The Magicians and Mrs. Quent Read Free Page A

room.
    “I see a shadow!” Rose gasped.
    Ivy shivered. Had the spell worked?
    “It’s only Miss Mew,” Lily said, reaching under the table and picking up the little tortoiseshell cat. True to her name, the cat let out a noise of protest. Her fur was a mixture of cream and caramel and deep brown, but in the gloom it seemed darker.
    “Was Mew chasing the shadow?” Rose said.
    Lily rolled her eyes. “No, silly, she
is
the shadow.”
    Rose smiled at Ivy. “Then the spell worked, for Miss Mew ran straight to you, Ivy.”
    The cat squirmed from Lily’s arms and walked across the table, touching its nose to the runes drawn in the dust and smearing them with its paws.
    Ivy did her best to disguise her disappointment and gave her youngest sister an arch look. “Well, it appears you’re right. It seems I can’t do magick after all. There is no need to suppress your gloating.”
    Lily rose from her chair, then moved around to press her cheek against Ivy’s. “I’ll go down to the kitchen to see if Mother needs any help distracting Mrs. Murch. Come, Rose, you can help.”
    “I’m sure she can do that quite well enough on her own,” Ivy said, but Lily was already bounding from the parlor, Rose in tow.
    Ivy shut the book and wiped away the remainder of the runes with her hand. Perhaps Lily was right. Perhaps magick was something only for men. Just as so many things in the world were.
    Miss Mew let out a plaintive sound and nudged her nose against Ivy’s dusty hands.
    “I have no sympathy for you,” Ivy said with a laugh, scratching the cat’s ears. “You’re allowed to make your own livelihood. You may hunt mice with the tomcats whenever you wish, while we must…” Her mirth faded to gray, like the sky outside the window. “While we must sit here and wait for the Mr. Gadwicks of the world to stop paying attention to their hounds for a moment and look at us instead. Two thousand regals indeed! I would take a husband with far less income, as long as he had far fewer dogs.”
    Not that she had any prospect of marrying a gentleman like Mr. Gadwick. While the Lockwell name might be old enough to warrant such a match, it was far from rich enough. They could barely afford to keep the house here on Whitward Street, let alone grant a generous portion to a would-be suitor. However, that was something her mother had a tendency to forget. Lately she had been filling Lily’s head with the notion that each of the sisters would marry a well-off gentleman, or even—if they were very lucky and made themselves very charming—a baronet. Ivy knew
that
was unlikely. They would do well to win the attention of far more humble suitors, if they won any at all.

    S OMETIME LATER, WILBERN limped into the parlor to light the candles; outside the window, the long twilight finally gave way to night. Ivy shut her book; reading by candlelight made her eyes ache. Besides, candles were too expensive to waste. According to stories Mrs. Murch had heard, the Crown was buying up great quantities of them, hoarding them for some unknown purpose, and driving up the cost. Ivy waited for Wilbern to leave, extinguished all but one of the tapers, then went upstairs to return the book to the shelf where she had gotten it.
    Ivy had just reached the third landing when she heard a thudding noise from above. She halted, gripping the banister. The sound was repeated once, then twice.
    “Ivy!”
    She glanced down the stairs. Lily was on the landing below her.
    “What was that sound?” Lily said in an exaggerated whisper, such as an actor might use onstage in a critical scene.
    “I believe it’s Father.”
    Lily nodded. “That’s what I thought. It was very loud, and Rose isn’t
that
clumsy. You’d better go to him, Ivy. You’re the only one who can make him calm again.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “It is so. You know it is. Even Mother says it.”
    Ivy started to protest, but then another thud emanated from above.
    “Please!” Lily implored.