The Gates of Sleep (9 page)

“Oh, you tiresome thing, I
told
you that it
was my own fault!” She shook her head, and little drops of rain flew from
the ornaments on her bonnet as she laughed. “Come along with you, let’s
get my things into whatever contraption you’ve commandeered to get me,
and get ourselves home, before we all drown!”

“You’re a Water Master,” Sebastian
teased, a grin creasing his face. “You can’t drown. Now
me,
if I don’t find myself drowning in this antagonistic Element, I’m
probably going to perish of melancholy.”

But as the train pulled away from the station with a
whistle and a great rush of steam and creaking of metal, he rounded up the
stationmaster’s boys and got Elizabeth’s baggage fastened up behind
and atop the coach. There was quite a bit of it; three trunks and some assorted
boxes. But she was staying for weeks, after all, and given the weather, couldn’t
count on regular washdays.

Oh, I wonder what she’s brought to wear. She’s
a lady, and in society—what kind of gowns did she bring?
Marina was
torn between hoping that Elizabeth had brought all manner of fine things, and
fear
that she had, and that her wardrobe would be utterly unsuitable for Blackbird
Cottage and a Devon winter.

The rain did not abate in the least, and Sebastian looked
up at the sky before he climbed aboard the coachman’s box, his hat brim
sending a stream down the back of his mackintosh. “I don’t suppose
you’re prepared to do anything about this, are you?” he asked
Elizabeth.

Elizabeth paused with one foot on the step. “In the
first place, I’m a Water Master, not an Air Master; storms are
not
my venue, and I would need an Alliance with Air at the very least to clear this
muck away permanently—or at least, for more than a day. In the second
place, all I can do by myself—without interfering in a way that would
shout to everyone with a Gift that a Magus Major was here—is to create
just enough of a pause in the rain to give you time to get the horse turned
toward Blackbird Cottage. Now if that’s what you want—or if you
really think it’s prudent to let every Power in the county know that I’ve
arrived—”

Sebastian heaved a theatrical sigh. “No, thank you,
Elizabeth,” he said, and reached up, grabbing the rail at the side of the
box, and climbing up onto his perch. Elizabeth closed the umbrella and handed
it to Marina, then climbed inside. Marina followed her and laid the umbrella at
her feet. It would end up there anyway.

“Good gad, he borrowed the parson’s rig, didn’t
he?” Elizabeth exclaimed, as she settled herself on the hard wooden bench
across from Marina. “I’d almost rather he’d brought the pony
cart!”

The coach swayed into motion, and they both grabbed for
handholds.

“Your lovely hat would have gotten ruined,”
Marina protested weakly.

“Yes, and all the rest of my turnout as well,”
Elizabeth agreed ruefully. “I fear I’ve cut rather too dashing a
figure for this weather of yours. Well, no fear, my dear, I haven’t come
laden like a professional beauty; this is about as fine a set of feathers as I’ve
got with me. And there’s a certain relief in being among the savage
Bohemians; you don’t feel required to attend church every Sunday, so if
the weather’s foul, neither shall I! And at long last, I’ll be able
to get through a day without changing my dress four or five times!”

Marina laughed. She had forgotten how outspoken Elizabeth
was, and—to be honest—how very pretty. She could easily be a
professional beauty, one of those gently-born, well-connected or marginally
talented ladies whose extraordinary good looks bought them entree into the
highest circles. The PBs (as they were called) had their portraits painted,
sketched, and photographed, figured in nearly every issue of the London papers,
and were invited to all important social functions merely as ornaments to it.
And even to Marina’s critical eyes, educated by all of her exposure to
art and artists as well as the press, Elizabeth Hastings, had she chosen to
exert herself, could have had a place in that exalted circle. She must be
nearing forty, and yet she didn’t look it. Her soft cheeks had the glow
that Marina saw on her own in the mirror of a morning; her green-green eyes had
just the merest hint of a crow’s-foot at the corners. That firm, rounded
chin hadn’t the least sign of a developing jowl; the dark blonde hair
was, perhaps, touched a trifle with silver, but the silver tended to blend in
so well that it really didn’t show. And in any case, as Marina well knew,
there were rinses to change the silver back to gold.

“Remarkably well-preserved for such a tottering
relic, aren’t I?” Elizabeth asked, the humor in her voice actually
managing to get past the gasps caused by the jouncing of the coach.

Was
I thinking loudly again?
A rush of blood went
to Marina’s cheeks. “Oh—bother!” she exclaimed, as she
felt tears of chagrin burn her eyes for a moment. “Lady Hastings, I
apologize for—for being so—”

But Elizabeth freed a hand long enough to pat her knee
comfortingly. “Please, dear,
you
are a Water child, and a
powerful one—anyone of the same Element would have picked up the train of
your thoughts no matter how much energy you put into those basic shields Thomas
taught you.”

Marina shook her head. “But I wasn’t really
trying hard enough—”

“Perhaps, but he hasn’t taught you how to make
those shields effortless and unconscious; well, I can’t fault him for
that. It isn’t as if Earth Masters are often called on to work combative
magics.”

“What has that to do with my being rude?”
Marina asked, the flush fading from her cheeks.

“That is what you will learn for yourself. And it’s
Elizabeth,
my dear. Or Aunt Elizabeth, if you prefer. I
am
one of your godparents, after all.” Elizabeth smiled into Marina’s
astonished eyes. “You didn’t know? I should have thought someone
would have told you.”

“No, Aunt Elizabeth,” Marina said, faintly. “But—”

Elizabeth chose to change the subject, bending forward to
peer out one of the dripping windows. “I will be very glad when we’re
all safely in Margherita’s kitchen, dry, and with a hot cup of tea in front
of us.” The coach hit a deep rut, and they both flew into the air and
landed hard on their seats. “Good heavens! When was this coach last
sprung? For Victoria’s coronation?”

“Probably,” Marina said, torn between laughing
and wanting to swear at her bruises. “The parson hasn’t much to
spare, what with having all those children; his hired man fixes
and
drives this rig along with all his other duties—”

“Well, I hope that the parsonage ladies are
considerably more—” the coach gave another lurch “—more
upholstered
than we are.”

Marina’s laugh was bitten off by another bump, but it
was very clear to her that she and “Aunt” Elizabeth were going to
get on well together. Heretofore, Elizabeth Hastings had been something of an
unknown quantity; like the artists that arrived and left at unpredictable
intervals, she was the friend of Marina’s guardians, and hadn’t
spent much time in Marina’s company.

Oh, Marina had certainly had
some
interaction with
Elizabeth in the past, but there had been that distance of “adult”
and “child” between them.

Between that last visit and this, that relationship had
changed. For the first time Elizabeth Hastings was treating her as an adult in
her own right, and Marina was discovering that she
liked
the older
woman. Certainly Elizabeth was making it very easy to become a friend; inviting
friendship, welcoming trust and offering it.

Without knowing she’d been worried about that, Marina
felt a knot of tension dissolve inside her. So, as well as they could amid the
bouncing of the coach, they began to learn about each other. Before very long,
it almost seemed as if she had known Elizabeth Hastings all her life.

Sebastian brought the coach as close to the door as he
could, and a herd of flapping creatures enveloped in mackintoshes and rain capes
converged on it as soon as it stopped moving—Uncle Thomas, Sarah, and
Jenny, with Aunt Margherita bringing up the rear. Elizabeth was ushered
straight into the kitchen by Margherita; Marina stayed outside with her uncles
and the servants just long enough to be loaded with a couple of bandboxes
before being shooed inside herself.

She shed her rain cape and hung it, dripping, on its peg,
then brought her burden into the kitchen. Elizabeth had already divested
herself of hat, coat, and jacket, and Marina found herself eyeing the
fashionable emerald trumpet skirt with its trimming of black soutache braid and
the cream silk shirtwaist with its softening fall of Venice lace with a pang of
envy. Not that she didn’t love the gowns that her Aunt Margherita made
for her, but… but they
weren’t fashionable.
They were
lovely,
very
medieval, and certainly comfortable, but they weren’t
anything like fashionable. Plenty of magazines found their way here, and Marina
had been known to peruse the drawings in them from time to time, gazing with
wonder at the cartwheel hats, the bustle skirts, the PBs in their
shoulder-baring gowns and upswept hair. The village was hardly the cynosure of
fashion; most of the people who came to stay at the cottage were of the same
ilk as her guardians. Only Elizabeth Hastings came in the feathers and
furbelows of couture, and Marina’s heart looked long and enviously at its
representative.
She
wanted an emerald suit, an ostrich-plumed hat.

But you’d have to wear corsets!
a little
voice reminded her.
Look at her waist—think about how tight you’d
have to lace them!

But oh—replied another side of her—it would be
worth it to look like that, to wear clothing like that.

She shook herself out of her reverie and joined them over
their hot tea.

“—and no, I am not going to prance around your
farmyard in a ridiculous rig like this!” Elizabeth was saying as Marina
took a seat at the table. “Honestly, if you must know, the reason I
tricked myself out like a PB on a stroll through Hyde Park was so I would be treated
with disgusting servility by the railroad staff. A woman traveling alone needs
all the advantage that perceived rank and wealth gives her. I wanted porters to
present themselves to me without having to look for them. I wanted instant
service in the dining car and no mashers trying to seat themselves at my table.
I didn’t want to find myself sharing my compartment with some spoiled
little monkey and his or her nursemaid; in fact, I didn’t want to share
it at all, and I couldn’t get a private compartment on that train. The
best way to ensure privacy is to dress as if you’re too important to
bother. It’s what I do when I go to suffrage meetings.
No one
raises his hand or voice against me when I’m dressed like this. I may get
surly looks, but they’re
deferential
surly looks, even from the
police.”

Margherita shook her head. “I can’t picture you
as a suffragist, somehow.”

“I only go often enough to make it clear where my
sympathies are. And I supply money, of course,” Elizabeth replied
matter-of-factly. “But frankly, the Magic takes up so much of my time I
can’t give the Cause the physical support I’d like to.” She
shook her head. “Enough of that; if you really want to know about it, I’ll
talk about it some evening with you. Now, I want you to know clearly
that—
exactly
as last time I visited—I’m not
expecting any more service than any of your other guests. I can take care of
myself quite nicely, thank you, I don’t need to be waited on hand and
foot by a maid, and
not
dressing for dinner is going to be something
of a relief.”

Aunt Margherita broke into a gentle smile that warmed her
eyes. “You know, I think that I had known that, but it’s good to
hear it from your own lips. We’ve never had you for longer than a long
weekend, you know, and a weekend guest is very different from a long-term
guest.”

“True enough.” Elizabeth drank the last of her
tea, stood up, and picked up her hat and jacket. “Now, since the bumping
and swearing in the staircase has stopped, I think we can assume that the men
have finished hauling my traps up the stairs, and I can change into something
more appropriate.” She dimpled at Marina. “Then you will stop
treating me as if I didn’t want to be bothered.”

All three of them laughed. “I’ll show you your
room,” Marina offered, and took the lead up the stairs, the bandboxes in
hand.

“Oh lovely—you gave me the other kitchen-room!”
Elizabeth exclaimed as soon as she recognized what part of the house she was
in. She breathed in the scent of baking bread from below appreciatively. “These
are the best rooms Blackbird Cottage has in the winter.”

“I think so too,” Marina said, as Elizabeth
hung her jacket up in the wardrobe and bent to open one of the three trunks.
Then, suddenly shy, she retreated back down to the kitchen to help her aunt.

Elizabeth came down to join them in a much shorter time
than Marina would have thought, and the plain woolen skirt and shirtwaist she
wore were nothing that would be out of place in the village on a weekday.
Marina couldn’t help a little pang of disappointment, but she tried not
to show it.

Then came a supper that was astonishingly different because
of a new face and some new topics of conversation around the table. This time,
though, Marina was included in the conversation as a full equal. There was no
discussion; it just happened, as naturally as breathing.

And one of the new topics was magic…

“The Naiads and I had to drive a River-horse up the
Mersey, away from people,” Elizabeth said over the apple pie, as light
from the candles on the table made a halo of her hair. “We don’t
know where it came from, but it seems to have been retreating from the
poisoning of its stream. You haven’t seen anything of water-poisoning
around here, have you, Marina?”