Blaze of Glory

So far, he'd been able to hide these things from others. Even from his mother and father.

His motives for not telling his parents were clear to him. At least, he'd thought them through carefully and arranged them neatly, much in the way a barrister would organise a defence for a client before going to court. His aim was to avoid divulging his mistake by finding a solution for his condition before anyone found out.

Being ashamed of what he'd done wasn't quite right. Being embarrassed was more accurate. As a dedicated perfectionist, getting something wrong on this scale was deeply mortifying.

He was willing to admit there was more to it than that. A son who had managed to suspend himself between life and death through experimenting in forbidden magic would certainly be exploited by his father's political enemies. They would question Sir Darius's fitness for public office, with many a shake of their bewhiskered heads.

Lastly, Aubrey was determined to clean up his own mess. It was a question of honour.

With that in mind, he managed to slip into a troubled sleep.

AUBREY RESTED, MARKING TWO HOURS BY THE TOLLING OF the clock over the library. Refreshed, he opened his eyes to see George slumped in the armchair asleep.

Aubrey padded to his desk, his bare feet hardly making a sound. He took some books from the bookshelves over the desk and soon was lost in the world of arcane magical research.

Evening was drawing in when Aubrey heard a grunt from George. He turned. 'Awake, I see. I thought I was the one who needed the rest.'

George rubbed his eyes and yawned. 'Well, I was the only one who managed to carry a full kit back here.'

Aubrey shrugged. 'Why should I carry all that gear when someone's willing to do it for me?'

George snorted. He stood, opened the curtains and came to the desk. 'What on earth are you doing?'

Aubrey held up his hand. Between his forefinger and thumb were clamped a piece of glass and a copper penny. 'Experimenting. Mr Ellwood was rambling on about the Law of Contiguity and I had a few ideas I wanted to follow up.'

George snorted again. 'I'm glad I'm not taking Magic this year. Too taxing on the brain. I'll stick with Sport and Music.'

Aubrey glanced at his friend. 'You don't know what contiguity is, do you?'

George nodded and adopted an air of ancient wisdom. 'Of course I do. Contiguity. Closeness. Proximity.'

Aubrey smiled. 'You continually surprise me, George. Yes, that's what contiguity means. With the right spells, a magician can invoke one of the variations of the Law of Contiguity.' Deftly, he separated the two items and held the coin in front of his eye. 'Look.'

'Fascinating. A penny.'

'I can see you, George.'

George raised an eyebrow. 'You're looking through the penny?'

'The Law of Contiguity, in action,' Aubrey said. He was pleased with himself. He hadn't been sure if his variations on an approach he'd read about in an obscure tome would work.

'Ah,' George said. 'The coin and the glass were in contact. Close proximity.'

'Contiguous. That's right. Go on.'

'And so, magically, the coin has become a little like glass?'

'Exactly!' Aubrey jumped to his feet and flung the curtains wide. 'It cuts both ways, of course.'

He held up the fragment of glass. Through it, the light was decidedly coppery. George took it from his hand and stared at it. 'So, with some effort we can have transparent metals?'

Aubrey threw his hands in the air. 'George, don't be so straightforward. If the Laws of Contiguity can be properly fathomed and codified, the possibilities are endless.'

'Well, that's all very good.' George looked away.

'Yes? You have something to say?'

'Today's little spectacle on the Hummocks isn't going to impress your grandmother, is it?'

Aubrey made a face. 'I'm not worried about her reaction.' It wasn't a lie. He didn't have to worry about her reaction. He knew what it would be.

'You must be the only one in the entire country who isn't.'

'I'm more concerned about my father.'

'He won't say anything, will he?'

'That's the problem,' Aubrey muttered. He glared at the window, not seeing the view of the ivy-covered library.

Aubrey readily admitted – to himself – how difficult it was to be Sir Darius Fitzwilliam's son. His father being one of the most prominent men in the country, a war hero and former Prime Minister, meant that Aubrey had much to live up to. Everywhere he went he was faced with expectations and people who wanted to measure him against the great man.

'You know how it is, George. I want to please him, but I end up disappointing him. Not that he'd say anything. It'd be the "Gallant try, Aubrey" speech.'

'Awkward, that.'

'Indeed.' Aubrey sprang out of the chair and grinned. 'And tonight you'll see just how awkward it is.'

'Tonight?' George frowned.

'When we have dinner at home at Maidstone. I have special leave from the school and I asked for one for you, too.'

'Me? I can't go. I've got to study. I have cornet practice. I've got something else to do.'

'Good food at our table, George,' Aubrey purred. 'Succulent beef, roast potatoes, green beans. Nothing overcooked, watery or cold.'

George brightened. 'Pudding?'

'Of course. Cook is superb at pudding. It'll probably either be bread and butter custard or jam roly-poly.'

'When do we leave?'

Four

'HOW'S MY COLLAR?' GEORGE ASKED AUBREY AS THEY stood on the doorstep.

'Perfect.'

'The tie?'

'Elegantly and firmly knotted.'

'My hair?'

'On top of your head, as it should be. Now, do you want me to produce a full-length mirror?'

The walk from Stonelea School to Maidstone, the Fitzwilliams' city residence, hadn't taken long. On such a pleasant summer's evening, many people were abroad. Courting couples were strolling arm in arm, oblivious of the passing parade. Families were walking with more purpose, mostly led by parents whose faces seemed to suggest that they knew the walk was a sound idea but that they'd rather be at home with a good book.

Maidstone was the house where Aubrey had grown up, and where generations of Fitzwilliams had grown up. It was one in a long, curving row of elegant three-storey townhouses facing a small park in Fielding Cross. The park was dominated by an ancient willow tree which shaded a tiny pond. Aubrey had spent many hours there, sailing wooden yachts and studying tadpoles.

The entire neighbourhood was clean, quiet and reeked of money.

Wealth was in the discreet, but expensive, brass doorknockers. It was in the uniformed domestic staff who appeared at doors whenever they opened. It was in the curtains, the clothes of the passers-by, the prize-winning dogs being walked by anxious-looking kennel lads. It was in the smoothly gliding prams pushed by pretty young nannies.