At that moment her mother swept into the room.
“Oh Edward, you are home at last. Cook is in a bad temper over the salmon drying out should she have to wait longer to serve it. Good evening, Phileas.” She went on to insist there was no time for an aperitif, but they must all quickly change for dinner. Their guest could borrow suitable clothing. She shooed them all off toward the stairs, reminding them that should they not be at table within the half hour, they would have to search for a replacement cook in the morning.
Edward saw Hecate’s face fall and squeezed her hand as they climbed the stairs.
“We will talk directly after we have dined, I promise you,” he said.
“Directly,” she repeated firmly.
For Hecate, the meal proceeded at an agonizingly slow pace. As Phileas was joining them, there had been an attempt at lavishness not commonly seen in the Cavendish household on a weekday. Cook sent Stella in with soup, which Hecate recognized as the gravy from the night before worked up. There followed the salmon, which no one dared say was dry. Both her father and Phileas made a point of announcing their appreciation of everything placed before them. Charlie was well enough to display a youthful appetite, and for once Hecate joined him in eating as quickly as possible, wasting little time on talking, earning a disapproving frown from their mother.
“Tell us, Phileas”—Beatrice took it upon herself to make polite conversation—“when do you expect the new houses to be built?”
He dabbed at his waxed mustache ends before replying, “Ah, could be some time, alas,” he said. “We have to get many permissions, graves must be moved, and so forth.…”
“A worthy endeavor indeed,” Edward said. “I am certain your efforts will bear fruit, eventually.”
Charlie piped up, “But what will they do with all those bones? If it was a graveyard, there will be skulls and everything.”
“Charles!” his mother chided him.
Phileas shrugged. “Young Master Cavendish makes a fair point. The moving of graves is a sensitive business.” He glanced at Hecate. “And a gloomy subject for your mother’s dinner table perhaps, eh? Here’s a thought to brighten us all up. I consider now that spring has properly arrived, it is high time for another of the famous Sterling picnics.”
“I think you mean infamous,” Hecate commented.
Her mother looked slightly appalled at the idea, but her father was delighted.
“Capital! Precisely what we all need.”
Charlie beamed. “Oh yes! Will there be circus performers, like last time?”
Phileas’s picnics, and indeed any of his social events, were renowned for their wild excesses and outlandishness.
“Indubitably!” he confirmed, then, seeing the look on Beatrice’s face, added, “Though perhaps not the fire-eaters. Not this time.”
And so the conversation continued around plans for the picnic, and a pudding of meringues and the last of the jarred stewed fruit from the previous autumn were consumed. Hecate feared the men might retire for cigars and she would have to wait out half a bottle of port but her father had recognized the urgency in her voice, perhaps, or the eagerness in her expression. They finished their meal and said their farewells to their guest. As they stood on the front doorstep, waving and watching the cab speeding away, Edward whispered to her.
“Fetch your coat, daughter.” When Beatrice sought to protest at their going out at such an hour, he steered Hecate down the drive, striding out, cane in hand, placing his hat on his head and calling over his shoulder. “Just taking the air before sleep, my dear. Aids the digestion, don’t you know? It is a fine evening for a walk.”
And it was. A milky moon lit the gaps between streetlamps as they walked along Hafod Road, arm in arm. The energetic pace suited them both, and reminded Hecate how alike she and her father were. How much better to hold a conversation fueled by activity.
“Let us have it, then,” Edward demanded. “What is so important that I must deny poor Phileas his port?”
“I scarcely know where to begin.”
“Some favor the beginning,” he replied. “For myself, I prefer to pitch in with the minor acts and build to the crescendo of the top billing.” He waved his cane with a flourish to emphasize his point.
“Then I shall state things as you suggest, though in truth I am not certain where the greater importance lies.”
They crossed the road and turned left, taking an avenue that climbed a slight incline, the branches of the still bare trees adding scribbled moon shadows to their progress, fine houses obscured by tall hedges on either side.
“The map,” she announced. “The Mappa Mundi … I was up on the small steps, cleaning the frame, which meant I was the closest to it I have ever been.”
“I am surprised Reverend Thomas wished you to clean it.”
“Oh, only the wooden casing. I was under strict orders not to touch the map itself.”
In the pause that followed, Hecate felt her father glance at her.
“And which bit of it, precisely, did you touch?” he asked.
She gave a bashful smile, heartened that he knew her so well, reassured that he did not judge her for it. “The blemish. The mark left in the vellum by the fly eggs. You know of it?” When he nodded she continued. “And the instant I touched it … oh, Papa!” she said, falling into her childhood name for him, her grip on his arm tightening. “Everything changed! The map appeared to come to life, the creatures roaring and squawking…”
“You heard them?”
“Both heard and saw. The figures called out to me, some of them were so desperate, others quite terrifying, and all the while the beasts leaped about or flapped their wings.”
“Astonishing!”
“There was so much noise I was certain Reverend Thomas would hear it.”
“He was present?”
“On the other side of the room. But he didn’t hear a thing, I’m certain of that. And the second I took my hand off the map, all movement, all sounds, ceased. Just like that,” she said, clicking her fingers.
“Fascinating!” Edward said, increasing his pace in his excitement so that Hecate found she must almost break into a trot.
“What do you think it meant?” she asked. “Why did it happen? Do you think it has reacted in such a way to anyone else? What could it signify?”
