Wyrde and Wicked

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Never given to much in the way of compunction, Theo surprised himself by suffering a degree of guilt over his wilful deception of his cousin.

For deception it had been.

His guilt was not much to discompose him; the merest trifle; but he had lied directly to her face, and that face — smiling and eager, and professing opinions which, in some cases, he shared himself — occasionally rose in his memory.

He was almost tempted to apologise to it, when it did.

The facts were, that Theo was as alive as Gussie could be to the problems posed by the Books. Mrs. Daventry’s currently reposed in his father’s cellars because there had been nothing else to do with it. The thing must be confined, and if Ballantine had not been able to assume responsibility for it, then that duty fell to the Werths.

But that it posed a threat to his family, Theo could not deny.

Worst of all, he was afraid the Books… encouraged one another.

There were further facts he had concealed from Gussie (out of concern for her safety, he told himself, though his irritation with her overpowering enthusiasm might have had something to do with it).

When he had declared he would not, under any circumstances, go anywhere near those Books, that had been a lie from start to finish.

For Theo frequently went near the Books. Every night, in fact. Before he set forth into the darkened grounds of the Towers for his usual nightly predations, he journeyed first into the cellars, taking one of his father’s expensive gas-lamps with him (quite as though the bright and steady light might somehow protect him from those things).

He went first to the stout room in which the Book of Werth was confined, though he did not go inside. He only stood at the door, with his ear to the heavy oak boards, and listened.

Sometimes he heard the violent rattling of a table, as though the Book were thrashing about; a bookish equivalent of stamping around in a fury, he supposed.

And sometimes he heard it whispering. Long strings of dulcet, incomprehensible mutterings, barely audible through the thick door, but chilling enough for all that, for Theo had no difficulty in understanding to whom it spoke.

It spoke to Mrs. Daventry’s curse-book.

The second Book lay imprisoned in a neighbouring cellar-room. Theo had not preferred it that way, but the cellars were not so expansive as all that; only one room had the stout walls and thick door he considered necessary to keep it safely locked away. At first he had cherished some hopes that the damage Lord Maundevyle’s dragon-teeth had done to the thing might have overpowered it forever; that it might, to use a common parlance, be dead. But he had not had the faith to rely upon it, and in this at least he had been proved wise.

For when the Book of Werth whispered its dark mutterings to the curse-book, the curse-book whispered back.

It did not seem to matter what time of night he arrived to listen, either. On one occasion, he had not made his nightly visit until dawn was on the point of breaking. Even then, the whisperings continued.

Either the wretched things waited until he was present to talk to one another, or they were engaged in such lengthy discourse as to require all the night-time hours in which to do it. Only when the sun was up did they at last fall silent.

As soon as he had established these facts beyond the possibility of doubt, Theo had dispatched the news to Mr. Ballantine at Bow Street. And he had received a prompt reply, but it had no power to soothe his disquiet.

What you say is greatly concerning, Mr. Ballantine had written. I wish I had something to tell you, or to do for you, that would prove to be of use, but I find myself powerless. I have not been able to discover anything new about either of the books, nor have I heard of any more such creatures.

If at any time it should be possible for you to discern what they are whispering about, I should be most interested to hear of it.

Theo had tried, and it was an experience he had no wish to repeat. He had gone in to visit the Book of Werth, taking with him his hatchet. Not only had he immediately got into a violent altercation, but he had heard nothing of use, for his arrival had put an end to the whisperings altogether.

He had gone away, victorious but bleeding, and nothing the wiser.

‘It seems that they are no longer inclined to turn quiescent,’ said Theo to his father, a week or two after the conversation with Gussie which has already been related. ‘Presumably each is too much encouraged by the presence of the other to return into dormancy.’

He had answered a summons from Lord Werth, and found him ensconced in his own book-room. The space was small and comfortable, containing only those few volumes Lord Werth particularly prized, and fitted otherwise with a quantity of deep armchairs, bright lamps, and blazing fires.

Lord Werth, positioned before a roaring blaze, but with no book before him, regarded his son in silent thought. Theo read concern in his face. ‘I must own, I wish we did not have to give house-room to that second Book,’ he said.

‘I wish it too, and I should like to wring Lord Felix’s neck,’ said Theo. ‘Were it not for his damned ritual, we would never have known Ballantine, and we would have known nothing of Mrs. Daventry’s Book either.’

‘It would, then, have been someone else’s problem?’ said Lord Werth, with a faint smile.

‘I do not see why it has to be our problem,’ said Theo bluntly. ‘Only it has become so, and we must manage it as best we may.’

‘Quite so.’ Lord Werth fell into an abstraction, staring into the leaping flames. ‘Ballantine has no intention of removing it?’ he finally said.

‘He has said nothing of it. I suppose he could at any time, were it simply a matter of finding a stout room in which to imprison the thing. But no one at Bow Street has any experience of these Books, nor any idea of how to subdue them. I must own, it is nowhere as safe as it is here.’

‘Safe,’ sighed Lord Werth. ‘You know, when I was a boy there were tales of the Book of Werth’s past misdemeanours. I thought them greatly exaggerated. But perhaps they are not; and if they are not, then it has had periods of violence rivalling those of the curse-book.’

‘Honoria declares there was once a Bertha,’ said Theo. ‘And Bertha came a cropper thanks to the Book.’

Lord Werth nodded.

‘You have heard nothing of any other such Books?’ Theo asked, mindful of Gussie’s request.

‘Not a thing.’

Theo took a deep breath. ‘Then I have but one idea as to how to proceed.’

Lord Werth directed a look of enquiry at his son. His face, with one brow slightly raised, and a gleam of resigned amusement in his eye, suggested he was fully aware how little he would like Theo’s idea.

‘It appears the origins of those Books have been forgotten,’ Theo ventured. ‘If we would like to know more of them, then we ought to consult those who came before.’ He paused, and added, ‘Long before.’

Lord Werth was heard to sigh. ‘And I have but just got Lord Felix to stop clambering out of his grave every other morning.’

‘It need not absolutely be Lord Felix?’

‘Who else might you suggest? With all his faults, few are so well acquainted with the family’s history as Felix. Besides, he has already shown signs of a greater familiarity with the Book and its ways than anybody living. He knew to find the ritual within its pages, after all, and he spoke of its tendency to conceal things.’

Theo nodded. ‘Will you consult him, Father? I am persuaded that we cannot ignore the problems these Books present. And what’s more, while I have firmly depressed the idea in Gussie’s presence, I should not be at all surprised if there are more of them somewhere.’

Lord Werth winced. ‘Let us all hope you are wrong.’

Theo’s next errand took him into Lord Maundevyle’s presence, though in this he found himself forestalled.

Gussie sat in his mother’s lavender-bower, charmingly attired in a periwinkle-blue pelisse and a bonnet with matching ribbons. She sat directly by Lord Maundevyle’s head, for he, in his dragon form, lay prone among the bushes. There had grown up a dragon-shaped depression between the withering lavender, where he so often reposed himself.

‘And have you heard from your mother so lately?’ Gussie was saying, blithely unconcerned with the light drizzle of rain falling. ‘I trust she is well.’ This last was said with that look of bright-eyed mischief so common in her; she trusted nothing of the kind, and took an unholy pleasure in her ladyship’s probable discomposure.

‘She informs me she has almost completed the repairs to the house,’ rumbled Lord Maundevyle. ‘The damage I effected with my “clumsy departure” is almost healed.’

‘You are to be felicitated.’ She looked up at Theo and smiled. ‘Did you hear that, Theo? Lord Maundevyle’s mother has been so clever as to find out his hiding-place. And she has not descended upon us in a fury! I believe we, too, are to be felicitated.’

‘It can only be a matter of time,’ said Theo darkly. ‘She’ll be here, with those other two unconscionable brats in her train.’

‘How impolite,’ murmured Gussie. ‘You ought not to describe our guest’s siblings as brats, Theo.’

Theo shrugged his shoulders.

‘Hellions, perhaps,’ she continued. ‘Criminals in the making, bound to be taken up by the constable at any moment. But they must have left the condition of brat behind years ago.’

‘Not in Clarissa’s case,’ said Lord Maundevyle.

‘I concede the point,’ said Gussie.

‘Delightful as these little asides are,’ growled Theo. ‘I came here with something particular to say, if I may have your attention?’

‘Why, certainly!’ Gussie gave him her brightest smile. ‘We have been unimaginably dull without you.’

Theo frowned at her, and turned his attention to the dragon. ‘Lord Maundevyle, I come with an entreaty. It’s to do with those dratted Books.’

‘If you are about to ask me to go in search of Lady Margery, you are behind the fair,’ said his lordship.

Gussie, Theo realised, was positively beaming at him. ‘I have already asked him! And it was a very good notion, was it not?’

‘Quite brilliant,’ Theo said. ‘May I enquire as to whether his lordship is planning to leave anytime this year, or must it wait until after Christmas?’

‘Bravo, Theo!’ Gussie saluted him. ‘A sally worthy of my own tongue.’

Lord Maundevyle hauled himself a little upright, blowing desiccated fronds of lavender over the rain-slick path. ‘And how, pray, do either of you propose I should discover Lady Margery’s whereabouts?’

Gussie made some incomprehensible gesture with her hands. A shooing motion, though with some quirk to it suggestive of mystique. ‘Have you no dragon senses to employ?’

‘Had I any, before?’ said Lord Maundevyle pointedly.

‘No, but you are now so much more comfortable in your dragon-shape, are not you? I quite thought you might have some new ability at your disposal.’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ said his lordship shortly.

‘How lowering.’

‘Though having made her ladyship’s acquaintance, I believe I may have one idea…’ said Lord Maundevyle. ‘I collect the matter is urgent.’

‘I fear it is,’ said Theo.

Gussie gasped. ‘And when you had so determinedly suppressed its importance to me!’

‘Because I knew you would interfere if I did not, but I can see that no words of mine can discourage you from doing so.’

‘I do not see why I should not “interfere”, if you are going to,’ said Gussie, rising from her own seat upon a low stone bench. ‘What’s more, I have another excellent notion.’

Theo, conscious of feelings of foreboding, directed a quelling frown at his cousin. Predictably, this had no effect whatsoever. ‘And what is this notion?’

‘It appears we are thinking along similar lines,’ she said. ‘If nobody living knows anything about the Books, and there are no written records of them to be found, why then we must consult our ancestors.’

‘My father is already going to speak with Lord Felix,’ said Theo quickly. ‘You can leave that one alone.’

She blinked at him in surprise, and possibly horror. ‘No, Theo! We cannot have that ritual conducted again! Not if we were plagued by a hundred Books.’

‘No, no,’ he hastened to say. ‘That isn’t the idea at all, and I am not at all persuaded that it would be of the least use anyway. I merely want to find out what he knows.’

‘Oh! That will be acceptable, of course.’ She made a curtsey to Lord Maundevyle, and turned back toward the house. ‘Good journey, your lordship!’ she called over her shoulder.

Theo made his own, hasty goodbyes, before falling into step beside Gussie. ‘You haven’t told me what the notion is. Quickly, please, before I perish of heart failure.’

‘I am going to my aunt and uncle,’ said Gussie, walking with a brisk pace towards the house. ‘I should like to have their permission to invite Nell for a visit.’

‘She has not visited enough of late?’

‘Honestly, Theo, can you feel affection for nobody?’

‘I have affection enough for your sister, but—’

‘In that case you will be delighted to welcome her back to the Towers,’ said Gussie firmly. ‘Particularly since she can speak to some of the long-dead Werths who lie beyond my uncle’s reach.’

Theo was silent from a mixture of admiration and chagrin.

‘Hah!’ crowed Gussie. ‘You did not think of that, did you?’

Theo did not like to admit how infrequently he thought of Nell in general. She had married young, and left the Towers so long ago as to have fallen quite out of his thoughts. ‘It is a good notion,’ he forced himself to say, though the words of praise near stuck in his throat.

Gussie contented herself with a silent glow of satisfaction, and refrained from gloating further.

Which was most unlike her. ‘Is there anything else you’re planning?’ he said, suspicions aroused.

‘Not immediately.’

‘At some later date?’

‘I will tell you about it,’ Gussie allowed.

‘Thank you.’

‘At some later date.’

A growl escaped Theo’s throat.

Gussie, arrived at the side-door into the house, paused to flash Theo a bright smile. ‘It sounds time for your repast, dear cousin. Do not let hunger get the better of you, pray, or we shall all be in the basket.’

Theo stalked away, leaving her to let herself into the house. Much as it galled him, she was perfectly right; he was famished, and his frustrations would be much better worked out in pursuit of a meal.