Witch Hunt (Witch Finder 2) (37 page)

‘Luke?’

His head jerked up.

Rosa stood in the doorway, her magic a ripple of flame against the wood panelling. She was dressed and her hair swept up in a silver comb. For the first time in many weeks she looked completely and utterly what she was: a lady, through and through, and the knowledge made his heart thump with a painful missed beat, and his breath catch in his throat just for a moment.

He was almost afraid to touch her, but she walked into his arms and put her hand against his cheek, meeting his eyes with a look so hungry his heart twisted in his chest.

‘Rose,’ he whispered, and then her lips were on his, soft and warm and open, and his senses slipped from him. She was light in his arms, but strong and tough as wire. ‘My God, I love you,’ he said, his words smothered against her skin, but she heard, and her fingers tightened on the muscles of his arms, her nails digging through his shirt sleeves until he groaned against her throat.

Then something slipped from her hand and landed with a thump against the floor, and they both laughed, a shaky trembling laugh, and pulled apart.

‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ Luke asked.

Rosa picked it up and put it on the windowsill beside him.

‘Some horrible child was shouting the headlines in the street, so I bought a bundle to shut him up. I didn’t want him to wake Cassie, least of all with grisly details about her family’s death. I burnt half in my grate but it couldn’t take the rest. Can I use yours?’

‘Of course. What does it say though? The article about the fire?’

‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘Does it mention us?’

Rosa’s eyes widened and she unrolled the top copy. The first page was advertisements, but the second was an account of the fire. Rosa scanned it, Luke reading over her shoulder, his hair falling in his eyes.

TERROR AT SOUTHING

RESIDENTS of the small hamlet of Southing in Sussex were woken in the night by news that Southing House, the family seat of the Knyvets, great landowners in these parts, was burning to the ground. Villagers and firemen rushed to the scene and battled the inferno with great determination and at risk to their own lives, but all efforts to quench the blaze proved unsuccessful, and your correspondent is led to believe that this great manor, once described as ‘the jewel of the Downs’, is no more.

The owner of Southing, Mr Sebastian Knyvet, showed enormous courage and fortitude in his attempts to rescue his invalid mother from the rooftop, whence she had fled in terror from the inferno below. His determination and filial loyalty showed no bounds, even to the extent that he ventured up on to the slates where Mrs Knyvet had taken refuge, at great risk to his own life. Alas, the inclement conditions, combined with his mother’s fragile state of mind, led to a double tragedy and both mother and son fell, and were dashed on to the driveway beneath, where they died instantly. Miss Cassandra Knyvet, who is only fourteen years of age, is the sole surviving member of the family.

The late Mr Aloysius Knyvet, who served for a time as Governor of Bengal, under the then Viceroy of India, Lord Lytton, died last month after a short illness.

‘How dare they!’ Rosa’s cheeks flushed as she looked up at him. ‘Sebastian showed enormous courage and fortitude? What about you? Risking your life for—’

‘He did show great courage. And I’m bloody thankful they didn’t put my name in the paper. As far as the Brothers are concerned, I died somewhere at John’s hands. And as far as your family are concerned, you were in that house when it burnt to the ground. D’you realize what this means?’

‘It means . . .’ She stared at him, her gold-brown eyes wide and dark, dilating to black. ‘It means we are free.’

The words were still ringing in her head as she made her way back up the corridor to the room she was sharing with Cassie. It had been hard to leave Luke, the warmth of his fire, and the comfort of his company, but she did not want Cassie to wake and find herself alone.

Free. Free to do – what?

She opened the door to the room, quietly, trying not to wake the sleeper inside, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light she heard a rustle, and saw Cassie struggling up against the pillow, her hair in tangled rats’ tails.

‘Oh, you’re awake!’ Rosa exclaimed stupidly. ‘I’m sorry – did I disturb you?’

‘No, no, I was waking anyway.’ Cassie rubbed at her eyes. ‘I had been lying there, trying to understand, to believe . . . For a moment I thought it was all a dream – and then I remembered . . .’

‘Cassie, I am so very sorry . . .’ Rosa trailed off, twisting her fingers. But Cassie was shaking her head.

‘No. I am done crying. Mama – Mama leapt. She leapt into the void. She chose death over that miserable existence. And she took Sebastian with her. I cannot help but think . . .’

‘What?’ Rosa went to the bedside to take Cassie’s hand in hers. ‘What, Cassie?’

‘I can’t help thinking that she did not want him to live. That she knew she had that one chance to end it all and to take the darkness with her. They say suicide is a mortal sin, don’t they? But perhaps – perhaps it was a noble thing that she did. In a way.’

‘Perhaps it was,’ Rosa whispered. She felt her eyes well with tears and for a minute she blinked, trying to clear her vision. Then she coughed and turned away to the fireside.

‘What will you do, Cassie? You can’t stay here for long – do you have family? Will you go to London?’

‘Southing is entailed, I’ve been told,’ Cassie said wearily. ‘Along with the London house. I don’t know who they will go to – some distant cousin, I believe. But I dare say the factories are mine, if I wanted them.’

‘Do you?’

‘No. They would not let me manage them, a blind girl not of age – and I am done with money bled from the veins of the poor. No, I will sell them – or try to. And then I would like to go far away, so I never have to smell the smoke of Southing again. I have a cousin in America, near Boston. Distant relatives of ours and of the Mr Rokewood that you met at our ball. They are a kind family and would take me in, I’m sure. They offered to have me stay once before, but I did not want to leave –’ her voice faltered, ‘– to leave Mama.’

‘America!’ Rosa was taken aback. ‘But, Cassie, how – how would you get there?’

‘There are steamships. Ocean-going liners. The crossing takes only a week or two.’

‘But – but the icebergs! And, Cassie, you are—’

She stopped. She could not bring herself to say it. But you are
blind
. How can you travel halfway across the world, alone?

But Cassie nodded, catching Rosa’s thoughts in that uncanny way she had.

‘I know. But I was hoping . . . Rosa, would you come with me?’

‘
What?
’

‘Just for the journey, although of course if you wanted to stay with me in America, I would love that too. I will understand if you don’t want to, but Luke could come too. It would be a new start for all of us.’

Rosa said nothing. Pictures swirled in her head: Mama, Alexis, Clemency, Belle . . . the tall white house in Osborne Crescent, Papa’s narrow grey gravestone in the country churchyard near Matchenham . . . To leave all that – to leave the weight of expectation and duty behind, step out of the corpse of her old identity, to start anew . . .

‘I only thought,’ Cassie said, ‘perhaps . . . it might be easier. For you and Luke, I mean. To start afresh in another place. They see matters differently, I think, over there. A lady and a blacksmith – perhaps it would not be so impossible? And –’ her voice wavered, but she went on, bravely, ‘– I must confess it would be good to think I had a friend in America. Perhaps even two.’

‘It – it’s a wonderful idea,’ Rosa managed. ‘I must talk to Luke though. I cannot decide for him. If he comes, it must be his own free will.’

‘Yes,’ Cassie said quietly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and walked carefully across the hearth, to where Rosa stood, feeling for her hand. ‘But you, Rosa? Will you come? No – forgive me, I should not ask. You will want to wait, speak to Luke before you decide.’

Rosa took a breath.

‘No,’ she said. And then, as she saw Cassie’s smile falter, she took Cassie’s hand in hers, her words coming fast. ‘No, whatever Luke decides, I will come with you.’
I owe you that much
, she thought.
Your mother, your brother, your home: they are gone, because of me. I cannot give them back, but I can give you this friendship, though God knows it’s not much
.

‘Really?’ Cassie’s face lit up, her cornflower-blue eyes like a summer sky. ‘You will come?’

‘Yes,’ Rosa said. She gripped Cassie’s hand in hers. ‘Yes, I will come.’

The knock at the door broke into the silence after her words, making them both jump, and it was Cassie who spoke first.

‘Come in.’ She dragged a wrapper from the bed around herself and turned to face the door. ‘The door is not locked.’

It was Luke. He came into the room a little awkwardly, pulling at his collar as if it chafed him.

‘You’re awake, Miss Knyvet.’

‘Yes, but please, call me Cassie.’

Luke winced and shook his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t. It – it wouldn’t feel right. They’ve dressed me up like a shop-window dummy, but I’m still a blacksmith underneath.’

‘You tried to save my mother’s life,’ Cassie said softly. But Luke shook his head again.

‘I’ll call you Miss Cassie, if it makes you feel better. But don’t make me uncomfortable, miss. I’d sooner go to dinner in my drawers.’

Cassie laughed at that.

‘Miss Cassie then, and can I call you Luke, or must it be Mr Welling?’

‘Mr Lexton,’ he corrected uncomfortably, and Rosa knew he was remembering the circumstances of their last meeting.

‘Mr Lexton then.’

‘No – no, I didn’t mean that. I meant – call me Luke. Please.’

He was red and flushed, and Rosa realized afresh how impossible this would be in England. Even without the Malleus and her family to keep them apart, all of society would conspire to separate them.

‘Luke,’ she said impulsively. ‘Cassie has had an idea. She asks . . .’ She stumbled. It had seemed so clear on Cassie’s lips, so logical. Now as she tried to think of a way to phrase it to Luke, to invite him but not compel, she faltered.

‘I asked if Rosa and you would come with me to America.’ Cassie crossed the carpet to take Luke’s hand in hers. ‘I would count it a great favour, Luke. I have money and means, but I cannot travel alone. I have a cousin in American, a Genevieve Rokewood. She is married to an American, a young, up-and-coming politician called Franklin Entwhistle. He is a supporter of the Vice President, a Mr Thomas Jefferson. Have you heard of him?’

Luke shook his head.

‘Franklin is a great proponent of his. He says he is sure that Mr Jefferson will rise to great heights. I asked Rosa if you would both come with me because I think –’ she paused, and Rosa could see she was trying to think how to phrase it delicately, ‘– I think, perhaps in America . . .’

Luke met Rosa’s eyes and Rosa bit her lip.

‘Perhaps this is a subject to be discussed over luncheon,’ Cassie said at last. She let Luke’s hand drop. ‘I should dress.’

‘That’s what I came to say,’ Luke said, as if remembering for the first time the reason he had come. ‘The landlady sent up to ask if we were eating here or not. I’ll tell her yes, shall I?’

‘Yes, ask her to send something up to our parlour. Thank you, Luke. I see you, you know,’ she said as he turned to go, and he turned back, looking at her deep-blue sightless eyes. She smiled, feeling his gaze upon her in that strange, uncanny way she had. ‘I see you and Rosa in America. I see happiness for you. I see a future.’

For a moment Luke stood, looking at her. And then he rounded on his heel and left.

Luke’s heart was beating hard and fast in his chest, his eyes staring unseeingly, as he strode down the long corridor towards the stairs. He was no fool. He knew what Cassie had meant. America was the great classless society, where self-made men lived in great houses alongside old money and dukes’ daughters rubbed shoulders with the sons of Irish peasants.

But he could not see himself pulling his fortunes from the mud, raising a railroad company, drilling for oil. He did not want to be a self-made millionaire. He wanted to be a blacksmith, and to have pride in that. Even in America, he doubted that a blacksmith could marry a lady. A man had to put down his tools, to enter the drawing rooms of the rich. That didn’t change just because you’d crossed an ocean.

And yet . . . and yet he also wanted Rosa. For her, he could change, put down his tools, forget his past. Couldn’t he?

He stopped at the top of the stairs, his hand on the newel post, and his rib gave a stab, as if it was his heart, not his rib that was broken.

How . . .

‘Luke!’

He looked up. It was Rosa, running down the corridor, her slippered feet light on the polished boards, her magic glowing around her. ‘Luke, wait!’

‘Rosa.’

She came level with him and put her hand on his arm as she looked into his face. She saw pain there, but didn’t understand it, or not completely.

‘Luke, what is it?’

‘My rib,’ he said stiffly. She put her hand on the place where it hurt beneath his jacket, gently tracing the swelling there, and he felt the soft warmth of her palm through the thin shirt material and closed his eyes, shutting back the tears that pricked at the back of his lids.

Rosa
.

‘Can I?’ she asked. He nodded, and then felt her magic flood through him, a warm wave breaking over his head, mending, making right and new.

He took a breath, and in the old, unfathomable miracle that he would never grow used to, never take for granted, he felt it: his rib was healed. But the pain was not gone.

They were so close, he could feel her breath on his cheek, the heat of her skin . . .

‘Luke, come with me . . .’ Her arm stole around his neck and he felt her lips against his throat, his jaw, each touch soft and warm as light. ‘Come with me.’