David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

Lucy felt her breath catch. Had not her father used nearly the same words to speak of the mills themselves? “But if they are creatures of magic, why should they wish to see magic banished, as you say it must if these mills rise?”

They now stood outside Uncle Lowell’s house.

“I know you must go, and there will be plenty of time to discuss these matters further, though perhaps not tonight.” At this she smiled. “For now, what you must know is that they are indeed creatures of magic, Lucy, but magic alone can unmake them. They fear nothing else, for they cannot be destroyed by any weapon, by any disease or any accident.”

“Then nothing can stop them?”

Mary shook her head. “I heard a story once of one of these creatures that contained itself in an elemental circle—something far more powerful than a magic circle. The nature of the elements is a guarded secret, but once inside, it took its own life as a means of destroying the life of another of its kind. And there are other rumors of powerful elemental magic that can be used against some of them, but these secrets are closed to us.”

“Then what would you have me do?” asked Lucy.

“Continue to read and learn and hope you are ready. Ludd has sought you out, and I believe these revenants will seek you out as well. It is only a matter of time, and I don’t know that you can ever be prepared, but you must try your best. I fear to think what will happen otherwise.”

19

T HE NEXT DAY WAS WARM AND BEAUTIFUL, AND LUCY DID NOT WISH to remain in the house with Mr. Buckles and her uncle. An excursion was just the thing, and she believed she knew the perfect place.

Like many country estates, both the grand and the ancient, Newstead Abbey was open to visitors certain days, particularly when its master was not on the premises. At Newstead, only the grounds were open, as the main building itself was largely in a state of disrepair, unfit for visitors or even, some said, inhabitants. Locals knew that Lord Byron could afford to restore only a minimal number of rooms, and so he kept the building closed to outsiders out of embarrassment and concern for their safety.

Ludd had told her to gather the leaves in Newstead, whatever that meant, but Lucy had no plans to do any leaf gathering. She had no plans to enter the house, only to look around, get a sense of things, to see if she could gain any insight into what Ludd wanted, and perhaps to gain some insight into Byron himself. She had to admit that visiting his estate offered a special thrill. He would not be there, of course, but it was his home, and she liked the idea of seeing it.

Martha was certainly curious about Byron, having heard a heavily redacted, and so somewhat nonsensical, version of his visit to Uncle Lowell’s house. In the end, she understood only that a dashing, perhaps slightly dangerous, baron toyed with the idea of pursuing Lucy, and that was the reason Lucy did not wish to marry Mr. Olson. It was certainly only part of the truth, but it was a story that clearly pleased Martha, so Lucy allowed her sister to believe it.

While she did not anticipate anything unusual might happen, Lucy still preferred to limit the excursion to the two of them, and so she was quite relieved when Mr. Buckles demonstrated no interest in attending. “I have seen Lady Harriett’s estate,” he told Lucy. “I have been a guest there many times, and so have no need to see the estate of some minor baron.”

They packed a basket and hired a coach to take them the ten miles or so to Newstead. The two sisters were so delighted to be alone, truly alone, in each other’s company. Little Emily was with the nurse, and while Martha missed her child, as new mothers are inclined to do, she also relished the luxury of a few hours to herself.

That she also enjoyed being away from her husband was painfully obvious to Lucy, but she would not press this matter. Martha had sacrificed herself because she believed it was the only way to keep her sister from poverty. It had not worked, and now she was shackled to him until one of them was dead. It was too horrible to think of. It was no wonder that Martha loved her little baby to distraction, for Emily must be the only thing in the world to give her pleasure.

Had they not received directions, they would never have found the abbey, for its only indication from the High North Road was a white gate and a small post house. Once through the gate, they traveled for perhaps half a mile through thick woods, some of the last remnants of the long-since destroyed Sherwood Forest. Once the turrets and parapets of the ancient gothic structure began to appear above the trees, Lucy could not help but think how appropriate so imposing a ruin should be housed in a wood that was, itself, a remnant of the past.

Newstead Abbey was massive and imposing and beautiful and in a state of unspeakable disrepair. Walls crumbled, roofs were collapsed. It looked unfit for habitation, and yet, for all that, it was breathtaking. A decayed wall enclosed a wild garden to the north and east. To the west lay a massive lake that sparkled in the sunlight. Lucy had never seen anything so simultaneously magnificent and gloomy.

Martha too appeared momentarily transfixed. After gazing upon the main building with wonder, she took Lucy’s hand. “I think that to be mistress of Newstead might be something.”

Lucy smiled at her sister. “Certainly something I shall never know.”

The grounds were reasonably orderly—and massive—and the two sisters wandered from fountain to pond to topiary to well to crumbling statuary, giggling and pulling each other by the hand as though they were girls again. Some heavy clouds passed before the sun, and the air turned moderately colder. Their cheeks became apple red, and their breath puffed into the air with their laughter. Lucy could not recall a time when she had been happier. She forgot about magic and dark beings and leaf gathering. For this one day, she was determined, she would be but a young lady, thinking young-lady thoughts, visiting with her sister and diverting herself.

They wandered the grounds for two hours, ate their lunch, and walked until they were quite fatigued. They saw no other people and no animals of consequence—the rumors of Byron’s menagerie thus far being unproved, for they saw no bears or wolves or giant tortoises, and certainly not the ghostly dog said by locals to haunt the grounds. Lucy had wanted to gain some sense of what Ludd had meant by sending her to Newstead, but when Martha suggested they return home, Lucy began to feel that the excursion had been a wonderful failure. She had learned nothing. There were no clues or hints or cryptic messages.

As she considered these matters, Lucy noticed a stranger approaching. He was an older man, in his sixties at least, and dressed like a tradesman in plain woolens. He walked with a stick, and wore an expression upon his rounded face of such kindness that it never occurred to Lucy to be cautious. He grew closer, and his grin widened, and when he was close enough he paused and removed his hat.

He bowed to Martha, but then turned his attention to Lucy. “Are you the young lady for whom I am looking?”

“I cannot know,” said Lucy, who suspected that she must be precisely the young lady for whom he was looking, though she hated even to wonder why.

Martha tugged on her arm, perhaps alarmed by something in the man’s appearance, or, more likely, his mode of address. Lucy, however, ignored her sister. She could not know who the man was or what he wanted, but she felt certain she had nothing to fear from him.

“Quite a lot of ghosts upon this estate, do you not think so?” he asked.

“I saw none,” Lucy said.

“Not even the dog?” the old man asked. “He is quite friendly for a dead dog. Ghost dogs are often so quarrelsome, you know. I saw him frolicking by the water. He must enjoy it for now, for his time of enjoyment will come to an end soon, perhaps. So much of it will.”