WOUNDS

“I believe that her death and resurrection have bred in her a taste for odd experiences.”

In the months following her release from enchantment Lady Pole’s strange history and strident diatribes against the perfidy of the male race in general and magicians in particular made her a source of amusement to society and an embarrassment to her husband. As a consequence she would, at intervals retire from the city to Starecross Hall where Mr Segundus would welcome her with the gentle courtesy and respect she was denied elsewhere. It so happened that in the late autumn of 1817 Lady Pole was resident at Starecross when John Childermass brought Vinculus, the living book, for the perusal by and the edification of Mr Segundus’ pupils.

On all other occasions she had contrived to avoid that particular reminder of her travails but on this day she was not to be spared. Their paths crossed on the stairs and as he stood aside to allow her to pass she glanced at him and believed she detected a hint of mockery in his thin, dark face. This slight, minor as it may seem, rankled deeply within the heart of the lady, delivered as it was by a man who was not only a magician but who had also been the servant and confidant of Norrell, the author of all her misery. She therefore spent the remainder of the day dwelling deeply upon the past and the present, her torments and her tormentors and as dusk drew a cloak of darkness across the moors Lady Pole, driven by emotions she could not have named made her way to the chamber occupied by Mr Childermass.

She neither knocked nor requested permission to enter; instead she flung open the door and strode in as though to surprise her victim as he sat drowsing before the fire. He glanced up as she entered and rose to his feet, the same slight mockery evident upon his face. “Madame?”

Her beautiful face twisted in bitter hatred as she clenched her fists. “You saw! You saw the enchantment that caged me. You were there upon that road and you did nothing! You are worse than He!”

Childermass shrugged as though to ask what else she should have expected of him. “I saw the magic around you, as I see it now, different, but still there.” He reached out his hand, his fingertips just brushing her cheek. “Madame, there is a part of you that yet remains in Faerie.”

She flinched from his touch and flinched from his words. “No!”

“Then perhaps, my lady, there is a part of Faerie that still remains in you.”

She drew back, barring teeth that seemed suddenly sharp in the firelight. “I shot you,” she murmured as though remembering the fact for the first time. “Show me!”

Silently he pushed his shirt back from his shoulder and entranced she reached out, her small fist gripping the soft, old fabric of the shirt, tearing it to reveal the silvery hollow that marred the smooth pale skin. Gently she touched it, her long fingers caressing the ridged scar tissue that surrounded the wound, feeling him shudder as the red gold remembrance of pain shot through his body, seeing his dark eyes cloud as the sweet, bitter taste of laudanum filled his mouth and wrapped him in its warm embrace.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, her pointed tongue licking her lips in anticipation.

“Oh… Yes…” he whispered placing his strong brown hand over her small white one, digging her sharp faerie fingernails into the old wound until the blood ran down his chest.