Rebel Angels

Page 79

"I am sorry," he says. He does not sound sorry. He sounds as if he is enjoying himself at our expense. "How shall I pay for my
fault, m'lady? What would you bid me do?" He places his dagger at his throat."Do you demand blood, m'lady?"
Pippa is oddly cool."If you wish."
"What is your wish, m'lady?"
Pippa turns away, her long black curls bouncing against her shoulder blades."I wish for you to leave me alone."
"Very well, m'lady," the knight says. "But I shall leave you with a gift."
He tosses the bundle to the ground and walks back into the thicket.
"I thought you said you'd gotten rid of him," Felicity says. "
Yes. I thought I had," Pippa answers.
"What did he bring you?" Ann asks. She unwraps the bundle and falls back in the grass with a small scream. "What is it?" Felicity and I ask, rushing forward.
It is a goat's head, covered in flies and dried blood.
"How horrid!" Ann says, putting her hand to her mouth.
"If that man were to return I'd have something to say to him," Felicity says, her cheeks pink.
It was a ghastly thing to do, and I wonder that the knight, who was once dreamed of and called by Pippa's longing-- a creature bound to her by the magic--could have become so cruel. Pippa's staring at the goat's head intently. She clutches her stomach, and at first, I think she is going to be ill or cry. But then she licks her lips just slightly, a look of longing in her eyes.
She sees me watching her. "I'll give it a proper burial later," she says, linking her arm through mine.
"Yes, that would be good," I say, moving away.
"Come back tomorrow!" she shouts."We'll try another path. I'm sure we'll find it tomorrow!"
The ornate cuckoo clock on Felicity's mantel cries the hour. It feels as though we've been gone for hours but it's been less than a second of London time. I'm still unsettled by the day's events--Miss McCleethy standing outside Bedlam, the anagram, Mae Sutter and her friends. And Pippa. Yes, especially Pippa.
"Shall we have some fun?" Felicity asks, rushing for the front door with us running behind her.
Shames, the butler, comes after us. "Miss Worthington? What is the matter?"
Felicity closes her eyes and holds out her hand. "You don't see me here, Shames. We are in the sitting room having our tea."
Without a word, Shames shakes his head as if he cannot understand why the door is standing open. He closes it behind us, and we are free.
The London fog hides the stars. They glint here and there but cannot break through the soupy sky. "What should we do now?" Ann asks.
Felicity breaks into a broad grin."Everything."
Flying over London on a cold night by magic is an extraordinary thing. Here are the gentlemen leaving their clubs, the queue of carriages coming up to meet them. There are the mudlarks, those poor, grubby children, searching through the filthy banks of the Thames for a few coins and a bit of luck. We've only to dip low and we could touch the tops of the theaters in the West End or put our fingertips to the great Gothic spires of the Houses of Parliament, which we do. Ann sits upon the rooftop beside the towering clock of Big Ben.
"Look," she says, laughing."I've a seat in Parliament."
"We could do anything! Steal into Buckingham Palace and wear the crown jewels." Felicity says, stepping across the spindly towers on her tiptoes.
"You w-wouldn't d-do that, w-would you?" Ann asks, horrified.
"No, she wouldn't," I answer firmly.
It is exhilarating to have such freedom. We fly lazily over the river, coming to rest beneath Waterloo Bridge. A rowboat passes under us, its lantern fighting the fog and losing. It's a curious thing, but I can hear the thoughts of the old gentleman in the boat, just as I have those of the fallen women in the Haymarket and the toppers driving through Hyde Park in their fancy private carriages as we were flying past. It is faint, like overhearing a conversation in another room, but nonetheless, I know what they are feeling.
The old man puts stones in his pocket, and I know his purpose.
"We've got to stop that man in the boat," I say.
"Stop him from what?" Ann asks, twirling in the air.
"Can't you hear him?"
"No," Ann says. Felicity shakes her head as she floats on her back like a swimmer.
"He means to kill himself." "How do you know that?" Felicity asks.