A Scandal in Battersea Read online

  “Beatrice Leek?” Sarah looked puzzled. “But she’s not a Master—”

  Nan snorted, and gestured to her friend to follow her back into the manor. “She might not be a Master, but I would bet my favorite hat that she can do more with Earth Elementals than most Earth Masters can. And I’d trust her knowledge of all things occult in London over just about anyone else’s, and that includes Alderscroft. I’ll try and talk to her when we get back, although I might not be able to until after Christmas. If she’s as much of a witch as she claims, she probably has some ceremonies to do.”

  “Bother Christmas! Why did it have to come at such a bloody inconvenient time?” Sarah asked crossly.

  “We’ve got that backward,” Nan said, as the significance dawned on her. “Christmas is the cause of all this, not just something that’s getting in the way of us contacting people. It’s what we were afraid of.”

  “Oh . . .” Sarah replied, putting her hand to her lips in alarm. “It has to be. You’re right. It’s moon-dark and Christmas Eve.”

  Nan, Sarah and Memsa’b managed to keep cheerful faces for the children, who ripped into Lord Alderscroft’s presents with unholy glee after a sumptuous Christmas party dinner. Lord A had gifted the school with many dolls over the years, most of which had survived even from Nan and Sarah’s day. Each little girl was allowed to pick one that was hers and hers alone until she decided she had outgrown dolls, the rest were common property. Lord A—or, more like, his secretary, who had an uncanny knack for such things—had made certain these dolls were all the same size, and made sure there was a nice variety in the various hair and eye colors and face-molds, and even that there were a few boys among the girls. So when the big box of brand new doll clothing was opened, all the special darlings got new clothing out of it, with plenty of frocks and underthings and sailor suits to spare. And of course, that was just the beginning of the bounty. There were, in fact, two new rocking horses and a pleasing assortment of hobbyhorses, all of them with magnificent manes and tails. The expected reinforcements for the tin army were there. There was a big box of games, another of various sized balls, and a dazzling box of marbles and another of jacks. And to cap it all off, enough new paints and pencils and crayons to replace all the old ones. The children all went to bed thoroughly tired out. Even Amelia decided she was not too old to join the fun, politely accepted a doll from among the “unclaimed” and saw her garbed in a brand new gown, and romped with the rest. Nan was relieved to see her finally get some color in her cheeks, and to wear herself out with jumping rope, dancing, and blindman’s bluff.

  Although the other “old students” went back to their respective homes, Suki, Nan, and Sarah were expected to stay the night; Nan and Sarah had overnight bags, and of course most of Suki’s belongings were already here. Alderscroft’s coachman would return for them in the morning.

  Which meant a message to Alderscroft could go with him, when the adults had had their conference.

  Memsa’b gathered them all in the library, fortified with ginger tea, since they were going to need clear heads. Sahib delegated himself to take the notes. They all settled on the couches in front of the fire—Memsa’b, Sahib, and Sarah on one, Nan with Karamjit and Agansing on either side of her on the second, and Selim and Gupta on the third. The four Indians wore modified versions of their native dress—Gurkha, Sikh, Moslem, and Hindu, all wool rather than cotton, mostly—and they all sported proper stout leather boots.

  Sahib Harton had streaks of gray at each temple, wider now than when Nan had first met him. The stiff way that he walked, was due to an injury in military service. Most striking about him was the odd expression in his eyes, which seemed to Nan to be the eyes of a man who had seen so much that nothing surprised him anymore.

  “Let’s start with what we know,” Sahib suggested.

  Nan described the vision she had seen in Amelia’s mind; Memsa’b the one she had seen two days ago. Once laid side by side, it was evident that there were some differences. In Nan’s vision, it had been a man who was swallowed up; in Memsa’b’s, a young woman. In Nan’s vision, something with tentacles had dragged him into darkness—in Memsa’b’s the earth had opened under the woman and engulfed her. Nan had heard nothing except the wind, Memsa’b had heard what she described as “chittering noises, a little like the sounds monkeys make, but more metallic.”

  Sahib tapped the end of his pencil against his lips. “I don’t think this is random,” he said, finally. “Can you two share the visions with each other, so you can get a better comparison?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Memsa’b replied. “That is an excellent idea, my love. Nan?”

  “I am ready when you are, Memsa’b,” Nan replied easily. She closed her eyes and reached for Memsa’b’s mind as Memsa’b reached for hers.

  Yours first, please, Memsa’b requested, and Nan obliged. When she had let it “play” through both their minds, she waited to see Memsa’b’s.

  And immediately, there were some obvious differences. In Nan’s vision, it had been very difficult to make details out; it was as dark as a moonless night. In Memsa’b’s, things were a little bit brighter—as if there was a half-moon in the sky, although there was no moon evident. The extent of the damage to the street and buildings was clearer. And in Nan’s vision, the man had appeared from out of the shadows, as if he had emerged from a hidden doorway that was now visible. In Memsa’b’s, the woman appeared right in the middle of the street, out of nowhere.

  They broke the contact and their eyes met. Nan nodded. “I believe something changed between the first vision and the second,” Memsa’b said. “It is as if the second one was stronger, perhaps.”

  “Or nearer to the real world?” The words came out of Nan’s mouth before she actually thought of them, but they seemed right to her.

  “That’s a nasty thought,” Sahib murmured. “I am beginning to get some vague notions . . . but as they are based on hints in certain fiction, rather than fact, I believe I will keep them to myself until after I can speak with Alderscroft.”

  “Do any of you recognize the glimpses of creature we described?” Nan asked, looking at her four friends from four very different parts of the Indian subcontinent. Agansing was a Gurkha, and had taught her the use of the wicked knives his people were famous for. Selim was a Muslim from the center of the country. Karamjit was a Sikh from the North, and Gupta a Hindu from the South. All of them were as expert in the mythology and magic of their respective regions as Memsa’b and Sahib were of the mythology of Britain and the powers of psychics. All of them shook their heads.

  “The closest I can come is that . . . whatever it was that nearly killed us as children,” Nan said thoughtfully. “But that was confined to a single house. This thing, in the vision at least, seems to have taken over all of London.”

  “That’s possible, if an entity is fed enough power,” said Sahib. “Which is not at all comforting, considering what is almost upon us.”

  They all contemplated that, glumly.

  “We have two days,” Selim pointed out. “You can send a message to the great Lord Alderscroft, who can in turn gather as many of his White Lodge as possible to interfere with dark powers on Christmas Eve. The four of us can perform certain rites, separately, I am sure.”

  “I can get hold of Beatrice Leek, and she can organize her circle, or circles,” Nan offered. “I’ll do that directly as we are back in London.”

  “I think that’s all we can do, until and unless we can find out more—” Sahib was clearly not happy about saying that.

  “Or if we discover this is some sort of psychic attack on Amelia,” Memsa’b said, as if that had suddenly occurred to her. “I don’t know why someone would do that to a mere child, but that’s one possibility we almost overlooked.” She clasped Sahib’s hand. “I can look into that.”

  “I would be overjoyed to discover it was that, and not some damned magi
cal apocalypse that is bearing down on us,” he said. “Because right at this moment, we are woefully undermanned for a magical apocalypse.”

  “You have our swords, Sahib,” Selim said, bringing his head up proudly. “We are not inconsiderable.”

  “No, you are not, and there are not four people in the world I would rather stand against the darkness beside,” Sahib replied emphatically. He looked around the group. “I think we have done everything that we might for now. Try to get sleep. In the morning, we will all get to work.”

  Nan had thought she wouldn’t sleep a bit, but instead, it was as if being back in the old room she shared with Sarah worked some sort of spell, because she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. And in the morning, right after an early breakfast, they gathered up birds, Suki, and their belongings, and mounted the carriage for the ride back to London.

  And Nan decided that this was nothing to be kept from Suki; there might be danger that would include her, and she deserved to be forewarned.

  “Suki,” she said, in the “very serious” tone that always got the little girl’s attention. “There may be some frightening times coming.”

  Suki immediately took her focus off of what was happening outside the carriage window, and sat with her hands folded inside her little muff and all her attention on Nan while her guardian explained carefully what was going on.

  She considered that for several moments when Nan had finished. “I ain’t gonna be able t’do much,” she stated.

  “That’s true,” Sarah agreed.

  “Quork,” Neville said from his muff.

  “So . . . best would be fer me t’practice hidin’,” she stated.

  “That would be a great deal of help,” Nan told her. “If we know you can keep yourself safe, we can concentrate on what we need to do.”

  Although in a way it broke her heart, it also was a great relief to know that Suki, unlike most children her age, was very well aware that adults could not, and often would not, protect children, and in some cases the best way for a child to stay safe was to make sure she knew how to protect herself.

  “If we know danger is coming in advance, we will send you to Memsa’b,” Sarah promised. “And you’ll be going back there after Boxing Day at any rate. If there is any place in all this world that will be safe, it will be with Memsa’b.”

  Suki’s troubled brow cleared a little. “Ol roight then,” she said. “An’ ye’ll hev Neville an’ Grey to pertect you, so I won’t need t’worry none neither.”

  Well, we have gone up against terrible things together, Nan thought. And we have bested those things. We can do this again.

  When they arrived at their lodgings, only Sarah, Suki and the birds alighted. Nan directed the driver to leave her at Pandora’s Tea Room in Chelsea, perfectly determined to stay there for the rest of the day if that was what it took to contact Beatrice Leek.

  But fortune for once was with her. Beatrice was already at her usual table in the back, partaking of an early luncheon, and for once was alone. Despite the fact that the tearoom was already half-full, they made eye contact as soon as Nan opened the door. Nan made her way through the crowded tables and chairs, but as soon as she reached Beatrice, that worthy ate the last bite and stood up. All the black glass beading and jet ornaments on her person danced, as if showing an agitation that Beatrice herself refused to display.

  “I’ve been expecting you, dearie,” she said. “There’s something nasty in the wind, and we need to talk about it. Come along, then.”

  She led Nan out into the snowy street again and trotted along at a brisker pace than Nan had ever seen her make before. That might have been due to the cold, but Nan fancied that it was more than likely due to the fact that Beatrice wanted to have this conversation as much as Nan did.

  Nan would not have been at all surprised had Beatrice led her to a little witchy cottage nestled among enormous trees—Chelsea still had such things after all, for despite a great deal of building, it had not been turned entirely into row houses, terraced houses, and elegant homes. But instead, she found herself waiting for Beatrice to unlock the front door of a perfectly ordinary white terraced house, which stood in its row with all the other white terraced houses, one solid block of building broken up by windows, doors, and black iron fences. She could not have imagined anything more unlike Beatrice Leek.

  But once they stepped inside, well, she might very well have been in a witchy little cottage off on the moors or the wild lands of Ireland.

  The hall was not fashionably papered; it had been hand-painted, possibly by one of Beatrice’s artist friends, in an imitation of a medieval tapestry. The scene was of a forest meadow, dotted with flowers and full of animals and birds both real and mythical, the centerpiece of which was a unicorn. There were three coat racks, all of them burdened by shawls, coats, and hats. There were two umbrella stands, full of walking sticks and staffs, all of them fancifully carved. Some of the staffs were surmounted by glass globes or odd little sculptures. They were met at the door by the biggest black cat Nan had ever seen, which meowed at his mistress, then jumped up into her arms.

  “And who’s my handsome man, then?” Beatrice cooed to her—pet? familiar?—and handed him unceremoniously to Nan. “You go along into the parlor, first door on the right, and I’ll make some tea. His name’s Caprice. I call him Cappy.”

  Cappy weighed every bit of eighteen pounds if he weighed an ounce, but he gave no objection to Nan holding him. In fact, he purred so loudly he sounded like clockwork being wound up.

  She went into the parlor, and discovered that the theme of the walls was more of the same as in the hall. Here, tall, elegant women in flowing gowns danced, disported, or dozed amid the flowers and the animals. There were no framed pictures on the walls, but they would have been superfluous.

  The parlor was small, just big enough for three comfortable chairs and a couple of tables. There was a good fire in the grate, and Nan took the chair that showed the least wear, assuming the one with the most wear was Beatrice’s favorite.

  Cappy draped himself over her lap with every sign of pleasure and continued to purr. A few moments later, Beatrice arrived with tea in mismatched crockery.

  “Now,” she said, when she had poured for both of them. “Tell me what brings you here, with worry in your face.”

  Nan explained; it didn’t take long, because there really wasn’t much of anything that they knew. Beatrice listened without interruption, and when Nan had finished, Cappy jumped down off her lap and moved to his mistress’s.

  “Well,” Beatrice said at last. “There is something making the little Earth creatures uneasy . . . but not frantic, not uneasy enough to correspond with something as terrible as that vision. I would say, if I were to hazard a guess, that this is one of two things. A psychical or magical attack against that child, or, rather than a definite problem, this represents the possibility that something very bad could happen, and the seeds of it will most likely be planted on Christmas Eve.”

  “I wanted to contact the Oldest Old One, if I could, but I haven’t been able to get his attention,” Nan said. “At the very least, he should be warned something might happen. Could you ask one of the little ones to carry a message for me?”

  Beatrice pursed her lips, thinking. “Well, a body would think that the Oldest Old One would already know about such a thing . . . but we both know he gets distracted. He won’t take offense if he already knows, and if he don’t, well, then he will.” She nodded. “And lucky for us, I’ve got a brownie in the house.”

  “A . . . what?” Nan asked.

  “’Tis a little Earth creature—but a rare one that shares a house with you.” Beatrice put Cappy down, and got up from her chair. “They’re not very common anymore, more’s the pity, and even so, they’re rare in cities. Let me trot along to the kitchen and fetch what I need.”

  Beatrice came back w
ith a flat, dished stone, a tiny cup of milk, and a scone topped with double cream and jam. She moved one of the chairs aside, and that was when Nan realized that there was a faint circle woven into the rug there, and that those weren’t flowers—they were symbols. Beatrice moved a stool to the center of the circle, and sat down on it. “When I was younger, I’d sit on the rug,” she sighed. “But if I did that now, you’d have to fetch a neighbor to help me get up. Aging is not for the faint of heart!”

  “I wish that were less true,” Nan acknowledged.

  Beatrice set the scone in the middle of the stone, the little cup beside it. Then she closed her eyes, and Nan waited patiently. After a moment, a little creature . . . grew, or emerged, right out of thin air. If Beatrice had been standing, he’d have barely come up to her knee.

  It looked like a wizened old man in a country-style smock and buff trousers, wearing a pointed cap. He looked at Nan warily for a moment, then at Beatrice.

  “Mistress Leek, you call me, with a feast for a favor?” he said.

  Beatrice’s eyes opened. “I did, Hobson, and it is a very large favor. This young lady and I need you to carry a message to the Oldest Old One.”

  The poor little man paled. “Oh . . . oh lady . . . speaking to him is not for the likes of me!”

  “Look at her, Hobson. Look deep,” Beatrice said, in a coaxing tone, not as an order.

  The brownie half turned and stared at Nan. After a moment, his eyes grew huge. “Oh . . . oh!” he gasped. “Oh, and she has his favor and grace all over her!”

  “And I’ll tease a bit of it off her and put it on you. He’ll know who you come from, and you and the word you bring will be respected.” Beatrice smiled slightly, and the little man flushed at the last word.