“I am glad you see it that way, my dear,” he said. “It is much too dangerous for you, that much is clear, despite your immense abilities, and indeed your unparalleled accomplishments—”
He broke off with a look of pain, possibly thinking of how he had failed to benefit in any way from those unparalleled accomplishments. For all he had tried to call it off at the end, he had been as eager as the rest of them to use my alchemical abilities. Indeed, in the beginning he had shown as little concern for the cost to me as any of them. I remembered Bentivoglio’s assault on me, his theft of my mother’s papers. My father had kept those papers. I looked at him again, remembering. He still hadn’t returned them.
“I’ve been thinking.” He looked down at his teacup where his fingers drummed a quick, nervous beat. “That is to say, I’ve made inquiries, for a house in town. Somewhere more suitable than this for you and me to live together. As father and daughter, I mean.”
He glanced up at me quickly, to see if I had taken his meaning. He did not seem to see what he hoped for.
“It would certainly hurt my standing with the masters,” he continued, still tapping his cup and talking rather more rapidly than was his usual manner. “But I do not think they will remove me from my fellowship. It is hard to say, of course. I do not have many examples of such things happening in the past, and how they were dealt with, but I feel confident I can convince them that it is the best course of action. Sadly, I fear I must give up my dream of a department of alchemy, with all that has happened. I could not subject undergraduates to that kind of danger, in any case—”
I did not know how long he might go on in this vein, and decided to stop him. My mother had never been patient with nervous babble. For God’s sake, say what you mean or keep quiet.
So, he wanted to acknowledge me. That was something, perhaps, if I could trust it. But it was not enough.
“I shouldn’t like to be responsible for jeopardizing your standing with the masters,” I said. He opened his mouth to reply, and I hurried on. “In any case, I have not found Oxford much to my taste.”
“But … Thea…” A pained expression twisted my father’s handsome features. “You cannot go back to France. Where else is there for you now?”
Against my will, I saw myself as he must see me. Without alchemy, what was I? Friendless, motherless, exiled and with no way to provide for myself. I had nothing and no one but him. No wonder, then, that he offered to take me in. He did not want to acknowledge me, but he felt compelled. No father with any conscience at all could turn away such a needy child as he believed me to be—indeed, as I would be, if I did not find the Stone.
I pushed the thought aside. Will was coming for me. He knew he could not use the Stone without me. And once I had the Stone, I would not need my father.
“I will think on it,” I said.
He didn’t ask what there was for me to think on, but the question showed on his face.
“I am grateful for your kindness.” And I knew I should be, though all I could feel was shame to be such an object of pity to a man I barely knew.
18
A letter came one week later, addressed to me, with no return address. I took it from my father, ignoring the unspoken question on his face. I knew the hand, of course, but he didn’t. I took it with unsteady hands and shut myself quickly in my room.
I sat down gently on the edge of the bed, my head down and my arms wrapped around my body like a wounded child. I had lain in this bed impatiently awaiting this letter for days, but now that it had arrived I needed more time. I opened it with trembling hands.
Dear Bee, it said.
It was one page only, in the same beautiful hand that had written to Ada. I swallowed my nausea and read on.
I know. I have no right to call you that, not now. I have no right to beg your forgiveness. I have no right to ask for anything from you.
And yet I must. I must beg for your forgiveness, because without it my life will never mean anything. I can’t leave England knowing you are still here, and hate me.
I lied to you. I had a foolish affair, and I lied to you about it. I should have told you the truth at once. My fear of losing you made me stupid and cowardly. I wish I could make you see how little it meant, and how much you mean and will always mean to me. What woman could ever compare with you? There is no one like you in the whole world. Who has your mind, your talent, your courage? No one. No one in the world. Nothing in the world is worth anything without you, not even the Stone.
Come with me, Bee. We can wield it together. You made it, and you paid the price for it. You should benefit. We will go to France first, to heal your mother. And then—wherever you choose. I will go anywhere in the world if it means I can be with you.
One more chance, Bee. If I fail you again, I’ll hand you the knife to kill me.
I love you. And if you do not love me now, I will make you love me again.
I have booked us passage on a ship leaving from Portsmouth on April twenty-sixth. Come, and meet me on the dock at sunup. I will wait as long as I can.
