فصل 19

Chapter 19

IF TREASON DOTH PROSPER

Treason doth never prosper: what’s the reason?

Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

—Sir John Harrington

Sophie was tending a blazing fire in the drawing room grate, and the room was warm, almost stuffy. Charlotte sat behind her desk, Henry in a chair beside her. Will was sprawled in one of the flowered armchairs beside the fire, a silver tea service at his elbow and a cup in his hand. When Tessa walked in, he sat upright so abruptly that some of the tea spilled on his sleeve; he set the cup down without taking his eyes off her.

He looked exhausted, as if he had been walking all night. He still wore his overcoat, of dark blue wool with a red silk lining, and the legs of his black trousers were splattered with mud. His hair was damp and tangled, his face pale, his jaw dark with the shadow of stubble. But the moment he saw Tessa, his eyes glowed like lanterns at the touch of the lamplighter’s match. His whole face changed, and he gazed upon her with such an inexplicable delight that Tessa, astonished, stopped in her tracks, causing Jem to bump into her. For that moment, she could not look away from Will; it was as if he held her gaze to him, and she remembered again the dream she had had the night before, that she was being comforted by him in the infirmary. Could he read the memory of it on her face? Was that why he was staring?

Jem peered around her shoulder. “Hallo, Will. Sure it was a good idea to spend all night out in the rain when you’re still healing?” Will tore his eyes away from Tessa. “I am quite sure,” he said firmly. “I had to walk. To clear my head.” “And is your head clear now?”

“Like crystal,” Will said, returning his gaze to Tessa, and the same thing happened again. Their gazes seemed to lock together, and she had to tear her eyes away and move across the room to sit on the sofa near the desk, where Will was not in her direct line of sight. Jem came and sat down beside her, but did not reach for her hand. She wondered what would happen if they announced what had just happened now, casually: The two of us are going to be married.

But Jem had been correct; it was not the right time for that. Charlotte looked as if, like Will, she had been awake all night; her skin was a sickly yellow color, and there were dark auburn bruises beneath her eyes. Henry sat beside her at the desk, his hand protectively over hers, watching her with a worried expression.

“We are all here, then,” Charlotte said briskly, and for a moment Tessa wanted to remark that they were not, for Jessamine was not with them. She stayed silent. “As you probably know, we are near the end of the two-week period granted to us by Consul Wayland. We have not discovered the whereabouts of Mortmain. According to Enoch, the Silent Brothers have examined Nathaniel Gray’s body and learned nothing from it, and as he is dead, we can learn nothing from him.” And as he is dead. Tessa thought of Nate as she remembered him, when they had been very young, chasing dragonflies in the park. He had fallen in the pond, and she and Aunt Harriet—his mother—had helped to pull him out; his hand had been slippery with water and green-growing underwater plants. She remembered his hand sliding out of hers in the tea warehouse, slippery with blood. You don’t know everything I’ve done, Tessie.

“We can certainly report what we know about Benedict to the Clave,” Charlotte was saying when Tessa forcibly snapped her mind back to the conversation at hand. “It would seem to be the sensible course of action.” Tessa swallowed. “What about what Jessamine said? That we’d be playing into Mortmain’s hands by doing so.” “But we cannot do nothing,” said Will. “We cannot sit back and hand over the keys to the Institute to Benedict Lightwood and his lamentable offspring. They are Mortmain. Benedict is his puppet. We must try. By the Angel, haven’t we enough evidence? Enough to earn him a trial by the Sword, at least.” “When we tried the Sword on Jessamine, there were blocks in her mind put there by Mortmain,” Charlotte said wearily. “Do you think Mortmain would be so unwise as to not take the same precaution with Benedict? We will look like fools if the Sword can get nothing out of him.” Will ran his hands through his black hair. “Mortmain expects us to go to the Clave,” he said. “It would be his first assumption. He is also used to cutting free associates for whom he no longer has a use. De Quincey, for instance. Lightwood is not irreplaceable to him, and knows it.” He drummed his fingers on his knees. “I think that if we went to the Clave, we could certainly get Benedict taken out of the running for leadership of the Institute. But there is a segment of the Clave that follows his lead; some are known to us, but others are not. It is a sad fact, but we do not know whom we can trust beyond ourselves. The Institute is secure with us, and we cannot allow it to be taken away. Where else will Tessa be safe?” Tessa blinked. “Me?”

Will looked taken aback, as if startled by what he had just said. “Well, you are an integral part of Mortmain’s plan. He has always wanted you. He has always needed you. We must not let him have you. Clearly you would be a powerful weapon in his hands.” “All of that is true, Will, and of course I will go to the Consul,” said Charlotte. “But as an ordinary Shadowhunter, not as head of the Institute.” “But why, Charlotte?” Jem demanded. “You excel at your work—”

“Do I?” she demanded. “For the second time I have not noted a spy under my own roof; Will and Tessa easily evaded my guardianship to attend Benedict’s party; our plan to capture Nate, which we never shared with the Consul, went awry, leaving us with a potentially important witness dead—” “Lottie!” Henry put his hand on his wife’s arm.

“I am not fit to run this place,” said Charlotte. “Benedict was right. . .. I will of course try to convince the Clave of his guilt. Someone else will run the Institute. It will not be Benedict, I hope, but it will not be me, either—” There was a clatter. “Mrs. Branwell!” It was Sophie. She had dropped the poker and turned away from the fire. “You can’t resign, ma’am. You—you simply can’t.” “Sophie,” Charlotte said very kindly. “Wherever we go after this, wherever Henry and I set up our household, we will bring you—” “It isn’t that,” Sophie said in a small voice. Her eyes darted around the room. “Miss Jessamine—She were—I mean, she was telling the truth. If you go to the Clave like this, you’ll be playing into Mortmain’s plans.” Charlotte looked at her, perplexed. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t—I don’t know exactly.” Sophie looked at the floor. “But I know it’s true.”

“Sophie?” Charlotte’s tone was querulous, and Tessa knew what she was thinking: Did they have another spy, another serpent in their garden? Will, too, was leaning forward with narrowed eyes.

“Sophie’s not lying,” Tessa said abruptly. “She knows because—because we overheard Gideon and Gabriel speaking of it in the training room.” “And you only now decided to mention it?” Will arched his brows.

Suddenly, unreasonably furious with him, Tessa snapped, “Be quiet, Will. If you—”

“I’ve been stepping out with him,” Sophie interrupted loudly. “With Gideon Lightwood. Seeing him on my days off.” She was as pale as a ghost. “He told me. He heard his father laughing about it. They knew Jessamine was found out. They were hoping you’d go to the Clave. I should’ve said something, but it seemed like you didn’t want to go to them anyways, so I . . .” “Stepping out?” said Henry incredulously. “With Gideon Lightwood?”

Sophie kept her attention on Charlotte, who was gazing at her, round-eyed. “I know what Mortmain is holding over Mr. Lightwood too,” she said. “Gideon only just found out. His father doesn’t know he knows.” “Well, dear God, girl, don’t just stand there,” said Henry, who looked as poleaxed as his wife. “Tell us.” “Demon pox,” said Sophie. “Mr. Lightwood’s got it, has had for years, and it’ll kill him in a right couple of months if he doesn’t get the cure. And Mortmain said he can get it for him.” The room exploded in a hubbub. Charlotte raced over to Sophie; Henry called after her; Will leaped from his chair and was dancing in a circle. Tessa stayed where she was, stunned, and Jem remained beside her. Meanwhile, Will appeared to be singing a song about how he had been right about demon pox all along.

“Demon pox, oh, demon pox,

Just how is it acquired?

One must go down to the bad part of town

Until one is very tired.

Demon pox, oh, demon pox

I had it all along—

No, not the pox, you foolish blocks,

I mean this very song—

For I was right, and you were wrong!”

“Will!” Charlotte shouted over the noise. “Have you LOST YOUR MIND? CEASE THAT INFERNAL RACKET! Jem—” Jem, rising to his feet, clapped his hands over Will’s mouth. “Do you promise to be quiet?” he hissed into his friend’s ear.

Will nodded, blue eyes blazing. Tessa was staring at him in amazement; they all were. She had seen Will many things—amused, bitter, condescending, angry, pitying—but never giddy before.

Jem let him go. “All right, then.”

Will slid to the floor, his back against the armchair, and threw his arms up. “A demon pox on all your houses!” he announced, and yawned.

“Oh God, weeks of pox jokes,” said Jem. “We’re for it now.”

“It can’t be true,” said Charlotte. “It’s simply—demon pox?”

“How do we know Gideon did not lie to Sophie?” asked Jem, his tone mild. “I am sorry, Sophie. I hate to have to say it, but the Lightwoods are not trustworthy. . . .” “I’ve seen Gideon’s face when he looks at Sophie,” said Will. “It was Tessa who told me first that Gideon fancied our Miss Collins, and I thought back, and I realized it was true. And a man in love—a man in love will tell anything. Betray anyone.” He was staring at Tessa as he spoke. She stared back; she could not help it. Her gaze felt pulled to him. The way he looked at her, with those blue eyes like pieces of sky, as if trying to communicate something to her silently. But what on earth . . .?

She did owe him her life, she realized with a start. Perhaps he had been waiting for her to thank him. But there had been no time, no chance! She resolved to thank him at the first opportunity that presented itself. “Besides, Benedict was holding a demon woman on his lap at that party of his, kissing her,” Will went on, glancing away. “She had snakes for eyes. Each man to his own, I suppose. Anyway, the only way you can contract demon pox is by having improper relations with a demon, so . . .” “Nate told me Mr. Lightwood preferred demon women,” said Tessa. “I don’t suppose his wife ever knew about that.” “Wait.” It was Jem, who had suddenly gone very still. “Will—what are the symptoms of demon pox?” “Quite nasty,” said Will with relish. “It begins with a shield-shaped rash on one’s back, and spreads over the body, creating cracks and fissures in the skin—” Jem expelled a gasp of breath. “I—I shall return,” he said, “in just a moment. By the Angel—” And he vanished out the door, leaving the others staring after him.

“You don’t think he has demon pox, do you?” Henry inquired of no one in particular.

I hope not, since we just got engaged, Tessa had the urge to say—just to see the looks on their faces—but repressed it.

“Oh, shut up, Henry,” said Will, and looked as if he were about to say something else, but the door banged open and Jem was back in the room, panting, and holding a piece of parchment. “I got this,” he said, “from the Silent Brothers—when Tessa and I went to see Jessamine.” He gave Tessa a slightly guilty look from under his fair hair, and she remembered him leaving Jessamine’s cell and returning moments later, looking preoccupied. “It is the report on Barbara Lightwood’s death. After Charlotte told us that her father had never turned Silas Lightwood over to the Clave, I thought I would inquire of the Silent Brothers if there was another manner in which Mrs. Lightwood had died. To see if Benedict had also lied that she had died of grief.” “And had he?” Tessa leaned forward, fascinated.

“Yes. In fact, she cut her own wrists. But there was more.” He looked down at the paper in his hand. “A shield-shaped rash, indicative of the heraldic marks of astriola, upon the left shoulder.” He held it out to Will, who took it and scanned it, his blue eyes widening.

“Astriola,” he said. “That is demon pox. You had evidence that demon pox existed and you didn’t mention it to me! Et tu, Brute!” He rolled up the paper and hit Jem over the head with it.

“Ouch!” Jem rubbed his head ruefully. “The words meant nothing to me! I assumed it a minor sort of ailment. It hardly seemed as if it were what killed her. She slit her wrists, but if Benedict wanted to protect his children from the fact that their mother had taken her own life—” “By the Angel,” said Charlotte softly. “No wonder she killed herself. Because her husband gave her demon pox. And she knew it.” She whirled on Sophie, who made a little gasping noise. “Does Gideon know of this?” Sophie shook her head, saucer-eyed. “No.”

“But wouldn’t the Silent Brothers be obligated to tell someone if they discovered this?” Henry demanded. “It seems—well, dash it, irresponsible to say the least—” “Of course they would tell someone. They would tell her husband. And no doubt they did, but what of it? Benedict probably already knew,” said Will. “There would have been no need to tell the children; the rash appears when one has first contracted the disease, so they were too old for her to have passed it on to them. The Silent Brothers doubtless told Benedict, and he said ‘Horrors!’ and promptly concealed the whole thing. One cannot prosecute the dead for improper relations with demons, so they burned her body, and that was that.” “So how is it that Benedict is still alive?” Tessa demanded. “Should the disease not have killed him by now?” “Mortmain,” said Sophie. “He’s been giving him drugs to slow the progress of the disease all this time.” “Slow it, not stop it?” asked Will.

“No, he’s still dying, and faster now,” said Sophie. “That’s why he’s so desperate, and he’ll do anything Mortmain wants.” “Demon pox!” Will whispered, and looked at Charlotte. Despite his clear excitement, there was a steady light flickering behind his blue eyes, a light of sharp intelligence, as if he were a chess player examining his next move for potential advantages or drawbacks. “We must contact Benedict immediately,” said Will. “Charlotte must play on his vanity. He is too sure of getting the Institute. She must tell him that though the Consul’s official decision is not scheduled until Sunday, she has realized that it is he who will come out ahead, and she wishes to meet with him and make peace before it happens.” “Benedict is stubborn—,” Charlotte began.

“Not as much as is he is proud,” said Jem. “Benedict has always wanted control of the Institute, but he also wants to humiliate you, Charlotte. To prove that a woman cannot run an Institute. He believes that Sunday the Consul will rule to take the Institute away from you, but that does not mean he will be able to pass up a chance to see you grovel in private.” “To what end?” Henry demanded. “Sending Charlotte to confront Benedict accomplishes what, exactly?” “Blackmail,” said Will. His eyes were burning with excitement. “Mortmain may not be in our grasp, but Benedict is, and for now that may be enough.” “You think he will walk away from trying to get the Institute? Won’t that simply leave the business for one of his followers to take up?” Jem asked.

“We’re not trying to get rid of him. We want him to throw his full support behind Charlotte. To withdraw his challenge and to declare her fit to run the Institute. His followers will be at a loss; the Consul will be satisfied. We hold the Institute. And more than that, we can force Benedict to tell us what he knows of Mortmain—his location, his secrets, everything.” Tessa said dubiously, “But I am almost certain he is more afraid of Mortmain than he is of us, and he certainly needs what Mortmain provides. Otherwise he will die.” “Yes, he will. But what he did—having improper relations with a demon, then infecting his wife, causing her death—is the knowing murder of another Shadowhunter. It would not be considered only murder, either, but murder accomplished through demonic means. That would call down the worst of all punishments.” “What is worse than death?” asked Tessa, and immediately regretted saying it as she saw Jem’s mouth tighten almost imperceptibly.

“The Silent Brothers will remove that which makes him Nephilim. He will become Forsaken,” said Will. “His sons will become mundane, their Marks stripped. The name of Light-wood will be stricken from the rolls of Shadowhunters. It will be the end of the Lightwood name among Nephilim. There is no greater shame. It is a punishment even Benedict will fear.” “And if he does not?” said Jem in a low voice.

“Then, we are no worse off, I suppose.” It was Charlotte, whose expression had hardened as Will had spoken; Sophie was leaning against the mantel, a dejected figure, and Henry, his hand on his wife’s shoulder, looked unusually subdued. “We will call on Benedict. There is no time to send a proper message ahead; it will have to be something of a surprise. Now, where are the calling cards?” Will sat upright. “You’ve decided on my plan, then?”

“It’s my plan now,” said Charlotte firmly. “You may accompany me, Will, but you will follow my lead, and there will be no talk of demon pox until I say so.” “But—but . . .” Will sputtered.

“Oh, leave it,” said Jem, kicking Will, not without affection, lightly on the ankle.

“She’s annexed my plan!”

“Will,” Tessa said firmly. “Do you care more about the plan being enacted or about getting credit for it?” Will pointed a finger at her. “That,” he said. “The second one.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes skyward. “William, this will be either on my terms or not at all.” Will took a deep breath, and looked at Jem, who grinned at him; Will let the air out of his lungs with a defeated sigh and said, “All right, then, Charlotte. Do you intend for all of us to go?” “You and Tessa, certainly. We need you as witnesses regarding the party. Jem, Henry, there is no need for you to go, and we require at least one of you to remain and guard the Institute.” “Darling . . .” Henry touched Charlotte’s arm with a quizzical look on his face.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Yes?”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Charlotte smiled at him, a smile that transformed her tired, pinched face. “Quite sure, Henry; Jem isn’t technically an adult, and to leave him here alone—not that he isn’t capable—will only add fuel to Benedict’s fire of complaints. But thank you.” Tessa looked at Jem; he gave her a regretful smile and, hidden behind the spread of her skirts, pressed her hand with his. His touch sent a warm rush of reassurance through her, and she rose to her feet, amid Will rising to go, while Charlotte sought for a pen to scribble a note to Benedict on the back of a flossed calling card, which Cyril would deliver while they waited in the carriage.

“I’d best fetch my hat and gloves,” Tessa whispered to Jem, and made her way to the door. Will was just behind her, and a moment later, the drawing room door swinging shut behind them, they found themselves alone in the corridor. Tessa was about to hurry down the hall toward her room, when she heard Will’s footsteps behind her.

“Tessa!” he called, and she swung around. “Tessa, I need to speak with you.”

“Now?” she said, surprised. “I gathered from Charlotte that she wanted us to hurry—”

“Damn hurrying,” said Will, coming closer to her. “Damn Benedict Lightwood and the Institute and all this business. I want to talk to you.” He grinned at her. There had always been a reckless energy to him, but this was different—the difference between the recklessness of despair and the abandonment of happiness. But what an odd time to be happy!

“Have you gone quite mad?” she asked him. “You say ‘demon pox’ the way someone else might say ‘massive surprise inheritance.’ Are you really that pleased?” “Vindicated, not happy, and anyway, this isn’t about the demon pox. This is about you and me—” The drawing room door opened, and Henry emerged, Charlotte just behind him. Knowing Jem would be next, Tessa stepped away from Will hastily, though nothing improper had transpired between them at all. Except in your thoughts, said a little voice in the back of her mind, which she ignored. “Will, not now,” she said under her breath. “I believe I know what it is you want to say, and you’re quite right to wish to say it, but this isn’t the time or place, is it? Believe me, I am as eager for the talk as you, for it has been weighing heavily on my mind—” “You are? It has?” Will looked dazed, as if she had hit him with a rock.

“Well—yes,” said Tessa, looking up to see Jem coming toward them. “But not now.”

Will followed her gaze, swallowed, and nodded reluctantly. “Then, when?”

“Later, after we go to the Lightwoods’. Meet me in the drawing room.”

“In the drawing room?”

She frowned at him. “Really, Will,” she said. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Jem had reached them, and heard this last remark; he grinned. “Tessa, do let poor Will gather his wits about him; he’s been out all night and looks as if he can barely remember his own name.” He put his hand on his parabatai’s arm. “Come along, Herondale. You seem as if you need an energy rune—or two or three.” Will tore his eyes away from Tessa’s and let Jem lead him off down the corridor. Tessa watched them, shaking her head. Boys, she thought. She would never understand them.

Images

Tessa had gone only a few steps into her bedroom when she stopped in surprise, staring at what was on the bed. A stylish walking suit of cream and gray striped India silk, trimmed with delicate braid and silver buttons. Gray velvet gloves lay beside it, figured with a pattern of leaves in silver thread. At the foot of the bed were bone-colored buttoned boots, and fashionable patterned stockings.

The door opened, and Sophie came in, holding a pale gray hat with trimmings of silver berries. She was very pale, and her eyes were swollen and red. She avoided Tessa’s gaze. “New clothing, miss,” Sophie said. “The fabric was part of Mrs. Branwell’s trousseau, and, well, a few weeks ago she thought of having it made into a dress for you. I think she thought you ought to have some clothes that Miss Jessamine didn’t buy for you. She thought it might make you more—comfortable. And these were just delivered this morning. I asked Bridget to lay them out for you.” Tessa felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and sat down hastily on the edge of the bed. The thought that Charlotte, with everything else that was going on, would think of Tessa’s comfort at all made her want to cry. But she stifled the urge, as she always did. “Sophie,” she said, her voice uneven. “I ought—no, I wanted—to apologize to you.” “Apologize to me, miss?” Sophie said tonelessly, laying the hat on the bed. Tessa stared. Charlotte wore such plain clothes herself. She never would have thought of her as having the inclination or taste to choose such lovely things.

“I was entirely wrong to speak to you about Gideon as I did,” said Tessa. “I put my nose in where it was decidedly not wanted, and you are quite correct, Sophie. One cannot judge a man for the sins of his family. And I should have told you that, though I saw Gideon at the ball that night, I cannot say he was partaking of the festivities; in fact, I cannot see into his head to determine what he thinks at all, and I should not have behaved as if I could. I am no more experienced than you, Sophie, and where it comes to gentlemen, I am decidedly uninformed. I apologize for acting superior; I shan’t do it again, if only you’ll forgive me.” Sophie went to the wardrobe and opened it to reveal a second dress—this one of a very dark blue, trimmed with a golden velvet braid, the polonaise slashed down the right side to reveal pale faille flounces beneath. “So lovely,” she said a little wistfully, and touched it lightly with her hand. Then she turned to Tessa. “That were—that was a very pretty apology, miss, and I do forgive you. I forgave you in the drawing room, I did, when you lied for me. I don’t approve of lying, but I know you meant it out of kindness.” “It was very brave, what you did,” said Tessa. “Telling the truth to Charlotte. I know how you feared she’d be angry.” Sophie smiled sadly. “She isn’t angry. She’s disappointed. I know. She said she couldn’t talk to me now but she would later, and I could see it, on her face. It’s worse in a way, somehow.” “Oh, Sophie. She’s disappointed in Will all the time!”

“Well, who isn’t.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant she loves you, like you were Will or Jem or—well, you know. Even if she’s disappointed, you must stop fearing she’ll sack you. She won’t. She thinks you’re wonderful, and so do I.” Sophie’s eyes widened. “Miss Tessa!”

“Well, I do,” said Tessa mutinously. “You are brave and selfless and lovely. Like Charlotte.” Sophie’s eyes shone. She wiped at them hastily with the edge of her apron. “Now, that’s enough of that,” she said briskly, still blinking hard. “We must get you dressed and ready, for Cyril’s coming round with the carriage, and I know Mrs. Branwell doesn’t want to waste any time.” Tessa came forward obediently, and with Sophie’s help she changed into the gray and white striped dress. “And do be careful, is all I have to say,” said Sophie as she deftly wielded her buttonhook. “The old man is a nasty piece of work, and don’t forget it. Very harsh, he is, on those boys.” Those boys. The way she said it made it sound like Sophie had sympathy for Gabriel as well as Gideon. Just what did Gideon think of his younger brother, Tessa wondered, and the sister, too? But she asked nothing as Sophie brushed and curled her hair, and daubed her temples with lavender water.

“Now, don’t you look lovely, miss,” she said proudly when she was done at last, and Tessa had to admit that Charlotte had done a fine job in selecting just the right cut to flatter her, and gray suited her well. Her eyes looked bigger and blue, her waist and arms more slender, her bosom fuller. “There’s just one other thing . . .” “What is it, Sophie?”

“Master Jem,” said Sophie, startling Tessa. “Please, whatever else you do, miss . . .” The other girl glanced at the chain of the jade pendant tucked down the front of Tessa’s dress and bit her lip. “Don’t break his heart.”