Marlene walked up to me. “You threw a good party, Lucy.”
“Thanks,” I said, sardonically. It had been a ball, not a party. I doubted she cared. “Did you have a good time?”
“I met my friends,” Marlene said. “So, yeah ...”
I watched her walk down to the gate and frowned. She didn’t have a carriage? She shouldn’t be in any danger if she walked home - she had strong magic, as well as a family name - but it was odd for an aristocrat to walk. People would talk. I shook my head - it wasn’t my problem - and turned to head back inside. I was tired, desperately tired ...
... And an idea, a very interesting idea, was starting to take shape in my mind.
Chapter Twelve
“Have you seen the papers?”
I scowled at Uncle Jalil as I stepped into the kitchenette. My uncle looked disgustingly fresh and alert for someone who was not only old enough to be my father, but couldn’t have gone to bed last night any earlier than I had. A small pile of letters and newspapers rested on the table beside my chair, half of them probably nothing more than brief notes of thanks - written and signed by the secretary’s secretary - for hosting the ball. I poured myself a mug of coffee, silently grateful I hadn’t joined my peers in drinking. I’d managed to get drunk once, just once. The hangover had been bad enough to convince me to swear off drinking for life.
“No,” I said. The coffee tasted vile, but it woke me up. “What do they say?”
Uncle Jalil picked up the society pages and made a show of reading aloud. “A fantastic debut ... a glimpse of a brighter future ... a stunning new face on the scene ... marvellous food ... wonderful drink and plenty of it ...”
I snorted. “How much did we pay the reporters?”
“We didn’t.” Uncle Jalil grinned, although there was little real humour on his face. “How many invitations do you think the reporters will get if they badmouth the hosts?”
“None.” I sat down and picked up the closest newspaper. “Do they get paid by the superlative?”
“Probably.” Uncle Jalil shrugged. “Oh, by some standards the ball was boring. Boring and ... well, boring.”
I smirked, despite myself. “How boring.”
“Point is, you don’t want the ball to be too exciting,” Uncle Jalil said. “You hosted two rival families - and a bunch of others - and no one got embarrassed, or cursed, or killed, or anything. A good time was had by all. You’ll be able to host more balls in the future.”
“How lucky for us,” I said, sourly. The ball might have gone well, but I’d been too stressed to enjoy it. “Are they going to pay us to host more balls?”
“Probably,” Uncle Jalil said. “As word gets around, we’ll have more offers.”
“As long as they pay for it,” I muttered. I really didn’t want to look at the account books, not today. I was all too aware we’d paid too much for the ball, even though House Rubén and House Aguirre had met some of our expenses. They hadn’t been interested in paying for the cleaning. “We’re going to need more money, uncle.”
“I know.” Uncle Jalil sobered. “But we should start earning money shortly.”
I scowled, then turned my attention to the newspapers. Uncle Jalil had been right. The ball had gone well, as far as the reporters were concerned. I had to smile as I read one reporter’s description of a dance that made very little sense. It felt like padding. He was probably paid by the word. Another reporter lingered on Alana Aguirre’s dress, talking about her outfit in ways that made me feel dirty. I suspected the reporter was going to find himself in hot water very quickly, even though he - technically - hadn’t broken any laws. His editor would put a knife in his back in a desperate bid to avoid trouble for himself.
“They do seem to think we did well,” I said. “Have you heard anything from anyone else?”
“You have a stack of letters,” Uncle Jalil reminded me. “I think you’ll find that half of them are invitations.”
I glanced at him, then started to open the letters one by one. He was right. I had invitations to a dozen balls, dances and parties, ranging from House Bolingbroke to House Rubén and House Aguirre. I felt a thrill, dampened only by the certain knowledge I didn’t have friends in any of those houses. My father had made a serious mistake by not sending me to Jude’s. I didn’t know anyone in the city, not personally. My peers would have no interest in welcoming me into their group ... why should they? I winced, remembering how hard it had been to enter Grayling’s a year ahead of everyone else. It had taken far too long for me to make even one friend.
“I can’t take Gary, can I?” I knew the answer already. I might be as poor as a ... well, as an heiress whose father had spent her inheritance before she came of age, but I was still an aristocrat. Gary was a commoner. “Who should I take?”
“Not me,” Uncle Jalil said, quickly. “And I’d suggest, if you happened to ask, that you didn’t take Uncle Hove either.”
I nodded. Uncle Hove was old and long-winded and convinced he was an expert at wheeling and dealing. He was just like Robin Bolingbroke, except older, uglier and broke. My father had marginalised him a long time ago, even though - I tried not to groan - they had an awful lot in common. I couldn’t take Uncle Hove anywhere. People would assume he spoke for me, then try to sue me when he promised them something he couldn’t deliver. It probably wouldn’t get that far - the people he wanted to engage knew very well his family was poor - but I couldn’t take the chance. It would be a headache I didn’t need.
“Maybe I’ll ask Auntie Dorcas,” I said. She’d be a millstone around my neck, but she had enough sense not to start high-level discussions without my permission. Except ... it would make me look weak too. “Or maybe a friend from school.”
I felt an odd little pang as I opened the rest of the letters. Marlene, Kate and I had left school ... but the rest of our class would be graduating in a day or two. They’d be filtering back to their homes, heads filled with knowledge and skills ... not all of which, I was all too aware, their parents would like. There was no way I could go back long enough to attend the ceremony ... I wondered, not for the first time, if Marlene would go back. She was - or at least she’d been - the Head Girl. She’d been meant to give a speech.
And she also knows some of us were plotting a humiliating revenge, I reminded myself, dryly. There were few secrets at Grayling’s. Marlene had been unpleasant enough, even before she’d been given authority, that quite a few girls had been plotting something nasty. Making Marlene’s clothes fall off in front of the parents might be a step too far ... no, I knew girls who wouldn’t hesitate to plot such an atrocity. Maybe she was just looking for a way to escape before it was too late.
I put the thought out of my head. Marlene didn’t matter any longer. Kate ... I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t been to visit my friend. I should have, damn it. Commoner or not, Kate had been a better friend than most. I made a mental note to write her a letter, asking if we could meet. She might be busy ... I wondered, suddenly, if she knew Gary. Her father was an artificer, if I recalled correctly. It was quite possible they knew of each other.
Uncle Jalil returned to his paper as I made myself breakfast and forced myself to eat. I knew girls who’d have a heart attack at the mere thought of cooking their own food, let alone cleaning the dishes afterwards, but Grayling’s had taught me how to take care of myself. We’d had fun heating soup in the dorms ... we’d nearly been caught, a few times, yet that had been part of the thrill. What was the point of cooking and eating after Lights Out if there wasn’t a chance we’d get in real trouble?
“You met Gary,” Uncle Jalil said, from behind the newspaper. “What did you think?”
I glowered. “Did the muckrakers have anything to say about it?”
“No,” Uncle Jalil said. “As far as I can tell, no one apart from us knows he came.”
“Good,” I said, curtly.
I felt ... unsettled. I’d liked Gary, but ... I knew marrying him would be seen as something
tawdry, even though everyone knew everyone did it. I was pretty sure Caitlyn Aguirre and Akin Rubén weren’t marrying for love. They were both so important and powerful that their families would do everything in their power to ensure they got married as soon as they came of age. Aristocrats got married for money and power all the time, but ... there was normally a fig leaf of respectability around it. I wouldn’t have that, once I married Gary. There’d be no cover. Or ... was that true? Gary was an apprentice charmsmith. He’d be a good match ...
But not good enough for the Heir Primus, I thought, sourly. I tried to imagine the reaction if Akin Rubén decided he wanted to marry a common-born girl, even if she was the most powerful sorceress in the world. If Caitlyn had been a commoner, heads would explode the moment they heard about the match. It isn’t going to be easy.
I bit my lip, feeling a flicker of guilt. It was a business transaction. It was a business transaction. The thought went through my head time and time again, mocking me. It would have been easier, I supposed, if Gary had been as coldly pragmatic as myself. We could have worked out a simple agreement, made arrangements for one or both of us to have relationships on the side and kept our disagreements private. But I liked Gary. And I knew he was far too open for a simple business arrangement.
Unless he’s playing you, my thoughts mocked. You’ve met quite a few slippery people who looked and acted like total fools.
Uncle Jalil cleared his throat. “Lucy?”
I blinked, realising I’d lost track of the conversation. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”
“I was asking what you made of him,” Uncle Jalil said. “And if you’ll be happy with him?”
“I don’t think we get to be happy,” I said, dodging the question. “I am required to choose my husband for the good of the family. Being happy doesn’t come into it.”
I met his eyes. “Were my parents happy?”
“I believe so,” Uncle Jalil said. “Your mother certainly never complained to me.”
“Right ...” I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I’d heard schoolgirls complaining about overbearing or bratty brothers. I didn’t have any siblings, but ... if I had, I wasn’t sure if I’d take my complaints to them or not. Siblings were meant to love each other, yet if the stories I’d heard were true ... I shook my head. “Why did they only have one child?”
“I don’t know,” Uncle Jalil said. “I never pried into their personal lives.”
I finished my breakfast and put the plates in the sink for later cleaning, still feeling unsure of myself. My parents should have had more children. Everyone knew that twins and triplets had greater magical power than singletons. But they hadn’t ... did they think they couldn’t provide for them? They’d certainly have had problems providing a dowry for me ... I shook my head as we walked up to the office. It didn’t matter. They’d both died before they had to make some hard decisions about my marriage.
And this way, you’ll be making the choices yourself, I thought. You won’t be able to blame a bad match on your parents.
Uncle Jalil took his seat as I walked to the window and peered over the city. “I’ve been going through the accounts,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Ice gripped my heart. “We’ve spent everything already?”
“No, but we don’t have that much money left,” Uncle Jalil said. “And there’s no point in trying to reinvigorate the mines. Or the farmlands.”
I turned to look at him. “Is there no hope of” - my imagination failed me - “of digging up more ore?”
“Right now, if I understand the reports correctly, we cannot produce metallic ore cheaply enough to compete with the other families,” Uncle Jalil said. “Our extraction costs are higher, forcing us to either raise our prices or sell at a loss. Either way, we lose.”
“Then ...” I felt a twinge of desperation. “Are there no other uses for abandoned mines?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Uncle Jalil said. “It’s possible a speculator might buy the mine, but ...”
He paused. “There are some mushrooms and fungi that have alchemical uses,” he added. “We might be able to grow them underground, but we’d still be competing against long-established producers.”
“We could undersell them,” I said. “Right?”
“I doubt it,” Uncle Jalil said. “They’d know what we had in mind. They’d either lower their own prices for a while or simply ignore us, on the grounds we couldn’t produce enough to compete with them. They might even be right.”
I cursed under my breath as I turned back to the window. There were a dozen mansions within view, each one owned by a family that had money to burn. Literally, perhaps. They had so much money that all they had to do was leave it in the bank and it would make more money. I ground my teeth in resentment. The other Great Houses didn’t have money troubles. Some of them had so many advantages that it was hard to see how they could ever be unseated.
Not like us, I thought, sourly. Desperation clawed at my heart. We’d put on a good show, but that was all it was. There was no way we could translate the ball - or a series of balls - into real wealth and power. We can’t win for losing.
“Look into it,” I ordered, as I walked back to the desk. “We’ll have to be very careful with the rest of the money.”
“Yes,” Uncle Jalil said. His voice was very blunt. “We have debts to service.”
I understood, suddenly, why my father had turned to a loan shark. He could talk a good game, as long as he kept up the appearance of wealth and power. No one would demand immediate repayment, until word started to spread that he might not be able to repay his debts. And once word did get out ... I shuddered. Everyone would demand repayment at once, even if it meant giving up some of the interest. My father had to have been desperate, if he’d gone to a loan shark. He had to have been unable to think of any other way to save himself.
Keep running, I told myself. A shiver ran down my spine. I had a sudden vision of my father running like the wind, chased by a horde of faceless enemies. Like it or not, I was in the same boat. I’d bought time, but nothing else. And now I was running too. If you stop, they’ll catch up.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said. I sat down and picked up a charmed notebook. “I need to think.”
Uncle Jalil stood and left the room. I opened the notebook and started to write. I’d always had a good memory, something I’d been encouraged to develop at school. We’d been meant to keep diaries, but we all knew that everything we wrote down would be used in evidence against us at some later date. I’d read a few of the diaries. They’d been so boring I thought they could have made an effective substitute for sleep potions. I smirked at the thought - it was a shame I couldn’t turn the effect into a charm - then wrote down everything I’d overheard at the party. Most of it was useless, and some - I suspected - was actively misleading - but there were some gems amongst the manure. Robin Bolingbroke had given me an idea.
It will be risky, I thought, as the idea took shape in my head. And if I get caught ...
I shook my head. I was desperate. I wanted - needed - to save my family. That was worth any risk ... I stood and walked to the cabinets, digging into my father’s private files. He’d collected a lot of information over the years, ranging from facts and figures to floor plans and spell charts. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Information was power - I’d learnt that at school - but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his files. Perhaps he’d never intended me to inherit them. Perhaps he’d planned to reorder or destroy them before I returned from school. Or perhaps ... I shook my head as I started to work through the files. There was an entire section on House Bolingbroke, including a collection of rumours that veered between plausible and utter nonsense, often in the same story. Father - and whoever he’d hired to dig up dirt - must have been going out of his mind with frustration. The stories were so absurd it was hard to believe there was even a grain of truth to them.
Shaking my head, I collected the files
and carried them to the desk. I’d have to go through them one by one, to study and swot as intensely as if I were still in school. I couldn’t afford a mistake ... I scowled, remembering how many times my tutors had given us false or misleading information to catch cheaters. They’d been easy to spot, if one had the slightest background knowledge or even a hint of common sense ...
If this works, it will be brilliant, I thought. My stomach threatened to curdle. I felt sick, a tension I hadn’t felt since the first time I’d slipped into someone’s room to hex their bed sheets. There would have been no excuse, none at all, if I’d been caught. And if it fails, the entire family will fall with me.
Chapter Thirteen
Bolingbroke Hall was big enough, I decided as I hopped out of the carriage, to make Lamplighter Hall feel tiny. The building itself was ugly as hell - there was no elegance to its simple, blocky form - but it glowed with light and power. A small army of servants waited by the entrance, taking our coats and cloaks as Auntie Dorcas and I walked into the building and down the stairs to the ballroom. It was bigger - far bigger - than mine. I thought it was large enough to encompass the entire floor.
The Lady Heiress (The Zero Enigma Book 8) Page 12
