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This story grows as wild as the magic of the realms with each telling.
"Yes, you simply must," Felicity says, taking Ann's arm."Use the magic," she whispers. "Felicity!" I whisper back."We're not supposed to . . ."
"We must! We can't just abandon Ann."
Ann gives me a pleading look.
"Just this once," Felicity says.
"Just this once," I repeat.
Ann turns back to the crowd, smiling. "I would be happy to sing."
She waits for the rustling of skirts to subside as the women take their seats. Then she closes her eyes. I can feel her concentrating, drawing on the magic. It's as if we are joined by it, working in concert to create this illusion. Ann opens her mouth to sing. She has a lovely voice quite naturally, but the music that tumbles out of her is very powerful and seductive. It takes me a moment to recognize the language. She's singing in Russian, a language she doesn't actually know. It is a very nice touch.
The women of the Alexandra are held in thrall. When Ann reaches the song's crescendo, a few dab at their eyes, so moved are they. As Ann finishes with a small, respectful curtsy, the women applaud and rush to praise her. Ann basks in their adoration.
Lady Denby strides to Ann's side and offers her congratulations.
"Lady Denby, how wonderful you look," Felicity's mother says. Lady Denby nods but does not respond. The slight is noted by everyone. There is an uncomfortable silence in the room.
Lady Denby regards Ann coolly. "You say you are a relation of the Duke of Chesterfield?"
"Y-yes," Ann stammers.
"Strange. I don't believe I've ever met the duke."
I feel a tug, a change in the air. The magic. When I look over, Felicity has her eyes closed in concentration, and a faint smile curves those full lips. Suddenly, Lady Denby breaks wind with an enormous crackling sound. There is no hiding the shock and horror on her face as she realizes what she's done. She breaks wind again, and several of the women clear their throats and look away as if they can pretend not to notice the offense. For her part, Lady Denby excuses herself, muttering something about being indisposed on her way out.
"Felicity, that was terrible of you!" I whisper.
"Why?" she asks, cool as can be."She is an old windbag, after all."
Now that Lady Denby has left, people gravitate to Ann and Mrs. Worthington, congratulating Felicity's mother for having such an esteemed guest in her home. Invitations for tea, dinner, calls are offered in abundance. The slight has been forgotten.
"I shall never be powerless again," Felicity says, though I don't know exactly what she means by it, and she doesn't offer to explain.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BY THE TIME I RETURN HOME, NIGHT IS SETTLING over London like a balm, gaslight smoothing the rough edges into a hazy dark sameness. The house is quiet. Grandmama is off to play cards with her friends. Father's sleeping fitfully in his chair, his book open upon his lap. My father, haunted even in his dreams.
The last remnants of the magic flow through me. I close the doors and lay my hand on his brow. Just once, as Felicity said. That's all I need. I'm not using this power for a new ball gown; I'm using it to heal my father. How can that possibly be wrong?
But how to begin? Mother told me I must concentrate. I must be sure of what I want and intend. I close my eyes and let my thoughts go to my father, to curing him of his affliction.
"I wish to heal my father," I say. "I wish that he will never again have a desire for laudanum." My hands tingle. Something is happening. Fast as a swollen stream, the magic rages through me and into Father. He arches his back with it. My eyes still shut, I see clouds race across the sky, see Father laughing and healthy again. He sweeps me into a playful dance and offers Christmas boxes to all the servants, whose eyes light up in gratitude and goodwill. This is the father I knew. I did not realize how much I missed him till now. Tears wet my face.
Father stops moaning in the chair. I am ready to move my hand from him but cannot. There is one last thing, quick as a magician's trick. I see a man's face, his eyes lined in black. "Thank you, poppet," he snarls. And then I am free.
The candles on the Christmas tree burn brightly. I'm shaking, perspiring from the effort. Father is so peaceful and quiet I fear I have killed him.
"Father?" I say gently. When he does not rouse, I shake him."Father!"
He blinks, surprised to see me so agitated. "Hello, darling. Dozed off, did I?"
"Yes," I say, watching him closely.
He touches his fingers to his forehead."Such strange dreams I had." "What, Father? What did you dream?"
