The Sweet Far Thing
Page 85

“No. I can’t tell. Not yet. For now, it will remain a private matter,” Tom says, putting his finger to his lips and scraping his nose. “A secret.”
“That is why you are discussing it openly with me, no doubt.”
“You mock me!”
“Yes, and I shouldn’t, for it is far too easy.”
“You don’t believe a club would choose me?” His eyelids waver and his head nods a bit. He’ll be out in a moment. “Why, just this evening…”
“Just this evening,” I prompt.
“…gave me a token. A mark of dish…dishtinction…They said it would protect me from…unwanted…influence…”
“From what?” I ask, but it’s no use. Tom snores in the chair. Sighing, I take the blanket from the settee and place it over his legs. I pull it up to his chin, and my blood goes cold. There on his lapel is a familiar pin—the skull-and-sword insignia of the Rakshana.
“Tom,” I say, shaking him. “Tom, where did you get this?”
He turns slightly in the chair, his eyes still closed. “I told you, I’ve been called to membership in a gentlemen’s club. At last, I shall make Father proud and prove…myself…a man…”
“Tom, you mustn’t trust them,” I whisper, holding fast to his hand. I try to join our thoughts with my power, but the spirits he has drunk begin to work on me. I pull away, light-headed and reeling.
Fowlson has made good on his promise. Bile rises in my throat, and a new fear washes over me. I’ve been caught in his endgame: If I tell Tom my secret, he’ll think me mad. If I employ the magic, the Rakshana will know I still have it, and they’ll come for me before I’ve had a chance to do what I must.
For the time being, I can’t trust my brother. He is one of them.
The next morning, Tom delivers me to the railway station, where I am to meet a Mrs. Chaunce, an elderly acquaintance of Grandmama’s, who will travel as far as Spence for a small fee. Tom’s the worse for wear this morning. He’s not a drinker, and the pallor of his face shows it. He’s in a foul humor and it serves him right.
Tom continues to check his pocket watch, complaining bitterly. “Where is she? Women. Never on time.”
“Tom, this club you’ve pledged to…,” I start, but just then Mrs. Chaunce arrives, and Tom cannot hand me over fast enough.
“Cheerio, Gemma. Pleasant trip.”
After a brief round of pleasantries, Mrs. Chaunce, who, thank goodness, has as little interest in me as I have in her, sees to the luggage. She offers the porter one penny for his trouble. He looks at it with disdain, and I rummage in my purse to find two more. Mrs. Chaunce is not a very good chaperone, for I’ve lost her already, but I spy her boarding the train and hurry to catch up.
“Did you drop this, miss?”
I turn to see Mr. Fowlson behind me holding a lady’s handkerchief. It isn’t mine but it’s no matter; it is merely a means for talking to me.
“Stay away from my brother or—”
“Or what, luv?”
“I shall go to the authorities.”
He laughs. “And say what? That yer brother ’as joined a gentlemen’s club and you don’t approve? Why, I’ll be in Newgate before mornin’!”
I lower my voice to a hiss. “Leave him alone or I…I…”
His smile is replaced by a flinty stare. “You’ll what? Use your power on me? But you don’t have it anymore, right, luv?”
The magic rears up inside me like horses ready to run, and it takes every bit of my strength to tether it. I mustn’t let it loose; not now.
Mrs. Chaunce calls to me from an open window, coughing through the steam. “Miss Doyle! Miss Doyle! Do hurry!”
“Nice bloke, your brother. Wants to be respected in the worst way. And that’s a lot to work wif. Ambition’s a good match against magic. Safe journeys, Miss Doyle. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
I settle into my compartment with Mrs. Chaunce, and the train is under way. Fowlson’s threat is fresh in my mind, and I wish I had someone with whom to share it. The train is filled with people eager to reach their destinations or happy to be leaving others. They chatter with one another; mothers offer children small bits of food to keep them content; fathers look on admiringly; ladies traveling together watch the scenery roll by with excited smiles. I can’t hold back the magic anymore, and I feel the constant press of their thoughts till I fear I shall go mad. I try to stop it, but it proves too difficult with so much going on around me, so I do the only thing I know how to: I make a wish that I could hear nothing. Soon, though life pulses on around me, I’m alone in a cocoon of quiet.