“Go on.”
Moira’s fingers interlocked, her knuckles white with the pressure. “There was this big parcel. I thought I should take the book out like we’d done with the crates. So, I unwrapped it. It looked really old. I was curious and… I…” Her gaze dropped to floor once more. “I opened it. The writing was beautiful. And the pictures were… almost alive.” She breathed these words, not with awe, but horror. A shudder shook her small silhouette.
“Your skin felt strange,” Barnaby said softly.
Moira’s eyes flew to Barnaby. How could he know?
“And then you felt a weight at your back.”
“Yes! But that was only once I started reading the story.”
Lord Brathwaite leaning forward across his desk. “You could read the text?”
“Oh, sir!” she wailed. “It was wicked strange. I have only ever been able to read my own name, and some words I might need for my work, like laundry lists. But this book… the writing… it sort of changed as I looked at it. And then, all of a sudden, I could understand it. All of it.”
“Are you saying you could read centuries’ old text as if by magic?” The disdain in the earl’s voice was unmistakable.
“There is some terrible spell upon that book!” cried the poor girl. “And it wants its evil to enter the world! I couldn’t let that happen.” Hot, frightened tears now pooled in her eyes. “So, I tore out the last pages. The ones that say how to bring the magic alive forever.”
“And you buried them,” said Barnaby, “in the churchyard by a crucifix, where you thought they could do no harm. But you dropped one somewhere in the garden and Master Lucas found it.”
“Oh, sir!” Moira was inconsolable. “The poor boy! If those spirits have hurt him, I will never forgive myself!”
Lord Brathwaite looked helplessly at Barnaby. “Is she mad, do you think? All this talk of magic and spirits. Could she be in the grip of some fever of the brain?”
“No, milord,” Barnaby answered. “She is just a simple sort of soul.” He smiled kindly at her. “The strangeness of it all would have been impossible to explain. Moira did what she thought was best. Except, she has completely misunderstood what she has read.”
“And you know this because?”
Barnaby took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “The truth of the matter is going to be hard for a man of science to believe. But I hope my honesty will speak for itself. You see, my experience was identical to Moira’s, save the panic, of course. I was able to cast a more critical mind over it all.”
“You had the… the crawling skin and the… What was it again?’
“The weight at my back, your lordship. And the ability to read what I could not before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am skilled in several classical languages and well-versed in older folios. However, I could not make out the contents of this manuscript. Until the words rearranged themselves. And then I could.”
“Mr. Ash.” The earl tapped a testy finger on the surface of his desk. “This is the talk of a man who has quite lost his mental equilibrium. If you want me to believe such codswallop, explain to me why I did not also undergo these experiences.”
“That is simple enough,” said Barnaby, producing the pages from his pocket, causing Moira to shriek and take several steps away from him. “It’s all in here. The magic could only be felt by Alwin and Lyra’s descendants.”
“Magic?” scoffed the earl. “You are actually going to call it that with a straight face?”
“Yes, milord. And I will do more besides. I can show you that it’s true.”
“Please, sir,” whimpered Moira. “Don’t listen to him. He is going to bring trouble to this house, to this whole village. We should not be interfering with such forces. Who knows what darkness will…”
“Moira, child,” said Barnaby with a voice that was both soft and firm. “I understand that you are afraid. But I will explain why you have no need to be.”
“Go on then,” Lord Brathwaite commanded.
“It’s all in these last pages,” explained Barnaby. “Alwin left these words for his descendants to find. Anyone from their fae-human line would be able to read the text, no matter where or when they were born. And they would feel the memory of the wings of their ancestral mother. They gave these gifts so that we might know that we are of their blood, for only a descendant could trigger the blessing Lyra left.” He turned to Moira. “It is a blessing, you know. A show of gratitude for the love that was found here in Fenwick.”
“I’m no fairy changeling!” Moira cried. “These are lies! My parents are good people, farm folk, hardworking. They go to church every… well, at least once a month.”
“Moira.” Barnaby tried again. “The fae blood was introduced nearly nine hundred years ago. And Lyra gave up her world to be with Alwin. This has nothing to do with dark elements and everything to do with love.”
