Spellmaker

CHAPTER 17

They rode through the night, meeting Ogden on the road. It was late—past midnight, Elsie learned—and they were exhausted, but no one suggested stopping. They continued on to Master Hill’s house in London.

To think, the man who’d attacked Master Hill was the head of her own atheneum, Master Enoch Phillips.

Elsie still struggled to absorb that one.

After sleeping a few hours in Ruth Hill’s quiet home, they hired a carriage to take them the rest of the way to Brookley in the early-morning hours of Monday. Elsie, having no hairpins, settled on a braid over her shoulder and offered a prayer that none of her neighbors would notice her. She’d slept with her foot up, and the swelling of her ankle had receded, but she still couldn’t walk on it normally.

She was surprised to see a large trunk sitting in the middle of the studio upon entering the house.

“Ah,” Ogden said behind her, “Master Kelsey, it seems your things arrived while we were away.”

“Your things?” Elsie asked as Bacchus, fatigue marking his face, entered the room. Was that why he hadn’t changed after their visit to Master Hill’s home?

Ogden answered, “After your abduction and the attack, we decided it might be better to have two aspectors here instead of one. He’ll stay until the wedding. You will, unfortunately, have to give up your bedroom.”

Elsie blushed, though she really ought not to. It wasn’t technically improper.

Her second thought was relief that she’d decided not to keep her stolen opus spell under her mattress.

“Elsie!” Emmeline shrieked as she bolted into the studio and threw her arms around Elsie’s shoulders. Elsie nearly tumbled over, unable to properly balance with both feet, but she embraced her back, another wave of relief engulfing her. It brought her attention to the sleepiness in her joints. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back! What happened?”

“Too much.” Elsie pulled away and glanced to the men. “But what about Phillips?”

“Phillips?” Emmeline repeated.

“We’ll sort it out.” Bacchus ran his hand over his half beard.

Emmeline tugged on Elsie’s hand.

“I’ll tell you over a bath,” Elsie said, forcing a smile. “That is, if I might use it first.”

Ogden nodded. “Go on.”

Elsie allowed Emmeline to help her up the stairs, grateful for the care and affection of the younger woman. Sure enough, in her absence, Emmeline had already moved all of Elsie’s things into her room, which was the smallest of the three bedrooms the house boasted. Her bookshelf was crammed into the corner, the few items from her desk set neatly on top of it. Her clothes were in Emmeline’s wardrobe, her decorations on Emmeline’s shelves. The furniture—bed, desk, wardrobe—would stay in the other room for Bacchus.

Bacchus Kelsey was going to sleep in her bed.

Soon enough, she would be sleeping in his.

Her face heated. But the idea felt strangely hypnagogic, like it was still just a hope, not something that was actually going to happen.

Emmeline, blessedly, lugged in the copper bath and filled it. Elsie didn’t wait for all the water to heat on the stove downstairs—lukewarm was fine with her. She stripped off her clothes, careful to conceal the opus spell in the boning of the corset. All the while, she told Emmeline everything. It was so liberating, being able to just speak the full truth to another human. She’d been keeping secrets for so long they’d become a part of her.

As she dried off, Emmeline told her what had happened at the house while she was away, and how worried she had been. Touched, Elsie kissed her on the cheek.

Once she was dried and in her dressing gown, Elsie stifled a yawn. “Let’s heat some water for the others. They’ll be wanting to bathe, too.”

Emmeline smiled. “I’ll do it, Elsie. You should rest.”

Elsie looked around the room, all her things mingled with Emmeline’s. “You’ve done so much already.”

“Just let me. You’re limping, besides. I don’t mind. It’s, well, it’s the only way I feel useful. I don’t have any magic or money.” She pulled back the linens on the bed that she and Elsie would be sharing for the next two weeks.

Elsie let out a sigh. “Emmeline Pratt, I’m going to buy you chocolate for all this.”

Emmeline beamed. “A fair trade.”

And so Elsie let her friend maneuver the tub while she lay down.

She tried her best to sleep, and she did in short spurts, a minute here or there, but her mind kept replaying last night over and over—What if I seriously injured that servant? What if he was under Merton’s control, too? After a time, her thoughts shifted to her confessions to Irene and what Elsie would do if the other spellbreaker blew the whistle on them. To Ogden and what he must think of all of this. To Bacchus and what he might be thinking of her.

Eventually she gave up. Her hair was nearly dry, so she combed it through and let it hang loose. When she stepped out of the room, she noticed the door across from her—the one to her room—was closed. If the sounds she’d heard coming back and forth in the hallway while she snoozed were any indication, the tub had been taken to Bacchus next.

She hesitated in the doorway, then turned back to get dressed. Paused. Glanced at the door again. Down the hallway. She heard Emmeline in the kitchen downstairs.

Biting her lip, she crossed to the other door and knocked. “Bacchus?”

“Yes?”

She hesitated. “Can I talk to you?”

A pause. “I’m a little indecent at the moment.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Just through the door, then.”

She thought she heard movement in the water. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Well, that was a lie, but Bacchus knew about all the wrong things, so there wasn’t much point in reiterating them. Her ankle was a little better, but not wanting to push her luck, she slid down the frame so that she sat parallel to the door. Tucking her good foot beneath her, she asked, “What happened at Seven Oaks?”

“I didn’t go to Seven Oaks. I came straight here after I learned you were missing.”

Emmeline had mentioned a telegram. “Are you going? To Seven Oaks, I mean.”

More shifting in the water. “I’m not sure. Not immediately. There are more pressing matters at hand.” A second of silence, then, “I should probably write to the duchess, if only for propriety’s sake.” He was slipping into his Bajan accent again.

Elsie’s lip quirked. “Yes, you probably should.” Weaving her fingers together, she asked, “What about your servants?”

“John and Rainer will continue staying at Master Hill’s.”

“Oh.” She pulled her hands apart, weaved her fingers again. “I didn’t see them this morning.”

“I spoke with them briefly. They’re well.” A shuffling sound followed.

“Bacchus”—she leaned her head on the door—“tell me about Barbados.”

Another pause. “What do you want to know?”

“The things no one else does. I know it’s hot and tropical and full of sugarcane. But what else can you tell me?”

The floor creaked. “The air tastes good.”

A chuckle crept up her throat. “What?”

“It’s a mix of sweet and salt, from the plants and the ocean. Here the air smells like smoke and rain. In Barbados it’s like a delicate dessert. Sweet and savory. Unless you’re too close to the fish market.”

She smiled.

“It’s green. The sugar plantations are green”—a hint of disdain slipped into his voice at that—“but the rest of the island is green as well—what the European settlers didn’t destroy. There are palm trees and thick grasses. They seem to sing when the sun goes down.”

She tried to imagine it. “How do they sing?”

“It’s hard to describe.” Now his tone was wistful. “The insects, the breeze in the blades . . . it’s not something I’ve heard on this side of the ocean.”

“Do you live by the ocean?”

“All of Barbados is by the ocean.” Another creak. “It’s not a large island. But I live in an old plantation house. Jacobean style, if you know it.”

Elsie considered a moment. “The sloping roofs.”

“Indeed.” He sounded pleased.

Elsie adjusted the picture in her mind—a place full of sunshine, green, and ocean, where the air tasted like the first bite of dessert and the night sang. It portrayed a fairy tale. “I would like to see it.” She spoke a little quieter. “That is . . . I would go to Barbados. We don’t have to stay here.”

A few seconds flitted by before he answered. “You have family here, Elsie.”

“I don—” She paused. Reggie. She had just found him, hadn’t she? And Ogden and Emmeline were almost family. “We could split our time.”

He didn’t reply.

Ringing her hands together, Elsie added, “Are you . . . Are you sure it’s worth all of this, Bacchus?”

The floorboards creaked, and suddenly the door opened. Bacchus stood there in breeches and a long-sleeved white shirt, the collar loose. His dark hair, lighter at the ends, hung wet over his shoulders, leaving speckles of water along the fabric that turned it translucent.

He looked down at her, tired but not angry. “Are we really going to have this conversation again?”

Elsie rolled her lips together. “I think it’s a valid question.”

He extended his hand, which she took, allowing him to help her up. She adjusted her dressing gown, ensuring her modesty.

Bacchus lifted a hand and ran the pad of his thumb along her cheek, sending a wave of heat coursing over her skin. “You are very much worth it, Elsie Camden.”

She stared into the beautiful green of his eyes. Right now they didn’t look like a stormy sea, or jade, or anything she could pinpoint. Perhaps they were the green of Barbados. They were just as fanciful as the place he had described, and she struggled to believe either of them were real.

She realized she was just standing there, staring at him—in her defense, he was doing the same—but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She memorized the slope of his nose, the shape of his hairline, the curve of his beard. His cheeks were newly shaved. He smelled like soap, but the faintest hint of citrus lingered under it.

Her heart danced beneath her breast, and before she could check herself, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

His eyes bore into hers.

And then his mouth was gliding across hers, tentatively at first. But when Elsie pressed her hands to his chest, he gained confidence and kissed her as he had in the carriage, with intent and meaning. A thrill coursed through her jaw and down her neck, not unlike the heat of a candle flame when pinched between two fingers, snuffed just before it could burn. Elsie’s hands took on a mind of their own and crawled up to his shoulders, then to his neck, the skin wet from the drape of his hair. His palms pressed into either side of her waist. She didn’t remember how they’d gotten there, but their weight invigorated her. Lent her courage.

He was a tall man, and Elsie desperately wanted to be closer to him, so she rose onto her toes and tilted her head a little more to the right, fitting her lips against his just so. An invisible string pulled taut between her heart and her hips when the kiss deepened, a slip of heat crossing her bottom lip. She only loosely recognized it as his tongue, but the sensation of it made her knees weak. He must have noticed, for his grip on her waist tightened. When Elsie parted her lips for breath, Bacchus claimed her, seeking entrance to her mouth, which she readily gave him.

Aspecting be damned, this was real magic. Physical, spiritual, rational, temporal . . . all of it rolled into a blissful ball of sensations she was only just beginning to pick apart, ever so eager to find what lay at its center.

Bacchus’s left hand lifted from her waist, leaving a chill in his wake. She heard it thud against the door frame, gripping it. Elsie’s fingers had journeyed into Bacchus wet hair, tangling with the waves. She nipped at his lower lip and heard the faintest sound escape his throat, though she sensed it more with her mouth than her ears.

His lips slowed, and he pulled back, his eyes dark. A long breath escaped his nose before he said, “We need to stop before you make me think unchristian thoughts, Elsie.”

She could feel her lips swelling. She licked them.

For the first time since learning of their surprise engagement, Elsie found herself greatly looking forward to her wedding night.

Footsteps on the stairs had Elsie stepping back, forgetting about her ankle and wincing when she put weight on it. Bacchus reached forward to steady her just as Emmeline popped up with a basket of linens on her hip. Elsie’s entire body warmed, but Emmeline—dear, sweet, innocent Emmeline—did not seem to notice anything amiss about Elsie and Bacchus standing so close together, neither nearly dressed enough for proper decency.

“Dinner will be ready in a couple hours.” She grinned and set the basket just inside her bedroom door. “Though I think Mr. Camden may arrive before that. He said he might finish early.”

It was still enormously strange to hear that name. “Oh! I’d completely forgotten Reggie was coming . . .” He would have updates about the newspaper articles. If he’d managed to get them published, he might even have some replies.

Emmeline pulled a long linen bandage from her apron pocket. “I’ll wrap your ankle for you and help you change.” She glanced at Bacchus. “I’m happy to take your laundry from you as well, Master Kelsey.”

Bacchus cleared his throat. “I’ll see to it myself, thank you.”

Avoiding Bacchus’s gaze because she knew she’d turn red as a beet if she didn’t, Elsie leaned on Emmeline and limped back into their shared room, where Emmeline snuggly wrapped her ankle. The dress Elsie had been wearing when Master Phillips—that was still hard to process—abducted her was ruined. A pity. Emmeline helped her into her Sunday gown, her best one. Fitting, since she’d obviously missed church yesterday.

But what to do about Master Phillips? Elsie’s and Ogden’s anonymous tips regarding Merton had gone nowhere. Would it be the same for him? Elsie had no proof save Bacchus’s eyewitness account. They might be able to explain the kidnapping—and the way Bacchus had turned up at the perfect place and time to save her—but it would be difficult to do so without admitting to their own loose relationship with the law. Then again, it wasn’t Master Phillips at all. He needed to be stopped, of course, but why should he have to suffer because Merton had chosen him as her pawn?

Reggie did indeed arrive early—Elsie had only just finished pinning her hair. Emmeline had also changed into her Sunday best and curled the strands of dark hair that framed her face, something that caught Elsie’s attention. No matter who the guest, Emmeline never bothered with the curling iron. Not for herself. Elsie was intrigued, but she’d wait for a more private moment to inquire about it.

“Got ’em all in,” Reggie said as he took a seat across from Elsie in the dining room. The meal had already been brought out, and Elsie’s stomach grumbled. She sat beside Bacchus, who was also fully dressed and dry, his hair pulled back into a half-hearted tail. Ogden sat at the head of the table, and Emmeline was across from Bacchus, next to Reggie. They needed only one more guest to have a full party. “Last one goes out in tomorrow’s Daily Telegraph, then they’re all set.”

Elsie breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Can you keep tabs on them?” Ogden asked as he carved the pheasant. “Find out if they get responses?”

Reggie worked his mouth. “I can ask, at least. Don’t hurt to ask.”

After helping serve everyone, Emmeline smoothed her skirt and asked, “Tell me how the printing presses work. Do the letters go in backward?”

“Indeed they do.” Reggie sat a little straighter in his chair. “They have to be set a certain way, like this—”

Ogden’s voice sounded in Elsie’s head, sending a shiver down her spine. Bacchus startled, so Elsie guessed he’d heard it, too.

Sure enough, a moment later, someone pounded on the front door.

They’d had two unexpected visitors of late: first the police come to arrest her, then Reggie . . . Did that mean this one had to be bad, to keep the pattern?

Emmeline moved to stand. Elsie held out a hand. “You’re talking, I’ll get it.”

Bacchus sighed. “They’ll be gone by the time you limp over there.” He stood from his chair.

Elsie’s mouth opened, working on a retort, but she couldn’t find a decent one. She was used to doing things herself; she was quite capable, usually. Yet she found herself more appreciative than put out. So she relaxed into her chair and allowed Bacchus to answer the door. She wondered how often he’d had occasion to answer doors. Given he usually spent his time at estates like Seven Oaks, Ruth Hill’s home, and his plantation in Barbados, he likely always had a servant doing it for him.

Elsie heard Irene’s voice almost instantly and stood, ankle be damned.

The spellbreaker’s rushed footsteps sounded through the hallway, and she appeared in their kitchen dressed head to toe in pale violet, one hand on her hat to keep it atop her head. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest heaved with each breath. Bacchus appeared behind her.

Ogden stood as well. “Miss Prescott, what’s happened?”

She swallowed, wetting her tongue. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Elsie offered a weak smile. “As you can see, I’m quite all right.”

Reggie glanced between the two spellbreakers. “You mean yer ankle?”

But Irene shook her head, trying to catch her breath. “No, not . . . your ankle?” She licked her lips and refocused. “I was at the London Physical Atheneum today. I—” Eyes straying back to Reggie, she hesitated.

Elsie felt the air shiver with a rational spell. A moment later, Ogden said, “Tell us. He’s safe.”

Elsie bit the inside of her cheek. Seemed that her brother would be involved in this after all. A relief in a way; she wanted to be open with him, but she didn’t want to endanger him.

“The police came to arrest Master Phillips.” Irene grabbed the back of the free chair. “He’s an accomplice.”

Elsie exchanged looks with Bacchus and Ogden. “We know. We didn’t know how to proceed.”

Reggie began to say something, but Irene talked over him. “You know? When?”

Bacchus said, “As of last night.”

“He’s being controlled, too,” Elsie offered, passing a sympathetic look to Ogden.

Irene’s brow furrowed. “But that can’t be right.”

“She need only touch him,” Bacchus reminded her. “She’s had plenty of opportunities to find him and do so.”

But Irene shook her head. “No, you must be mistaken. He must have acted of his own accord.”

Hard lines creased the skin around Ogden’s eyes and mouth. “What are you saying?”

Irene’s eyes flitted to each of them in turn, her confusion obvious. “I stayed for the aftermath, after they took Master Phillips away. I was there when the message came in to the constable.”

“What message?” Bacchus asked.

“About Merton,” Irene clarified. “She’s dead.”