The Mislaid Magician Read Free

is in London, I would show him how to read them tomorrow. I am about to go fulfill my promise. He is quite far enough advanced to learn the simplest of the warding cantrips, and I hope that it will keep his mind safely occupied. I expect, however, that for the next several days, at least, I will be informed of every thin spot in the warding spell almost as soon as it develops.
    Hennesy and his fellows found no trace of our prowler. As soon as I finish with Arthur, I intend to set a lesser ward about the grounds near the house—nothing strong enough to be noticeable, just a sort of alarm bell to let me know of any unanticipated visitors. It is all very well to say that I would have known immediately if he had somehow managed to get through the house wards, but I find that I would very much rather know of his presence before the house wards were breached.
    The consensus in the lower hall is that the prowler was some itinerant hoping to steal food or perhaps a little money. This seems plausible, as anyone who knew Tangleford Hall would know that there is a magician in residence and would therefore have anticipated the house wards. The only flaw in this argument is the peculiar way in which the prowler evaded the holding spell I cast. I have not pointed this out to anyone; the servants are quite upset enough as it is.
    Since I have not heard from James, I expect he will be home in another day, or perhaps two. He is very good about keeping me informed when he is away, but he is far more casual when he knows he will return soon. For once, I shall have news as interesting as his to tell him!
    Your exhausted,
    Cecy

1 March 1828
Skeynes
    Dear Cecy,
    I hope this letter finds you and the children well. I congratulate you on having dealt exceedingly well with your prowler. Indeed, you have almost convinced me not to be alarmed on your behalf. But only almost! Do take care, Cecy!
    Forgive me. I know you do.
    Thomas is not yet home from his venture to Waycross. Thus, I have yet to tell him of the intrusion into his study. Nor has Thomas yet seen the letter James wrote him, for it arrived in the post after he departed. I do hope it contains nothing of vital importance.
    Thomas has also missed his mother’s latest letter. Lady Sylvia is in her usual fine health and spirits, busy as ever providing good counsel to the league of her old friends—most recently, the proprietor of Ragueneau’s pastry shop in the Rue St. Honoré.
    Lady Sylvia helped Ragueneau rid his kitchens of a spell that soured the milk and turned butter rancid the moment it arrived in the place. Ragueneau had suspected a competitor of casting the spell to ruin his business, but no such thing. Ragueneau’s son, Lady Sylvia discovered, had devised a spell to keep pastry cream from ever curdling. This spell, as so many seem to, had unexpected consequences. After a few false starts, Lady Sylvia was able to refine the pastry-cream spell to prevent any further ill effects. Even Ragueneau concedes the resulting pastries surpass all previous efforts. His gratitude to Lady Sylvia has been expressed in chocolate éclairs.
    I am sorry to report I have made no progress at all in fathoming the mystery of Georgy’s visit to us. For all her sudden professions of fondness for the simple country life, from the moment of her debut, she has been happiest in London. Of all times to choose to rusticate herself, the beginning of the London Season is about the least likely.
    To think I used to fault Georgy for being a watering pot. I would give a good deal for her to go off on one of her tearful flights just now, for when she cried, I could nearly always get her to tell me what was troubling her. These days, unless she is being disagreeable to the servants, she is as stoic as a soldier.
    Georgy being Georgy, she is in her very best looks. Pale silence has always suited her best, I fear. The only time she smiles is when she is talking with Edward. Indeed, when she is talking with Edward there