“Oh, the Clave,” said Scott, as if deadly bored. “Very wel . Now, Charlotte. Let us talk about you.”
“Oh, but I am very dul ,” said Charlotte, and she—quite deliberately, Tessa was sure—upset the teapot. It struck the table with a gratifying bang, spil ing hot water. Scott jumped up with a cry, flipping his scarf out of the way of danger. Charlotte rose to her feet, clucking. “Woolsey, dear,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “you’ve been such a help. Let me show you out. There’s an antique keris that was sent to us from the Bombay Institute I’ve just been yearning to show you. . . .”
11
WILD UNREST
Your woe hath been my anguish; yea, I quail
A nd perish in your perishing unblest.
A nd I have searched the highths and depths, the scope
Of all our universe, with desperate hope
To find some solace for your wild unrest.
—James Thomson, “The City of Dreadful Night”
To my dear Mrs. Branwell—
You may be surprised to receive a letter from me so soon after my departure from London, but despite the sleepiness of the countryside, events here have continued apace, and I thought it best to keep you abreast of developments.
The weather continues fine here, allowing me much time for exploring the countryside, especially the area around Ravenscar Manor, which is indeed a fine old building. The Herondale family appears to live alone there: only the father, Edmund; the mother; and the youngest daughter, Cecily, who is near to fifteen and very like her brother in restlessness, in manner, and in looks. I will arrive at how I know all that in a moment.
Ravenscar itself is near a small village. I set myself up at the local inn, the Black Swan, and posed as a gentleman interested in buying property in the area. The locals have been most forthcoming with information, and when they were not, a persuasion spell or two helped them to see the matter from my point of view.
It seems the Herondales mix very little with local society. Despite—or perhaps because of—this tendency, rumor about them abounds.
It seems they do not own Ravenscar Manor but are indeed, by way of its custodians, watching over it for its true owner—A xel Mortmain, of course. Mortmain seems no one to these people but a wealthy industrialist who purchased a country manor he rarely visits; I encountered no rumor about any connection of his to the Shades, whose legacy here seems long forgotten. The Herondales themselves are a matter of curious speculation. It is known that they had a child who died, and that Edmund, whom I knew once, turned to drink and to gambling; eventually he gambled away their home in Wales, whereupon, destitute, they were offered the occupation of this house in Yorkshire by its owner. That was two years ago.
I had all this confirmed for me this afternoon when, watching the manor from a distance, I was startled by the appearance of a girl. I knew who she was immediately. I had seen her go in and out of the house, and her resemblance to her brother Will, as I said, is pronounced. She set into me at once, demanding to know why I was spying on her family. She did not seem angry at first but rather hopeful. “Did my brother send you?” she asked. “Have you any word of my brother?”
It was quite heartbreaking, but I know the Law, and could tell her only that her brother was well and wished to know that they were safe. A t that she became angry and opined that Will could best ensure his family’s safety by returning to them. She also said that it was not the death of her sister (did you know of this sister?) that had undone her father, but rather Will’s desertion. I shall leave it up to your discretion whether to pass this on to young Master Herondale, as it seems news that would do more harm than good.
When I spoke to her of Mortmain, she chatted easily to me of him—a family friend, she said, who had stepped in to offer them this home when they had nothing. A s she spoke, I began to get a sense of how Mortmain thinks. He knows it is against the Law for Nephilim to interfere with Shadowhunters who have chosen to leave the Clave, and that therefore Ravenscar Manor would be avoided; he knows also that the Herondales’ occupancy of it makes the objects in it theirs, and therefore none can be used to track him. A nd last, he knows that power over the Herondales could translate into power over Will. Does he require power over Will? Not now perhaps, but there may be a time when he desires it, and when he does, it will be to hand. He is a well-prepared man, and men such as that are dangerous.