The Twelfth Enchantment

20

IT WAS A STRANGE DAY, FULL OF NEW PEOPLE AND NEW INFORMATION, and when she returned to her uncle’s house, Lucy excused herself, claiming fatigue, and retired to her room, determined to be alone until dinner. There was so much to think about. Lady Harriett Dyer and Mr. Buckles had, three years earlier, shown the Mutus Liber to the deaf girl Sophie Hyatt. It was evident they had been searching for someone who could identify the true prints from the false. Did they know that Lucy could do that? Was there a link between Lucy’s natural talent and Mr. Buckles’s theft of her property? Did these new facts somehow explain why Lady Harriett had been so adamant that Lucy marry Mr. Olson?

Much to her own surprise, Lucy found herself feeling jealous that this deaf girl had been shown the pages. Her pages. She wished Mary had lent her the book, because she longed to look at them. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the complex images she’d seen, but they were too elaborate, too elusive to be summoned.

Since his arrival, Lucy had done her best to avoid Mr. Buckles, either by staying out of any room that he might occupy or by directing all of her attention to the baby when he was around. He had, she was now certain, stolen her birthright and her independence, and she hated that she must pretend he had not. But now, it seemed to her even worse. It was not simply that he had stolen from her out of malice and greed. If Lucy’s suspicions were right, Mr. Buckles was involved in a complicated and long-standing conspiracy against her—a conspiracy whose scope and goal was beyond her understanding.

* * *

After she and Martha returned from Newstead, Lucy had excused herself by saying she was tired so that she might go to her room and pursue answers in her books. She had found none. She did not even know what she looked for, but she could not bear to do nothing. After several hours, she abandoned the effort and joined the family in a late dinner.

That night, after her sister had retired to bed, Ungston once again informed Lucy that Miss Crawford awaited her in her carriage. Lucy rushed outside, and even in the dark, the lady’s grim expression was evident.

“Mary, is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no,” said her friend. “Please step inside for a moment. I must speak with you.”

Lucy entered the coach and sat next to Mary, hardly knowing what to expect.

The lady turned to her, eyes seeming to glow in the gloom of the coach. “Matters are serious, Lucy. I am afraid I cannot long stay. I have business that I must attend to, and it may be many days before I return. Since I saw you last, grave circumstances have come to my attention, and I must speak to you before I go.”

“I have learned things too,” Lucy blurted out. She wanted to be more patient, to wait to hear Mary’s news, but she could not contain herself. “Mr. Buckles and Lady Harriett have been looking for the Mutus Liber too. Everything is connected, though I don’t know how.”

Mary appeared little surprised by this news. “I know you are frightened, Lucy, but the book has always been important. It is more so now. That is why you must find the scattered pages before our enemies do.”

These words struck Lucy as dire and true. She was supposed to find the missing pages. Now that she heard it, it made perfect sense. She formed the words, though they felt thick and bitter in her mouth. “I must gather the leaves.”

“Yes, that is what you must do.”

A strange calm came over her. It was not as though she understood why these things happened, but at least there was purpose. She must find missing pages of a book. It was a task, and tasks could be accomplished. “And when I have them?”

“Then we will determine what to do together.” She leaned in to hug Lucy. Her skin was icy cold. “I know this is much to ask of you, and I hate that you must do it alone. I will be by your side again as soon as I can, but I am needed elsewhere. You must remember, Lucy, that the Mutus Liber is strongest in the hands of the person to whom it belongs, but… things have become so complicated. And never before has it been more important to trust me.”

She handed Lucy a writing tablet, upon which was set a piece of paper with dense writing on it, too small to read in the dark. Mary then set forth a quill and an ink pot.

“What I must ask you now will sound outlandish, but I beg you to trust me. You must sign this, Lucy.”

“What is it?”

“A will.”

Lucy could not believe what she heard. After everything that had happened with her father’s will, did Mary believe Lucy would sign a will in haste, without reading it?

“In this will you leave everything to your sister, which is I know what you would wish. Everything except any pages of the Mutus Liber that you might find. Those you entrust to me.”

Lucy opened her mouth, but she could not even think of the words she would say if she could.

“You must wonder why,” said Mary. “And I shall tell you. If you do not sign this, the revenants will kill you. If the pages are left to me, they will not. It is that simple. I am your friend, and I would do anything to help you. You must believe me. I want you to leave me the pages for that reason and for no other—because your enemies would risk anything than that I should become the true owner. To protect you, we must make the consequence of your death terrible to those who seek to harm you. If you have ever trusted me, trust me now. I know not what I can do for you if you will not.”

There was such pleading in her voice, such desperation, that Lucy could not but believe her. This was Mary Crawford, the one person in the world who knew her secret, the one person, besides her own sister, she trusted. Though unable to understand the request, Lucy decided she had to believe in her friend’s good intentions. She signed where Mary directed her. They blotted the signature, and then Mary rolled up the paper and handed it to Lucy.

“I do not need it. I would not have you think I am about some deception with it. Only, keep it safe. The will must exist to protect you.” She hugged Lucy again. “Remember, I am your friend. Do not doubt me.” She then handed Lucy the copy of the Mutus Liber she had shown her previously. “Hold on to this. Add pages to it as you can.”

Dazed, Lucy stepped out of the coach, and watched it drive away, holding in her hand a paper that granted, upon her death, the most powerful book in the world to her only friend.

Lucy rushed inside, only wanting to retire to her room, but Mrs. Quince confronted her on the staircase. She had been avoiding Lucy since the encounter with Mr. Morrison at the Gilley house, but now she stood, blocking her way, a disdainful expression upon her face. She knew something. Lucy was sure of it.

“Some secret nighttime assignation, Miss Derrick? What do you have planned? I wonder. What do you think to do? No money, no husband, no friends? Do you believe your little tricks will work forever?”

Rather than retreat, Lucy took a step forward. The knowledge that Lady Harriett had been scheming against her for years made her angry, and her anger emboldened her. She leaned into Mrs. Quince’s face and said, in a bold whisper, “Jonas Morrison.”

Mrs. Quince flinched and stepped away. “You are brazen,” she said, attempting to act unperturbed, “to flaunt your whoredom before me.”

“I had no wish to see him, and hope I never set eyes upon him again,” Lucy said, stepping close again, “but you fear him. Why?”

“You are mistaken,” said Mrs. Quince as she smoothed her apron.

“Then go tell my uncle,” said Lucy, wishing to test Mrs. Quince, perhaps wishing to hurt her. “Tell Mr. Buckles. Tell them all with whom I danced. Go on. Tell them.”

Mrs. Quince did not move.

Lucy pushed past her, entered her room, and closed the door.

Her triumph over Mrs. Quince, glorious though it may have been, left Lucy more confused than happy. What was Mr. Morrison to her that she should be so frightened? And what did it mean that Lady Harriett had been seeking someone to identify the Mutus Liber in the past few years? Was there some link between that and Mrs. Quince’s failed efforts to teach Lucy to read the cards? And now came this will that Mary has