Mercedes Lackey - The Gates of Sleep

Thomas winced. “Don’t even think about that, or she might pick the idea up,” he cautioned, and sucked on his lower lip. “We’ve got a problem, though. We can’t teach her any more. She needs a real Water Master now, and I think she’s beginning to realize that. She’s restless; she’s bored with the exercises I’ve set her. She might not give a hang about the Roeswood name, fortune, or estate, but she’s going to become increasingly unhappy when she realizes she needs more teaching in her Power and we can’t give it to her.”

Sebastian and Margherita exchanged a long look of consternation; they hadn’t thought of that. Of all the precautions they had taken, all the things they had thought they would have to provide for, Marina’s tutoring in magic had not been factored into the equation.

“Is she going to be that powerful?” Sebastian asked, dumbfounded.

“What if I told you that every time she goes out to the orchard she’s reading poetry to Undines?” Thomas asked.

That took even Margherita by surprise. Sebastian blanched. Small wonder. When Elementals simply appeared to socialize with an Elemental mage, it meant that the magician in question either was very, very powerful, powerful enough that the Elementals wanted to forge friendships with her, or that she would be that powerful, making it all the more important to the Elementals that they forge those friendships before she realized her power. One didn’t coerce or compel one’s friends… it just wasn’t done.

“Oh, there is more to it than that,” Thomas went on. “I’ve caught Sylphs in her audiences as well. I can only thank God that she hasn’t noticed very often, or she’d start to wonder just what she could do with them if she asked.”

So the Air Elementals were aware of her potential power too. The Alliance granted her by Roderick did go both ways…

Thomas was right; they couldn’t leave her at loose ends. If she began trying things on her own, they might as well take her to London and put her on top of Nelson’s column with a banner unrolling at her feet, spelling out her name for all—for Arachne—to see.

“What about asking Elizabeth Hastings for a visit—or more than one?” Margherita asked slowly.

Sebastian opened his mouth as if to object—then shut it. Thomas blinked.

“Would she come?” her brother asked, probably guessing, and accurately, that she had been feeling Elizabeth out on that very subject in her latest letters. “She’s not an artist, after all. And we are not precisely ‘polite’ society.”

“We’re not social pariahs either, brother mine,” she pointed out. “Silly goose! She wouldn’t harm her reputation by visiting us, even if anyone actually knew that was what she was doing here. A mature lady just might take up the invitation of a perfectly respectable couple and the wife’s brother, all well-known for their scholarly pursuits—”

Thomas primmed up his face, and Sebastian drew himself up stiffly, interrupting her train of thought with their posing.

“Stop that, you two!” she said, torn between exasperation and laughter. She slapped Sebastian’s shoulder lightly, and made a face at Thomas. “Like it or not, we are respectable, and only old roues like some of your clients, Sebastian, think any different!”

“Dull as dishwater, we are,” Thomas agreed dolefully, as Sebastian leered at her. “We don’t even amuse the village anymore. We give them nothing to gossip about.”

“Oh, but if they only knew…” Sebastian laughed. “Now, acushla , don’t be annoyed with us. There’s little enough in this situation to laugh about, don’t grudge us a joke or two.”

He reached out to embrace her, and she sighed and returned it. She never could resist him when he set out to charm her.

“Now, what about Elizabeth? Obviously you two women have been plotting something out behind our backs,” Sebastian continued.

“Well, to be honest, it never occurred to me that we’d need to have her here, I just thought it would be good for Mari to be around another Water-mage, and even better to have someone around who was—well—more like Hugh and Alanna. Someone who could get her used to the kinds of manners and social skills she’ll have to have when she goes to them.” Margherita sighed. “I don’t want her to feel like an exile. And she likes Elizabeth. I thought if Elizabeth could come for a few weeks at a time, it would help the transition.”

“So, that makes perfect sense; all the better, that you’ve clearly got something in motion already,” Thomas said, with his usual practicality. “So, what was your plan? How did she figure to get away from all of her social obligations? I should think given the season that it would be nearly impossible.”

“Not this year!” Margherita said in triumph. “You know she hates both the shooting season and the hunting season—”

“‘The unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible,’“ her brother muttered, quoting Wilde.

“—and now that her daughter’s married and both her sons are at school, she’s got no real reason to stay and play hostess if she truly doesn’t want to,” Margherita continued. “Her husband, she tells me, has always wanted to try a season in Scotland instead of here. He’s had tentative invitations he never pursued because she didn’t care to go.”

She stopped there; both her brother and her husband were canny enough to fill in the blank spaces without any help from her. The Hastingses had been the host to more than enough pheasant-shoots and fox-hunts over the years that they must have an amazing backlog of invitations that Stephen Hastings—always a keen hunter—could pursue with a good conscience without worrying that Elizabeth was going to make no secret of being bored.

“So he’ll get to be that most desirable of social prizes, the ‘safe single man,’“ Margherita observed with irony. “He can escort the older widows to dinner without feeling put-upon, and he won’t target or be a target for unsuitable romance. He won’t cause a quarrel with anyone’s fiance, and he can be relied upon, if there’s a country dance, to make sure all the wallflowers get a waltz.”

“That alone will probably ensure he gets his choice of shoots,” Sebastian said, his face twitching as he tried not to laugh.

Elizabeth had said as much herself, pointing out the rest of her husband’s good points as a sporting guest. He was a good and considerate gun too; not a neck-or-nothing rider, but that wasn’t necessary in a middle-aged man to preserve his standing in the Hunt Club. All things considered, in order to give him a free conscience in accepting one or more of those long-standing invitations, all that Elizabeth would have to do would be to find some excuse that could reasonably take her off to this part of the country for some extended period of time.

“Let’s put our heads together on this one,” Sebastian said immediately. “What on God’s green earth could Lady Elizabeth Hastings want in this part of the world?”

Thomas blinked again—and said, “Folk tales and songs.”

Margherita clapped her hands like a girl, and Sebastian’s smile lit up the entire room. “Brilliant, Thomas!” he shouted. “By gad, I knew I’d made a good choice of brother-in-law! Absolutely brilliant!”

The collection of folk ballads and oral tales was always an appropriate and genteel pursuit for a lady with a scholarly bent; this close to Cornwall there were bound to be variations on the Arthurian mythos that no one had written down yet. During the seasons of planting, tending, and harvesting, no farmer or farm-worker would have time to recite the stories his granny had told him—but during the winter, if Elizabeth wanted to lend verisimilitude to her story, all she would have to do would be to have Thomas run her down to the pub in the pony-cart now and again to collect a nice little volume of tales and songs.