Excerpts : Chapter 1 | Chapter 16
Chapter 1 | Back to top
It was after the duchess’s funeral that I met the woman who would become my new guardian. Our meeting took place during that crepuscular hour when the sky turns a deepest blue before fading into black. So silently did she move that neither Jack, my beloved wolfhound, nor I heard her enter my small bedroom in one of the manor’s draftiest rooms, where we lay curled beneath two thick wool blankets beside a scantily laid hearth, trying to stay warm.
When the newcomer placed her hand on the small of my back, I rolled over to face her. I felt I knew her instantly. Breathing in the fragrance of her skin, so like the cool dark of a forest in spring, I said, “You’ve come for me, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I am Lady Strange.” Her violet eyes glinted in the firelight, and the sapphire at the base of her throat seemed to radiate an energy that filled me with calm. “You are to live with me from now on. I will raise and protect you as my own daughter.”
A sort of trembling, like the dancing of new leaves, overtook me.
“You may not know it,” Lady Strange said, “but you were born when Mars, symbol of power and potency, was in Scorpio, the most secret of all the water signs.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, my dear girl, you have a destiny.”
This word was new to me. Nevertheless, I liked the sound of it. I knew that destiny must mean something marvelous.
***
After I packed my single trunk and said good-bye to the duchess’s French seamstress, Antoinette, the single other person who had taken the trouble to look after me (especially since I had proven myself proficient with a needle at the age of five), Lady Strange and I traveled by carriage away from Grimsthorpe, accompanied by Jack.
I sat between my new guardian and my old friend, warmed and comforted by blankets of the finest purple wool. As the mantle of night enveloped our carriage, and the chill rain battered the roof of the carriage, Lady Strange leaned close and told me stories about my mother. But instead of dissolving into tears, like the duchess, when Lady Strange spoke her eyes remained dry and clear.
“You knew her, then?” I asked.
“I was privileged to meet your mother a few times,” Lady Strange said. “Each time, I came away believing that she was a brave, intelligent woman. You see, Mary, during an era in which people believed that educating a woman would only teach her to write love letters, your mother proved herself capable of both learning and virtue.” She placed her hand on top of my own. “Given how much she did for the female sex, I could not help but admire your mother a great deal.”
Immediately I was reminded of the love letter my mother had written to my father, a letter that now seemed more the exception in my mother’s life than the rule.
“Did the duchess never show you the books your mother wrote?” Lady Strange asked after a while.
I shook my head.
“That is a great shame.” Then, as if she could see my disappointment through the darkness, she added, “But you are still so young. We have plenty of time.”
“What sort of books did my mother write?” I asked, drawing closer to her, soothed and attracted by her cool, gentle tone.
“Spiritual books of prayer and meditation,” Lady Strange said. “Your mother’s words comforted many people during difficult times. And with her words, she proved to the scholars at Oxford and Cambridge that a woman could be a man’s equal if she was given the chance to develop her mind.”
I leaned back in the carriage and stared into the night, marveling at how little I knew about my mother’s life. But this time I did not feel discouraged or ill at ease. No, I sensed Lady Strange would help me light the way.
In short, I trusted her.
The hours passed, until at last we arrived at an old house built of the most beautiful cream-colored stone. An ancient wood surrounded the house. According to Lady Strange, somewhere deep within that wood lay a bottomless lake.
“Tomorrow we will explore my country,” Lady Strange told me as we stepped out of the carriage and Jack bounded off in the direction of the woods, “but not a minute before.”
At the sound of these words, Jack paused, and even the trees seemed to draw closer to listen. I knew then that my own destiny—whatever that word meant—would somehow connect me with the mysterious power my new guardian possessed.
***
The next morning I awoke in a downy bed beneath a lace-edged quilt of silver satin in a room the color of sunflowers. For a moment I was afraid I was dreaming and would open my eyes only to find myself in my drafty room at Grimsthorpe once more. But then I remembered what Lady Strange had told me about my mother: She proved that a woman could be a man’s equal if she was given the chance to develop her mind, and I knew I was not dreaming.
“Can you believe our good fortune, Jack?” I whispered, noticing how cozy my old friend looked as he lay beside the fire that had burned gently all through the night.
In reply, Jack thumped his long tail and yawned. Lying in my soft, warm bed, I thought further about my conversation with Lady Strange, remembering those first words she spoke to me: My dear girl, you have a destiny.
Although manners should have prevented me from pressing her, as soon as she stepped into the room with a breakfast of buttery, raisin-filled scones and tea, I climbed out of bed and asked her what this marvelous thing she called destiny involved.
Only after laying a new log on the fire, and smoothing out the single crease in her dress did she say, “You are to be a white magician.”
“What is a white magician?” I asked, drawing closer.
“A white magician is an agent of God on earth,” Lady Strange said, choosing each word with care. “A person singled out to use knowledge and enchantment to improve the lives of the people entrusted to her care.”
Although I liked the sound of the words knowledge and God, for they seemed to create immediate links to my mother, enchantment was a word I had never heard before.
“Enchantment may have a foreign sound,” Lady Strange said, running her long, smooth fingers through my hair, “and yet it is a delicious word, is it not?”
When I did not reply, she said, “Enchantment, my dear Mary, simply means the white magician relies on the help of good spirits and spells, coupled with all she knows about the natural world, to effect a change for the better.”
“Such a person must be very important, indeed,” I said. And despite all that Lady Strange had told me the night before, as I stared at the reflection of my small, pale face in the glass on the wall, I found it nearly impossible to picture myself in such a role.
“She is,” Lady Strange said, and poured us each a second cup of tea as Jack lapped up his portion from a bowl. “Does such a role interest you, Mary?”
“Yes,” I heard myself reply.
“Very good,” she said, and this time she smiled. “Now, if you’re to be a proper white magician, then you and I have much work to do. Are you prepared to work hard, Mary?”
“Do you expect me to stitch and sew?” I asked.
“Heavens, no.” Lady Strange raised her hand to her lips. “Whatever gave you such an idea?”
“Well, this is the kind of work I did for the duchess. It is all I know how to do,” I said fearfully, so strongly did I dread losing my new friend’s favor.
Lady Strange stood and walked over to the window. “How can it be that you have already forgotten what I told you about your mother, Mary?” she said, fixing me with her strong, intelligent eye.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I said.
“Good. Now then, listen closely. I want you to learn to read and write. I want you to be able to speak Italian and Latin, to understand history and literature, to look closely at all that exists around us, from the birds of the air to the plants that fill our gardens and woods. Quite simply”— she stretched out her arms and the curtains fluttered behind her—“I want to train your mind.”
“No embroidery?”
Lady Strange shook her head. “It’s clear we’ll need to set to immediate work dispelling the duchess’s influence. You may have spent nine years in her care, yet you are first and foremost your mother’s daughter. And I have told you that she was learned as well as good, have I not?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then there is the example of the Princess Elizabeth.”
I trembled a little, for at the sound of this name, I found myself reminded of what the duchess had told me about the Princess Elizabeth and my father’s attempts to marry and then to seduce her. And yet, when Lady Strange spoke Elizabeth’s name, that same wondrous tingling overtook me. In place of shame, I now felt possibility.
“Is the Princess Elizabeth a fine scholar?” I asked.
“One of the very greatest.” Lady Strange’s eyes darkened to violet pools. “In fact, the two of you have a good deal in common.”
“Such as what?” I asked.
“Patience,” Lady Strange said, then opened the curtains so that sunlight further brightened the golden room.
“Like you, the princess lost her mother when she was very young. She lost her father’s affections as well, for Henry the Eighth rarely came to see her, and for a time had her declared illegitimate.”
“Why?”
“The truth is, Mary, the king was in love with Jane Seymour, his third queen. He felt sure that Jane, unlike Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, would give him a male heir.”
“And Elizabeth stood in that future heir’s way?”
“She did. You see, my dear,” Lady Strange said, her tone of voice prompting me to sit up a little straighter, “you are cleverer than you think.”
“Tell me more about Princess Elizabeth’s life,” I said, aware of the quickening of my heart.
“The most important lesson is that although the princess was often neglected and at times even harshly abused, she sought refuge in the capacities of her own mind, a habit your mother encouraged during her years as Elizabeth’s stepmother. Once I even heard the revered scholar Roger Ascham say Princess Elizabeth’s mind would soon surpass his own.”
“But I’m no princess,” I protested.
Lady Strange stroked my reddish-gold hair. “Maybe not, but you are the daughter of a queen.”
At the sound of these words, my whole being seemed to lighten.
“Now then, I put the question to you a second time. Are you prepared to work hard, Mary? Are you prepared to put body and mind into the task of learning?”
“Yes,” I said clearly.
“Very good.” She motioned to the wardrobe. “It’s time for you to get dressed. Then I want you to follow me.”
“But where are we going?” I asked, walking over to the wardrobe, where I was amazed to find an array of perfectly suitable clothing in just my size.
“Into the woods, of course.” Lady Strange sifted through the wardrobe’s contents until she found a warm flannel gown for me to wear. “Be mindful of information, Mary. Did I not tell you that we would explore my territory today?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well then, next time be sure to connect the two statements,” she said kindly.
After I dressed, I followed Lady Strange downstairs. In the hallway, a pair of sturdy leather walking shoes awaited me, as well as a purple woolen cloak exactly like my new guardian’s.
Once we were bundled up, we stepped outside into the bracing air of late December. Jack followed a pace or two behind, for not even my adventurous, long-legged hound wanted to risk losing his way in this new place. There was a strong breeze that morning, and as we neared the shelter of the wood, the wind seemed to forget its direction among the thick canopy of trees.
How long we walked, I’m not sure, for minutes and hours surrendered all meaning in a close space that allowed so little light. Yet despite the way the wind burned my cheeks, Lady Strange’s company created a peacefulness and confidence in me that I had never known before.
At last we reached a huge tree, its grooved trunk the size of a small cottage.
Lady Strange turned to face me. Beneath her cloak, I felt sure I could see her sapphire necklace shining like a third eye. “Here you will find the proof of your calling,” she said.
When she pointed to the tree, I stared and stared, but still I did not understand.
“Wait and see. No,” Lady Strange said, motioning to the heavens just visible through the filigreed branches of the highest trees, “wait and believe.”
From the pockets of her cloak she retrieved six polished, honey-colored stones. Two of these she placed in my gloved hands. I held them up to my face and saw embedded in each a tiny object. The first held a leaf, the second, some sort of insect.
“These stones come from the Baltic Sea on the far reaches of Russia’s empire. Do you know what they are made of?”
I shook my head, still entranced by the dramatic color and the wonders inside.
“Petrified tree sap,” Lady Strange said. “Hence the leaf and the bee. Legend has it that amber, for this is the stone’s name, comes from the tears of the sisters of Phaëthon, who was struck down by a lightning bolt from Zeus.”
“But that’s only a legend, right?” I said, shivering a little, not because of the cold, but because I did not like the ideas of tears living on in the form of stones, as though such a thing preserved sorrow forever.
“Yes and no,” Lady Strange said. “Proper study of the elements reveals that the true origin of this stone is petrification over time and under the proper conditions. That said, the legend takes its starting point in our beliefs. It’s therefore possible that both the scientific explanation and the story are true.”
“How can two things be true at once, especially two things that are so very different?”
A steady fire seemed to burn behind Lady Strange’s eyes. “In time you might just discover how. In fact, I might say that this will be a great challenge in your life’s work. As a white magician, you will often face contradiction.” Noticing my furrowed brow, she continued, “For example, a person who has done great wrong may simultaneously prove capable of good.”
A shadowy image of my father’s face rose before me, only to flicker and fade away.
“For now, let’s go back to your task,” Lady Strange said, as if she had seen the direction in which my thoughts were heading. Once more, she pointed to the amber stones. “I want you to set the stones around the base of this tree trunk. Be sure to place each stone an equal distance apart.”
One by one, I placed each of the six amber stones around the base of the tree. As Lady Strange passed each stone to me, I took note of the other things preserved inside. In addition to the leaf and the bee, there was a tiny twig, a very small insect like a flea, and a pattern that reminded me of a spider’s web. The sixth stone was absolutely clear. Somehow, I sensed that this clarity signified the transparency of truth. A single look from Lady Strange confirmed my intuition.
Once I had arranged the stones, Lady Strange placed her hands on my shoulders and pressed my body against her own. As soon as I felt her heart beat, the bark of the tree shifted into a most extraordinary pattern. Instead of deep vertical lines, I saw actual words.
“Can you read, Mary?” Lady Strange whispered.
Despite my guardian’s faith in me, shame filled my heart. “Only a very little.”
“Well then.” She touched my hair. “Read what you can.”
With Jack beside me, I studied the letters for a long time. Eventually, I made out a few of the characters written there. “Queen . . . school . . . white.”
Lady Strange bent down and kissed me. “Very good. Later today you and I will begin studies, and soon you will be able to read the entire message in one breath.”
“Now listen to the message, which I committed to memory a very long time ago.” Looking deep into my eyes, Lady Strange read, “ ‘Fetch the red queen’s daughter from the house of shadows. Bring her to your own home beside the dark wood. School her well in the white magician’s wisdom so that she may go forth into the world and fulfill her calling when the virgin queen ascends the throne.’ ”
I touched my reddish-gold hair. “I’m the red queen’s daughter,” I said, exaltation and terror rising within me. “Aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Lady Strange said, kissing me a second time.
“And you have a calling, another word for destiny.”
“And you’re to be my teacher,” I said, connecting what she had told me earlier with the present moment.
“That’s right.” She smiled.
“But who’s the virgin queen?” I asked.
Lady Strange pressed a finger to my lips. “In time,” she said. “All in good time.”
Chapter 16 | Back to top
So eager was I to return home, the journey away from court, though only a few hours, seemed to last forever.
At last, just before sunset, Perseus and I arrived at Moonsway. As soon as I saw the pink house that looked a shade closer to coral in the falling light, and breathed in the fragrance of the end of the season roses, I felt more at ease.
Bess opened the door. “Welcome back, Lady Mary,” she said, pressing me close. “Thank goodness you’ve arrived safely.”
“It’s good to see you, Bess,” I said, grateful to feel her affectionate, uncomplicated arms around me; to take in her yeasty, fresh scent. “Where is my guardian?”
“In her sitting room, drinking her habitual cup of verbena tea, where else?”
I kissed Bess, then said, “I must go to her.”
I found Lady Strange curled up on the sofa, surrounded by a sea of cushions, her violet eyes glimmering with anticipation, her golden aura aglow. Stretched at her feet lay Jack. As soon as his eyes lit on me, he leapt into my arms and covered me with wet kisses.
“I am glad to see you, Mary,” Lady Strange said, once Jack and I released each other, and my favorite hound set about sniffing Perseus, much to my noble spirit’s dismay. (The indignity of it all, Perseus’s eyes said. I could not help but relish this moment—just a little).
“You have been daily in my thoughts,” Lady Strange said, hugging me close. “Now, do sit down, and in good earnest tell me all that has happened.”
After she poured me a cup of tea and offered me a few of Bess’s almond cookies, I curled up beside her and told her almost everything. In particular, I relayed Frances Howard’s circumstances and the spell I had cast with Cordelia’s instructions, the three days of unconsciousness that followed. So too, I relayed the story of the queen’s professed affection for my mother as well as the story behind the amethyst amulet. “The queen gave me this gift from my mother,” I concluded, my fingertips sparking as I placed the ruby-and-pearl necklace in her hands.
Lady Strange admired the necklace. “This is a very good sign,” she said. “As I hoped and believed, you are already close to the queen’s heart. This will aid you immensely in your work at court, for the queen’s gift attests to the fact that she trusts you. As her white magician, Mary, you will need that trust in order to see clearly into her motives.”
“Meaning, Elizabeth’s trust will enable her to speak to me in confidence so that I won’t have to peel through so many layers to find the truth.”
“Very good, Mary,” Lady Strange said. “I see you are beginning to put into practice all that you have learned.”
At such praise, I beamed.
“The necklace so perfectly unites the rubies of your mother with the pearls of Elizabeth,” Lady Strange continued, tapping her teacup with the tips of her long fingers.
“What a stunning union. What a sign that you are already beginning to order the chaos of our queen’s father.”
“Yes,” I agreed, although at that moment my thoughts were focused more on my mother than Elizabeth. This had been my mother’s gift to Henry VIII’s neglected daughter. That’s what made it so special. When I wore the necklace I felt closer to her.
We stayed silent for a while, until at last I said, “I have a confession to make.”
Lady Strange’s eyes rested on my face. “Yes?”
“The court is a complicated, often frightening place.” As I spoke, my thoughts whirled with all that had passed. “At times I was greatly afraid.”
“Fear is natural,” my guardian said. “Still, as Cordelia told you, fear should not become a power in its own right. Fear should be a guide, a friend, but fear should not govern you.”
“Yes, I know. Nevertheless, at Whitehall I felt constantly on my guard. Finding out who I can and cannot trust, measuring just how much—and no more—to say; these things are more exhausting than anything I’ve undertaken.”
As I spoke, I wondered if my guardian had any idea that I was circling but not actually alighting upon the most disturbing element of them all.
“Surveillance is a necessary condition of your work, Mary,” said Lady Strange, refilling her teacup and giving me no sign of how much she understood. “But remember you have Perseus with you, and he will always be a great helpmate in warding off evil.”
It was true. Already he had helped me to twice evade my cousin on the night of the queen’s party. Beside me, Perseus sighed, and I stroked his head and then Jack’s. (Thankfully, by now my old friend had given up sniffing Perseus.)
“Do you find it disturbing that Edmund Seymour seems to possess a number of the same dark qualities as my father?” I asked her.
“Perhaps,” Lady Strange said thoughtfully. “Your cousin’s character will inevitably pose a great challenge to your own. It would not surprise me to learn that he is the one pressing the queen for the return of your holdings.”
I startled.
“Think about it, Mary. Such an inheritance would increase his own wealth and power, were he to capture you as a wife.”
“Of course he stands no chance of capturing me,” I said boldly.
“No,” Lady Strange agreed, her violet eyes unreadable. “That he does not.”
“And yet he and I are strangely matched, for he allowed evil to take root. And I allowed good.”
“A very concise way of seeing things,” Lady Strange considered. “What you must do is remember your present advantage and make the most of it.”
It was then that I told Lady Strange of the sapphire Edmund Seymour wore on his ring finger. “Does the history of his sapphire connect with your own?”
“If it is a true sapphire, it must, for all the gemstones find their same point of origin.”
It was not long before the discussion of gems—and their abuses—brought us to the subject of Vivienne Gascoigne, who I could still see drenched in the light of the hundreds of diamond chips overwhelming the pale gold of her hair.
“What do you know about her family?” I asked.
“Not a great deal, but what I do know is unsettling. In the twelfth century, the Gascoignes came over from France when Eleanor of Aquitaine married Henry the Second. They are a mysterious clan, one driven by their passions. During my grandmother’s day, one of the Gascoigne women murdered a man who betrayed her in love. If I remember correctly, the woman was ultimately torn to bits by violent dogs.”
Trying my utmost to shake off the ghastly image, I said, “If they are passionate and mysterious, are they also involved in magic?”
“Almost certainly. One of the Gascoignes, the Lady Genevieve, served as a lady-in-waiting to Eleanor of Aquitaine. She accompanied Eleanor to the Middle East and learned about the magical arts there.”
Memory of the Demonius of the Dead Sea and of my dream of the white serpent seared my mind. Were the two connected? Without wasting another second, I described both to Lady Strange.
“It is possible, though improbable, that Vivienne’s ancestor somehow laid her hands on the Demonius.”
I drew closer to her. “Why improbable?”
“Because the Demonius happens to be the largest sapphire in the world. Were someone to possess it, that person would be immensely strong, perhaps all-powerful. Given Vivienne’s petty vindictiveness, I cannot believe that she can really claim much power, or she would not behave in such a mean way.”
“But what about the diamonds in her hair?”
Lady Strange laughed so hard the teacup shook in her hands. “You have answered your own question when you said that cutting a large diamond weakens its potency and therefore, its virtues. If memory serves me correctly, I do recall hearing that the Lady Genevieve brought a diamond back from the desert, a gift from a great Mohammedan who hoped to make her his wife. Most likely, her descendent, the Lady Vivienne, is a far less noble person and has curbed the diamond’s power by chopping it up in order to adorn her person. Pure vanity, my dear.”
Lady Strange’s eyes held my own. “Nevertheless, if Vivienne is a magician, she must not discover the source of your strength, for she might try to cripple or even destroy you, and although she has not your birthright or your virtue, we both know that good does not necessarily triumph over evil.”
“Too true,” I said, struck more forcefully by the reality of Cordelia’s violent death.
It was then I told Lady Strange of Perseus’s warning about Edmund Seymour’s watchfulness during last night’s concert. I told her how, afterward, someone else spoke directly to my mind and warned me not to show any weakness. “That person, whoever he or she was, knows who I am. Does that not mean I have an ally, a fellow white magician, at court?”
Lady Strange considered my question for a moment. “Possibly,” she concluded, “though you must remember a key point of your training: things are not always as they appear to be.”
“You’re saying that someone who initially appears to be evil might in reality prove to be good, and vice versa?”
“That I am, Mary. The more time you spend practicing the magical arts, the more you will discover that there are many people and creatures, as well as objects, involved in the same arena. You must not immediately assume that the voice you heard is a good one. The best advice I can offer you is to remember your powers of observation and contemplation. Question everything and assume nothing.”
“What about auras?” I asked. “Aren’t they always right?”
“In my experience, yes,” Lady Strange said. “That said, if a magician is very powerful, he might manipulate his aura or that of another person. Therefore, there may be times when not even an aura can be trusted.”
Daunted by the scope of my task, my body seemed suddenly heavy. And then there was the absence of Edmund Seymour’s aura, overwhelming proof of his unreadability and his simultaneous threat.
“Listen, Mary, part of your work will be to learn to recognize good from evil; both evil and good can take many forms. Above all, you must be careful, especially in your own practice. As you have already seen, each spell has its consequences. It’s absolutely crucial you understand as much about a particular magical action as you can, well before you undertake it. Consequences, levels of energy—all these things must be carefully evaluated. Never, my dear Mary, act in haste.”
From there, we turned to the ominous subject of my inheritance and the queen’s desire to elevate me. “The last thing I want is to be made an heiress,” I said plainly.
“I am relieved to hear you say so. Were you to become an heiress, your position at court would become more complicated, for you would suddenly be a wealthy young woman with a revered mother’s memory behind you. Many a man would try to marry you, and, as we both know, your official, albeit concealed, reason for being at court never shall be marriage or social prosperity. The accumulation of suitors would only cloud and misdirect your energies.”
Suitors. Marriage. I pictured a lurid cave from which there was no escape. “How am I to prevent the queen’s action?”
“With all the grace of your station and birth. You must be sure to appear genuinely grateful, but you must also convince her that it would be doing you and she harm, were she to make you rich.”