“Perhaps it is a locket,” said Prunella, and set about prying it open, but there was not a join or gap to be found upon it. After some fruitless striving she surrendered the attempt.
She looked at the journal, but decided to leave it to the side for the moment, though she would not admit even to herself why she avoided it. “Doubtless it would take a vast time to puzzle out”—(letters were not Prunella’s strong point)—“most likely it is nothing worth reading—scribbles about his day, and what he ate, and what the weather was like.”
The black velvet pouch seemed safer, and Prunella harboured a faint hope that it might contain jewels, or perhaps gold guineas. It was nothing of the sort, however. She poured out upon her palm seven blue stones.
“This is my treasure!” she exclaimed. “A trinket, seven stones, a bundle of old papers, and a journal! Mrs. Daubeney need hardly begrudge me such an inheritance.”
There was nothing for it: she must look into the journal now, while she had leisure to examine her find. Prunella opened the book and smoothed its pages, with hands that didnotshake—and even if they did, it did not signify, for no one saw her.
Though her lips moved as she read, and it was necessary for her torely upon the aid of a finger to trace the lines, she was soon engrossed. The owner had only used about ten pages, filling them with scattered notes. But he had preserved letters within the leaves of the journal, and stray pieces of paper upon which he had copied out what seemed to be quotes from books—books on magic.
There was enough to keep Prunella occupied for several hours. When she finally looked up from the journal, it was almost time for the Sorcerer Royal’s speech. She was stiff and cold.
Prunella took out the stones again, noting the trembling of her hands with a philosopher’s detachment. She shivered partly from the cold, but partly, too, from what she had learnt. It seemed strange that she should still be the same Prunella, possessed of the same chapped hand.
The stones looked as obdurately dull as ever, save for their colour. They were a pure, pale blue like robins’ eggs, but veined with gold.
“What Mrs. D will say when I tell her!” said Prunella. Her laughter rang out, bell-like, in the stillness of the room.
6
ZACHARIASWOULDNEVERmake a sensation as an orator, but luckily his speech for Mrs. Daubeney’s gentlewitches did not require any great oratory from him. He congratulated the young ladies on their good fortune in being educated at such a school, under the auspices of such a Mrs. Daubeney. He elaborated upon the perils to the fairer sex of venturing into the rarefied realms of thaumaturgy, and praised the instructresses who laboured to prevent his audience’s meeting that dreadful fate.
Even as he recited the conventional objections to women’s magic, however, Zacharias was mulling over the arguments in favour of it. He had been struck by the scene in the classroom. The spells Miss Gentleman had cast had been crude enough, but they had appeared to be of her own devising, and spoke of skill startling in an untrained female. That she had contrived to juggle such a number of enchantments while under attack, and in such infelicitous conditions as obtained in that room of weeping girls, was impressive.
But could female ability be any argument for encouraging womento exercise it? Surely feminine magic must be curbed, magic being so peculiarly detrimental to women’s delicate frames. Besides, magic was too hard to come by in these days for it to be frittered away in women’s frivolities—ballgowns and christening gowns and gowns of other descriptions.
Yet the moment this thought passed through Zacharias’s mind, his conscience presented the image of Lady Wythe as a counterpoint. Anyone less likely to waste magic in fripperies was impossible to imagine—unless it were the cooks, maids, charwomen, herbwives, and other females of the lower classes, who were permitted to practise their craft in peace, because they employed it for the benefit of their betters.
For that matter, what could be more wasteful than the manner in which the heedless young members of the Theurgist’s amused themselves? Magical fireworks and talking reflections were the least of their extravagances.
At this juncture, Zacharias’s speech and (somewhat more to his irritation) his thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance in the audience. A small crowd formed around a girl who had fainted.
When Zacharias approached he found Miss Gentleman kneeling by the girl, trying to revive her by the application of sal volatile. Mrs. Daubeney waved him away.
“Pray do not be concerned, Mr. Wythe!” she said. “Such a to-do over a trifle! The silly girl ought to have known she was permitted to suspend her exercises today.”
“It was instead of lines,” said a pale maiden. “Olivia said she would rather chant the Seven Shackles all day than look at another line. She had lines yesterday for impertinence, and then today she was late to breakfast.”
“Is the young lady unwell?” said Zacharias. “If her indisposition is connected to magic, I beg you will permit me to examine her.”
“It is nothing to do with magic—quite the contrary,” said Mrs. Daubeney, who would have been most grateful if Zacharias had had thedecency to remove himself from the scene. “A little faintness is a natural consequence of the Seven Shackles. The girls are told never to do it but on a full stomach. I suppose the silly creature missed her breakfast, but insisted on continuing with the exercise even during your speech, so that it would be finished sooner. Olivia never can take thought for the future.”
“Oh, but she was,” said Prunella. “She must have been thinking of plum pudding at dinner today—the Seven Shackles during dinner would quite ruin her appetite. And there is the excursion tomorrow, that Miss Mortimer promised her class. If Olivia had postponed the exercise, she should have been too ill to go.”
“But what is this exercise?” said Zacharias, who was appalled by the unconscious girl’s appearance. Her countenance was bloodless, her lips blue, and her chest barely moved with her breath.
“My dear Mr. Wythe, do not you know? The Seven Shackles are quite the finest innovation of our age!” cried Mrs. Daubeney. “I make sure to have our girls practise it regularly, and it has a most salutary effect.”
“I have never heard of it in my life,” said Zacharias. “And you will allow me to say, Mrs. Daubeney, that I hope never to hear of anything like it, if this is its effect!”
“Mr. Wythe likely knows it under another name,” said Prunella, apparently addressing Mrs. Daubeney. “You know, ma’am, that it is based upon Pobjoy’s taking.”
“Pobjoy’s taking?” If Zacharias had been alarmed before, now he was horrified. “But that is a killing curse! It has been prohibited by the Society for hundreds of years, for its effect of draining magic from its victims.”
“But there can be nothing wrong in the girls’ doing it to themselves, you know, for it is not as though they inflict it upon anyone else,” said Mrs. Daubeney eagerly. “Besides, you must not mislead Mr. Wythe, Prunella. It is not quite Pobjoy’s taking, but an adaptation by one of our mistresses. The Seven Shackles only cause a mild enervation, which need not lead to any lasting damage if proper precautions are taken.When it has drained the girls’ magic, it releases it into the air, counteracting the general decline. So you see it is a most ingenious device!”
“Most ingenious! A curse I would not put upon my worst enemy!” said Zacharias.
