by T. H. Hunter
The Pembrokes didn’t seem to be bothered about this. I asked Beatrice on one of the few occasions that I had the chance, but she merely waved a hand, explaining that Steven wasn’t feeling well, but that she was sure he would turn up for the grand ball in the evening.
I felt that, wherever I turned, I hit a brick wall. And with Alec and Harriet attending the ball, I felt I had very little to report, albeit the fact that everyone seemed to have hated Emma, the maid. But unless they had all conspired to push her out of the window together, I didn’t see how that was going to help very much.
***
“No, no!” Barry fumed. “I refuse to put it on.”
“But it’s for the ball, Barry,” Val said, giggling.
Val and I had spent the last half hour trying to convince Barry to wear a coat and tails for the occasion.
“I don’t care,” said Barry, scowling at us while Val propped him up in his armchair. “Cats don’t wear clothes. End of the story.”
“Well, technically you’re a warlock, trapped in cat’s body, as you keep reminding us,” I said, grinning. “And warlocks, as a rule, wear clothes.”
“Semantics,” Barry said, waving a paw irritably. “Anyway, this shirt causes terrible itching and…”
“I think it looks wonderful on you, Barry,” said Val. “Now let me just fix your bow tie and then we can put on the coat.”
Barry swore loudly. With the energy of a desperate cat, he scampered in between her arms and onto the floor, trying to pull off the shirt at the same time he was evading Val, making him look as though he were re-enacting some bizarre rain dance.
“Barry, you’ll ruin it!” said Val, finally catching hold of him. “Stay still now.”
Barry looked at me.
“Amanda,” he said in what he thought was a kindly, winning voice, “would you care to explain to Valerie that this isn’t necessary. I don’t need to wear anything to the ball.”
“Sorry, Barry,” I said, fumbling with my own dress. “I spent way too much time shrinking all your clothes by magic at Fickleton House. Anyway, it will impress your lady friend. All in the interest of the furthering of the greater cause of science, of course.”
Barry eyed me suspiciously for a moment, evidently deciding whether he should rise to the bait.
“Well, I suppose I’ll be able to tolerate wearing it for the opening at least,” he sighed, as though he were graciously accepting a particularly burdensome duty. “I must do my bit to educate the young, after all. Carry on, Valerie, if you must. I fear that my claws might tear the fabric if I do it myself.”
***
With the opening of the ball only a few minutes away, we passed down the series of staircases. Val was wearing a bright turquoise dress, while I had opted for lilac. Though Val’s optimism and, peculiarly, even Barry’s cynicism gave me some reassurance, I couldn’t help feeling exceedingly nervous as we followed the other guests in the direction of the hall.
Before inheriting Fickleton House, I would have probably given anything to have had fears such as I had now, rather than wondering how to get by another month. On occasion, I had been able to fool myself into believing that my life really hadn’t changed all that much. And yet, gazing around me at the expensive jewellery on witches’ necks and the finest cloth donned by warlocks all around me, that absurd self-delusion fell to pieces. Not only had I entered the realm of magic, but I had also entered another social world entirely. And although the fears of the everyday had mostly subsided, they had simply morphed into an anxiety that I was a trespasser into another world, a fraud waiting to be denounced.
Taking a page from Barry’s book for once, I tried to walk as dignified and gracefully as I could. The crowd of warlocks and witches slowly moved down the last few steps and along the Pembroke estate’s seemingly endless corridors. Waiters and other members of staff, many of whom I didn’t recognise, were positioned at every corner.
And then, we found ourselves in the hall at last. The transformation – especially in such a short time – was remarkable. The long table in the centre of the room had been removed, leaving a large area for dancing. A live orchestra, positioned at the far end of the hall, was already playing. At the sides, dozens and dozens of round, narrow tables, just large enough for a small group to stand at, sported champagne and other beverages. Waiters were gliding through the room, offering drinks and light snacks.
I scanned the crowd of people around me as casually as possible, trying to make out whether Alec and Harriet had arrived yet.
“Isn’t this wonderful, Amy?” said Val excitedly, handing me a glass of wine.
“Amazing,” I said, taking a sip.
“I can’t see a thing,” Barry grumbled from below.
I lifted Barry onto the table, so that he could see a little better.
“Is this how you threw a party in your youth, Barry?” I asked, winking at Val.
“I saw my fair share of action,” said Barry with a note of pride.
“And Barry looks just like a little gentleman from the old days,” said Val fondly. “With his top hat and tails.”
“Just like he came out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel,” I said, laughing. “We could call him the Great Catsby!”
“I am a real gentleman,” he grumbled. “Not some phony who has reinvented himself.”
“Ah, here comes your Daisy, I believe,” I said, pointing at a slightly gaunt yet very pretty woman in a black dress.
“She looks as though she’s in mourning,” said Val acidly.
“Val,” I said warningly, “let’s not alienate the few remaining people in this house that we have access to, alright? It’s actually very useful that she gets on with Barry.”
“Fine,” fumed Val, clearly not happy with the way the evening was going.
“Hello there,” I said, with one last, warning glance at Val.
“Hello, all,” she said, beaming at us. She sounded slightly breathless. “Exciting, isn’t it? It’s my first ball at the Pembroke estate.”
“Good evening, Sarah,” said Barry, majestically holding out a paw, which she gladly shook. “I hope the papers I recommended to you have helped you in your work.”
“Oh, yes,” she said appreciatively. “Thank you, again. Thanks awfully.”
Val, who was standing just outside of Sarah’s peripheral vision, was making vomiting motions.
“I think the music has stopped,” I said, trying to prevent a confrontation I knew was bound to happen.
“Oh, I think they’re preparing for the Pembrokes to enter,” said Sarah. “They come into the hall and begin the first dance. Then, all the other guests are allowed to join them.”
“Here they come,” I said, clapping along with everyone else in the hall.
First through the door was Lord Pembroke, with his sister Beatrice following closely behind him. To my surprise, Steven was actually in attendance.
“Does he look a bit… ill to you?” I murmured to Val.
“Yeah,” she said. “Doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping very much, either. Look at the bags under his eyes.”
But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Steven’s gait was no longer youthful and springy, but instead was shockingly similar to Carew’s slouching.
After Steven had passed us, the real Carew ended the little procession, with an incredibly old woman on his arm. Whether she was supporting him, or he was supporting her was anyone’s guess, however.
“Who’s that behind Steven?” I asked Sarah.
“You mean the old lady?” she said. “That’s Lord Pembroke’s mother-in-law, Lady Wickersham.”
“She must be ancient,” said Val.
“Well,” said Sarah, “she was quite lucky that the magical field went up when it did. The doctor gave her only a few more years. But now, of course, she cannot die of natural causes anymore. Then again, some people say that she’s regretted it for the last few decades.”
“She certainly doesn’t look too happy,” I s
aid.
Though there was no relation, the resemblance was remarkable with the stern, austere picture of Lord Pembroke, which still loomed over everyone despite the staff’s best efforts to hide it as much as was permissible behind decorations.
Then, the music began. Lord Pembroke chose to dance with his sister, while Steven danced with Lord Pembroke’s aged mother-in-law.
Danced, perhaps, was the wrong word. Though Lord Pembroke’s mother-in-law, Lady Wickersham, was surprisingly agile for such an old woman once she got into her stride, Steven’s batteries seemed to be running at a bare minimum. His feet were dragging along the floor, his gaze unsteady.
As the music blared, people all around us were getting ready to enter the floor. Couples and friends, young and old, stood in pairs as they watched the Pembrokes dance to the timeless tune the small orchestra was playing.
In the few days I had been a guest here, the power of the magical field and the effects upon the occupants of the estate had never been so apparent.
Then, the music changed, signalling that the guests were now allowed to join in. Carew helped Lady Wickersham to a chair in the corner, while Steven leant against a wall, clearly at the end of his tether. Finally, he sat down on a chair, right beneath the painting of Lord Pembroke’s father.
As Sarah asked Barry to dance with her, I had to drag Val away from them before she could cause a scene.
“Val, are you mad?” I hissed. “What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t trust that woman!” flared Val.
“Shh, keep your voice down,” I said.
“Well, it’s true,” she said grumpily.
“Val, you’re jealous,” I said.
“I am not,” she said indignantly.
Then, a horrible thought occurred to me.
“Val, we’ve been best friends for years and years. Tell me that you’re not into… you know,” I said.
“What?” she said. “Barry? No, of course not.”
“You swear?”
“On my mother’s grave,” she said.
“Then what’s going on?” I asked.
“Well, it’s just… after all the things we’ve done for him. He’s such an ungrateful little… And now he falls for the first girl who throws him a couple of compliments.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You know how big his ego is. I’m not sure he’s fallen for anyone. He just likes being praised.”
“Yes, but the way she does it is just ridiculous,” said Val. “She’s clearly after something.”
“Well…” I began.
“He’s a cat,” said Val. “It can’t be that.”
“Maybe she wants to transform him back to human form?” I said.
“That would probably be even worse,” said Val. “Lord knows how old he really is.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “About her, I mean. But what harm could come from it?”
“As long as someone is stroking that narcissistic streak of his,” said Val. “He wouldn’t smell a rat even if it were lying clearly in front of him.”
“But we’re keeping an eye on him,” I said. “Look at them dancing together, Val. Sarah’s got him on her arm, and he’s having a good time. Who are we to say it’s wrong or all a sham?”
Val sighed, just as a man with rugged looks and a five o’clock, dressed impeccably in coat and tails, approached us in the corner of the room. He was accompanied by a stunning blonde in a pale blue dress. Of course, I recognised who they were at once.
“I suppose you’re right, Amy,” said Val finally, finishing her second glass of champagne. “I’ll let Barry have his fun. But I’m watching her, that’s all.”
“Look who’s here,” I said softly.
Val turned around.
It was Alec, with Harriet next to him.
She was just about to greet them like old friends when I nudged her.
“We don’t know them, remember?” I hissed.
“Hello,” Alec said, in an oddly formal manner. “My companion isn’t feeling too well. I wonder if you’d like to take this dance with me?”
He looked at me, his face almost blank save a tiny, almost private smile that was forming on his lips.
“Well,” I said, “my friend and I were just…”
“Oh, stop messing around,” said Val irritably, “and enjoy yourselves.”
Harriet, pretending to be slightly dizzy, leant against the wall, as Val brought her a glass of water. Grudgingly, I had to admit that she was playing her role very well.
Alec and I began to dance. He steered me in such a fashion so that we wouldn’t be overheard, yet did not stray too far away from everyone else as to draw attention to ourselves.
“What’s the status?” he said softly. “Anything new?”
“Loads,” I said. “You?”
“Yep,” he said.
It felt peculiar to speak about the case while being so intimate.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to make contact until after the ball,” I whispered in his ear.
“You’re right,” he growled, as the orchestra finished a particularly dreamy song. “But things are heating up.”
We waited rather awkwardly for the next song to begin, unable to dance nor able to discuss the Pembroke affair further.
Val, now talking to Harriet, was clearly in a better mood and had forgotten all about being jealous, at least for a little while. Barry, meanwhile, was perched on Sarah’s shoulder, like a black parrot, discussing magical theory no doubt while getting some refreshments.
Finally, the music resumed.
“Did you hear about Emma, the maid?” I said.
He nodded his head.
“I was working on that the last two days,” he said. “Doctor’s records, family, friends, acquaintances. They all give her a clean bill of health, physically and mentally. There’s no way that girl killed herself.”
“We suspected as much,” I said, as Alec moved us closer to the orchestra.
“Any probable suspects?” he asked.
“Too many,” I said. “It seems the whole household hated her.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Then, I told him about eavesdropping on Carew and Beatrice, and that Lord Pembroke had apparently given Carew the order to snoop.
“Good work,” he said. “At least some promising leads. We’ll check them out one by one.”
“Any luck with the letters?”
“What?” he said. “Oh, yes, Harriet tracked down the source.”
“She did?” I said, astounded. “I thought they were anonymous.”
“She checked it in the lab,” he said. “Had a brainwave and tested the ink for magic dust.”
“Magic dust…?”
“Residual particles left by magic,” he said. “It was a long shot but worth it. Turns out the dust in the letters holds components of the same magic that keeps them nice and cosy here at the estate.”
“Couldn’t they have been contaminated as they were opened?”
But Alec shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Only active magic can do that. And the letters were opened by hand.”
“So, that means that they originated from here?”
“That’s right,” he said. “Written with a magic ink pen that never runs dry.”
“It must be someone who lives here on a regular basis, then,” I said. “Since he’s been getting them for a while, I mean.”
“Makes sense,” said Alec, frowning. “But without motive, it’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”
“What should we do next?”
“We’ve got to go through your list of suspects one by one, see what they know.”
“Will you be staying here then, with Harriet?”
“Not Harriet,” he said. “She’s still on perimeter patrol. But yes, Lord Pembroke has asked me to stay for a few days. He’s a very difficult client, I’ve got to admit. I think the maid’s death rattled him. He w
ants protection.”
“Did he know her, then?” I asked. “Personally, I mean.”
“He says he knew her only on a very superficial level,” said Alec. “But you never know. He’s not exactly forthcoming with information.”
“Did you tell him that the letters originated from the house?”
“I already told him weeks ago that that was a likely scenario, but he wouldn’t have it,” said Alec. “Stubborn man. But I’ll remind him again today.”
“But you say he was rattled by her death,” I said slowly. “He doesn’t strike me as the empathetic type. There must have been a reason.”
“Yes,” said Alec, “if you ask me, he’s afraid. He’s not really immortal, remember. He’s only protected against ageing. If someone sticks a knife in him, he’s going to go the same way everyone else would.”
“Do you think he might have something to do with the whole affair?” I asked.
But what exactly Alec thought of that, I never got to hear it, for in that second there was a loud CRASH behind us. The music died immediately. There were screams and shrieks as everyone turned around to see what was going on.
The massive painting of Lord Pembroke’s father had come crashing down to the floor. And beneath it lay a body.
“What happened?”
“Who is it?”
Alec and I rushed forward. Several men had lifted the heavy frame just high enough for us to see who lay beneath it.
It was Steven Pembroke.
8
For a moment, the entire hall was paralyzed, as Alec and I rushed to help lift the painting. It was as heavy as it looked, but together with some of the other guests we were able to lift it enough in order to carry it a few paces, setting it down again.
For the second time within days, healers were called to the Pembroke estate. Harriet was examining Steven, while Lord Pembroke stood there, watching, his face white with shock. Beatrice, only a few feet away, looked mortified. Her right hand shook as she moved it to her mouth. Lady Wickersham was holding onto Carew for support.
Approaching Steven, I could see that his wounds were serious. His body lay in a horribly contorted fashion. He was also bleeding.
