Page 16 of Magic Touch
"It seems there are things in the world that I thought were fairy stories but turn out to be real. My father always told me witches and those tales of mythology were to be ignored and pushed away. I think his father told him the same. I'm certain this was done for several generations, but now those warnings were for naught." In my memories of my father's adamant stance against imagination, I'm mostly talking to myself.
Dove narrows his eyes and leans forward. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Will, what has happened?"
Calling me by my given name shows his concern as a friend. I fold my hands on top of the desk. "I hardly know where to begin. You'll think I'm mad."
"You and I have seen and been through too much for that. And if you are mad, I'll keep your secret, and take you out to spend your days in the country with your mother." It's the first time I've seen him grin since he became my valet.
Taking a deep breath, I tell him everything that has happened in the last two days. At the end of my tale, I let the magic out and show him, lest he really think me insane. "So, you see, I must either have this taken away, or learn to use it. I have no idea if it's a gift or a curse, but that is yet to be discovered."
I tuck the magic away again.
Pale, Henry leans back in the chair. Sitting silently for a long while, he stares at me. Drawing a long breath, he focuses on his hands, then meets my gaze again. "I will go with you, of course. I think Samuel can be trusted, as well as Anne, the downstairs maid. Do you think you'll need more than that?"
Overwhelmed with gratitude, I don't know what to say. For the years we were at war, Henry and I were friends, and then we were not, as our ranks precluded the continuation of our friendship. It seems we are again friends, or perhaps I was mistaken, and we always were. "That will be more than enough. Thank you, Henry."
"How can you be certain these women have no malice in mind by taking you to the country?" Sitting up straight again, he places his hands firmly on his legs as if at the ready to jump up at any moment.
"I'm not certain how I know, but Miss O'Dwyer is of pure heart. I'm sure of it." It's the only thing in the world I feel sure of at this moment. Everything else is a spinning madness.
Standing, he says, "I see."
"You always see too much, old friend," I warn.
His lips twitch the slightest, and then Dove returns to his stoic expression. "It is my job, sir."
"Can you inform Anne and Samuel in some way which I don't sound like a madman?" I hardly see how that is possible, but they have to be told something.
"I will inform them that we are going to the country, and they are needed. If things become...strange, we shall deal with it on a moment-by-moment basis. I believe it will be fine." He bows and leaves the study.
I don't know if Dove is right, but I'm thankful to have someone in my corner during what is sure to be the strangest phase of my life thus far.
Turning my attention to the books, I open the top one. It is a handwritten account of some kind. There is a column on the left with dates and an account of events for each date. It begins on April 1, 1547. The writing is difficult to make out.
I open the center drawer in my desk and remove a magnifying glass.
Margaret Marley was tried and put to death yesterday. Poor Peggy was a good sort and a powerful woman. If she could be removed so easily, we are all in danger.
Heart in my throat, I put the book aside and take up the next.
On the inside cover the inscription reads Samuel Meriwether, and beneath it says with his wife, Sarina Meriwether.
I turn the page.
For the management of stomach ailments.
A list of herbs precedes instructions to combine them into some kind of salve.
I'm having trouble breathing. Last time I looked at these books, my father caught me and became enraged. He put them up high so I wouldn't reach them. Had my father known about all of this?
The third book is in Latin, and my skills are not up to the task of reading it. Perhaps that is for the best. Reading things I'm not yet equipped to understand might not be wise. I put them aside with the glass, to be packed for the journey. Perhaps Esme or Prudence will find them of value.
Returning to the letter to my mother, I dip my pen in ink and halt as I contemplate what to write.
I spend the next two days getting things in place as if I'm going on an extended holiday. My man of business is informed, will see to the houses, and ensure that my mother is cared for financially. I have told him I will write with my address as soon as I'm able. I have the carriage resprung for the trip. I'm told it's not far, but the carriage will be full with six people in all.
On the morning of our departure, I place the books in a small bag and hand it to Dove. "I suppose this is a new adventure."
"Indeed, sir." Dove hints at a smile, but his eyes show wariness as he waits for me to exit my room.
