Page 36 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
“Sorry, you needn’t answer that.”
They got along in silence for a bit. Eventually she said. “I’m not really married to him, am I? We stay in the same house in winter. That’s all.”
Thornby had never really noticed women in the past. They’d been vaguely decorative objects with which he’d danced at balls, while keeping a sharp eye out for which fellow might be keen on something more interesting afterwards. Or they were servants, or models that posed a challenge of form and technique. He’d never been unkind to them, but he’d never really thought of them at all, until he’d been forced into the proximity of his Aunt Amelia. He’d been so lonely and she’d been so surprising. As surprising as John in her way. She’d smashed all his preconceptions about what women liked and wanted, and she’d made him see that her thoughts and wishes were as valid as his own. And yet, despite these realisations, he’d still been treating his young step-mother as a pantomime cut-out; the gauche social-climber who’d married for position, and damn everything else.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said. She gave him a bleak smile. “You should’ve kept that parrot,” he added.
“The parrot? The one you brought to the wedding? But I did keep it! It lives in Hertfordshire with friends of mine.”
“You know it’s trained to say ‘hello, dear’?”
“Of course! It says it all the time.”
“So now you see why I gave you it.”
“Er...”
“Well, it’s a better conversationalist than Father. I thought you might need someone sensible to talk to.”
She gaped at him for a moment, then began to laugh. He hadn’t thought it that funny, but the more she laughed, the more impossible it was not to join in. She put one hand to her side, weeping with laughter. They’d almost stopped when she said ‘Hello, dear!” in a croaky voice, not at all like a parrot, and with a frown that resembled Lord Dalton’s habitual expression.
They were still standing there, helplessly clutching at each other, when John arrived. He gave them a sharp look and raised an eyebrow.
“Lady Dalton. Lord Thornby. Are you all right?”
Lady Dalton, already bright red, gave a small shriek. “Oh! I must—that is—good day, Lord Thornby. Mr Blake.” She patted Thornby’s arm in a familiar way, and fled back along the passage.
“Ah, Mr Blake,” Thornby said, grinning at him.
***
John had left his interviewwith Lord Dalton and made his way upstairs thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure if he’d learned anything or not. WhydidDalton persist in this failing seaweed venture that was churning through money he didn’t have? Was the seaweed business really a cover for some scheme regarding pearls? What did being married, or not, have to do with anything?
At least he’d discovered that Dalton knew enough about magic to have tried theurgists and found them useless. But what had he tried themfor? Did he know he was cursed? Had he tried to have the curse removed? No wonder it hadn’t worked if the magicians had been using ordinary magical methods. Or was there something else? Lord Dalton was a man with secrets. Was it the natural caution about business in a man facing ruin, or something more sinister?
He decided he’d look in on Thornby. Probably, Thornby was asleep; but possibly he was upset from his awful ordeal. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to check, and anyway the temptation to see him again was too strong to ignore.
The last thing John expected was to find Thornby neatly dressed, standing in the passage in fits of laughter with Lady Dalton. An unworthy stab of jealousy went through him to see them so plainly enjoying each others’ company. It seemed magical that Thornby could find anything to laughat. In his place, John felt sure he’d have become gloomy and grumpy and beaten-down. You’d never guess Thornby had been in torment half the night. He looked paler than usual and a bit scratched, but that was all.
“Well! You look all right,” John said. “Did the soil from the estate help? What on earth were you saying to her?”
Now he looked more closely, John could see that, in fact, all was not well. Thornby might be able to laugh, but there was a nervous glitter in his eyes, and tension in his jaw and shoulders. He was wound tighter than a steel cable on a suspension bridge. He hid it well, but at any moment, he might snap.
“Just being silly,” Thornby said. “And the earth did help. Quite a bit, I think. Being closer helped too. What about you? You look thoughtful.”
“I’ve been speaking to your father. I thought he might tell me something useful about the curse.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m looking for, you see, and he plays his cards damned close. So, I’m going to come up with as many obsolete charms as I can, in the hope that one of them has some effect on fairy magic. If I find anything that seems useful, I’ll go and see him again, and see if I can unpick anything.”
“Will that work? It sounds a bit hit or miss.”
“My materials suggest things, sometimes. I think they know things I don’t. That’s how I got to that other place. I hope they’ll help me now.”
“Would it help if you tried things out on me? I mean, if something affects me, then presumably it’ll affect the curse.”
“Experimenting with magic? On you?”
