“She was much better for a little, then relapsed—” he said, looking back over his shoulder at her. “Ah, I see that you are not surprised.”
“That is what happened to the arsenic-poisoned birds I treated,” she replied. “But I don’t know why. I had to purge them several times before they got better and stayed better.”
“I believe that I do, or I have a good guess. You purge the blood of the poison, which causes the victim to feel better. But that creates a—a kind of vacuum in the blood, so the tissues release some of what they hold back into the blood again, and the patient relapses.” He flung open a door on a narrow little room, painted white, and hung with prints of country churches, with white curtains at the tall, narrow windows. “And here we are!”
Ellen lay in an iron-framed bed much like her own back at Briareley, propped up with pillows like a giant doll. She smiled to see Marina. “Lord love you, Miss, I wasn’t sure you’d be able to come! That Madam—”
“Is a terror, but she thinks this is a Bible-study class,” Marina interrupted, getting a startled laugh from the girl “So, I suppose we had all better have the vicar expound on a verse before we all So home again, so that it isn’t a lie.”
“Then I will take for my text, ‘Even as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me,’“ said Davies, who was kneeling beside the fire and putting another log on. “And for an original and radical interpretation, you may wax eloquent on the point that I feel—quite strongly—that the text means actions both for good and ill.”
“Oh my—have we a reformer in our midst, Clifton?” asked the doctor, taking Marina’s cloak and draping it over a peg on the wall beside his own.
“You do. But on the whole, I prefer to be a subversive reformer. They get a great deal more accomplished than the ones who shout and carry placards and get themselves arrested.” Mr. Davies stood up, and smiled, quite cheerfully. “Which is one reason why, for instance, that I am providing a space for you and Miss Roeswood to work in.”
“We can talk all about subversion and theology when I have no more strength to spare for magic,” Marina said firmly. “It is always possible that Madam will send to fetch me at any point on some pretext or other—she didn’t forbid me, but she did not altogether approve of my interest in Bible studies.”
Doctor and vicar turned astonished expressions on her, but it was the vicar who spoke first. “Whyever not?” he asked. “I should think it would be entirely proper for a young lady of your age.”
“She says it is because I will turn into a bluestocking and a bore,” Marina replied with relish. “Although it is possible that she has got wind of those radical opinions of yours, so I believe I will not voice them, if you don’t mind, vicar. Well, shall we to work?”
Ellen made a face, and began drinking water—Dr. Pike must have remembered everything from the last time, for there was a full pitcher on the little table next to her. There were three chairs of faded upholstery, indeterminate age and much wear in this room besides the bedside table and the bed; Marina was offered the most comfortable-looking of the three, and took it, on the grounds that she was the one who was going to be doing most of the work. And besides, she was burdened with corsets; they weren’t. She closed her eyes, and put her right hand out toward Ellen. The girl took it, and laid it on the covers over her stomach, folding her own hands over it.
“Shields please, vicar,” she heard Dr. Pike say, and heard the vicar whisper something in Latin. His voice was too soft to make out the words, but she rather thought it was a prayer. Then his shields swept smoothly through her—she felt them pass, like a cool wave—and established themselves, settling into place with a swirl and a flourish, into ever-changing and fluid shields that looked much like Elizabeth’s, except for being a slightly deeper shade and blue instead of green.
A second set spun up at that perimeter, very like Uncle Thomas’ craftsmanly constructions, but more organic and alive. This variant of Earth was the living Earth, a tapestry of intertwining life, rich and flavored with the feel of sun on a freshly-turned furrow, the taste of (oddly enough) warm milk and honey, and the scent of new-mown hay. But it was the same rich, golden-brown of Uncle Thomas’ magic, and the shields rose up like a powerful buttress behind the fluidity of the vicar’s.
She sighed; they were perfectly lovely things, and she wished she could study them. But time was passing; she needed a source of power.
And found it immediately, a spring that supplied the vicarage well. There were lesser Elementals here, though no Undines—not surprising, really, since it was directly below a human-occupied building, and despite the lovely shields, she could tell that Clifton Davies was not really strong enough to attract the attention of powerful Elementals. She tapped into it, and let the full force of it flow into her hands and out again.
She sensed the doctor probing what she was doing at one point when she was so deep into her task that she wouldn’t have noticed a bugle being blown in her ear. He was very deft—and he made a brief attempt to join his personal energies to hers. But it came to nothing, as she had already known would happen, and he withdrew, turning instead to the task of healing what he could of the harm done to Ellen by the poison.
Then she lost herself in the intricacy and sheer delight of the task—she had seen Margherita similarly lost in the intricacy of a tapestry or an embroidery piece, and supposed it must be much the same thing. Some to make and some to mend, her aunt had always said when she lamented her inability to create. Well, there was joy enough in both.
Then, as ever, she felt her strength run out, and came back to herself with an unpleasant jarring sensation. At almost the same moment, she felt the two sets of shields come down again. She opened her eyes, and took away her hand, and was pleased to see that now there was some faint color in Ellen’s cheeks. But she didn’t get to admire them for long, because the girl struggled to her feet with Dr. Davies’ help, and was out the door as Marina sagged back into the comfort of the old wingback. Poor Ellen! She hoped the vicarage had an indoor WC.
“About that cup of tea,” she suggested, feeling very much in need of it.
“We can manage a bit better than that,” Davies said, and held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “Now I know you are reluctant to be a drain on my larder, but there are two things you don’t know about the state of it. First, I am a single man living here, not one burdened with a family, and although a country parson doesn’t see much in the way of monetary help, he is certainly well-endowed with the gifts of the farmers in his parish. And they have been granting me those as if I did have an enormous family, and would take it very hard if I were not to make use of it. Second, Miss Roeswood, I am a single parson—singularly single, as the saying is. Not a day goes by when some young lady or other—equally single—doesn’t gift me with a little offering that is, I must suppose, intended to impress me with her kitchen skills.” He chuckled. “If I ate all of these things I should be as round as a Michaelmas goose, and a good corn-fed one at that. My housekeeper would probably be mortally offended at this unintended slur on her skills, if she wasn’t so pleased that she hasn’t had to do any baking herself since Christmas. Some of this supplies the Parish groups with refreshments, but by no means all of it. So, the long and short of it is I can and will provide the means for a sumptuous high tea every time you bring Miss Ellen here.”
She held up both hands. “I yield to the honorable opposition,” she said, and he went off to some other part of the house, returning with Ellen leaning on his arm.