other hand from the sling and tried again to grasp the rope. The woman looked on in horror as his legs slid through the loop and he disappeared under the falls.
— 7 -
February 1886, England
Snowfall had left most of the streets impassable. Margaret huddled with James in front of the wall-sized fireplace, reading him a fairy tale in an attempt to lull him to sleep. James fit perfectly into the space between her crossed legs. Beneath them was a Persian rug. Margaret had a bearskin blanket draped over her shoulders to keep out the cold. She hated this house in the winter. The high ceilings and stone floors made it bitterly cold despite a fireplace in virtually every room.
As she turned the page of her Kleine Ausgabe version of the Grimm brothers’ fairy tales, the door whipped open letting in the ferocious winter wind. The baby, who was no baby at all being nearly three, quickly shifted from the precipice of sleep to the land of the awake and alert. Margaret let out a sigh as he jumped from her lap and ran toward the door.
A tall man, so thickly bundled one couldn’t tell if he was fat or thin, stepped into the room and closed the door. The man’s mittened hands slid back the hood to reveal black hair parted down the middle with numerous strands standing on end. It was obvious he hadn’t shaved in several days. His drawn, blackened eyes had the look of little sleep.
He smiled as the boy ran toward him. He managed to free his hands from the mittens just in time to catch the boy as he jumped into his arms. They both laughed and embraced. James Lochlan Stuart III had returned. His smile waned as he watched Margaret moving toward them. Her eyes bored into him yet her demeanor was cordial. James would have preferred an outburst to feigned kindness she was so good at emulating.
“So the traveler has returned,” she said curtly.
“Alas,” he replied, and smiled as he returned his attention to the child in his arms.
“You shaved your moustache,” she said.
Stuart reached up to his face, having forgotten that the moustache, common among noblemen, which had been there since before they had married was now gone.
“You look awful,” she said examining him.
Stuart stared back at his wife. The boy squeezed him tightly around his neck and showered him with kisses.
“And what news have you brought?” Margaret asked.
“Much. There is much to tell. Many things have changed. I promise I will reveal everything the moment James goes to bed.
It appeared as though Stuart intended to outlast his wife this evening because he and his son played well beyond the normal bedtime for the boy. Having not seen his father for several months, Margaret let her son break her normally militant schedule for the first time she could remember.
“A boy needs his father,” she remembered being told, “no matter what kind of man he is.”
She nodded agreeably at the time but now wondered if he was doing the boy more harm than good. Over the past year he’d been home so little. More than once the boy asked if his father was ever coming back. She always said, “Of course, your father is just a very important and busy man.” In reality she wasn’t always sure.
Finally when she couldn’t stand waiting another moment, she walked into the drawing room to break up the reunion. The two were wrestling on the floor when she stepped into the entry holding a lantern. Both stopped dead and looked up at her.
“Not a word about it, I’ve allowed you to stay up well beyond your regular bed time. Off to bed with you. Shirley will tuck you in.”
Knowing there were times to hold one’s peace-and this was assuredly one of those times-neither protested. Father and son embraced once more, and the boy tottered off. His mother kissed him on his head as he passed. Stuart stood slowly, straightening his evening jacket.
Margaret took him in again. She couldn’t help but find this disheveled and slightly wild-looking version of her husband attractive. Quickly, she pushed the thought away and prepared herself for the task at hand.
“I’ve asked Nigel to bring tea,” Margaret said, settling into a large leather chair by the fireplace.
“Very good,” Stuart replied, rounding his desk and taking a seat. They sat in silence, listening to the clock tick away the seconds. After several minutes, Nigel entered the room with the tea tray. He set it on the desk, added the appropriate amount of sugar and cream to each cup, and headed for the door.
“Good to see you back, Sir,” he said.
“Thank you, Nigel.”
“Nigel?” Stuart called just as Nigel was stepping out of sight.
“Sir?”
“You’ll bring him in as soon as he arrives?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Bring who in?” Margaret asked, “have you not seen the hour?”
“All shall be explained if you give me the opportunity,” Stuart said calmly.
Again the room was silent. Margaret held her cup with both hands, letting the warmth circulate through her fingers.
After another moment of awkward silence, Stuart took a deep breath and said, “I suppose you’d like to hear about my travels of late?”
“An explanation of your sudden and unannounced hiatus would be appreciated, yes.”
“If it wasn’t important I wouldn’t have gone, Margaret. Everything is clear to me now. I’m sure everything will be clear to you as well when I have finished.”
“Please enlighten me then.”
“Lately, I’ve been traveling more than my job requires, as you may have noticed.” Stuart paused, expecting Margaret to interject. When she did not, he continued.
“I met a man named David Ogilvy at a parliament meeting last autumn. He took me to his house in Northallerton, where I met his family. We discussed matters of great interest. There was one subject that was particularly enthralling.” Again he paused and studied his wife. If she had any interest in what he was telling her, she didn’t show it. Her expression remained like stone.
“Magic,” he said. At precisely that moment a gust of wind blew down the chimney, scattering ash from the dying fire onto the stone hearth.
“Oh, James. Please tell me you haven’t been drawn into that cods wallop. Of all the things to be wasting your time on. Magic indeed,” she said, standing and making her way to the door.
“Believe me, I’d have said the same thing if I were sitting in your place. Please just listen before you pass judgment.”
She stopped, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Please,” he said, extending his hand to the chair.
Slowly, she moved back to her chair and perched on the very edge of the seat. She leaned in and set her teacup on the desk, knowing full well that an unprotected cup on his beloved desk would drive him mad. To her dismay, he never took his eyes off her.
Stuart could tell from his wife’s posture that she would mentally dissect and tear apart anything he said. “After dinner on the second day of my visit, Mr. Ogilvy and I were sitting in his library discussing one of the topics from the last meeting. The parliament is planning on banning discussing anything related to magic in any government forum henceforth. I said it was perfectly logical considering it hardly comes up anymore, and when it does come up it is usually related to some inexplicable event. Ogilvy took the opposite stance. He believed the government’s origins were founded in magic. To deny its existence, which is what the government is trying to do, he said, would be denying our heritage.”
