David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

Do you love him?

Lucy and Martha exchanged looks. Lucy liked him, certainly, but she was almost entirely confident that she did not love him. Martha took the uncertain look upon Lucy’s face as amusement, and began to laugh, and Lucy laughed too. She did not wish to mock the deaf girl, and tried to stop herself, but to her surprise the girl laughed with them.

I am very jealous , she wrote. It is silly, for he does not love me . She paused for a moment, studying Lucy, her head cocked like a bird’s. I think you are like me .

“What does she mean, Lucy?” asked Martha.

Sophie smiled. Three years ago they came. They showed me the wordless book. Very powerful, but I pretended not to know the good pages from the bad .

Lucy felt a sudden pang of paralyzing fear. These phenomena were unavoidable. These people were ubiquitous. It seemed as though she had been living in a fantastical world her whole life, one that willfully ignored the magic all around. She had been too blind to see it, but now that her eyes were open, it was everywhere.

“Who came to you?” asked Lucy.

A lady, very proud, all in black, as if mourning. A simpering man. A curate .

Lucy put a hand to her mouth. It had been Lady Harriet and Mr. Buckles. It could be no one else, and they too were interested in the Mutus Liber , the book with the false pages. They wanted it for themselves. It could only be that Lady Harriet wanted the power of eternal life. She wanted to become one of those revenants of which Mary had spoken—a broken, inhuman thing. It seemed to Lucy that Lady Harriet was already upon her way.

Martha took her hand. “You look so pale, Lucy. And I cannot understand a word the two of you exchange. This is more curious even than Mr. Blake, if you will forgive me for saying so. What is all this?”

Lucy forced a smile. “Just local lore, too tedious to explain.” She looked at Sophie and gave another easy smile. “Have you been in the house?”

No , said Sophie. When I go, it will be with you .

Martha stepped closer, looking concerned. “Do you want anything? Food? A ride somewhere? We have a coach just at the roadway.”

The girl shook her head. I live close. I am done here . She gathered up her things and wandered into the woods without looking back.

Mr. Blake watched her go and then rubbed his hands together. “What a remarkable day! But now I have a long journey back to London. May I see you ladies off?”

He escorted them back to their coach, and waved kindly as they rode off, as though he were an uncle or an old friend. Several times Martha turned to Lucy to ask questions, but each time she stopped herself. It soon became evident that, whatever she might wish to ask, she was not certain she would want to hear the answer.

20

I T WAS A STRANGE DAY, FULL OF NEW PEOPLE AND NEW INFORMATION, and when she returned to her uncle’s house, Lucy excused herself, claiming fatigue, and retired to her room, determined to be alone until dinner. There was so much to think about. Lady Harriett Dyer and Mr. Buckles had, three years earlier, shown the Mutus Liber to the deaf girl Sophie Hyatt. It was evident they had been searching for someone who could identify the true prints from the false. Did they know that Lucy could do that? Was there a link between Lucy’s natural talent and Mr. Buckles’s theft of her property? Did these new facts somehow explain why Lady Harriett had been so adamant that Lucy marry Mr. Olson?

Much to her own surprise, Lucy found herself feeling jealous that this deaf girl had been shown the pages. Her pages. She wished Mary had lent her the book, because she longed to look at them. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the complex images she’d seen, but they were too elaborate, too elusive to be summoned.

Since his arrival, Lucy had done her best to avoid Mr. Buckles, either by staying out of any room that he might occupy or by directing all of her attention to the baby when he was around. He had, she was now certain, stolen her birthright and her independence, and she hated that she must pretend he had not. But now, it seemed to her even worse. It was not simply that he had stolen from her out of malice and greed. If Lucy’s suspicions were right, Mr. Buckles was involved in a complicated and long-standing conspiracy against her—a conspiracy whose scope and goal was beyond her understanding.

After she and Martha returned from Newstead, Lucy had excused herself by saying she was tired so that she might go to her room and pursue answers in her books. She had found none. She did not even know what she looked for, but she could not bear to do nothing. After several hours, she abandoned the effort and joined the family in a late dinner.

That night, after her sister had retired to bed, Ungston once again informed Lucy that Miss Crawford awaited her in her carriage. Lucy rushed outside, and even in the dark, the lady’s grim expression was evident.

“Mary, is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no,” said her friend. “Please step inside for a moment. I must speak with you.”

Lucy entered the coach and sat next to Mary, hardly knowing what to expect.

The lady turned to her, eyes seeming to glow in the gloom of the coach. “Matters are serious, Lucy. I am afraid I cannot long stay. I have business that I must attend to, and it may be many days before I return. Since I saw you last, grave circumstances have come to my attention, and I must speak to you before I go.”

“I have learned things too,” Lucy blurted out. She wanted to be more patient, to wait to hear Mary’s news, but she could not contain herself. “Mr. Buckles and Lady Harriett have been looking for the Mutus Liber too. Everything is connected, though I don’t know how.”

Mary appeared little surprised by this news. “I know you are frightened, Lucy, but the book has always been important. It is more so now. That is why you must find the scattered pages before our enemies do.”

These words struck Lucy as dire and true. She was supposed to find the missing pages. Now that she heard it, it made perfect sense. She formed the words, though they felt thick and bitter in her mouth. “I must gather the leaves.”

“Yes, that is what you must do.”

A strange calm came over her. It was not as though she understood why these things happened, but at least there was purpose. She must find missing pages of a book. It was a task, and tasks could be accomplished. “And when I have them?”

“Then we will determine what to do together.” She leaned in to hug Lucy. Her skin was icy cold. “I know this is much to ask of you, and I hate that you must do it alone. I will be by your side again as soon as I can, but I am needed elsewhere. You must remember, Lucy, that the Mutus Liber is strongest in the hands of the person to whom it belongs, but … things have become so complicated. And never before has it been more important to trust me.”

She handed Lucy a writing tablet, upon which was set a piece of paper with dense writing on it, too small to read in the dark. Mary then set forth a quill and an ink pot.

“What I must ask you now will sound outlandish, but I beg you to trust me. You must sign this, Lucy.”

“What is it?”

“A will.”

Lucy could not believe what she heard. After everything that had happened with her father’s will, did Mary believe Lucy would sign a will in haste, without reading it?

“In this will you leave everything to your sister, which is I know what you would wish. Everything except any pages of the Mutus Liber that you might find. Those you entrust to me.”