“Yes. But Mary’s mother provided her all the tools necessary for her survival: iron discipline, a deep sense of duty, the best schooling money could buy, a love of poetry, and her passion for alchemy.”
I touched my bodice, thinking of the life growing within me. What tools would he need to survive in the world?
We talked about chemistry on our way home. Matthew explained that the crystals that Mary brooded over like a hen were oxidized iron ore and that she would later distill them in a flask to make sulfuric acid. I’d always been more interested in the symbolism of alchemy than in its practical aspects, but my afternoon with the Countess of Pembroke had shown me how intriguing the links between the two might be.
Soon we were safely inside the Hart and Crown and I was sipping a warm tisane made from mint and lemon balm. It turned out the Elizabethans did have teas, but they were all herbal. I was chattering on about Mary when I noticed Matthew’s smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“I haven’t seen you like this before,” he commented.
“Like what?”
“So animated—full of questions and reports of what you’ve been doing and all the plans you and Mary have for next week.”
“I like being a student again,” I confessed. “It was difficult at first, not to have all the answers. Over the years I’ve forgotten how much fun it is to have nothing but questions.”
“And you feel free here, in a way that you didn’t in Oxford. Secrets are a lonely business.” Matthew’s eyes were sympathetic as his fingers moved along my jaw.
“I was never lonely.”
“Yes you were. I think you still are,” he said softly.
Before I could shape a response, Matthew had me out of my seat and was backing us toward the wall by the fireplace. Pierre, who was nowhere to be seen only moments before, appeared at the threshold.
Then a knock sounded. Matthew’s shoulder muscles bunched, and a dagger flashed at his thigh. When he nodded, Pierre stepped out onto the landing and flung open the door.
“We have a message from Father Hubbard.” Two male vampires stood there, both dressed in expensive clothes that were beyond the reach of most messengers. Neither was more than fifteen. I’d never seen a teenage vampire and had always imagined there must be prohibitions against it.
“Master Roydon.” The taller of the two vampires tugged at the tip of his nose and studied Matthew with eyes the color of indigo. Those eyes moved from Matthew to me, and my skin smarted from the cold. “Mistress.” Matthew’s hand tightened on his dagger, and Pierre moved to stand more squarely between us and the door.
“Father Hubbard wants to see you,” the smaller vampire said, looking with contempt at the weapon in Matthew’s hand. “Come when the clocks toll seven.”
“Tell Hubbard I’ll be there when it’s convenient,” said Matthew with a touch of venom.
“Not just you,” the taller boy said.
“I haven’t seen Kit,” Matthew said with a touch of impatience. “If he’s in trouble, your master has a better idea where to look for him than I do, Corner.” It was an apt name for the boy. His adolescent frame was all angles and points.
“Marlowe’s been with Father Hubbard all day.” Corner’s tone dripped with boredom.
“Has he?” Matthew said, eyes sharp.
“Yes. Father Hubbard wants the witch,” Corner’s companion said.
“I see.” Matthew’s voice went flat. There was a blur of black and silver, and his polished dagger was quivering, point first, in the doorjamb near Corner’s eye. Matthew strolled in their direction. Both vampires took an involuntary step back. “Thank you for the message, Leonard.” He nudged the door closed with his foot.
Pierre and Matthew exchanged a long, silent look while adolescent vampire feet racketed down the stairs.
“Hancock and Gallowglass,” ordered Matthew.
“At once.” Pierre whirled out of the room, narrowly avoiding Fran?oise. She pulled the dagger from the doorframe.
“We had visitors,” Matthew explained before she could complain about the state of the woodwork.
“What is this about, Matthew?” I asked.
“You and I are going to meet an old friend.” His voice remained ominously even.
I eyed the dagger, which was now lying on the table. “Is this old friend a vampire?”
“Wine, Fran?oise.” Matthew grabbed at a few sheets of paper, disordering my carefully arranged piles. I muffled a protest as he picked up one of my quills and wrote with furious speed. He hadn’t looked at me since the knock on the door.