George ate with his usual appetite, but kept an eye on Aubrey, looking for cues.
Caroline, alone of everyone at the table, was poised, calm and equable. She sat between Lady Fitzwilliam and Sir Darius, as far away from Aubrey and George as it was possible to get. She seemed to enjoy the meal, but she ate slowly, so that they had to wait for her to finish her lobster bisque before the roast was brought out.
Talk was polite, but clipped, moving around Aubrey as if he were an island in the middle of a river. His mother and father directed most of their conversation to Caroline. After being introduced, Sir Darius had turned his most charming aspect to her, drawing her out of her reserve and engaging her with stories of mild parliamentary scandals.
Aubrey was impressed, all over again, at his father's charisma and the way he was able to win over Caroline. All his life, he'd seen his father do this sort of thing and wondered how he managed it.
When the meal had finished, Lady Fitzwilliam wouldn't let Aubrey and George leave. She turned to the duchess. 'Maria, you may go. We have things to discuss.'
Duchess Maria picked up her glass of water and sipped, but when she put the glass back down on the table Aubrey couldn't see any difference in the level. She took her napkin and touched her lips. 'I'm quite happy here.'
Lady Fitzwilliam looked at her husband, then back at her mother-in-law. 'While you're always welcome, it may be awkward.'
'Pish! I've been involved in discussions that changed the course of history, ever since I was a little girl.'
Lady Fitzwilliam's eyes hardened. Her knuckles went white as she gripped her napkin. 'Very well.'
Aubrey watched this exchange closely, much as an observer on the heights would study the opening skirmishes of a battle. He cleared his throat. 'Perhaps Miss Hepworth should leave as well. I'm sure we can spare her this.'
'I don't think so, Aubrey,' said his mother. 'After all, we are talking about matters concerning her.'
Aubrey looked at his father. 'Sir?' he squeaked.
'Listen to your mother, Aubrey. And stop trying to think of ways to turn this to your best advantage.'
Aubrey nodded without saying anything. Sir Darius speared George with a glance. 'And George, we want you here so you can tell us what went on from your point of view. I'm asking you to be honest, young man. I know you're loyal to Aubrey, but at this time his best interests lie in your being straightforward.'
Aubrey tried to marshal himself. 'By all means, George, tell them what you know.'
George looked at the faces around the table. Aubrey wondered if his friend was considering making a sudden dash for the door. 'Err. About what?'
Lady Fitzwilliam rolled her eyes. 'About Aubrey's imposing himself on this young lady, of course.'
Aubrey felt as if he'd been hit on the head with a cricket bat. 'Imposing myself?'
'Lady Rose, what are you saying?' George blurted.
Aubrey looked at his father. 'Sir?'
Sir Darius held up a hand. 'We knew that Mrs Hepworth had kindly tended to you after that scrap at Greythorn, but it appears as if it wasn't the first time you'd bothered the young lady here. You've been visiting her while she was still in mourning, intruding on her solitary nature retreat at Penhurst and goodness knows what else.'
'Ah.'
Lady Fitzwilliam let out an exclamation of combined frustration and irritation. She crossed her arms and scowled.
Duchess Maria watched all this like a hawk. After a moment or two of further denials, questions and fragmented explanations, all accompanied by finger-pointing, hand-waving and table-thumping, she tapped her water glass with one of her rings.
The noise cut everyone short. 'Now,' she said. 'One at a time. Young lady, you first.'
Caroline glanced at Lady Fitzwilliam. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that Aubrey imposed himself on me at all.'
'I've known him for a long time. I simply filled in the gaps in what you told me.'
Caroline flushed. 'He may have been a little forward . . .'
'And rude, and single-minded, and insensitive,' Sir Darius added.
'Well, yes, all of that. Some of that.'
Aubrey winced, but he didn't argue.
'But he was an enormous help. Both of them were.'
Lady Fitzwilliam sighed. 'When you appeared at the museum and began talking about my son, I thought you were complaining about him.'
'Why? Have many young women complained about Aubrey?'
Aubrey felt his face growing hot. He considered fainting, as a distraction, but decided the nightmare would continue regardless, over his prostrate body.
Sir Darius seemed to be deriving some dry satisfaction from his son's plight. 'Go on, Miss Hepworth. Why, then, did you go to the museum?'
Caroline seemed to find something extraordinarily interesting in her lap. 'I wanted to see Lady Fitzwilliam,' she said in a small voice.
'Me?' Lady Fitzwilliam said. 'Whatever for?'
Aubrey was dazed. He'd had a vague notion that, soon, he would introduce Caroline to his mother, seeing how much she wanted to meet her. Of course, Caroline would be grateful for this and their future would look much more promising than their bumpy beginning might have suggested.
Future? What am I thinking?
'Your work.' Caroline's voice was firmer and she lifted her head. 'You've done so much, you mean so much, I wanted to tell you . . .' Her voice trailed off.
Sir Darius began to say something, but Duchess Maria cut him off with a glance. 'Let the young lady speak, Darius.'
He subsided, still wearing the grim half-smile.
Caroline looked around and saw that she still had the floor. 'I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to know how you did it. Become famous, that is, and discover things, and do what you really want to do in life.'
Lady Fitzwilliam nodded. 'My dear, I think you and I have much to talk about.' She glared around the table. 'By ourselves would be best, I feel.'
'A moment,' Sir Darius said. 'What about Aubrey?'
Caroline smiled. 'George and he were rather kind, really. They helped me recover my father's notebook.'
Sir Darius straightened in his chair. 'Good Lord, you have Lionel's notebook?'
'Yes.'
Sir Darius stared at Caroline. 'Astonishing.' He turned to Aubrey with the clear gaze of a long-distance sniper. 'Professor Hepworth would have guarded any notebook of his. You overcame this protection?'
'Not easily.'
'I hope it's safe somewhere,' Sir Darius said to Caroline. 'Craddock was asking after that notebook, immediately after your father's funeral. Somehow he knew that Lionel and I were acquainted.'
Craddock! Aubrey thought. That's what he was doing meeting Father at the Triumph Hotel!
This news of Craddock's interest in the notebook was valuable information. The man who moved in the highest circles and the lowest, the man who spoke to princes, priests and pawnbrokers, the man who was privy to a thousand secrets. What part was he playing in these murky goings-on?
Aubrey felt chilled. Was it possible that Craddock had put the shade in the professor's workshop? He'd certainly have the skill for it.
'The notebook is safe enough,' Caroline said. 'I brought it with me.'
'Where is it?'
'In my bag. I gave it to your butler when I came in.'
Sir Darius rang the serving bell. Harris appeared. 'Harris, you took the young lady's bag when she came in. Go and fetch it.'
Harris's long face lost its impassivity for a moment. He blinked. 'I beg your pardon, sir?'
'The young lady's bag. Bring it here.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure what you mean.'
Sir Darius controlled his exasperation and spoke slowly. 'Miss Hepworth said you took her bag when she came in this evening.'
Lady Fitzwilliam said, 'You took my hat and wrap at the same time, Harris.'
Harris looked distressed. 'Sir, ma'am, miss, I was out in the back garden all afternoon, talking to the gardener about the cabbages.
I asked Tilly to attend to anyone who came to the front door.'
'It wasn't Tilly,' Lady Fitzwilliam said flatly. 'You met and greeted us both. Are you all right, Harris?'
He nodded, looking more like a basset hound than ever.
'George,' Sir Darius said, 'be so good as to go to the cloakroom. Fetch Miss Hepworth's bag, please.'
George slipped out. Lady Fitzwilliam looked at Harris with concern. 'Harris, surely you remember. You asked if Miss Hepworth would be staying for dinner.'
Harris, a picture of misery, shook his head.
A shout went up from the front of the house. Sir Darius was on his feet and out of the door in an instant, with Aubrey close behind.
They charged to the cloakroom near the stairs to find George crouching next to a young, red-haired maid. She was lying insensible on the floor of the tiny room.
'Who is it?' asked Caroline, who'd joined them.
'It's Tilly,' Aubrey said.
Sir Darius and George picked her up and carried her to the parlour. She mumbled a little and cried out, but did not open her eyes. They placed her on the leather settee. 'Harris, fetch some water and ring for a doctor,' Sir Darius ordered.
Lady Fitzwilliam placed her hand on Tilly's forehead and then felt for a pulse at her neck. 'It's strong,' she said.
Duchess Maria sat quietly in a corner, her face fearful. Tilly had always been her favourite.
Aubrey gestured to Caroline. She frowned, but joined him outside the room. 'Let's see if your bag is still there,' he suggested.
The cloakroom fairly stank of magic. Aubrey's neck itched as if he had hives. He stopped Caroline from entering until he'd declared it safe.
It didn't take long to check for the bag. 'No,' Caroline said, her face bleak, 'it's gone.'
Aubrey was aware that they were standing very close together in the small room. He could smell Caroline's perfume. Lily of the Valley, he decided.
'You're sure?' he asked.
'Of course,' she hissed between her teeth. 'Now I have to get it back.'
She strode out of the room and back to the parlour.
Remarkable, Aubrey thought, and he followed her.
Sir Darius looked quizzically at them when they reentered.
'Caroline's bag is missing,' Aubrey announced, 'and there's the taint of magic all over.'
TILLY RECOVERED TEN MINUTES OR SO LATER, JUST AS DR Snow arrived. She reported a thumping headache but no other after-effects; Dr Snow could find nothing wrong with her. Tilly could shed no light on how she came to be lying on the floor of the cloakroom. Harris summoned Maud, one of the other maids, and she took Tilly away to the servants' quarters, with Duchess Maria in attendance, declaring she'd make sure Tilly was well cared for.
Dr Snow was ushered out by Sir Darius and Aubrey. After he'd gone, Sir Darius tested the bolt and lock on the front door. 'I'll check all windows and doors tonight,' he said. 'It's been a long time since I've had to think about security like this.'
'Should you call the police?'
Sir Darius ran his hand along the leadlights on either side of the door. 'I don't think that would do much good.
Anyone who can find his way into my house, take the appearance of my butler, and waltz off with property belonging to my guest would leave the police in a state of bafflement, don't you think?'
Aubrey had to agree.
'I'd send for the Magisterium, but . . .'
'You don't trust Craddock?'
Sir Darius nodded once, sharply. 'I have no reason to believe he's dishonest. Quite the opposite. Everything he does shows that he is absolutely incorruptible. And yet I can't forget that it was he who gave Rollo Armitage expert advice which resulted in my having to resign as Prime Minister. Naturally, this meant Armitage became PM in my place.'
'Thanks to Craddock.'
Sir Darius completed his inspection. He straightened and smoothed his moustache. 'I think we're living in turbulent times, Aubrey.'
'Yes, sir.'
Sir Darius sighed. 'I wish your mother was due to go off on one of her expeditions. For once, I'd actually feel better if she were away.'
'I'll take care of her.'
'Of course you will.'
Lady Fitzwilliam and Caroline were sitting together on the settee when Aubrey and Sir Darius entered the room. George was in a low chair opposite. Lady Fitzwilliam looked up. 'Well, Aubrey,' she said, 'Caroline has done her best to restore the reputation of both George and you.'
He bowed to Caroline. 'Many thanks.'
Lady Fitzwilliam relented and gave a half-smile. 'I'm glad to see you can remember your manners. Now, I'm going to get Stubbs to drive you home, young lady.'
'What about my bag, my notebook?' Caroline said.
Sir Darius stood, hands behind his back. 'If you agree, Miss Hepworth, I think the only way to proceed with this is for a bold stroke which may flush out our enemies, whoever they are.'
'Darius?' Lady Fitzwilliam frowned.
'I'm going to go to Darnleigh House to see Craddock in his own headquarters. Tomorrow.'
'Darius, no!' Lady Fitzwilliam was on her feet and at her husband's side in an instant.
'I've been there before, Rose,' he said gently. 'I'll be all right. There are a few matters I need to put before the Magisterium, I think.'
'Telephone, send a letter, summon them here.'
Sir Darius's smile was wintry. 'No, I don't think so.' He looked at Aubrey. 'What did the Scholar Tan say about fighting a battle against an enemy in fog?'
Aubrey knew this one well. 'When fighting a battle against an enemy in fog, either move the enemy, move the fog, or move the battle.'
'And I,' said Sir Darius, 'am about to move the battle.'
Nineteen
AUBREY SLEPT WELL, DESPITE THE EVENTS OF THE previous evening, and it was a relief. He realised it was Sunday, but decided not to go to church. He wandered downstairs to the conservatory and out into the garden. The sky was a cheerful blue, entirely untainted by clouds. The leaves on the enormous rhododendron beside the door were still, not a breath of breeze disturbing them. Sunlight was soft on the irises, the daisies, the fuchsias. The air was alive with growth, carrying a thousand floral and vegetative scents. It was a morning where nature itself seemed to be holding its breath in wonder at the perfection it had wrought.
Aubrey stood there a moment soaking it in. This is another reason I don't want to die the true death, he thought.
He stepped back inside and closed the door, leaving the lingering golden morning to itself.
Breakfast was in the conservatory, to make the most of the glorious day. Tilly was setting out chafing dishes.
'How are you, Tilly?' he asked.
She jumped a little, not having seen him approach. She was a tiny thing. 'Well enough, sir, thank you for asking.'
'No headache any more?'
'No, sir. Thank you, sir.'
She hurried off, nearly bumping into Maud, who was coming the other way from the kitchen, armed with a large canteen of cutlery.
A few moments later, Aubrey was the solitary figure at the table, enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. He had just concluded that the eggs were excellent, if in need of a touch more pepper, when George dashed through the door, waving a newspaper over his head.
'Aubrey! The code! It's here!'
He thrust the newspaper under Aubrey's nose and jabbed a finger at it. There, halfway down the right-hand column, was an advertisement consisting solely of familiar gibberish. Aubrey saw the patterns in an instant. He dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter, stood, threw his napkin on the table and grabbed the toast rack. While George stared, Aubrey slipped a butter knife into the pocket of his shirt and jammed a pot of blackberry jam in his trouser pocket. He handed George the butter dish. 'We may need nourishment while we work. To my room.'
AFTER AN HOUR AND A HALF, AUBREY THREW HIS PENCIL on the desk and crossed his arms. His head ached. 'There.' He held out the deciphered message.
George
had been cutting articles out of past issues of the newspaper, concentrating on anything to do with Holmland. He put down the scissors. 'The burnt church the Mire midnight,' he read.
'Clear enough, I'd say. They must be confident that their cipher hasn't been broken.'
George frowned. 'The Mire at midnight. I'm not happy about that.'
Every city of large enough size has a place like the Mire, a quarter where the police patrol in pairs, if they go there at all. The Mire was a squalid district, squashed between the vast Newbourne railway yards and the river, full of crooked streets, foul miasmas and short lives.
Aubrey had a different opinion of the Mire from most. He'd been fascinated by its dark energy and over the last few years had taken to spending time there, suitably disguising his background and identity. Using his experience in the theatre, he had created a street persona as Tommy Sparks, a petty thief and procurer of stolen goods. Once he put this on, he was able to move freely around the Mire and found it a useful source of information. At first, he was surprised at who visited the place, but soon realised that the high and mighty used it for their own ends. His experiences had confirmed that there were many wrongs to be righted in Albion, much that was hidden from the law-makers. It made him more determined to enter the world of politics when he was able.
'The burnt church?' George grumbled. 'I didn't know there was a church at all in the Mire.'
Aubrey grinned. 'Now, George, you're being rather prim. It has churches – and the churches have worshippers, too, in case you were wondering. They're ordinary people in the Mire, despite what you've heard, just like you and me.'
George shrugged. 'But what is this burnt church the message mentions?'
'Most of the Mire is low-lying, near the river, hence the name. There is one hill in the Mire. More of a rise than a hill, really. A few centuries ago, when the Mire was different from how it is now, there was a cathedral. St Agnes' Cathedral.'
'A cathedral in the Mire? I don't believe it.'
'You wouldn't know it now. The church burnt down last century, completely destroyed, just ruins and scattered stones.'
'No-one's taken the stones? You'd think good stone would disappear and end up as part of someone's new house.'
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