David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

“Then where were you?” Norah demanded. “You must tell me. I shall keep it to myself, I swear it. Only please tell me.”

Lucy swallowed. “If you must know, I was held captive by a fairy.”

Norah turned around in stage disgust.

Lucy left the house as little as she could in the next two days. She did not want to endure the looks, the whispers, the cruelty. Let them think what they wished, she decided, though there was no choice, really. Soon she would return to Nottinghamshire, and she would be marked there as a whore as well. Her uncle would refuse to give her shelter, and then what? She would have to find the means to live on her own. That ought not to be too difficult, she decided. A cunning woman could always find the means to live, surely. It was not the life she would have chosen for herself, but it was the life she had, and it would surely prove better than most. But these were all worries to trouble her mind after she had defeated Lady Harriett.

When Friday came, and it was time for her to depart, Lucy sought out Norah to say her good-byes. Norah, for her part, was cold. Once it became clear that Lucy would not reveal any secrets, Lucy’s worth as a friend had expired. It was one thing if she could provide salacious gossip, but quite another if she was only an outcast slut with nothing to offer the very friend who had brought her the opportunity of becoming an outcast slut.

“I hope,” said Norah by way of farewell, “that you acquit yourself with more dignity in Nottingham than you have done here as my guest.”

“It is my greatest wish to do so,” Lucy said.

She turned and went down the stairs, where she informed the coachman that she was ready to be taken to the inn where she would depart London. The chests had already been loaded, so the serving man gave her a saucy look—one that said he anticipated he knew not what might happen with a young woman of her nature once they were together—and opened the door. Inside, Mrs. Emmett already sat, knitting in her lap. She patted the seat next to her. “This has been quite an adventure,” she said absently.

Then Lucy heard someone call her name.

She turned around, and saw Jonas Morrison walking toward her. His cheeks were flushed, and he was out of breath. “Thank God you are well,” he said in a panting voice. “Of course, I knew you would be. How could you not be? You are Lucy Derrick, and you can do anything. I know that, and yet I worry.”

His manic mode of talking meant nothing. Lucy felt her old anger toward him kindle anew, but even so she was also curious, and she was searching for some respite from her difficulties. Could this man, tricked into believing he loved her, offer what she needed? “Mr. Morrison,” she said in a convincingly cheerful voice, “what has happened?”

“The revolution has begun,” he said. “I bring terrible news of the prime minister, the leader of my order, Spencer Perceval. He has been murdered.”

Lucy was welcomed back into the house only because she was acquainted with a gentleman who brought such shocking news. It was not to be wondered at that a woman such as Miss Derrick would know all sorts of gentlemen, Mr. Gilley observed to his daughter, who returned a smile for his wit. They were now very happy with each other.

“The prime minister has been shot, and he is dead. We know little more than that, but it is suspected that this is the work of the Luddites. Already there is unrest spreading across the city. Anyone of any standing in government is going into hiding now. No one knows who could be next. We fear that this could be the first step toward a bloodbath, much like the revolution in Paris. My people”—and here he looked meaningfully at Lucy, so she would understand he meant the Rosicrucians—“even now do much to calm the people’s mood. I pray it will be enough.”

“Surely there is something to be done,” said Mr. Gilley. “Cannot the Prince Regent or the army beat back the ruffians?”

“Soldiers now patrol the streets, looking to suppress unrest. The murderer himself is in custody, and I am assured that no means will be spared to discover his name and motivation, but until we learn more, I can only advise that you all keep yourselves safe. I presume you have your own conveyance, sir.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Gilley.

“Then you must depart at once and bring your daughter and Miss Derrick back to Nottinghamshire.”

“I shall take my daughter of course. That young woman shall have to find her own way.”

Mr. Morrison stared at him. “I beg your pardon, sir. You would abandon a guest, a helpless young lady , in a time of crisis? Did I mistake you for a gentleman?”

Mr. Gilley rose now. “I beg your pardon, sir, but who are you precisely that I must obey your commands or listen to your insults?”

“My name is Jonas Morrison,” he said with a bow.

Mr. Gilley’s eyes went wide. “Jonas Morrison! Surely not the hero of—”

Mr. Morrison held up his hand. “Sir, your position with the Navy Office may make you privy to certain state secrets, but they are not to be repeated.”

Lucy watched this exchange in wonder. First Mrs. Quince had fled in panic at the mention of Mr. Morrison’s name, and now Mr. Gilley could not conceal his astonishment. Who exactly was this man, and what had he done to evoke these responses? Clearly he was more than a cad who liked to toy with the affections of young ladies, though he was certainly that.

“You are quite right,” conceded Mr. Gilley. “It is … it is just such an honor to meet you. But as you are a man of some import, it behooves me to be direct with you. May I speak to you for a moment in private?”

The two gentlemen went off to a corner for a moment and spoke in quiet tones. They then returned, and Mr. Morrison turned to Lucy. “Miss Derrick, I am sorry to inform you that your host is not nearly the gentleman you thought, and he presumes to judge that which he cannot understand. If your duty required you to travel unexpectedly, even in the company of a scoundrel such as Byron, I applaud your sacrifice. I would never suspect, even for a moment, any improper behavior on your part.” He bowed to her.

Though this expression of confidence was no doubt motivated by the spell she had cast upon him, Lucy could not help but be touched by so unexpected a kindness. “Thank you, sir.”

“Men will excuse anything in a woman if there is the hope of a sufficient reward,” said Mr. Gilley to his daughter.

Norah took her father by his arm. “Let us give them a moment to talk, Papa,” she said, and led her father out of the room.

When they were alone, Lucy turned to Mr. Morrison. “Where have you been? While you were off doing I know not what, I was taken prisoner by Lady Harriett and then Mr. Olson, and I had to fire a pistol upon one of the revenants. That is where I was.” That she had broken into Lady Harriett’s estate and stolen three pages of the Mutus Liber was beside the point; Lucy was angry now, though some part of her knew she had no business being angry with Mr. Morrison. Nevertheless, she wished to be angry with him. He was supposed to love her (again, her role in this was not relevant at the moment), and he had abandoned her to such misery. She was being irrational, but she wished to take shelter in her own irrationality

“Good God!” he cried out, his distress evident. “Lucy, I did not know. I could not have known. But if I had, I would have moved heaven and earth to come to your aid. I have done everything I can for you. You must believe that. And there is nothing in my power that I would not do.”