David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

“Perhaps we can keep her locked away,” said Mr. Whitestone. He put a finger to his cheek. “What?” he asked no one in particular.

“I know what needs doing,” said Lady Harriett, “and I shall do it. Now, off with all of you. I shall meet with you presently.”

The group appeared slightly surprised, but not offended. They exchanged looks. One of the men shrugged, and without further conversation, they drifted out of the room as curiously as they had drifted in.

Lady Harriett, Lucy, and Byron remained silent for some moments afterwards. Lucy wished Byron would speak, but when he did not, she took the burden upon herself, affecting the sort of bravado she wished she possessed. “I am sorry to have intruded upon your menagerie of madmen, but it is time we left.”

“I don’t know that you shall ever leave,” said Lady Harriett. “My late Sir Reginald would not have hesitated to execute justice by his own hand. Perhaps there can be no better way to honor his memory.”

“Come, Lady Harriett,” said Byron who had begun to recover himself. “Let us not make more of this than we ought.”

“You must think me a fool, Byron,” said Lady Harriett. “After all I have done for you, that you abuse me in this manner is unthinkable. I cannot say what I shall do with you or your little slut. For now, you shall have the run of the house, for you can do no harm, but do not think that you can walk out of the building.” She smiled at Lucy. “Perhaps you would care to try.”

Lucy attempted to rise from the sofa, but she could not. There was something clammy on her wrists, on her knees. It felt as though there were hands upon her, countless tiny hands touching her, feeling her flesh in places no one had ever touched her. She could almost see them from the corners of her eyes, the shadowy creatures from the mill, things of darkness and ambiguity. She could not look at them directly, but as she turned away, she saw dozens of wispy fingers tugging upon her skirts. These things, she realized, were Lady Harriett’s creatures, or at the least, hers to command. Fear and nausea shot through Lucy, and she understood at once that she was out of her depth.

“You are nothing, girl,” said Lady Harriett. And now she cried out, but not to Lucy. “Oh, stop it! Hands off the girl until I tell you otherwise or she attempts to escape.”

The shadowy creatures were suddenly gone. Relief washed over Lucy as she realized she could move once more. “Who are you,” said Lucy, “that you can command such things?”

Lady Harriett laughed. “I thought you worth my attention, but it seems you know nothing.”

“I know only of my sister and my niece,” said Lucy, “and what I must do for them.”

“There are millions of sisters and millions of nieces, and their fate is in the balance,” said Lady Harriett. “I care nothing for your family.”

“Though my sister be Mr. Buckles’s wife?” said Lucy.

“Buckles is useful because he is so eager to please. Now, I shall have one of my girls show you to your rooms—or you may share a room if you like. I care not if you play the whore with this man. In the meantime, I shall have to consider what to do with you.”

“If I am not back by tomorrow evening, I shall be missed,” said Lucy.

“Not my concern,” said Lady Harriett. “But you have no need to fear ruin, for I shall summon Mr. Olson. I’ll have Buckles officiate at your wedding, Miss Derrick. You and Mr. Olson shall, at last, be joined.”

Nothing that had happened that night filled Lucy with as much terror as this announcement. With a clergyman to officiate, and one loyal to Lady Harriett and who could be depended upon to swear whatever she demanded, the wedding would be valid.

“Mr. Olson no longer wishes to marry me,” protested Lucy.

“You know as well as I that his opinions may be managed,” said Lady Harriett. “Rejoice, for soon you will be a married woman. May you be as happy as my Sir Reginald made me.”

The servant showed Lucy to a massive room, painted gold, with a gold carpet and gold velvet curtains. The dangers of the evening, combined with the intensity of the color, began to make her head ache. Byron’s room was next to hers, as though Lady Harriett were daring them to behave shockingly, but Lucy had no capacity for mischief of that sort. She had hardly sat on her bed, preparing herself to think of her situation, shielding her eyes from the room’s unrelenting color, when there was a knock upon the door. Lucy rose, feeling like a somnambulist, and opened the door to find Byron standing there, appearing grave, one half of his face bright red.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice heavy with fatigue, “but you must leave the door open.”

He stepped in but closed the door behind him. “I do not know that I wish for anyone to hear what we have to say.”

“I see not what difference it makes.” And yet, Lucy did not rise to open the door again.

“I am sorry things have gone so badly,” he said.

Lucy shook her head, unable to find the words to express her despair.

Byron took a half step forward, but remained some five feet from her. “I swear I shan’t let that marriage take place. You are a resourceful young woman of remarkable ability, and I shall not have you abandon hope. We shall get you out of here, and if it is too late to return undiscovered, what of it? What they say of you means nothing. You decide what it means to be Lucy Derrick.”

“I cannot have this conversation once more,” said Lucy. “It means nothing to you because you have the luxury of it meaning nothing. I must live in the world as a woman, and if I am not returned before that spell expires the situation will be grave indeed.”

Byron’s hands on her shoulders felt hot. Lucy felt herself flush. The blood was now full in her face, and she felt a strange, delicious energy building inside her. She did not know what would happen next, and for the moment she did not care. Perhaps her life was all but ruined with nothing before her but shame and exile. Should she not find pleasure and comfort where she could?

“Should the worst happen,” he said, “and you fail to return on time, then you must burn in the scorn of the world and emerge from it anew, a phoenix reborn, to live by your own law.” He retreated a few steps. When Lucy raised her eyes to look at him, he met her gaze with a smile. “And yet, I do not believe it will come to that.”

She hated that he was so beautiful, that she could not look at him and talk to him without thinking, even for a second, that there was no man to match him. “What is she?” Lucy managed, attempting to master herself. “How can she do what she does? Who were all those strange people who listened to her as though she was their master?”

He shook his head. “It is you who must tell me.”

“I think you know her better than you allow,” she said in an intentionally stern tone. “She takes liberties with you that she would not with a stranger.”

He shrugged. “Lady Harriett acts as she wishes.” He encircled her fingers in his hand, his grip loose and warm.

Lucy pulled her hand away. “What if I cannot stand against her?”

Byron had no answer for this, so instead he kissed her. Their lips met, and she offered no resistance. His fingers gently clenched her shoulder. He pulled her closer until his broad chest pressed against her breasts and she felt the power of his thundering heart. His breath was hot and sweet, and she had never known anything so intoxicating. She wanted him, to possess him, to have him upon her and over her and for him to smother her entirely.

“Yes,” he said. “We shall comfort each other.”