The Lady Heiress (The Zero Enigma Book 8)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  The sense I was being watched grew stronger as I made my way back to the stairs. The portraits hadn’t changed ... I found myself staring at their eyes, wondering if they were charmed into surveillance spells. It was a common trick, although my charms should have kept me hidden. I reached the stairs and inched down, hearing the dancing master call for the next dance. I checked my watch as I reached the bottom of the stairs and headed into the washroom. The hair would have to go. I couldn’t afford to have it discovered, not now. I disentangled the spells, dispelled what remained of the magic and flushed the hair down the toilet. It was unlikely it would be discovered. Even if it was, no one would think anything of it.

  Sweat trickled down my back as I washed my face, then turned and walked back to the ballroom. The private rooms were all closed and locked ... it looked as if there were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of meetings taking place. I frowned as I spotted two mid-ranking noblemen heading along the corridor, murmuring. They fell silent as soon as they spotted me, keeping their mouths firmly shut until I was past. I was tempted to stay and listen, but they looked alert. Besides, I had already pushed my luck too far.

  And you know something now, I told myself. I might not be able to sell one of my mines to the McDonalds - they’d want to be sure the mine wasn’t worthless first - but ... there were other options. I could buy broken Objects of Power and start melting them down.

  I pasted a polite expression on my face as I stepped back into the ballroom. The music was louder than before, but the air still roiled with tension. I felt a flicker of sympathy for Ayesha and Zeya McDonald as they whirled around the dance floor. The younger generation was dancing, but the older aristocrats seemed more interested in talking amongst themselves than honouring their children. A girl’s coming-out was the most important event in her life, at least until she got married or had kids. It was their day. Ayesha and Zeya McDonald should have been feted by their parents and envied by their peers. Instead ...

  My skin prickled as I sensed someone behind me. “Lucy?”

  I turned. Marlene stood there, looking tired. She ... I frowned, inwardly, as I studied her. She looked ... wrong. The girl I remembered was gone. She wore a long dress that looked a little too big for her, her hair hanging in braids that looked almost ... defiant. For a moment, I honestly wondered if it was Marlene. She could have been someone else ... no, it was Marlene. It couldn’t be anyone else. But ...

  “Marlene?” It was hard not to feel sorry for her, even though she’d abused her authority shamelessly. “What are you doing here?”

  Marlene flinched. I blinked in surprise. I’d never seen her scared before. “I was invited,” she said, as if she expected me to dispute it. “And yourself?”

  “I was invited too,” I said. “Ayesha and Zeya McDonald invited me personally.”

  The puzzle nagged at me. Marlene had always claimed she was rich and powerful - or, rather, her family was rich and powerful. And yet she was standing here, alone and isolated, wearing a dress that was almost certainly second-hand ... it made no sense. Unless ... was her family poor too? It was possible. I’d never realised how little money my family had until I’d taken up my post.

  “I hear you’ve been hosting parties,” Marlene said. I had the feeling she was torn between the need to talk to someone - anyone - and the urge to turn her back and flee. We’d never been friends. The only times she’d been civil to me had been when the tutors were watching ... and, I supposed, when we’d been on field trips to other schools. “Why are you doing it?”

  “It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it,” I said. It was a joke, but she flinched again. “It’s something to do.”

  Marlene said nothing for a long moment. “Are you looking for a co-host?”

  “Not at the moment,” I said. What was going on? “Why do you ask?”

  “I need something to do,” Marlene said. “Please ...”

  I stared at her, bemused. Marlene was hardly stupid. I hated to admit it, but she’d got the better of me a few times. And her grades were generally good. I wasn’t sure how Grayling’s compared to Jude’s - I had the feeling that Grayling’s was more concerned with keeping girls out of sight and out of mind than actually improving our minds - but Marlene should have had no problems getting an apprenticeship. Her family could have arranged it. I honestly didn’t understand why she was asking me for anything. The summer would be over soon and ... and I’d have to find some other way to make money.

  “I can’t,” I said, finally. Kate would never speak to me again if I took Marlene into my hall, let alone into my confidence. I’d shrugged off most of Marlene’s pranks, then gotten even. Kate hadn’t had the luxury of being able to strike back. “It’s just me.”

  Marlene looked as if she wanted to beg. Instead, she turned and hurried off. I watched her retreating back, feeling as if the world had stopped making sense. The girl I’d known at school and the girl I’d just met appeared to be two completely different people. I shook my head slowly, then turned to go back to the dancing. The last dance was being called now. I’d have a turn on the floor, then depart as soon as I decently could.

  “Lucy,” a voice called. I looked up to see Brantley, holding out a hand. “Would you like the pleasure of this dance?”

  I winced, inwardly. I hadn’t seen him since ... since I’d enchanted him and searched his office. I’d heard rumours that there were problems between him and his family, although ... I shrugged. They weren’t my concern. I looked around, hoping to spot someone who’d be happy to play along and pretend he’d marked my dance card. But there was no one. The only boy in sight I knew was Akin, and Caitlyn was already leading him onto the dance floor.

  “Sure,” I said, without enthusiasm. I took his arm and allowed him to pull me forward. “It’s been a while.”

  “I didn’t get an invite to the last ball,” Brantley said, as the music started to play. “Should I be offended?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. Brantley was behaving himself. “I didn’t write the guest list.”

  “I think we should host a party of our own,” Brantley said. “And I’ll write my own guest list.”

  “I’ll have my secretary send you a note of terms,” I promised. If I was lucky, I’d never hear anything from him again. “The cost is quite reasonable ...”

  “Cost?” Brantley sounded shocked at the mere idea of someone actually asking him to pay. “You mean ... money?”

  “I have to pay for the food and drink somehow,” I said. “And if you’re hosting, you have to pay.”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Brantley said. The music came to an end. “Do you want to go into the garden?”

  “No,” I said. I spotted Lord McDonald heading for the stairs and smiled in relief. “I want to go home and sleep. I have important meetings tomorrow.”

  Brantley shrugged. “So do I,” he said. “Be seeing you.”

  I nodded, then left the hall, collected my cloak from the servants and headed back to Lamplighter Hall. I’d buy up all the old and broken Objects of Power I could, in hopes of turning a profit. I wasn’t sure if it was workable, but ... it sounded promising. And ... I’d proven I could sneak through stronger wards. I could do it again and again and ...

  And if you play your cards right, I told myself, you might even build up enough money to reinvigorate the family.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “My Lady?”

  I looked up from my desk. I’d intended to spend the morning in bed - I’d gotten home rather later than I’d intended, after the McDonald Ball - but the experience of six years in boarding school had driven me out of bed before nine. The pile of letters on my desk had somehow managed to grow overnight - I was sure they bred when I wasn’t looking - and I’d found myself going through them one by one. The vast majority were useless, but they had to be filed anyway. High Society would never forgive me if I forgot to acknowledge a thank-you note or failed to RSVP a party invitation.

  Ellington stood by the door
, looking dapper in his new uniform. “You have a visitor, My Lady,” he said, holding out a card. “He wishes to speak to you.”

  I blinked in surprise as I took the card and read the single name. MALACHI RUBÉN. The forename meant nothing to me - I’d never heard of Malachi Rubén - but the surname was quite indicative. He’d be one of Akin’s relatives, although probably not a very close one or I would have heard of him. I turned the card over and over in my hand, pretending to study it closely. There was no title, no address, no contact point, just a name. It was ... odd. It was a cheap design, but printed on expensive cardboard.

  “Please, show him into the visitor’s room and offer tea.” I stood, hastily checking my appearance in the mirror. I’d showered and changed into a simple morning dress, but I hadn’t bothered to do anything with my hair or face. I hadn’t expected visitors. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Ellington bowed and retreated. I put the card on the desk, then hurried into the washroom, splashed water on my face and brushed my hair. There was no time to change into something less comfortable. I looked decent, but hardly aristocratic. My lips twisted into a frown as I headed for the door. It was rare for someone to just drop in for a visit without calling ahead, unless they were close friends. Malachi Rubén was a stranger. I opened my father’s filing cabinets and went through the records, but found nothing. My father hadn’t considered Malachi Rubén to be important either.

  I pasted a smile on my face as I walked down the corridor and into the visitor’s room. Jadish and I had cleaned it from top to bottom, then installed comfortable chairs, a sofa and a simple wooden table. Malachi Rubén sat on the sofa, his eyes flickering over me as I entered. I felt something nasty crawl down my spine. He didn’t look anything like Akin. He looked ... like a creep.

  Malachi stood and held out a hand. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “You’re welcome,” I lied. His hand felt unpleasant to the touch. “Please, be seated.”

  “Of course.” Malachi sat, resting his hands in his lap as Ellington poured two mugs of tea and retreated. “I must say you’ve done wonders for your family.”

  I kept my face expressionless as I studied him. He might have been a genial man, if he’d smiled more. Instead, there was something sour in his expression. He looked unhealthily overweight, despite the best efforts of his tailor. His eyes looked beady as they peered at me from a jowled face. It was hard to believe that Akin and Malachi were related. Malachi wasn’t even blond. He had to be a relative through marriage, if indeed he was a relative at all. I was starting to doubt it. He looked more like a commoner putting on airs than an aristocrat who’d fallen on hard times.

  “Thank you,” I said. I had the oddest feeling the ground was shifting under my feet, as if I were being made the butt of a joke I didn’t understand. “I must say I was surprised to receive your card.”

  “Quite.” Malachi smiled. It made him look cruel. “I didn’t want you to turn me away. Not yet.”

  “I’m not in the habit of turning anyone away,” I said, slowly. Who was he? And what did he want? “I’m quite a busy person and ...”

  “And so you have little time for me,” Malachi finished. “Or so you think. You actually have quite a lot of time for me.”

  I stared at him, honestly surprised. If Malachi had wanted a long meeting, he should have written first and asked. I had nothing against him, or his family. Even if I had, it would have been rude to turn him away. And yet ... it was equally rude to call on me without warning and demand my time. He couldn’t expect more than a few minutes of my time before I returned to my planned schedule.

  “Indeed?” I found it hard to meet his eyes. “If I had time ...”

  Malachi reached into his pocket and produced a small glass ball, only slightly larger than a marble. I blinked as he held it out. It couldn’t be anything overtly dangerous, or the wards would have sounded the alert ... I frowned inwardly, hastily readying a shielding spell. I knew, all too well, that it was possible to smuggle something that wasn’t necessarily dangerous through the wards. Malachi could have brought a weapon in pieces and assembled it while he was waiting. Or ... whatever the orb was, it wasn’t something the wards recognised as a weapon. I knew how easy it could be to outsmart them too.

  “Here.” Malachi held out the orb. “Take it.”

  I hesitated, then took the orb and stared at it. The glass was enchanted ... I frowned, but was somehow captivated. It pulled at me ... for a horrible moment, I thought it was literally trying to pull me inside. My magic sensed nothing, but ... the world seemed to twist, as if a scene inside a snow globe was bursting into the light. I blinked ...

  ... And found myself watching someone walking down a corridor. Ice ran through my veins as I recognised the scene. It was the corridor I’d walked down myself, yesterday ... I froze in horror as I recognised myself. It was me! I walked down the corridor, opened the door and slipped into Lord McDonald’s office. The scene seemed to bobble as it rounded the corner and peered through the door. I was rifling through the secretary’s desk, bringing up papers and looking through them. I’d been seen ...

  ... I looked up, suddenly suspicious that I was being watched. The scene shifted again as it backed away, then blanked ...

  I found myself back in my body, staring at the orb. I’d never seen anything like it. I’d never even heard of anything like it. One could use crystal balls or viewing pools to spy, if one wished, but they couldn’t work against even the slightest resistance. A sorcerer didn’t have to be the greatest of the great to keep prying eyes out of his lair. I’d heard tales of how the Great Houses spied on one another, but ... I swallowed hard as I looked up. Malachi looked like a predator who’d just spotted its prey.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” His voice made my skin crawl. “The magic records a person’s memory in every detail. There’s so much detail that even the most cynical viewer will have to claim the memory is real. And quite beyond fakery.”

  I said nothing as I stared at the orb. It was ... I probed it with my magic, figuring out how it worked. The magic was both surprisingly simple yet strikingly complex. I triggered the spell and watched the memory again, noting how it bobbed with the unseen watcher. A man, I thought; it had to be a man. He’d spent too long studying my rear as I walked down the corridor. And I hadn’t sensed his presence until it was far too late. Who’d recorded the orb? Malachi himself? I doubted it. It had to have been someone who’d had a legitimate reason to be there.

  “Well?” Malachi’s voice grew more demanding. “What do you think?”

  “Very impressive,” I managed. “But you could have faked it.”

  Malachi snorted. “I had a look at your record,” he said. “You’ve been very good at guessing which way the market will go. Very good. Suspiciously good. Oh, you made a couple of weak calls, but no real bad calls. And every one of the calls you made came after you attended a party. I dare say you’ve been sneaking around like that” - he waved a hand at the orb - “for a very long time.”

  I felt cold. “Do you think you can prove it?”

  “I think it doesn’t matter,” Malachi said. “There’s nowhere near enough proof to land you in jail, My Lady, but it will mean certain social death. No one will invite you to their balls if they think you’ll search their halls. No one will attend your parties if they think you’ll take advantage of them. And what will it mean, I ask you, when you’re cut out of everything?”

  My heart seemed to freeze in my chest. Disaster. Total disaster. House Lamplighter would crash so completely there’d be no hope of ever resurrecting the house. We’d probably face a coalition of outraged aristocrats, pushing for us to be stripped of our seat in Magus Court and ... we’d vanish without trace, even if they did nothing else. And ... and ... and ... my thoughts ran in circles. Uncle Jalil had been right. I should have quit while I was ahead.

  “They’d know about you,” I said, desperately. “And whoever gave you the memory.”

  Malachi smil
ed. “I think you have more to lose.”

  I looked at the floor. He was right. Malachi himself ... whatever he was doing, he clearly didn’t fear the consequences. And the servant who’d watched me, who’d peered through my charms as I’d sneaked into McDonald Hall ... I doubted Malachi cared about him either. He was just a servant. For all I knew, he’d taken Malachi’s money and vanished as soon as he’d handed over the memory. No one would know what he’d done, unless the truth came out and ... I’d be ruined. The family would be ruined. Our names would be stricken from the books.