The Book of Life
Page 85
“It was Verin’s suggestion,” Baldwin said. “And after all, you are my sister, too.” “That settles it, then. Diana will serve on the Congregation until she tires of the job.” Ysabeau kissed me on one cheek, then the other. “Just think of how much it will upset Gerbert when he discovers what Baldwin has done.”
Still feeling dazed, I slid the key back into my pocket.
“It has turned into a beautiful day,” Ysabeau said, looking out into the spring sunlight. “Let us take a walk in the garden before dinner. Alain and Marthe have prepared a feast—without Fernando’s help.
Marthe is in an extremely good mood because of it.”
Laughter and chatter followed our family out the door. Matthew handed Becca off to Sarah.
“Don’t be long, you two,” Sarah said.
Once we were alone, Matthew kissed me with a sharp hunger that gradually became something deeper and less desperate. It was a reminder that his blood rage was still not fully in check and my being away had taken a toll.
“Was everything all right in Venice, mon coeur?” he inquired when he had regained his equilibrium.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” I said. “Though I should warn you: Gerbert is up to no good. He tried to thwart me at every turn.”
“What did you suspect?” Matthew stepped into the garden to join the rest of the family. “Don’t worry about Gerbert. We’ll figure out what game he’s playing, never fear.”
Something unexpected caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks.
“Diana?” Matthew looked back at me and frowned. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute,” I promised.
He regarded me strangely but joined the last of the family as they trooped outside.
I knew you would be the first to see me. Philippe’s voice was a whisper of sound, and I could still see Ysabeau’s horrid furniture through him. None of that mattered. He was perfect—whole, smiling, his eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.
“Why me?” I asked.
You have now. You no longer need my help. Philippe’s gaze met mine.
“The covenant—” I started.
I heard. I hear most things. Philippe’s grin widened. I am proud that it was one of my children that destroyed it. You have done well.
“Is seeing you my reward?” I said, fighting back the tears.
One of them, Philippe said. In time you will have the others.
“Emily.” The moment I said her name, Philippe’s form began to fade. “No! Don’t go. I won’t ask questions. Just tell her I love her.”
She knows that. So does your mother. Philippe winked. I am utterly surrounded by witches. Do not tell Ysabeau. She would not like it.
I laughed.
And there is my reward for years of good behavior. Now, I want no more tears, do you understand?
His finger rose. I am heartily sick of them.
“What do you want instead?” I wiped at my eyes.
More laughter. More dancing. His expression was mischievous. And more grandchildren.
“I had to ask,” I said with another laugh.
But the future will not be all laughter, I fear. Philippe’s expression sobered. Your work is not done, daughter. The goddess asked me to give this back to you. He held out the same gold-and-silver arrow that I had shot into Benjamin’s heart.
“I don’t want it.” I backed away, my hand raised to ward off this unwanted gift.
I didn’t want it either, and yet someone must see that justice is done. His arm extended further.
“Diana?” Matthew called from outside.
I would not be hearing my husband’s voice if not for the goddess’s arrow.
“Coming!” I called back.
Philippe’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. I touched the golden point hesitantly. The moment my flesh made contact with it, the arrow vanished and I felt its heavy weight at my back once more.
From the first moment we met, I knew you were the one, Philippe said. His words were a strange echo of what Timothy Weston had told me at the Bodleian last year, and again at his house.
With a final grin, his ghost began to dissipate.
“Wait!” I cried. “The one what?”
The one who could bear my burdens and not break, Philippe’s voice whispered in my ear. I felt a subtle press of lips on my cheek. You will not carry them alone. Remember that, daughter.
I bit back a sob at his departure.
“Diana?” Matthew called again, this time from the doorway. “What’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I had, but this was not the time to tell Matthew about it. I felt like weeping, but Philippe wanted joy, not sorrow.
“Dance with me,” I said, before a single tear could fall.
Matthew folded me into his arms. His feet moved across the floor, sweeping us out of the salon and into the great hall. He asked no questions, even though the answers were in my eyes.
I trod on his toe. “Sorry.”
“You’re trying to lead again,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to my lips, then whirled me around.
“At the moment your job is to follow.”
“I forgot,” I said with a laugh.
“I’ll have to remind you more often, then.” Matthew swung me tight to his body. His kiss was rough enough to be a warning and sweet enough to be a promise.
Philippe was right, I thought as we walked out into the garden.
Whether leading or following, I would never be alone in a world that had Matthew in it.
The sign of Gemini dealeth with the partnership between a husband and wife, and all matters that dependeth likewise upon faith. A man born in this sign hath a good and honest heart and a fine wit that will lead him to learn many things. He will be quick to anger, but soon to reconcile. He is bold of speech even before the prince.
He is a great dissimulator, a spreader abroad of clever fantasies and lies. He shall be much entangled with troubles by reason of his wife, but he shall prevail against their enemies.
41
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Professor Bishop.”
I looked up from my manuscript. The Royal Society’s reading room was flooded with summer sunshine. It raked through the tall, multipaned windows and spilled across the generous reading surfaces.
“One of the fellows asked me to give this to you.” The librarian handed me an envelope with the Royal Society’s insignia on it. Someone had written my name across the front in a dark, distinctive scrawl. I nodded in thanks.
Philippe’s ancient silver coin—the one he sent to make sure that someone returned home or obeyed his commands—was inside. I’d found a new use for it, one that was helping Matthew manage his blood rage while I returned to a more active life. If Matthew felt his need for me rising to dangerous levels, all he had to do was send me this coin, and I would join him right away.
I returned the bound manuscripts I’d been consulting to the attendant on the desk and thanked him for their help. It was the end of my first full week back in the archives—a trial run to see how my magic responded to repeated contact with so many ancient texts and brilliant, though dead, intellects. Matthew was not the only one struggling for control, and I’d had a few tricky moments when it seemed it might be impossible for me to return to the work I loved, but each additional day made that goal more achievable.
Since facing the Congregation in April, I had come to understand myself as a complicated weaving and not just a walking palimpsest. My body was a tapestry of witch, daemon, and vampire. Some of the threads that made me were pure power, as symbolized by Corra’s shadowy form. Some were drawn from the skill that my weaver’s cords represented. The rest were spun from the knowledge contained in the Book of Life. Every knotted strand gave me the strength to use the goddess’s arrow for justice rather than the pursuit of vengeance or power.
Matthew was waiting for me in the foyer when I descended the grand staircase from the library to the main floor. His gaze cooled my skin and heated my blood, just as it always had. I dropped the coin into his waiting palm.
“All right, mon coeur?” he asked after kissing me in greeting.
“Fine.” I tugged on the lapel of his black jacket, a small sign of possessiveness. Matthew had dressed the part of the distinguished professor today with his steel gray trousers, crisp white shirt, and fine wool jacket. I’d picked out his tie. Hamish had given it to him this past Christmas, and the green-and-gray Liberty print picked up the changeable colors of his eyes. “How did it go?”
“Interesting discussion. Chris was brilliant, of course,” Matthew said, modestly giving my friend center stage.
Chris, Matthew, Miriam, and Marcus had been presenting research findings that expanded the limits of what was considered “human.” They showed how the evolution of Homo sapiens included DNA from other creatures, like Neanderthals, previously thought to have been a different species.
Matthew had been sitting on most of the evidence for years. Chris said Matthew was as bad as Isaac Newton when it came to sharing his research with others.
“Marcus and Miriam performed their usual charmer-and-curmudgeon routine,” Matthew said, releasing me at last.
“And what was the fellows’ reaction to this bit of news?” I unpinned Matthew’s name tag and slipped it into his pocket. PROFESSOR MATTHEW CLAIRMONT, it read, FRS, ALL SOULS (OXON), YALE
UNIVERSITY (USA). Matthew had accepted a one-year visiting research appointment in Chris’s lab.
They’d received a huge grant to study noncoding DNA. It would lay the groundwork for the revelations they would one day make about other hominid creatures who were not extinct like the Neanderthals but were hiding in plain sight among humans. In the fall we would be off to New Haven again.
“They were surprised,” Matthew said. “Once they heard Chris’s paper, however, their surprise turned to envy. He really was impressive.”
“Where is Chris now?” I said, looking over my shoulder for my friend as Matthew steered me toward the exit.
“He and Miriam left for Pickering Place,” Matthew said. “Marcus wanted to pick up Phoebe before they all go to some oyster bar near Trafalgar Square.”
“Do you want to join them?” I asked.
“No.” Matthew’s hand settled on my waist. “I’m taking you out to dinner, remember?”
Leonard was waiting for us at the curb. “Afternoon, sieur. Madame.”
“‘Professor Clairmont’ will do, Leonard,” Matthew said mildly as he handed me into the back of the car.
“Righty-ho,” Leonard said with a cheerful grin. “Clairmont House?”
“Please,” Matthew said, getting into the car with me.
It was a beautiful June day, and it probably would have taken us less time to walk from the Mall to Mayfair than it did to drive, but Matthew insisted we take the car for safety’s sake. We had seen no evidence that any of Benjamin’s children had survived the battle in Chelm, nor had Gerbert or Domenico given us reason for concern since their stinging defeat in Venice, but Matthew didn’t want to take chances.
“Hello, Marthe!” I called into the house as we came in the door. “How is everything?”
“Bien,” she said. “Milord Philip and Milady Rebecca are just waking from their nap.”
“I asked Linda Crosby to come over a bit later and lend a hand,” Matthew said.
“Already here!” Linda followed us through the door, carrying not one but two Marks & Spencer bags. She handed one to Marthe. “I’ve brought the next book in the series about that lovely detective and her beau—Gemma and Duncan. And here’s the knitting pattern I told you about.”
Linda and Marthe had become fast friends, in large part because they had nearly identical interests in murder mysteries, needlecraft, cooking, gardening, and gossip. The two of them had made a compelling and utterly self-serving case that the children should always be attended to by family members or, failing that, both a vampire and a witch working as baby-sitters. Linda argued that this was a wise precaution because we didn’t yet understand the babies’ talents and tendencies—though Rebecca’s preference for blood and inability to sleep suggested she was more vampire than witch, just as Philip seemed more witch than vampire given the stuffed elephant I sometimes saw swooping over his cradle.
“We can still stay home tonight,” I suggested. Matthew’s plans involved an evening gown, a tuxedo, and the goddess only knew what else.
“No.” Matthew was still overly fond of the word. “I am taking my wife out to dinner.” His tone indicated this was no longer a topic for discussion.
Jack pelted down the stairs. “Hi, Mum! I put your mail upstairs. Dad’s too. Gotta run. Dinner with Father H tonight.”
“Be back by breakfast, please,” Matthew said as Jack shot through the open door.
“No worries, Dad. After dinner, I’ll be out with Ransome,” Jack said as the door banged closed behind him. The New Orleans branch of the Bishop-Clairmont clan had arrived in London two days ago to take in the sights and visit with Marcus.
“Knowing that he’s out with Ransome does not alleviate my concerns.” Matthew sighed. “I’m going to see the children and get dressed. Are you coming?”
“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to stick my head in the ballroom first and see how the caterers are getting along with the preparations for your birthday party.”
Matthew groaned.
“Stop being such an old grouch,” I said.
Together Matthew and I climbed the stairs. The second floor, which was usually cold and silent, hummed with activity. Matthew followed me to the tall, wide doors. Caterers had set up tables all around the edges of the room, leaving a large space for dancing. In the corner, musicians were practicing tunes for tomorrow night.
Still feeling dazed, I slid the key back into my pocket.
“It has turned into a beautiful day,” Ysabeau said, looking out into the spring sunlight. “Let us take a walk in the garden before dinner. Alain and Marthe have prepared a feast—without Fernando’s help.
Marthe is in an extremely good mood because of it.”
Laughter and chatter followed our family out the door. Matthew handed Becca off to Sarah.
“Don’t be long, you two,” Sarah said.
Once we were alone, Matthew kissed me with a sharp hunger that gradually became something deeper and less desperate. It was a reminder that his blood rage was still not fully in check and my being away had taken a toll.
“Was everything all right in Venice, mon coeur?” he inquired when he had regained his equilibrium.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” I said. “Though I should warn you: Gerbert is up to no good. He tried to thwart me at every turn.”
“What did you suspect?” Matthew stepped into the garden to join the rest of the family. “Don’t worry about Gerbert. We’ll figure out what game he’s playing, never fear.”
Something unexpected caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks.
“Diana?” Matthew looked back at me and frowned. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute,” I promised.
He regarded me strangely but joined the last of the family as they trooped outside.
I knew you would be the first to see me. Philippe’s voice was a whisper of sound, and I could still see Ysabeau’s horrid furniture through him. None of that mattered. He was perfect—whole, smiling, his eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.
“Why me?” I asked.
You have now. You no longer need my help. Philippe’s gaze met mine.
“The covenant—” I started.
I heard. I hear most things. Philippe’s grin widened. I am proud that it was one of my children that destroyed it. You have done well.
“Is seeing you my reward?” I said, fighting back the tears.
One of them, Philippe said. In time you will have the others.
“Emily.” The moment I said her name, Philippe’s form began to fade. “No! Don’t go. I won’t ask questions. Just tell her I love her.”
She knows that. So does your mother. Philippe winked. I am utterly surrounded by witches. Do not tell Ysabeau. She would not like it.
I laughed.
And there is my reward for years of good behavior. Now, I want no more tears, do you understand?
His finger rose. I am heartily sick of them.
“What do you want instead?” I wiped at my eyes.
More laughter. More dancing. His expression was mischievous. And more grandchildren.
“I had to ask,” I said with another laugh.
But the future will not be all laughter, I fear. Philippe’s expression sobered. Your work is not done, daughter. The goddess asked me to give this back to you. He held out the same gold-and-silver arrow that I had shot into Benjamin’s heart.
“I don’t want it.” I backed away, my hand raised to ward off this unwanted gift.
I didn’t want it either, and yet someone must see that justice is done. His arm extended further.
“Diana?” Matthew called from outside.
I would not be hearing my husband’s voice if not for the goddess’s arrow.
“Coming!” I called back.
Philippe’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. I touched the golden point hesitantly. The moment my flesh made contact with it, the arrow vanished and I felt its heavy weight at my back once more.
From the first moment we met, I knew you were the one, Philippe said. His words were a strange echo of what Timothy Weston had told me at the Bodleian last year, and again at his house.
With a final grin, his ghost began to dissipate.
“Wait!” I cried. “The one what?”
The one who could bear my burdens and not break, Philippe’s voice whispered in my ear. I felt a subtle press of lips on my cheek. You will not carry them alone. Remember that, daughter.
I bit back a sob at his departure.
“Diana?” Matthew called again, this time from the doorway. “What’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I had, but this was not the time to tell Matthew about it. I felt like weeping, but Philippe wanted joy, not sorrow.
“Dance with me,” I said, before a single tear could fall.
Matthew folded me into his arms. His feet moved across the floor, sweeping us out of the salon and into the great hall. He asked no questions, even though the answers were in my eyes.
I trod on his toe. “Sorry.”
“You’re trying to lead again,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to my lips, then whirled me around.
“At the moment your job is to follow.”
“I forgot,” I said with a laugh.
“I’ll have to remind you more often, then.” Matthew swung me tight to his body. His kiss was rough enough to be a warning and sweet enough to be a promise.
Philippe was right, I thought as we walked out into the garden.
Whether leading or following, I would never be alone in a world that had Matthew in it.
The sign of Gemini dealeth with the partnership between a husband and wife, and all matters that dependeth likewise upon faith. A man born in this sign hath a good and honest heart and a fine wit that will lead him to learn many things. He will be quick to anger, but soon to reconcile. He is bold of speech even before the prince.
He is a great dissimulator, a spreader abroad of clever fantasies and lies. He shall be much entangled with troubles by reason of his wife, but he shall prevail against their enemies.
41
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Professor Bishop.”
I looked up from my manuscript. The Royal Society’s reading room was flooded with summer sunshine. It raked through the tall, multipaned windows and spilled across the generous reading surfaces.
“One of the fellows asked me to give this to you.” The librarian handed me an envelope with the Royal Society’s insignia on it. Someone had written my name across the front in a dark, distinctive scrawl. I nodded in thanks.
Philippe’s ancient silver coin—the one he sent to make sure that someone returned home or obeyed his commands—was inside. I’d found a new use for it, one that was helping Matthew manage his blood rage while I returned to a more active life. If Matthew felt his need for me rising to dangerous levels, all he had to do was send me this coin, and I would join him right away.
I returned the bound manuscripts I’d been consulting to the attendant on the desk and thanked him for their help. It was the end of my first full week back in the archives—a trial run to see how my magic responded to repeated contact with so many ancient texts and brilliant, though dead, intellects. Matthew was not the only one struggling for control, and I’d had a few tricky moments when it seemed it might be impossible for me to return to the work I loved, but each additional day made that goal more achievable.
Since facing the Congregation in April, I had come to understand myself as a complicated weaving and not just a walking palimpsest. My body was a tapestry of witch, daemon, and vampire. Some of the threads that made me were pure power, as symbolized by Corra’s shadowy form. Some were drawn from the skill that my weaver’s cords represented. The rest were spun from the knowledge contained in the Book of Life. Every knotted strand gave me the strength to use the goddess’s arrow for justice rather than the pursuit of vengeance or power.
Matthew was waiting for me in the foyer when I descended the grand staircase from the library to the main floor. His gaze cooled my skin and heated my blood, just as it always had. I dropped the coin into his waiting palm.
“All right, mon coeur?” he asked after kissing me in greeting.
“Fine.” I tugged on the lapel of his black jacket, a small sign of possessiveness. Matthew had dressed the part of the distinguished professor today with his steel gray trousers, crisp white shirt, and fine wool jacket. I’d picked out his tie. Hamish had given it to him this past Christmas, and the green-and-gray Liberty print picked up the changeable colors of his eyes. “How did it go?”
“Interesting discussion. Chris was brilliant, of course,” Matthew said, modestly giving my friend center stage.
Chris, Matthew, Miriam, and Marcus had been presenting research findings that expanded the limits of what was considered “human.” They showed how the evolution of Homo sapiens included DNA from other creatures, like Neanderthals, previously thought to have been a different species.
Matthew had been sitting on most of the evidence for years. Chris said Matthew was as bad as Isaac Newton when it came to sharing his research with others.
“Marcus and Miriam performed their usual charmer-and-curmudgeon routine,” Matthew said, releasing me at last.
“And what was the fellows’ reaction to this bit of news?” I unpinned Matthew’s name tag and slipped it into his pocket. PROFESSOR MATTHEW CLAIRMONT, it read, FRS, ALL SOULS (OXON), YALE
UNIVERSITY (USA). Matthew had accepted a one-year visiting research appointment in Chris’s lab.
They’d received a huge grant to study noncoding DNA. It would lay the groundwork for the revelations they would one day make about other hominid creatures who were not extinct like the Neanderthals but were hiding in plain sight among humans. In the fall we would be off to New Haven again.
“They were surprised,” Matthew said. “Once they heard Chris’s paper, however, their surprise turned to envy. He really was impressive.”
“Where is Chris now?” I said, looking over my shoulder for my friend as Matthew steered me toward the exit.
“He and Miriam left for Pickering Place,” Matthew said. “Marcus wanted to pick up Phoebe before they all go to some oyster bar near Trafalgar Square.”
“Do you want to join them?” I asked.
“No.” Matthew’s hand settled on my waist. “I’m taking you out to dinner, remember?”
Leonard was waiting for us at the curb. “Afternoon, sieur. Madame.”
“‘Professor Clairmont’ will do, Leonard,” Matthew said mildly as he handed me into the back of the car.
“Righty-ho,” Leonard said with a cheerful grin. “Clairmont House?”
“Please,” Matthew said, getting into the car with me.
It was a beautiful June day, and it probably would have taken us less time to walk from the Mall to Mayfair than it did to drive, but Matthew insisted we take the car for safety’s sake. We had seen no evidence that any of Benjamin’s children had survived the battle in Chelm, nor had Gerbert or Domenico given us reason for concern since their stinging defeat in Venice, but Matthew didn’t want to take chances.
“Hello, Marthe!” I called into the house as we came in the door. “How is everything?”
“Bien,” she said. “Milord Philip and Milady Rebecca are just waking from their nap.”
“I asked Linda Crosby to come over a bit later and lend a hand,” Matthew said.
“Already here!” Linda followed us through the door, carrying not one but two Marks & Spencer bags. She handed one to Marthe. “I’ve brought the next book in the series about that lovely detective and her beau—Gemma and Duncan. And here’s the knitting pattern I told you about.”
Linda and Marthe had become fast friends, in large part because they had nearly identical interests in murder mysteries, needlecraft, cooking, gardening, and gossip. The two of them had made a compelling and utterly self-serving case that the children should always be attended to by family members or, failing that, both a vampire and a witch working as baby-sitters. Linda argued that this was a wise precaution because we didn’t yet understand the babies’ talents and tendencies—though Rebecca’s preference for blood and inability to sleep suggested she was more vampire than witch, just as Philip seemed more witch than vampire given the stuffed elephant I sometimes saw swooping over his cradle.
“We can still stay home tonight,” I suggested. Matthew’s plans involved an evening gown, a tuxedo, and the goddess only knew what else.
“No.” Matthew was still overly fond of the word. “I am taking my wife out to dinner.” His tone indicated this was no longer a topic for discussion.
Jack pelted down the stairs. “Hi, Mum! I put your mail upstairs. Dad’s too. Gotta run. Dinner with Father H tonight.”
“Be back by breakfast, please,” Matthew said as Jack shot through the open door.
“No worries, Dad. After dinner, I’ll be out with Ransome,” Jack said as the door banged closed behind him. The New Orleans branch of the Bishop-Clairmont clan had arrived in London two days ago to take in the sights and visit with Marcus.
“Knowing that he’s out with Ransome does not alleviate my concerns.” Matthew sighed. “I’m going to see the children and get dressed. Are you coming?”
“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to stick my head in the ballroom first and see how the caterers are getting along with the preparations for your birthday party.”
Matthew groaned.
“Stop being such an old grouch,” I said.
Together Matthew and I climbed the stairs. The second floor, which was usually cold and silent, hummed with activity. Matthew followed me to the tall, wide doors. Caterers had set up tables all around the edges of the room, leaving a large space for dancing. In the corner, musicians were practicing tunes for tomorrow night.
