The Mislaid Magician Read Free Page A

are moments when Georgy looks only a little more than six years old herself.
    Perhaps I refine too much upon Georgy’s abrupt arrival. Perhaps there is no mystery about it. Perhaps it is only that she had a whim to see Thomas and me, precisely as Georgy insists.
    Yet, consider. Georgy refuses all social engagements, neither paying calls nor receiving any. She waits for the post with such fidelity, I could set the clock by her, yet she seems relieved rather than disappointed when she receives no letters. Strangest of all, she devotes hours to reading the scandal sheets and even the newspapers. It is most unlike her.
    What of Georgy’s husband, you ask? I wish I could tell you. His name has not crossed her lips. No message has come to her from him, nor (to the best of my knowledge) has she posted even a line of correspondence to him. The only assurance I could wrest from Georgy (and only after I reminded her at some length that it is the duty of sisters to protect one another) is that he has not mistreated her in any way. Georgy is not afraid of him, I swear, but she is afraid of something. I think she’s hiding here, Cecy.
    Georgy has made me promise to keep her presence here in strictest confidence. Of course I will do so, but I made her grant me an exception in your case. I cannot imagine that anyone would ask you Georgy’s whereabouts, but you will be in London soon, and you may well encounter some unlooked-for social circumstance there. So please do bear it in mind that Georgy is not really here at all. I know you will handle matters far more adroitly than I would, so we trust you with this secret.
    Believe that I will write the moment I learn anything else pertinent to the matter. Or indeed, the moment I learn anything pertinent to anything. Writing to you is the one spot of civilization in a daily routine dominated by wailing children, muddy shoes, and wet dogs.
    With all the usual best wishes and even more affection,
    Kate

3 March 1828
Tangleford Hall, Kent
    Dearest Kate,
    The children are much better, by some measures, which is to say that they have reached the stage in their recovery at which no persuasion, no bribery, and no force can keep them abed. I shall be exceedingly glad when James returns. I had a note from him this morning, at long last, saying that he had expected to be back yesterday, but needed to remain in London a few more days. He includes no further details, save that he anticipates returning by the end of the week.
    I find this rather odd, for it is most unlike the Duke of Wellington to call James urgently to town merely to chat, and then send him home again. I do hope that James is not staying to have the blue salon redone as a surprise for me, or anything similar. He is occasionally taken with such notions, and it does not do. But one really cannot lecture one’s husband on the suitability of the surprises he chooses, and after all, it is quite pleasant that he still thinks to do such things at all, even after ten years of matrimony.
    Georgy is an utter goose, but if she wishes her whereabouts to remain unknown to anyone, I shall oblige her. I suppose I can simply look down my nose like Aunt Charlotte and inform people sternly that I do not wish to discuss the Duchess of Waltham, when they ask, but that may very well add fuel to the gossip, once it begins. If Georgy wishes to remain undiscovered and undiscussed, it would be better to have some tale to set about. Perhaps a sudden, urgent need for the latest in French pelisses? No one will look for her at Skeynes if we set it about that she has gone to Paris to shop.
    There has been no sign of our prowler about the house or the nearby grounds, but yesterday I took Arthur out riding to work off some of his energy, and we found quite a mess out by the gazebo on the far side of the hill, near the ancient earthworks. It looked almost as if some amateur had been attempting to cast a spell, or perhaps cook a peculiar sort of dinner—there were