She shrugged, throwing her hands out. “You didn’t need it. Look at the machine—once you know how to use it, you won’t need me, and then I don’t need to worry about leaving!”
“Bit of an old-fashioned thing, really,” Jeannie said, eyeing it disapprovingly. “Be obsolete in ten years. I’ve seen better. There was a chap I knew in the war….” She trailed off meaningfully.
Elspeth rolled her eyes at her sister and snatched up the calculator. “Come on—I’ll teach you how to use it!”
Laurence let her lead the way inside and listened bemusedly to them both chatter about programmable computers and vacuum tubes and the impact of electronic power on computational devices. It all sounded like much ado about nothing to him, but he enjoyed listening to their delight in the ideas.
THAT NIGHT, Avery said to him, “You’ve made a home here.”
Laurence shrugged. He’d never really had a place where he belonged before. “Maybe.”
“It’s a good place. I always loved it.”
“Would you stay here, if your curse broke?”
Avery shrugged. “Maybe. I’d like to see those parts of the world that are more than twelve days travel away, but I’d come back here. ’Tis still my home.”
“I’d take you to India,” Laurence said. “Show you where I grew up. It still—nowhere in this country smells right, you see. I miss the smell of India. And then we’d come back here. Come home.”
Avery’s smile was so full of hope it hurt to see.
OCTOBER WAS mild, and Laurence watched the autumn roll by with growing anticipation. As Bonfire Night filled the sky with smoke and light, he found his mind drifting back to the legend about Avery. That night, wandering through the eternal snow with his hand in Avery’s, he asked, “Did you really reject the fairy queen?”
“I flirted with her,” Avery said lightly, but he would not meet Laurence’s gaze.
“And she cursed you for it?”
“No. That’s not why I’m here.”
“That’s what the legend says.”
“Legends,” Avery said, laughing a little, but it sounded thin and brittle.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“It shouldn’t be forgotten.”
Laurence squeezed his hand.
“I was a fool who thought I was clever, a mortal fool playing in a fairy court after the mortal world threatened to name me a heretic. And yes, I flirted with their queen and with their king, but that was not what brought this fate upon me. I flirted with them all. I like to flirt.”
“I’ve noticed,” Laurence said.
Avery let out a miserable hiccup of laughter and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Laurence’s shoulder. “There was a boy, a lovely Indian boy—no, more than a boy, but barely more. I flirted with him too, but I did not mean it. He was too young for me. I never meant to break his heart.”
Laurence tangled his fingers in Avery’s hair but said nothing. It was enough to listen.
“He was a changeling child who had lived out his life in the fairy court, favored by both king and queen. But because of me, he ran back to the mortal world—ran to a world he had never known. He vanished into London at midwinter, a beautiful boy who believed in magic lost in the streets of Southwark, not even speaking the language, and—” He choked.
Laurence closed his eyes and tried not to imagine it. Even in his London, in a kinder age, there were so many ways that could have gone wrong.
“I don’t want to tell this story,” Avery said abruptly. He was shaking in the circle of Laurence’s arms.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was careless, so horribly careless, and he paid the price for it.”
“And they punished you? Where were they to comfort him when his heart was breaking?”
“They don’t think like that,” Avery whispered. “I hurt him, and I bear the price. He survived, so they let me live, but when they brought him back, he wasn’t—” He stopped again, and Laurence felt hot tears fall on his neck.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again.
“It was. It was, but I have paid my price. I want to live outside these shadows, Laurence. I want it so much. I want to see flowers again.”
Laurence pulled him close and swore to himself that he would end this, soon he would end this. He would give Avery back all the other seasons of the year, give him leaves that were not evergreen, the flowers of spring and the fruits of autumn.
And if he had to give his heart to Avery to achieve that, nothing would bring him more joy.
Chapter Seven
AS THE nights drew in, Laurence’s nerves grew taut. The cottage was homelike again, and he crossed off every day on his calendar, watching the days gradually fill up. He struggled to learn the mechanical calculator, cross-checking every painstaking sum against Elspeth’s more agile mind. He found it easier if he had the processes written out step-by-step, so Elspeth typed them up for him and had them mounted on card with a little sliding rule so he could track his way through the calculation, measure for measure. He was still reluctant to work anything out without checking with someone else, but his confidence grew with every correct answer.
Elspeth took her entrance exams and went off to Oxford interviews. She came back bubbling with excitement, and Laurence found himself wishing all her hopes would be realized. Maybe Avery could take her place—he had a good brain for numbers, and it would give him a role in the village. Laurence started piecing together a story for him, of an eccentric veteran seeking a quiet life. His own limitations were now well enough known in the village that he hoped no one would question him having live-in help.
Or maybe Avery too would want to go away and study, here in a brave new world crammed full of ideas.
The vicar delivered his advent sermons, meandering through Bible texts and local anecdotes as his mathematically minded daughters pinched each other awake in the front pew. The old ladies of the village came to complain to Laurence about their aches and pains and left Christmas puddings and mince pies in their wake, tutting at the thought of him spending Christmas alone.
Althea and Millie invited him to dinner twice and very pointedly talked about anything but the village and the upcoming season. Laurence appreciated it more than he could say.
It was a warm wet winter that year, none of last year’s snow, but endless days of drizzling rain and trudging through wet mud. The thrush still sang bravely in the depths of the holly copse, and the daffodils sprouted early, pushing out of the damp earth in green spears.
Christmas Eve dawned wet. Laurence woke well before the light and wandered downstairs to nurse a first cup of tea and stare out at the garden. When would Avery be here? Would it be as good as last year?
Would Avery come at all? What if he didn’t come?
Laurence made another cup of tea from the same tea bag—blasted rationing.
He walked through the cottage, checking every room. It wasn’t the same as it had been when Avery’s magic brought the place to life, but it was comfortable, as warm and cozy as he could make it. It even had electricity now, and a refrigerator in the pantry. He’d finished up his food coupons for the month and, although he couldn’t produce quite the feast Avery had given him last year, there was enough here.
He spent half an hour tuning the wireless, making sure the signal would be clear tomorrow. He checked the cottage again and then forced himself to sit by the window and write a long letter to his parents, filling it with all the amusing details of a village Christmas.
Shortly before noon, the rain stopped and the clouds parted enough to allow thin winter sunshine to wash across the rain-wet garden. Laurence went outside, his heart in his throat.
The mistle thrush was singing, its full fluting song ringing over the soft drip from the still-drenched leaves.
Laurence almost missed the moment when it stopped.