David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

Lucy had other concerns besides Mr. Olson, and even besides Jonas Morrison. Coming toward her from across the hall was Mrs. Quince, her face red with anger. Lucy made her way toward the door, lest Mrs. Quince grab her and drag her out as though she were a wicked child.

15

M R. OLSON WAS NOT KNOWN TO BE A DRINKING MAN AS A MATTER of habit. He was too concerned with his business to waste time and money upon such foolishness, but after Lucy had humiliated him at the assembly, he was in a state. He hadn’t wanted to go home, but rather the urge had come upon him to walk and walk and walk until he at last wished to settle, and settle he did at the Little John Tavern. There he drank silently and heavily until the publican told him he had to leave that they might both go to sleep. Mr. Olson managed to stumble home, and he fell into a thick slumber upon his bed with his clothes yet upon him. It was not until the next morning when he woke up, feeling a pain in his head at once dull and sharp, that he discovered the terrible truth: During the night, every stocking frame in his mill had been broken.

It was the work of machine breakers. He had no doubt once he saw the damage. If he did have doubts, they would have been put to rest by the message chalked upon his door in a surprisingly neat hand: Sing not songs of old Robin Hood His feats I but little admire I will tell of our own General Ludd Now Hero of Nottinghamshire .

Underneath this bit of doggerel was drawn a circle composed of a string of nonsensical runes, and within the circle was a grid of squares containing Greek letters. But Mr. Olson hardly knew what to make of it, and spoke of it to no one, not out of fear or confusion, merely out of indifference.

It took little time for word of the destruction to spread.

“This is your fault,” Uncle Lowell told Lucy. “Had he not been drinking away sorrows heaped upon him by you, he would have been home to protect what was his.”

“She snubbed him,” added Mrs. Quince. “In public too.” She looked directly at Lucy and smirked. Mrs. Quince knew she had been rude to Mr. Olson, and she also knew Lucy had danced with another man, though she did not know that the other man was Jonas Morrison. While Mrs. Quince might know his name, no one in Nottingham knew Jonas Morrison by sight, or so Lucy hoped.

She felt horrible guilt over what had happened to Mr. Olson’s mill, and yet Lucy could not help but feel elated and excited too. Her spell had worked, and Jonas Morrison, for whatever reason, had confirmed that she was working magic. She did not know what he was doing in Nottingham, and she did not love all his cryptic warnings, and she hated that fate had placed him in her way once again, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that Lucy could cast a spell that worked, and she wanted nothing so much as to finish her breakfast and return to her room to study.

When she left the table, however, Mrs. Quince followed her into the hall. She put a hand on Lucy’s upper arm, but did not squeeze hard. “Who was that man at the assembly?”

Lucy, feeling emboldened by her use of the talisman, decided to play ignorant. “He was handsome, was he not?”

“What was his name?” Mrs. Quince’s already-high voice cracked.

“It does not much matter. I shan’t see him again soon.”

“You danced with a man to whom you had not been introduced?” As the serving woman became angrier, her voice grew lower.

“Oh, we were introduced, but I don’t recollect his name. He was only passing through, so I did not think it worth recollecting.”

Mrs. Quince let go. “You are particularly stupid today.” As though it were an afterthought, she slapped Lucy in the face. It was sharp and stinging, and then cold, and finally hot. Lucy did not move. She did not cry out. She waited for the tears to come, but they did not. There was nothing but a deep and burning anger, and the resolution never again to experience anything like it.

A week after the Nottingham assembly, Lucy was approached by Ungston, who told her that a carriage belonging to a Miss Crawford awaited her. Lucy hardly paused to examine herself in the mirror. She rushed outside, only to find the coach empty. The driver informed her that she would be taken to Miss Crawford’s house anon.

Miss Crawford met her at the front door, and embraced her warmly as though they were old friends. Her cheerful pale face was surrounded by a nimbus of white-blond curls. “My dear Miss Derrick, how I have missed you. I do wish I could have seen you again sooner, but I have been so terribly busy.”

Miss Crawford led her inside and called for the tea things from Mrs. Emmett, who shrieked with delight when she heard that Lucy had arrived. Her eyes widened under her low bonnet, as she hurried into the room, wiping her floury hands on her apron, as eager as a puppy. Lucy had the distinct impression that had her hands not been covered with flour, Mrs. Emmett would have embraced her as her own daughter. Soon she sufficiently recovered herself, collected the tea tray, and set it down, surveying her work like a proud squire upon his dominion.

“You two will have so much to discuss,” said Mrs. Emmett. “I shall leave you to it. Only”—and here she pivoted toward Lucy and smiled as though she might burst with pride—“only let me look upon you a moment, Miss Derrick.”

Lucy felt herself frozen with confusion and embarrassment at this notice. “You are too attentive to me. I do not deserve it.”

“You make me laugh,” said Mrs. Emmett, who then removed herself so, as she said, the two young ladies could speak of their young-lady business.

“Now,” said Miss Crawford as she handed a cup of tea to Lucy, “you must tell me all you have been doing. Have you had any success with that little book I presented to you?”

Lucy told her how she had learned to identify the talismans, and how she had used one upon Mr. Olson to powerful effect. “I did not think I could do it. When Mrs. Quince tried to teach me to read cards, she assured me I was utterly without talent.”

“Mrs. Quince must be a mere dabbler who has no idea of what she sees. Many women with a strong feel for magic have difficulty with divination. If anything, your inability to master the cards is a sign of your native talents. Either she did not recognize what she saw or … or she was testing you.”

“Testing me for what?”

Miss Crawford looked away for a moment and then met Lucy’s eye. “It is an old trick cunning women use to test those they believe may have talent. Nearly anyone can read the cards, so if a person is useless with them, it can mean she has enormous potential.”

“Why would she wish to test me?”

“I don’t know, Lucy, but you cannot trust her.”

“You may be certain that I do not.”

“Good. You must be careful with your trust. You are talented, and so you must attract attention if you are not careful. I fear you will have to learn much, and quickly too. I must call you Lucy. We are such good friends now, and you must call me Mary.”

“I shall love to do so,” said Lucy, whose heart hammered at the proffered intimacy.

Mary smiled in the way of unhappy people. “I told you I am no cunning woman, but I can read the cards a little. I know that changes are coming, and we must be ready to face them. Dark and terrible things, things such as what you saw with Lord Byron and at the mill, but those things are but minor disturbances, harbingers of beings much more dangerous.”

“But what has any of it to do with me?” Lucy asked.