“Let us find out.” She slapped the flower upon his chest and, losing herself in the process, moved the bluebell in a circle until the petals began to crumple and ball. She absented herself, muttering she hardly knew what, but words the pages of the Mutus Liber seemed to hint at. She pressed the flower into his breast until his skin ringed red from pressure.
At last, she came back to herself. “Now will you tell me what I wish to know?”
He opened his mouth and moved it back and forth. His jaw vibrated, his lips quivered. Then he spoke, his voice low and forced. “Yes.”
She smiled. “Much better, Mr. Buckles. Let us discover all your secrets.”
27
BYRON CONTINUED TO BALANCE THE CHAIR BACKWARDS WHILE holding Buckles still with one arm. “I realize you are enjoying yourself,” he said, “but we cannot know how much time we have before Lady Harriett returns. Besides which, holding the chair this way is rather uncomfortable. I suggest you ask what you must so we might depart.”
There was not much time, Byron was certainly correct in that, and there were so many questions that needed asking, but only one that mattered. “You may lower the chair, Lord Byron.” When he had done so, she looked at Mr. Buckles. “Where is your daughter?”
He did not hesitate before responding. “I do not know.”
“Then Lady Harriett did not take her, has nothing to do with her disappearance?”
“No.”
“But you knew she was gone, that she had been replaced?”
He paused for a moment. “Yes, of course I knew.”
“Does Martha know?”
“No.”
Lucy sucked in her breath.
“Do you know who took Emily?”
“One of Lady Harriett’s rivals. That is all I know.”
“And why? What did this rival want?”
“To keep Lady Harriett from doing what she wished with the child.”
“And what did she wish to do?”
Mr. Buckles worked his jaw for a moment. “She wished to kill her.”
Lucy could no longer control her anger. She could no longer pretend this was a logic puzzle. “Your own daughter. Why did you not stop her?”
“It is not my place,” said Mr. Buckles. “She is a great lady, who condescends to let me serve her. How could I refuse her such a thing? It was not a boy.”
“Do you know how I can find your daughter?” Lucy asked.
“If I knew, Lady Harriett would have her by now.”
“But why does she want your daughter dead?”
“Because talent runs crossways through families, particularly from aunt to niece. There was too great a likelihood that she would have the same sort of inclinations you do, and Lady Harriett could not endure having another such as you to contend with.”
“Another such as me,” Lucy repeated. “I would be nothing to her if she had not condescended to interfere with my life and abuse my niece.”
Buckles snorted. “Even Lady Harriett can meet her destiny while running from it.”
“We should go,” said Byron, his voice strained.
“Yes, one moment,” said Lucy. “What is Lady Harriett? Who is she that she can do such things as she does? I must know.”
Mr. Buckles barked out a cynical laugh. “There has never been a more ignorant girl. You would never have dared to meddle with her if you understood who she is.”
“Then enlighten me,” said Lucy.
“There is no time for this,” blurted Byron. “We must run while we can. Ask him how we circumvent the guards upon the doors.”
“I need none of his help for that. Who is Lady Harriett?”
“If you don’t need his help,” said Byron, “then let us go.”
“Not yet,” snapped Lucy. “Tell me, Buckles. What is Lady Harriett?”
“She is my mistress,” he said with a grin.
“What is she,” repeated Lucy. “What is the nature of her power?”
“You poor, silly girl,” said Mr. Buckles. “You really don’t know. Lady Harriett is of that order of beings you are foolish enough to call fairies. These are not the tiny imps in children’s tales, I assure you. They are the dead, Miss Derrick. They are the glorious dead, the triumphant dead, returned to earth with timeless flesh. Lady Harriett has walked this island, governed this island, for centuries. There are not many of her kind, but they are powerful, and they will not stand to see all they have built brought down by a rogue who thinks himself wiser than they.”
“Ludd?” asked Lucy.
“Yes, Ludd. Lady Harriett and her kind have always maintained their power with a gentle hand, bending rather than breaking. Ludd and his followers do not understand this, and so they must endure abject defeat. Just as you shall be destroyed for what you have done here.”
“I am sure there are circumstances in which your threats are more effective,” Lucy replied. Then to Byron, she said, “Tie him up, and we shall go.” Looking around the room, Lucy found a window sash, yanked it from the curtain, and tossed it to Byron. He quickly tied Mr. Buckles to the chair, and then used a table linen to gag him.
“It won’t hold him long, but it will do for now,” he said. “You must understand that you have made an enemy of someone very deadly.”
“It is she who has made an enemy of me,” Lucy said, not believing her own bravado, but enjoying the sound of it all the same.
They approached the front door with a certain trepidation. Lucy reached into her bag and retrieved a small pouch, which she held at the ready. She held back and turned to Byron. “Try the door.”
He bowed and put his hand on the doorknob. Nothing. He waited a moment, startled as the clock struck ten. Then, catching his breath, he turned.
At once he shouted in surprise and pulled his hand back in pain. Four rivulets of blood were trickling across the back of his hand, looking like slashes inflicted by invisible claws.
Byron turned to Lucy in horror and confusion. “What do I do?”
“Try again,” she said as she tossed at the door a handful of herbs that she’d assembled, using the ingredients she’d had upon her, as well as what she’d been able to find in the house. As the mixture struck, Lucy felt a shrinking, a movement in the air as though what had been there was there no longer. “Try again,” she repeated more forcefully. With evident reluctance, Byron took the handle and turned. This time the door opened and the light of a gloomy, cold, and overcast day struck them as the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.
Lucy tossed another handful of herbs in their path and they exited the house. They went perhaps ten feet forward along the walkway and turned around.
“Will those creatures follow us?” Byron asked.
“I think they have been ordered to keep us in, not retrieve us if we get out. Besides, they will not want to cross the line of herbs upon the threshold. Beings of that nature don’t like thresholds to begin with, and I’ve made it that much more unpleasant.”
“What precisely did you toss?” he asked.
“Dried fennel, dill, salt, sage, and garlic.”
“After you are done defeating the evil spirits,” Byron said, “perhaps we might pickle some cucumbers.”
Lucy could not help but laugh. “Let us find your coach and get back to London.”
They turned to walk down the path, but Lucy then froze and grabbed Byron’s arm. It took all her will not to scream. Something ran toward them, hard and fast. It was black and foul and terrifying, a great mastiff, obscenely and almost absurdly oversized. It was the largest dog she had ever seen, near as large as a pony and all over a glossy, total black. Its mouth was open, baring its sharp, glistening fangs, slick with saliva, and in the gloom of the day they could see its eyes bright, almost luminescent.