“Your source… isn’t what any of us expected,” Peter said, in a quiet voice that only Alderscroft’s ears would be able to pick up. “I’m not sure what to make of her.”
“Her?” Alderscroft’s mustache twitched.
“Her. Doctor Maya Witherspoon. Eurasian, and a physician and surgeon.” Quickly, he passed over every scrap of information that he’d managed to glean, both openly and arcanely, from the moment he’d passed through the surgery’s front door. Alderscroft didn’t interrupt him a second time; he sat back in his chair, with his eyes fixed on Peter, until the narrative, what little there was of it, was over.
At that point, with the Club’s usual impeccable timing, Jerry appeared with their luncheons. Neither of them said anything until after Jerry had finished arranging the plates to his satisfaction, and whisked the decanter and covers away.
“A pretty little puzzle,” Alderscroft said at last. “One wonders what brought her here, when her—race—as well as her profession would have been more acceptable in her own homeland, or on the Continent.”
“She’s a British citizen; her father was an Army surgeon. She has every right to be here,” Peter countered, covering his annoyance.
“As you say. Still. Why here? She’d go unremarked in France, or even in America.” Alderscroft paused for a few deliberate bites of his luncheon, as Peter wolfed down his own food in a matter of moments. “And why now? And why, in the name of heaven, is she so abominably trained, as you claim she is?”
“I can’t answer any of that, my lord,” Peter replied, but did note with sharp irony the annoyance that Alderscroft had expressed over Maya’s training—or lack thereof. Alderscroft might not like the idea of female mages, Adepts, or Elemental Masters, but he liked the idea of potential going to waste even less. “Perhaps her mother’s people refused to train a half-breed, even a powerful one. There’s no doubt that she knows something of what she is, but I very much doubt she knows the extent of her potential.”
“I’d like to learn the trick of that hiding business she’s worked out,” Alderscroft grumbled under his breath. “Damnation! If she just wasn’t a woman—”
“She’s an Earth Master, or will be, and I suspect she’s going to be one whether or not she gets formal training. You yourself were the one to tell me that the magic makes a Master or a madman, and given that she’s forced her own way through medical training, I rather doubt she’s so weak-willed as to go mad,” Peter retorted, his tone acrid enough to cause Alderscroft to give him a sharpish glance. And since Alderscroft was treating him as an equal—for once—Peter decided to push the issue. “For God’s sake, my lord, bring her in. Let one of us train her; she’s the only Earth Master, or potential Earth Master, in the whole of London! Fire or Water could give her the basic grounding; it would be easy enough to pass her on to someone of her own Element when she’s ready for full initiation—we could use her here—”
“She’s not our kind, Scott,” Lord Alderscroft interrupted. “Her magic isn’t ours; the magic of East and West don’t mix, never can, and never will! The Eastern mind can’t understand the Western; live as long as I have, and you’ll never doubt that for a moment!”
“But—” Peter started to object further, but saw from the stubborn expression on Lord Alderscroft’s face that he would make no dent in the old boy’s prejudices. “Well, she’s doing no harm, and isn’t likely to, magically, at least. As for her medical practice, I didn’t bother to inquire, but since she’s donating time to the Fleet Clinic, she apparently is fully enough acquainted with Christian charity to hold with the rest of the Christian virtues.”
The heavy irony of his last sentence was—possibly—lost on Alderscroft. When the old man got that ponderously ruminative look on his face, one never knew how much he was taking in and thinking about.
“I will grant you all of that, Scott,” he finally answered, as Peter chased a pea around his plate impatiently with his fork, with no intention whatsoever of eating it. “All right, then. We’ll leave this lady doctor of yours to her charities and her patients. She won’t be causing us any trouble, at least.” Alderscroft finally put his focus back on Peter, and chuckled. “And you are impatient to get back to your business, I know. Well, thank you, Scott. Well done, as usual.”
“My pleasure, sir,” Peter replied, even though it had been nothing of the sort, and took his leave of the Head of the Lodge and Council before he could make any more remarks that would not—at the very least—be polite, nor politic.
But he as he waited for Cedric to hail a cab, then climbed into the conveyance, he found that he had fallen prey to a mood of resentment, and for once, it wasn’t on his own behalf, but on a stranger’s. Had she been fully white, had she been a man, Alderscroft would have had her brought into the fold and properly taught immediately. Had she even been of other than mixed blood, he’d have sent word to one of the Earth Masters who lived outside London—probably one of the ladies he wouldn’t let into the Lodge, the Council, or the Club, but had no trouble in calling on for help. But no. No, with the double damnation of mixed blood and the incorrect sex, Maya Witherspoon must languish untaught, or struggle along on her own. And if, as Peter suspected, she was hiding from something…
How long can someone self-taught hold out against any enemy? It must have been someone in her homeland; why else flee all the way to Britain, and why choose the most populous city in Britain in which to hide? Here she can make alliances, obviously is making alliances, among the only people who have eyes and ears everywhere, and weapons to help protect her. He thought about that thrown-away comment concerning “her patients’ friends.” There was no doubt that she’d earned a bodyguard of sorts among the half-honest and the fully criminal, and given Alderscroft’s attitude, indeed, the attitude of nearly every “British gentleman” toward “her kind,” well—he could only grant her mental congratulations.
But Alderscroft didn’t say anything about me helping her, if I can, he suddenly realized, as the cab came to an abrupt halt in traffic. I’ve no doubt he would have, if it had occurred to him that I’d dare, but he didn’t. By God, he didn’t, and I’ll be damned if I let him have a hint that I’m going to!
The sudden resolution erased his sour temper, and he almost laughed out loud, which would have probably puzzled the cabby. Oh, Peter, you dog, you were looking for an excuse to see more of the lady anyway, and you know it—
Oh, yes, he knew himself too well to deny that. He’d walk half across London in a screaming storm just to take tea with her again.
Well, now he had a reason to see her, a good one, a solid one, a reason that any real gentleman would applaud, if said real gentleman could be persuaded to see past his own pigheaded prejudices.
Now all I have to do is find a way to broach the subject. All! Now he did laugh, at his own foolishness. “Pardon me, Doctor, but I can’t help noticing that you’ve been using a bit of magic, and I thought I’d offer—offer—”