Lucy had exchanged several letters with Mr. Blake, who accepted her recounting of the events at Newstead without question, finding nothing strange or improbable in anything. He had sent to Lucy copies of his handcrafted books, which were strange and perplexing things, but Lucy treasured them, and believed they might contain important information if only she could figure out how to make sense of them.
As for Mr. Morrison, little was heard of him in the many weeks subsequent to the incident at Newstead. The ball from Byron’s pistol had not done serious harm to his heart or his lungs, but it had shattered a portion of his collarbone, and his recovery had been both long and painful. Lucy had done what she could in those early days when he was too fragile to move and was confined to his room at a Nottingham inn. She showered him with talismans and herbs and poultices. She spent hours each day leafing through her books for formulas and secrets that might speed his recovery. That she did much good was beyond question, for his surgeon, who feared for his life, was amazed at how quickly Mr. Morrison recovered despite the severity of the injury.
Nevertheless, the wound required a long convalescence, and as soon as he was well enough to travel, he took his leave and departed for his family estate in Derbyshire. Lucy had received a few letters from him, in which he discussed very little but his health. He thanked her for all she had done on his behalf and that of the country.
In response, Lucy wrote him long and chatty letters, informing him of the circumstances of her family, whose happiness owed much to his efforts and sacrifices. In one letter she spoke of her opinion about Mary’s fate, about how no one could truly know her ultimate destiny. To this note she had received no answer, and Lucy feared she had overstepped her bounds. It seemed to her that she might never hear from him again.
Then, in midsummer, she received notice from Mr. Morrison that he was much recovered and was now traveling. He wished to call upon Lucy and her sister. He did so, without any further warning, some weeks later.
Lucy watched from the window as he exited his carriage, and the delight she felt upon seeing him took her by surprise. She wanted to see him. She knew that. She had been anticipating his visit each day, feeling disappointed when there was no word from him. And yet, despite all that, she had not expected to feel as though the breath had been struck from her lungs. She had not expected her heart to thunder so alarmingly or her hands to shake. She had begun to suspect that the feelings for him that had come upon her in those dark days were an illusion brought about by the danger of their adventures, but now, seeing him healthy and recovered, she realized that it was far more than that. She knew that she had been living for this moment.
Martha rushed to the door and ushered Mr. Morrison within. Lucy marveled to see him so strong and healthy. A little thinner and more drawn in the face, but his color was good, and he appeared quite cheerful. He wore a handsome light brown suit, and looked so … so, Lucy did not know what. Remarkable, she supposed. He appeared healthy and confident and comfortable. He appeared every bit the man who had so fascinated her four years ago, and every bit the man she had fallen in love with only months past.
When he set eyes upon Lucy, he colored considerably, and rose from his chair in the sitting room to bow to her. Lucy felt herself break into a great smile, and it was all she could to do keep herself from embracing him.
After much fussing about tea and cakes and fruit, the three of them sat together for well over an hour, and little of moment was discussed beyond Mr. Morrison’s health, which he claimed was as good as could be expected. He still experienced some pain and limitations in movement—a result of the ball remaining lodged in his flesh—but his recovery had far exceeded even the most optimistic hopes of the medical men, and he could complain but little.
After a sufficient time had passed, Mr. Morrison cleared his throat and inquired if anyone would care to walk outside on so beautiful a day. Lucy at once expressed her enthusiasm for the notion, but Martha had the good sense to decline. And so it was that the two of them went outside to stroll down the country lane in the general vicinity of town.
“The Luddites continue their insurrection,” said Lucy after a prolonged silence. “I read that they make inroads into Lancashire and Yorkshire.”
“And my own Derbyshire as well,” said Mr. Morrison. His voice was easy and neutral. “Ludd’s power is now one of influence and inclination. He can lead men to destroy what he hates, but little more. They make their statement, and perhaps it is even a statement that needs to be made, but I do not think their insurrection will amount to much.”
“So I failed?”
Mr. Morrison laughed. “
Lucy blushed, but she also smiled.
“I appreciated your words regarding Mary,” he added. “I can hope she still continues somewhere, but I cannot know, and in that I suppose I am like any widower. Perhaps that is some comfort. I loved her excessively, you know.”
“I know you did,” said Lucy, her eyes cast down.
“But that was long ago. You must know I told you the truth when I said I had no pretensions that the woman you knew as Mary Crawford was the woman I loved as Mary Morrison. What she did, destroying herself, was courageous beyond anything I have witnessed. She was a heroine of the first order, but Mary, my Mary, would not have done that. My Mary would not have abandoned hope. This was not a better person, but a different one. I shall honor her sacrifice forever, but I did not lose my wife a second time.”
“I wish I could say I understand,” said Lucy. “I believe you, but it is so hard to comprehend how you can differentiate them so.”
“The rest of the world saw your niece as what she had always been, but you saw a monster.”
“I saw what it truly was.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Morrison.
They were silent for a long time. Then Lucy said, “Will you kill Byron?”
Mr. Morrison laughed and shook his head. “I do value your directness, Lucy. I shall be direct too. I do not know what I shall do. He is revived but much altered, and so not the same man who shot me or killed Mary. I don’t see how I can take my revenge upon him.”
“He is certainly living the life of a libertine poet still,” said Lucy. “The papers are filled with his exploits.”
“Yes, but I shan’t kill him for his libertinism. Or for his poetry, for that matter.”
Lucy could not think of a fitting response. It was not for her to say what Mr. Morrison should do with this new incarnation of Byron. She did not know what Byron was now, but she could not help but think that an immortal Byron—one with unthinkable strength and one free to live outside the laws of men—must be worse than the old one. When she thought of what he had been, Lucy felt nothing but contempt for him and disgust for herself for having been deceived. She could not say if the revived Byron deserved the punishment of his mortal self, but she hoped never again to have to look upon him.
“I am curious,” said Mr. Morrison. “I long to know what you have learned from the
“Do you ask this on behalf of the Rosicrucians?”
“No, on behalf of myself.”
“I have hardly even begun to decipher its mysteries,” she said, “but what I have learned so far is beyond wonder and astonishment. What I have been able to do staggers the imagination. As to what I shall do next, I should like to end the war with France.”
He studied her. “You believe you can do that?”
Lucy nodded. “I know I can, though it may take some time, and I may require the resources of an organization such as yours.”
“It is at your disposal,” he said, reaching into his coat. He handed Lucy a sealed envelope, thick with documents. “As is much else. I know you need not fear for your sister’s generosity, but it is good to be independent as well. Before she died, Mary Crawford initiated a series of costly legal investigations on your behalf. Apparently she also instructed her solicitor that if anything were to happen to her, I was to take up the cause. Perhaps she feared more funds would be required and knew I would be willing to pay. In any event, the matter has been brought to a close more speedily than anyone had expected, I believe because of documents that have surfaced following
