by Emma Newman
The group had moved down the hallway, the lady at the front encouraged by her peers to open one of the closed doors they’d come to. The ballroom din was now just a background rumble and the ladies at the front were tittering in excitement behind their fans.
“He’s been so kind to my brother and me,” Amelia said. “And I would like it very much if you and I could become friends.”
Cathy stifled her first response of “why?” and forced herself to smile. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said, and winced at how it came out. “Look,” she said, realising she didn’t really care. “I’m not very good at this small-talk stuff.”
Amelia’s smile was sweet. “That’s why we should be friends. It cuts out that bit of the conversation and gets right to the interesting things, don’t you think?”
“I’m not very interesting,” Cathy said as the group filed into the room with nervous laughter.
“I don’t believe that for one moment,” Amelia said, and Cathy had an awful feeling that something lurking beneath the surface of this conversation could rise up and bite her at any moment.
She glanced around the room, desperately looking for something to comment on, to shift the focus of the conversation. They were in a drawing room, just as sumptuously decorated as everything else they’d seen. Cathy had the feeling something was missing about the house but couldn’t identify what. She scanned the walls, hoping to find a picture to say something about, but they were all landscapes and dull as dinner conversations at her father’s table.
Then her gaze fell upon the mantelpiece, upon a little pebble lost amongst the gilded statuettes and candlesticks. It was painted lavender blue and she knew it had a flower painted on the top. She’d decorated it herself when she was six years old, and given it to her uncle when he had fallen ill. He’d been so touched he’d kissed her on the forehead and said she had a good heart. She’d forgotten all about it.
That was the proof she needed. This house belonged to the Master of Ceremonies, the link the Sorcerer wanted to his disappearance. She had to tell him right away.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Amelia asked, brushing her arm with a gloved hand.
“Yes,” Cathy said, seeing an opportunity. “I’m feeling a little faint. I’ll go and find somewhere quiet to sit for a moment.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. I…I mean, I would much rather you find William and tell him that I’ll come and greet him when I’m recovered. Would you do that for me?”
“Of course,” Amelia replied, actually looking concerned.
They left the room together. Amelia headed for the ballroom and Cathy went in the opposite direction down the empty hallway. The nosey guests were still in the drawing room and everyone else seemed to be at the ball. It was the perfect time.
She hurried to the end of the corridor and chose the last door on the right, knocking first before entering. She had to pull the hammer cord to wake the sprite, revealing another lavishly decorated sitting room that smelt slightly musty. The room was on the other side of the house from the entrance, reducing the chances of curious visitors arriving late, seeing the light and wondering if there was a secret meeting at the other end of the house.
There was no way to lock the door. She considered jamming it shut with a chair but there were only plump Regency sofas in the room. She resolved to send the message as quickly as she could.
In a tangle of unravelled bandages, she finally freed the equipment and opened the capsule to pull out the piece of paper and pencil inside.
I have proof this house belongs to the MoC, absolutely positive. Most people in ballroom, come to rear window of room on left wing of house (as you look at it) – I’ll hang a white bandage from it so you know which one.
C x
She had no idea why she’d put a kiss at the end, a habit from texting perhaps, but she couldn’t rub it out. She rolled it around the pencil and dropped both back into the capsule, then, after resting it on one of the sofas, unwrapped the pipe part of the device from its stocking.
When the Arbiter had shown her how it worked, using a spare capsule, it had reminded her of the tube system she’d seen in a supermarket, used to send cash from the tills to some secret vault elsewhere in the store. They’d always made her think of the administrative system in the film Brazil, an observation that Josh had loved. She shut her eyes for a moment, wishing she could forget about him.
When she opened them again and looked at the runes engraved on the tube, she wasn’t sure she could remember exactly what the Arbiter did. It was something about placing it on a solid surface, non-metallic, she could recall that much, and then twisting it.
She shrugged, opting for a corner of the room the large rug didn’t reach. It wasn’t like she could ask anyone for a refresher lesson; she’d just have to do her best. What could possibly go wrong?
28
Will stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the dancers sweep past, wondering where Catherine was hiding. Nathaniel was lurking with him, bored, and Imogen was in a sulk because Horatio Gallica-Rosa was dancing with Elizabeth Papaver.
“Why don’t you dance with Cornelius?”
“Don’t be such an idiot, William, you know Horatio hates him.”
Will sighed. “That’s the point.”
A smile burst across her face. “Oh!” she giggled and tapped him with her fan.
“Shouldn’t you be dancing with that fiancée of yours?” Nathaniel asked, tapping his foot out of time with the music.
“I have no idea where she is.”
“Lost her again? Careless.”
Will was about to reply when he saw Amelia enter the room. Unfortunately Nathaniel saw her too.
“Ah, the lovely white rose returns,” he said, straightening his dinner jacket.
“Don’t get excited, Nathaniel, it’s Will she wants,” Imogen said.
“Ah, but dear Will is marrying the poppy.” Nathaniel puffed out his chest. “A lovely thing like Amelia is definitely eldest-son material. Her parents wouldn’t waste her on a middle child. Just as well you’re already promised, eh, Will? Saves you the embarrassment of being rejected.”
Nathaniel stepped in front of him as Amelia approached. Will tried to not let his brother’s jibes affect him. It was difficult, partly because he was right and partly because when Amelia was nearby he found it hard to keep his head.
“Good evening, Miss Alba-Rosa,” Nathaniel said, bowing deeply with a click of his heels. He bent to kiss her hand and she saw Will standing behind him. Her expression transformed from one of patience to delight.
“Good evening,” she said to Will, but Nathaniel thought otherwise.
“Would you do me the honour of partnering me for the next dance?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Nathaniel, I need to speak to Will for a moment. Perhaps later?”
Will smiled at his elder brother as he stepped aside, bristling. Amelia guided Will away a few paces with the lightest touch on his arm.
“You look beautiful, Amelia.”
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled at him. “I have a message from your fiancée. She’s feeling a little unwell, but has promised to find you once she’s recovered.”
“What ails her?”
“She was fine one moment, we were having a delightful conversation about the house and then she went as white as our rose. She looked…shocked, but for no reason I could ascertain.”
“Was it something said about the house?”
“No. I think I commented on believing her to be an interesting person. That’s hardly shocking, is it? I offered to go with her but she refused and sent me to you.”
“Does she need me?”
Amelia considered it. “I couldn’t imagine how having you close could fail to make her feel better.”
She held eye contact with him long enough for the music to fade to a whisper and the crowd around them to pale into theatre scenery. Her lips were a deep dusky pink, slightly parted, and it took every last bit of his self-
control not to kiss them.
“I should go to find her,” he said, stepping away reluctantly, disconcerted by the effect she had on him.
“She was in a room in the other wing of the house, quite far down the corridor,” Amelia added.
“I shall find you later?”
“You can always find me, Will. It’s one of your many talents.”
Will used the walk from the ballroom to cool down. He’d seen Amelia every day for the last week and the gaps in between each time seemed less easy to bear as the week went on. He would even call Cornelius a friend too, which surprised him, considering he’d started out with the intention of giving only the appearance of friendship to win Amelia over.
He had to be disciplined. Amelia was never going to be anything more than a friend. She was too beautiful, and her family too wealthy and powerful in Londinium, for her ever to be a mistress, and he was fated to marry Catherine. The two ladies couldn’t be more different. He felt like he was being spoilt by the finest champagne when he should be preparing to survive on bad wine.
There was no getting out of the engagement. His father had made it clear, so he just had to accept it and move on. He was still hopeful that once she was away from her abusive father Catherine might develop the confidence to make more of the little she had, but it was the optimism of a desperate man.
He passed a group of guests emerging from one of the rooms, chattering about the house, but Catherine wasn’t amongst them. He peeped into the room they’d left but it was empty of people. They all seemed to be heading towards the ballroom, a few of them glancing at him with embarrassment at having been caught nosing about the place. He considered asking them if they’d seen her but decided against it. Catherine rarely caught anyone’s eye.
He walked a little further. All of the doors off the hallway were closed. Then he heard a slight squeak from one at the far end, sounding like a window sash being forced, and then a thud as it was shut. He wondered if Catherine had climbed out, then dismissed the idea.
As he approached, he could hear her shoes on the wooden floor. She seemed mobile enough. When he reached the door itself, he could hear something distinctly odd, like a large jar being screwed shut.
He opened the door slowly, not wanting to interrupt the activity causing such a noise. Catherine was in the nearest corner, the perfect position to spy on from the door, wearing an uncharacteristically dramatic dress and holding a large wooden capsule. She was lining it up with the top of a tube, the opening of which was glowing with an ethereal light, the same light shining out from strange markings engraved into it. She dropped the capsule and it seemed to be sucked into the tube with a gentle “thunk”, which caused her considerable relief.
“Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver, what in the worlds are you doing?” he asked, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes off her and the device.
She jumped and her hand flew to her chest as if she were trying to keep her heart within it. She darted in front of the tube, obscuring it with the voluminous skirts, her white face now regaining some of its colour. “William! I was…just about to come and find you.”
“What is that you have there?”
“Nothing.”
He glanced at the window, recalling the earlier sound, and saw a length of white bandage trapped between the sill and window frame, the other half seemingly dangling out of the other side.
“What’s going on here?”
“None of your business.”
“It is my business.” His voice was getting louder as her behaviour angered him. “You’re my fiancée and your conduct reflects upon me as well as your family. What did you just do with that wooden capsule? Where did it go?”
“Get lost, William, this hasn’t got anything to do with you.”
“You’re clearly involved in something most irregular. Are you trying to sabotage the Gallicas’ event?”
“No!”
“Did you hear about the rumour Horatio’s been threatening to spread?”
“What rumour?” she asked, that brief flush of colour fading. She was frightened.
“That you’ve been living in Mundanus and that you’ve had an inappropriate relationship with a mundane man.”
She was shaking again. “This hasn’t got anything to do with that,” she said. “And anyway, he’s just saying that because he’s angry with me.”
“Why is he angry with you?” He noted, even as he asked the question, that she hadn’t denied it.
“It doesn’t matter!” she said, flicking a strand of hair away from her eyes. “It really doesn’t have anything to do with this, OK? Just… can you just please leave me alone?”
He took a step towards her. “Let me see that pipe.”
“No. It’s none of–”
He pushed her aside, revealing the tube, but its glow was fading rapidly. He peered into the top; it looked like the pipe reached a long way down. Inspecting where it joined the floor, it seemed bizarre that such a thing would be placed there, in a corner of an obscure room in a patch of parquet flooring. He’d never heard of such a thing, had never seen anything like it at the Emporium, and had never come across any talk of it on the Grand Tour. Whilst he was prepared to assume he didn’t know about every artefact in existence, he was certain he’d at least have heard about something like this.
“William, really, just leave it alone.”
He checked the outside of the tube, ignoring her attempts to draw him away. When she tried to approach he held her back with a firm grip on her shoulder. There were no symbols he recognised, not one sigil of the Great Families. It looked utterly alien.
“Is this a sorcerous artefact?” he asked her and her throat blazed red.
“No,” she said. At least she was an appalling liar; it would make married life so much easier.
“What does it do?”
“Bugger off, for God’s sake, this is nothing to do with you.”
“If you don’t tell me what’s happening here, I will go to Horatio myself and tell him you’re using illegal sorcerous artefacts in his house.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” she said confidently. “You’re too scared of a scandal.”
“Perhaps you would prefer me to go to your father? Perhaps this is just the occasion you’ve been wishing for. A disgrace such as this would free you of our engagement most conveniently.”
It was a gamble: she would be tempted, and he was under strict instructions to maintain the engagement no matter what. But he suspected her fear of her father was the greater force. She sagged and he knew he’d won, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he relaxed his grip and chose to follow up the threat with a different approach. She was stubborn but he suspected that having been frightened by the threat of her father’s wrath she’d be more pliable for a moment at least.
“If that is a Sorcerer’s artefact, it’s clear you’re involved in something very serious. I don’t have to be the enemy, Catherine. If this is a burden, I could help.”
Her face softened, the defensiveness eroded away by his words. “If I tell you, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”
“Will I be able to keep that promise and not jeopardise my family’s interests?”
She looked surprised by his question, as if the need to ask hadn’t occurred to her. “Yes.”
“Then I promise. Why don’t we sit down? It seems to me that you’ve been under a great deal of pressure lately. Does it have something to do with a Sorcerer?”
She nodded, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t have anyone I can talk to. And this is big stuff, William, I mean it.”
He let go of her shoulder, planning to steer her towards one of the sofas, but she hurried to the tube instead. “I have to do this first,” she explained, appearing to unscrew it from the floor, making the last of the glow disappear. When it detached there was no hole; the parquet was pristine. In moments, the tube started to collapse. She put it on the floor and it crumbled to dust.
She brushed her hands
and allowed him to guide her to one of the sofas. She took a moment to arrange the dress as she sat down, irritated. “I hate this stupid dress, I only wore it so I could smuggle the messaging tube in.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I had it strapped to my legs,” she said, and then started to laugh. “Oh, God, you look so shocked.”
“Well, it is rather strange. Start at the beginning.”
“The Censor came to pick me up for tea, but instead she delivered me to an Arbiter. I was blindfolded, dumped in a car boot and held prisoner in the Sorcerer’s house until I agreed to help get a Fool’s Charm lifted off a mundane. I had to take him into Exilium and it was absolutely awful.”
Will made no effort to disguise his shock. “When did this happen?”
“A week ago. It turns out this guy witnessed Lady Rose’s people carrying my uncle out of the house wrapped in one of his rugs. They charmed him to forget, but the Arbiter tracked him down.”
“Why didn’t they just kill him?”
She shrugged. “Something to do with his wife, I think. Their wedding ring or something. Anyway, once we knew it was the Rosas, I told the Sorcerer about this new house and he suspected it was connected. He gave me that tube thing to send him a message if I found proof that it is.”
“So I assume you did?”
“Yeah. I saw something the Rosas missed. It only means something to me and my uncle. This is his house. He must have kept it a secret, that’s why there was no road connecting it to the rest of Aquae Sulis until Lady Rose made one for this party.”
Will caught hold of her hands. “You realise how serious this is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she said, frowning at his contact. “I’m not stupid. I didn’t want to get involved but the Censor made me, and the Sorcerer seems just as motivated to find out what happened. They want to get more evidence before they bust the Rosas. The Arbiter will be on his way. He’ll be coming in through that window.” She pointed to the one with the bandage hanging out.
“But the servants go past there to get to the kitchens from the ballroom,” he said, standing up.
