Elfling (U.S. Edition)

by Corinna Turner

  “Who is that man?” I asked the Duke, as he finished his latest conversation.

  Alban directed a hard look at the man indicated, then gave a negating jerk of his head. “No idea,” he said, and hustled me off to meet the next acquaintance.

  I looked around again for the man, but he was gone. I tried to push it from my mind. It was the most natural thing in the world. He’d seen me with my father and thought he knew that the Duke had no children so had stopped to ask someone about it. It was that simple. I just really hadn’t liked that man, with his cold, staring eyes. He made the back of my neck feel odd.

  ~+~

  When everyone had dispersed I explained that I needed to go back into church for a while, but my father seemed wholly unconcerned by the delay. In fact, when I got chatting with Father Francis again, he went on ahead, retreating to the side chapel to pray. He seemed rather better at it than me, in that he didn’t seem to notice when I peeped in.

  Rather than disturb him, I knelt at the main altar rail, and spoke briefly to God about my now relieved sense of guilt over my various misdeeds. The last few years had not exactly developed my eloquence, so it didn’t take all that long, and I went to sit on the wall bench and wait for my father to finish.

  The priest came out of the sacristy, back in his normal robes. He glanced at me, then went to the side chapel and looked in. “Oh dear.’ He came back over to me. “He looks well settled into it. He could be hours, and I mean that quite literally. Did any of the servants come to church?”

  “Most of them, but they’ve all gone back to the house.”

  “Oh. Do you think you’d feel happy walking back on your own?”

  I laughed outright at that, before realizing that I was laughing at a venerable old priest and choking it off quickly.

  Before I could frame an apology, the priest, with a wry expression, said, “Ah. Yes, I don’t suppose it does bother you. Well, you may as well go, I think.”

  ~+~

  I ate luncheon in the Day Room with the Housekeeper and the Butler. It wasn’t very proper; the Day Room was for those two upper servants’ use only, and eating with the servants...well, definitely not proper. But my father wasn’t back yet, and I couldn’t see the point sitting alone in the big dining room. I spent an enjoyable afternoon playing with Raven for some hours, marbles and naughts and crosses and so on, and then wandering around the stables, looking at the horses and wondering which ones I could persuade my father to let me get astride.

  By the time I’d dreamed around the kennels for a while, Raven began to get bored, so I went back to the house and enjoyed exploring the lower levels—at least until I came to a door near the kitchens. My nape prickled, and the closer I got, the stranger I felt. I stopped short of it, afraid I would vomit if I drew any nearer. Raven hunched on my shoulder, turned restlessly then hunched herself up again, looking as confused and uneasy as I felt.

  I would normally have associated my reaction with the presence of evil, but what could possibly be down here that would warrant that? Here in the basement of Albany House? It was ridiculous. So after galloping up to my room to retrieve the house keys, I advanced determinedly on the doorway. I’d soon find out what was upsetting me…

  I tried the keys just as fast as I could, for despite my intention to brook no nonsense I was very afraid I was going to lose my luncheon—or pass out. But none of the keys fitted.

  “Oh, that door don’t go nowhere any more, my lady,” said a passing scullery maid, as I finally backed up a bit and stared from keys to door in frustration. “’Least, the key’s lost and it’s such a small cupboard now, Cook says it don’t matter anyhow. Though I suppose,” she added reflectively, “You could have a locksmith along, if you wanted.”

  “Where did it used to go?”

  “Some sort of larger storage chamber, I think,” said the maid vaguely. “One of his previous lordships ina’vations. But it didn’t work out so well as most of them. I think it collapsed, some years ago. Around the time… Well, it was bricked off, after that.”

  I groped for an explanation in all this. Hang on… “Was anyone hurt when it collapsed?”

  “Don’t think so, my lady. A workman died when it was being built, though. Cursed, that place was.” She shivered, then looked slightly embarrassed. “’Least, that’s what everyone says, my lady. Probably just foolish talk.”

  A man had died in there, no doubt untimely…and just how unpleasantly? No wonder it was giving Raven and me the creeps. At least it was all bricked off and locked up, so I’d never have to visit the chamber itself for any reason.

  We retreated upstairs for a much pleasanter exploration of the great hall, and when, by dinnertime, my father had still not appeared, I put on my cloak and made my way back to the church. I was most of the way down the aisle when Father Francis came out of one of the side chambers and started. “Serapia! You made me jump! Are you after your father? He’s still at it.”

  I went to the side chapel and looked in. As far as I could tell, my father had not moved an inch. I felt rather overawed. I liked to pray, but there was no way I could sustain it like that. Of course, perhaps he couldn’t when he was my age.

  “It’s dinnertime,” I said to the priest, “I thought perhaps I should... Well, I don’t know. I don’t want to disturb him.”

  However, something, perhaps the priest’s sharp exclamation in the silence, had clearly broken the Duke’s trance-like concentration, for stirring, he crossed himself, and stood up, stretching stiffly. He saw me, and his eyes flew to the dark windows. “Oh... Has it been that long? You haven’t been waiting all this time, have you, child?”

  His calling me child did not bother me, I had realized, because he didn’t treat me as a child.

  “No, I’ve been up at the house all afternoon,” I reassured him. “I just came back because it’s dinner time now.”

  He hastened out of the chapel to me. “I’m sorry, Serapia. When I get like this I completely lose track of time.”

  I was still very impressed. “What do you say? Or don’t you? Do you just open your heart and let Him look around?”

  Alban smiled a little at my method of expression, then his lips tightened as he answered dryly and almost under his breath, “Mostly I just weep for forgiveness.”

  Then as if he had not given this strange answer, he went on briskly, “Let us go to dinner. Goodnight, Father,” this last to the priest, who blessed us and started to put out candles.

  ~+~

  Dinner was a tasty leg of lamb and I took advantage of my expanding stomach and ate ravenously. Raven did likewise and then spent the rest of the meal draped over my shoulder, fast asleep. The Duke sat silently, his eyes glittering as he gazed along the length of the table. I could not help remembering my first judgment that he would make a bad enemy.

  “I’m going to court tomorrow,” he told me when we’d eaten our fill. “I trust you’ll be able to amuse yourself?” His would-be casual tone caught my attention.

  “Court?” My mind shook itself awake from the heavy meal. “Oh. I don’t suppose you’ll run into my uncle, will you?” I asked in a gently mocking imitation of his would-be casualness.

  The Duke made a very gallant attempt at taking my words at face value. “It’s possible, I suppose.” He eyed the fruitcake as though trying to decide if he wanted a slice.

  I gave up the pretence. “I don’t suppose you’re likely to run a few feet of your sword into his belly?” I challenged, watching him closely.

  “Now why would I do that?” Alban said blandly, sliding the knife into the fruitcake.

  “Can’t imagine,” I replied, “but if that’s not what you’re thinking of, then I can come too.”

  “Certainly not,” he said rather too quickly. “You don’t want to be bothered with court. I wouldn’t be going if...” He broke off and transferred the cake to his plate.

  “If you weren’t going to challenge my uncle?” I asked sweetly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,�
� he said sharply. “If I hadn’t been away so long, is what I meant.”

  “Well, I may as well come and be presented to the Queen and all that. I don’t expect I shall want to go very often.”

  “I really don’t think it’s necessary,” said Alban, then paused and crumbled cake between his forefinger and thumb for a moment. “Still,” he went on at last, “you can come if you like, of course. I dare say I shall be leaving at about ten.”

  I pretended pleased triumph, and took a slice of cake myself.

  ~+~

  When the Duke of Elfindale climbed into his coach at five to nine the following morning, he found me, correctly attired for a royal audience, already within. He sighed heavily and bade the coachman to drive on.

  We were silent for some time, the Duke rather grim faced and absent-mindedly stroking his sword hilt, and me touching the beautifully set diamond and emerald pair that hung around my neck with something close to awe. It seemed my mother had taken only those jewels that had come to her from her own family, leaving all the rest behind. My father had now given these to me. It redoubled my curiosity about my parents’ separation, for my mother must have truly hated my father to leave these behind. She could have been a very wealthy woman. I was certainly now a very wealthy thirteen-year-old.

  Eventually the tiny ball of fear that sat stubbornly under my rib cage compelled me to speak. “You’d better not get yourself killed. If you die I shan’t forgive you.”

  My father turned a look on me that I found myself entirely unable to interpret, but after a moment his face relaxed into a smile and he sounded genuinely amused, “I assure you, child, that is not my intention.”

  “Never mind intention,” I muttered, “just don’t let it happen.”

  He smiled again at my rejection of his reassurance. “Right is on my side, in this,” he said, and went back to looking out of the window.

  I turned my eyes to my own window but paid little attention to the passing scenes. Really, I ought to hate my uncle at least as much as my father did, if not more, but I wasn’t sure that I did. I had just been too tired for the feeling to really develop properly, and now...now it didn’t matter. I had won. I was alive and I’d found my father. I lived in a magnificent house with a constant supply of food and a warm, dry bed and although I hadn’t really thought about it yet, one day my father’s wealth would all be mine. My uncle suddenly seemed a small, greedy and grasping man.

  A cruel, bad man, certainly, to try and kill his own niece, even in so indirect a way, but a small man all the same. Even the house didn’t really bother me. I would never want to live in it again, for few of my strongest memories of the place were happy ones. I certainly didn’t think that getting it back was worth putting my father’s life at risk. Revenge was a bad motive, anyway, I knew that.

  “Do you really have to do this?” I demanded.

  My father turned his head to look at me and gave a fierce smile in which there was nonetheless more than a touch of sadness. “Yes, I do, Serapia. Justice demands it.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say. The silence had become decidedly solemn. Seeking to break it, I picked Raven up and addressed her. “We’re going to see the Queen, Raven, so you have to stay out of sight. Pocket or bodice, take your pick.”

  Raven disappeared head first down the front of my dress and I could feel her cool little body curled up between my breasts. After a few moments’ silence, I couldn’t help asking something that I had been wondering about. “Do you have a mistress tucked away somewhere?”

  Alban Serapion Ravena looked excessively taken aback. “What?”

  “Well…” I said meaningfully.

  He stared at me for a few moments, apparently near speechless. Finally he said rather tersely, “It perhaps escapes your notice that until four years ago I was still a married man, and that I have since been travelling on the continent. I most certainly do not keep a mistress. A mistress is just a whore paid in jewels!”

  I blinked at him for a moment. “Oh.”

  “You have a really low opinion of my sex, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said bluntly.

  “God above, I cannot believe I am discussing this with my thirteen-year-old daughter!” exclaimed the Duke and fixed his attention back on his window. Concluding that I had only succeeded in shocking and offending him, I decided to consider the conversation over, though I was more bemused than ever. What could his secret sin be, then?

  Raven appeared to have gone to sleep, which was what I had hoped for. She was so small, she was easy to hide, but that brought to my mind another question I’d been meaning to ask. “Raven’s a dragonet, so that’s a baby dragon, right?” I asked. “So how big is she going to get?”

  The Duke took his attention away from the grey streets and gave it to me again. “No, a dragonet is not, thank heaven, a baby dragon.” His smile was very welcome. Perhaps I had not offended him too deeply. “A dragonet is a member of the dragon family, just as a lap dog and a wolfhound are both members of the dog family. A dragonet is a natural miniature dragon. A real dragon, well, it couldn’t easily be hidden, they’re too big.”

  I felt rather relieved. I’d been having an unpleasant image of Raven, grown to the size of a horse or even a carriage, and me having to sit on her shoulder. “And Raven?” I prompted.

  “Oh, she may get to be about the size of a large cat. No more.”

  “How fast will she grow?” I questioned.

  The Duke pulled a perplexed expression. “How can I know, child? I am not an expert. I have one or two books on supernatural creatures, one of which seems better than the others. Still, I think she may not even attain her full growth in your lifetime, so I wouldn’t worry about it overly. They’re very long-lived.”

  That was a relief. A cat-sized dragonet could still pass as an exotic foreign creature, whereas anything much larger and the truth would begin to be a bit obvious.

  “She doesn’t breathe fire,” I remarked. “Is that just a myth, then?”

  “No, of course not,” Alban said with a laugh. “She’s just too young. I’m pretty sure she will, in time. Fortunately not very much of it, though,” he finished wryly.

  “When?”

  My father laughed at my eagerness. “I am not an expert, child,” he repeated. “However, I believe they become physically mature long before they attain their full growth. Still, I should think it will be a number of years at the very least.”

  Finally satisfied that I had picked his brains on the subject as much as possible, I leant back to await our arrival at Westminster.

  ~+~

  CHAPTER 14

  BARON HENDFIELD

  I was excited to pass through the palace gates, let alone step through those marvelously carved double doors into the royal presence. Pride filled me when I saw that my father entered the royal presence with his sword at his hip. Only those noblemen that had not only been called upon by the crown to provide levies, but had also led those levies into battle, could wear arms in the presence of the monarch.

  I walked demurely beside my father as we approached the throne, the herald’s voice still ringing in our ears: “The Duke of Elfindale; Lady Serapia Ravena.”

  Hmm, so I was a Lady. I’d wondered, since learning of my legitimacy. Then again, I’d always known that the title came straight to me from my mother. Although…maybe I would have been referred to as ‘Lady’ anyway, since my father was a duke.

  I saw from the way the courtiers drew aside to let us pass, that my father was a powerful man, whether or not he chose to involve himself in the affairs of the court. I couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved. I had been a little worried that my uncle, with his constant dabbling at court, might actually have more influence, but clearly it was not so.

  Speaking of the devil, or in this case, his minion, there stood my uncle, near to the dais, but at the back of the throng, staring thunderstruck. Then I was past him and concentrating on making the most graceful curtsey of my life.

>   “Ah, Elfindale,” a regal voice declared, “always pleased when you deign to grace us with your presence.”

  My father responded to this double-edged greeting with another bow, so I kept my eyes on the floor. Whatever his position and wealth, I knew my father held his power only at the sufferance of this woman.

  “This your daughter? Look at me, girl.”

  I straightened my backbone and lifted my chin to meet the sovereign’s eyes. They were blue and clear, and the woman herself, although heavily made up against a few encroaching wrinkles, was not old.

  “Yes, little need of an introduction to know who she is. Come up here, dear Alban, and explain this ordeal she is rumored to have been through. You too, dear.”

  My father and I approached much nearer to the dais, and, still standing, of course, my father gave the Queen a succinct and unemotional account of how I had come to be in the gutter, and how I had come to get out of it again.

  Glancing at the two of them, I saw that the Duke was calm and at ease in this highest of company, though very respectful, and that the Queen listened as attentively as any woman hearing a juicy tale. It was easy enough to read. The two were on good terms, and any small pique on the Queen’s part at the Duke’s infrequent visits to court was tempered by an awareness that he would not be so interesting if he were yet another groveling face among the courtiers. I breathed a little easier as that first comment from the monarch shrank into its correct place as an habitual grumble and nothing more.

  “She is rather young to be at court,” the Queen commented, when the tale was told.