Lady Fayth smiled and offered her hand, which the man who called himself Burleigh accepted and, after the briefest hesitation, raised to his lips. His eyes, however, never left her face. “Charmed,” he said, as she pulled her hand from his grasp.
“You are a long way from home, Sutherland,” observed Lord Fayth mildly. “What brings you to our patch-if I may be so bold?”
“Not at all, sir. It is a long story-which I shall not presume to inflict on you-but suffice to say that I am thinking of buying a property hereabouts. It is so very cold and dreary in the north. I have reached the time in life where I believe one must have a southern redoubt if one is to survive from one winter to the next.”
“Indeed, sir,” barked Sir Edward, all amiability and smiles. “I could not agree more.”
“If not for the tenants, I would consider a more permanent southern sojourn,” Burleigh explained, almost apologetically. “But with such a great many of them, what with seven towns and villages within the Glen Ardvreck boundaries…” He paused. “Forgive me, I am woolgathering. Northern habit, I fear. I am sorry.”
“Think nothing of it, sir,” offered Lord Fayth grandly. “I quite understand. This is a beautiful corner of the world, I say.” He brightened with a sudden thought. “If you are at a loose end this evening, would you like to come to dinner? Nothing fancy, mind, just an informal private supper. Bring Lady Burleigh, of course, and anyone else in your party.”
Lord Burleigh glanced at Lady Fayth and hesitated. “Well, I-”
“Ah, I have sprung it on you. Thoughtless of me. I suspect you have another engagement.”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Burleigh countered hastily. “I am so newly arrived I have no other engagements at present. And as for ‘Lady Burleigh,’ well-I am entirely on my own. My dear wife died several years ago, and I have never remarried.” He offered a wistful smile. “I am entirely without encumbrance at present, and I would be delighted to accept your kind offer.”
“Capital!” replied Lord Fayth, moving towards his horse. “We will expect you around half seven.”
“I will be there.”
They left the Earl of Sutherland on the village green. Lady Fayth made a point not to look at him again; there was something about the man she did not trust entirely-a touch of ruthlessness around the mouth, a coldness in his dark eyes… something she could not name but which put her on her guard.
Later, when they had returned their horses to the stables and were walking back to the house, Lord Fayth observed, “Good man, that Burleigh.”
“Oh? Really?” She stopped walking. “You had heard of him, then?”
“How should I have heard of him? He said himself he’s only just come south.”
“Indeed!”
“He is an earl, my dear,” asserted His Lordship. “Sits a peg or two above our station, I daresay. A fine gentleman-as anyone can plainly see.” He glanced sideways at his daughter. “Do you disagree?”
“I do not profess to know the man. I fail to see how anyone can form a cogent opinion based on a few pleasantries muttered in passing.”
“Ha!” Her father continued striding across the gravelled yard. “Obviously, you are no judge of character, my dear. Breeding always tells.”
These words were still echoing in her mind when, after their cosy meal of cold mutton and turnip mash, talk turned to families and mutual connections the men might share. The three were sitting in her father’s study where a fire had been laid; the men were sipping brandy and Haven was pretending to occupy herself with a swatch of needlepoint, the same piece she had been working on for over a year to no appreciable effect. She was listening to their talk and trying to decide where to place Burleigh precisely in her estimation-an ordinarily simple matter for a young woman of strong opinion and quick judgement. But for some reason, the earl was proving extremely elusive in this regard. Every time she felt she had gained an understanding, he would say something-a turn of phrase, an observation, a single word even-that confused her and put her usually reliable feminine intuition out of joint.
“Of course,” Burleigh was saying as he swilled his brandy around the rim of the bowl, “as a student of the natural sciences myself, I am sure I would find your work fascinating. I hazard a surmise that we might even share some of the same interests.”
“My work?” Lord Fayth frowned. “I must confess that I do not dabble in the sciences, sir. These modern men of inquiry,” he sniffed, and took a sip of brandy. “Not worth a boot rag the lot of them, if you ask me.”
For the first time that evening, Burleigh’s expression betrayed confusion and something else. Shock? Whatever it was, Haven thought she had glimpsed something of the real man beneath the veneer of aristocratic indifference. “Perhaps I misunderstand you, sir,” he suggested delicately, and his manner resumed its easy bonhomie.
“I do not think I could be any clearer on the subject. This science will be the death of us all.”
“Father,” said Lady Fayth, speaking up, “I think our guest has confused you with Sir Henry.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Lord Fayth turned to Burleigh once more. “Ah, yes, I see. Of course.”
“Sir Henry?” wondered Burleigh.
“My lunatic brother, Henry Fayth-he’s completely taken in by all this natural science tosh. A wicked waste of a man’s time, if you want my opinion.”
Before Burleigh could respond to this provocative sentiment, Lady Fayth challenged her father’s assertion. “He is not a lunatic, dear Father. Far from it. Uncle Henry is one of the wisest men I know.” She smiled at Burleigh, adding, “My uncle is a charming and gracious man-and one of the leading lights of the new sciences.”
“Mad as a March hare,” put in Edward. “Always has been. Lives alone in London like a monk in a cell-a miserable hermit. Never married. Claims it would interfere in his valuable work. Though what that is, God knows. Can’t make head or tail of his gibberish.”
“Father, really,” chided Haven. “You give our guest entirely the wrong impression.”
“Please, I assure you I have formed no impression whatsoever,” offered Burleigh. “I prefer to take things as I find them-a practice that has served me well all my life.”
“Good for you, sir,” affirmed Lord Fayth. He reached for the decanter. “More brandy, my lord earl?”
Conversation moved on to local matters-chiefly farming, horses, and hounds-and Lady Fayth, having endured enough of what she considered boorish blather, announced that it was time for her to retire. “I will leave you two to set the world to rights,” she said lightly. “Lord Burleigh, it was very nice making your acquaintance. I pray your stay in the southlands is entirely to your edification and profit.”
“I thank you, my lady,” he said. “Even in my short acquaintance I have found the folk hereabouts very much to my liking. Edification will surely follow in its course.” He rose from his chair and took her offered hand. “I wish you a good night and pleasant dreams.” He patted her hand, then kissed it. “Until we meet again.”
“I very much doubt that we shall,” replied Lady Fayth. “I am away to London in the morning and plan to be there for some time. But inasmuch as I expect you and my father will find all sorts of pursuits with which to occupy yourselves, you shan’t miss me in the least.”
CHAPTER 11
Before Egypt, long before travelling to that time and place-or any other-became even a remote possibility, Mina had paid her dues. Haltingly, painstakingly, maddeningly. Transplanted entirely on her own and completely unexpectedly from her twenty-first-century London home to seventeenth-century Bohemia, and having no Cosimo or Sir Henry to guide her, she acquired her knowledge and skill through hard graft and a long and exhausting process of trial and error. It was an exacting apprenticeship, and it began back in the Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus in Prague on the day she took delivery of the device her friend Gustavus Rosenkreuz had made for her using the plans given him by Lord Burleigh. It began the moment the young alchemist placed the curious object in her hand.
Now, as she stood alone on a hilltop north of her adopted city, Wilhelmina studied the odd device; neatly rounded like a stone and of a similar size, shape, and heft. It reminded her of just that: a surf-tumbled cobble whose edges have been blunted and streamlined by the endless wash and worry of the waves. That, however, is where the similarities ended. Stones were not made of burnished brass; their surfaces were not chased with a lacy
