Page 9 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
Now her once fresh complexion was marred with blemishes which echoed the plum colour of her dress. The charm she was wearing reeked of rancid milk and cough pastilles. Her eyes, of a very pale blue, were sunken, and she gasped when Mr Derwent dropped his spoon against his bowl. She was trying to put a brave face on it, but she was miserably afraid. A spark of anger lit inside John, ruining his appetite.
After lunch, when he offered her his arm and a turn about the garden, she grabbed him like a drowning woman and pulled him onto the urn-lined terrace at the front of the house.
“Mr Blake, where have you been? Where were you yesterday? I was afraid you had left! Have you spoken to Lord Thornby? Have you told him he must stop it?”
“I have spoken to him. But he knows nothing of magic, I promise. He’s not doing anything to you.”
The house loomed over them, spires and baroque ornaments bristling. On the other side of the terrace, beyond the stone urns, an over-grown yew hedge rose nearly as tall as the house. It was oppressive, like walking in a tunnel. He steered her along to where the hedge stopped, giving a view onto a very green field. They were outside the empty west wing now. He kept walking, trying to shake the feeling that curtains were twitching as they passed.
“But he is!” She lowered her voice. “Or someone is. There was a hedgehog under my bed last night. I could hear it scratching about before I knew what it was. And it seems—uncanny, somehow. How could it have got in, unless someone put it there? And who could it be but him? Does it—does itmeansomething?”
Up close, the charm she was wearing had a practiced feel; rough, but put together with confidence. It was mostly to do with sex and fertility, but there was a ward in there too, to protect from evil. She hadn’t made it, yet it had a female feel. She’d probably bought it from a country wise-woman. Bizarrely, the thing kept reminding him of cattle, until he realised that whoever had put it together was more used to making charms for cows. Probably without meaning to, she’d given Lady Dalton a charm that might make a bull think her fair game. It was terribly dangerous. He must get it off her, and give her something better.
“A hedgehog?” he said.
“I told my maid to put it in a hat box in case you’d like to look at it. It’s in an empty stall in the stables.” She blushed and ducked her head. “It’s nothing, is it? I’m being silly.”
“It’s not silly,” he said seriously. “It is an odd place to find a hedgehog. Let’s go and look at it.”
The hedgehog froze when he lifted the lid of the hat box. He put a finger on its spines, hoping it would keep its fleas to itself. Its nose started whiffling, its boot-button eyes peering up at him anxiously. He could feel the life fizzing around inside it. God, give him an honest iron beam any day! He tried to concentrate, and to ignore Lady Dalton who stood wringing her hands by the stable door. The creature carried no charms. It was not cursed. It had not been summoned. It was not a construct. It had not been dosed with any kind of potion. There were no wards on it. There were no traces of magic at all.
And yet, as he knelt over it, there came again that faint, strangesomethinghe had noticed when he was forcing Thornby to leave the estate. The moment he noticed it, it was gone and he felt he’d imagined it. Could this creature somehow be related? But how? It was certainly not anybody’s familiar, and yet—
“I think it’s just a hedgehog.” He had no wish to alarm Lady Dalton with vague suspicions. He stood, brushing straw from his knees. “But, may I keep it in your hat box a little longer, my lady?”
She stopped wringing her hands and clasped them as if in prayer. “Please tell me the truth. Do you think there’s something odd about it or not?”
He could see his answer mattered a great deal. It was tempting to shield her, but she was caught in the middle of this. He owed her the truth, surely.
“Yes, there’s something odd. I think I’m imagining it, but—” He gestured helplessly.
“Yes! That’s it! One knows there’s something wrong. But one can’t...” She trailed off, then burst out, “Mr Blake, I’msoglad you’ve come! I’m so glad my cousin persuaded you. Don’t you feel there’s something terribly uncanny here at Raskelf? I’ve no proof, so I feel such a fool, but I can’t help it.”
He looked at her closely. Could it be she had some unladylike sensitivity to magic, including this mysterious maybe-magic he had yet to pinpoint?
“I feel it too,” he said. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever come across before. But I feel it.”
She closed her eyes. ‘Thank God,” she whispered. “You’ve no idea what it’s been like. And everyone thinking me a silly girl.”
“I don’t think that.”
“No. I can see you don’t.” She managed a watery smile.
“Let’s get this creature a drink and a bite to eat, shall we? But first you’d better give me that charm you’re wearing. I’m afraid it’s not quite the thing, you know.”
She blushed. “Oh! How did you—oh, but of course you know. I was desperate. She said it would keep me safe.”
He refrained from saying,It might if you were a cow,and held out his hand. Still blushing, she pulled a cord from around her neck and handed him a small leather bag that had been hidden inside her dress. It was linked to her, and the smell stopped the moment it left her hand.
“Will I be safe without it?”
“I’ll give you something better. You know, I’m certain Lord Thornby is not working magic on you, but he thinks his father is doing something to him. What do you know about this story that Lord Dalton won’t let Lord Thornby leave the estate until he marries?”
“He does want Thornby to get married. And he did put his foot down about some goings on in London. A painting of a—a lady from Greek mythology. I expect you heard about it; it was in all the papers. Lord Thornby has to stay here until he makes a respectable marriage.”
“But why?”
“It’s the family name, Mr Blake! Lord Thornby is very unwise, sometimes. The Marquess wants him to settle down. Surely any father would want that?”
