard correctly. “To
our
father, you mean?”

Rose nodded.

Ivy moved to her. “But there is nothing wrong with that. I often speak to him myself as I go about the house or put away books.”

Rose’s eyes went wide. “You do? And he answers you, too?”

“Answers me?” Ivy could not help a small sigh. “No, of course he does not answer. How can he when he is not here?”

Rose shook her head. “But that’s not true. He
is
here.” She laid a hand upon the mantelpiece.

Now Ivy’s concern was of a different sort. She kept her voice gentle, but made it somewhat stern as well. “Rose, you know that is not the case. Our father is at Madstone’s, where he is receiving treatments for his illness. If it gives you comfort to speak aloud to him, and to think of him answering you, that is very well. But you know it isn’t right to speak about things that you imagine as if they are fact.”

“But it’s not imagined!” Rose said, her voice rising and her agitation evident. “I had forgotten how bright and blue he used to be before he got ill—just like Mr. Rafferdy, only softer and a bit more silvery around the edges. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Father like that, but I see that same blue light there now.” She pointed at the mantelpiece. “And I’ve seen it by the stairs, and in the library, and in a dozen other places. Father isn’t at Madstone’s at all. He’s here right now—here in this house.”

Ivy was at a loss for words. It was not the first time she had heard Rose mention seeing a color around someone. She had always thought it to be one of Rose’s peculiarities, that she liked to assign colors to people and things she cared for. But what if that wasn’t the case? Now that Ivy considered it, there was a pattern to Rose’s statements. She had said their father and Mr. Rafferdy were both blue—and both were magicians. And the night of Ivy’s loss, Rose had said Ivy’s color had changed, and that the spark of gold within the green had vanished. She had been right, hadn’t she? Ivy had indeed lost the spark of life that had been growing in her.

Before Ivy could consider the matter further, Mrs. Seenly appeared in the door of the parlor.

“What is it?” Ivy said, startled, for the housekeeper was red-cheeked and appeared to have arrived in a great hurry.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but I knew you’d want to be told at once that he is come.”

“You mean Dr. Lawrent has come down for breakfast?”

Mrs. Seenly shook her head. “No, ma’am, I mean the master—he has returned from his trip. I just saw him myself!”

In an instant, all other thoughts fled from Ivy’s mind. A feeling passed through her, one so severe that she suffered it almost as a kind of pain, though she knew it was joy.

“Where is he?”

“I saw him out in the front garden. He had just come through the gate and was speaking to Dr. Lawrent, who had gone out for a stroll before breakfast.”

“I’ll go to him at once. Please set another place at the table, Mrs. Seenly. He is bound to be hungry and weary after traveling through the night.”

As Ivy returned to the front hall, her heartbeat quickened. For a half month, she had wanted nothing more than to have Mr. Quent back. But now that he was here, she almost found she could not bear to face him. What would he think of her? She placed a hand on her stomach, then willed herself to look out a window.

Mr. Quent was indeed in the front garden, speaking with Dr. Lawrent. Both men wore somber expressions, and she supposed she could guess what news was passing between them.

Ivy sighed. She could only be relieved that she would not have to be the one to tell him what had occurred; she was not certain she would have been able to form the words herself. Yet that did not mean it would be an easy thing to come before him. Slowly, as if each step were taken through a thick mire, she moved to the door and went outside.

Mr. Quent saw her before she had passed the pair of stone lions that flanked the front steps, and he went to her at once. His riding coat and boots were thick with dust, and his curly brown hair was tousled. He looked like some wild being just emerged from the
moors; and with his deep chest and the thicket of a beard, Ivy could only think that when the soldiers of the Tharosian empire first landed on the shores of Altania, it was men like this they found waiting for them, bronze swords in their hands.

Yet his demeanor was anything but warlike. Perhaps aware of Dr. Lawrent’s presence, Mr. Quent did not enfold her in his arms in an embrace. But he took her hand, kissing it, and when he looked up his brown eyes gazed upon her with an expression as intimate as any caress.

“I should have been here sooner,” he said, his voice so low she felt it rumble within her. It was a comforting sensation.

“You are here now,” she said, holding his hand tightly, and then found herself unable to speak anything more.

“I believe I’ll go indoors now,” Dr. Lawrent said, ascending the front steps. “But it’s very fine out. The two of you may wish to stay outside and enjoy the morning while you can, for it looks to be going swiftly.” His gray eyes were thoughtful behind his spectacles.

Ivy gave the small silver-haired man a grateful smile, and Mr. Quent shook his hand.

“Thank you again, Dr. Lawrent.”

“Of course, of course,” the doctor said, and went into the house.

“The doctor is right,” Mr. Quent said when they were alone. “I think we should stay out awhile.”

He offered her his arm, and she wrapped her own around it tightly, as if she could borrow some of its great reserves of strength for her own. They walked through the garden, not speaking for the moment, content to simply be in each other’s company again. But presently the compulsion to speak overwhelmed Ivy’s trepidation.

“Forgive me,” she gasped as they stepped beneath the arching limbs of a plane tree.

He disengaged her arm from his and turned to face her. “Forgive you, Ivoleyn? And for what awful deed should I forgive you? For bringing light into my life when I had heretofore dwelled in
shadows? For giving me a reason to return home each time that I go away? Or is it for helping me remember how to laugh and breathe and feel the racing of my heart like a living man rather than a being of clay?” He laid his hands upon her shoulders. “Are these the things that I should forgive you for?”