by Emma Newman
“Now sit down, dear boy, and have some more water.” Lavandula looked at the maid. “Perhaps we could have tea?” She bobbed a curtsy and left with the baby. “The Arbiter and I have had a conversation, and we just have a few questions to ask you.”
Oliver sat down again, trembling. “Am I going to be thrown out of Society?”
“It depends upon what you tell us now,” Lavandula said.
Max pulled out a chair and sat down on Oliver’s left, Lavandula taking the seat to Oliver’s right. “It actually depends on my judgement, and as things stand you will be expelled from Society before the day is out.”
“I wasn’t going to keep him.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Max said. “You were planning to take the baby to your patron?”
“No. I was going to take him back to his mother. She won’t even notice he’s gone. She’s still at the park and thinks everything is fine.”
“So you admit you cast a Charm on an innocent in Mundanus.”
Oliver bit his lip and then nodded, too ashamed to look at either of them.
“But whatever possessed you, dear boy?” Lavandula asked. “Your family behaves impeccably, when they’re not being manipulated by those filthy Roses.”
“I…” His voice trailed off, his cheeks blazing red.
“Why take a child only to return it to the mother?” Max asked. “Did you plan to do something to it?”
“No!” Oliver seemed genuinely horrified. “I only had to prove I’d done it, and then I could take him back!”
“Who would require that proof?” Max asked.
Oliver looked down at his hands and then jumped when the tea was brought in.
“If you say nothing you cannot improve your situation,” Lavandula said once the servant had left. “It cannot get any worse. Better to tell us, dear boy. If you’re truthful, I may feel moved to defend you when you face your patroon.”
Oliver looked at him with shining eyes. “Would you really? Gosh, that would be so terribly decent of you.”
“Well, I have been known to be terribly decent from time to time.” Lavandula smiled. “I’ll be mother, shall I?” he said, waving a hand at the tea. He poured milk into three cups as Max stared at Oliver. As Lavandula tended to the teapot, Oliver seemed to come to some sort of decision.
“It’s part of an initiation,” he said finally. “I’m so dreadfully ashamed. Things have been rather difficult of late, what with the Rosas and mother being made ill with the shame of it, and father hasn’t been himself either. I set up some rather interesting investments in India whilst I was on the Grand Tour, and I got a letter last week informing me that the Prince of Rajkot has revoked all of my trade rights, effective immediately. My elder brother is in Jorvic and refuses to help, and I confess I was desperate for a change in fortune.” He accepted the tea offered to him and the cup rattled in its saucer. “Then two days ago I received a letter. It said that as a second son, I was invited to join a secret society, one established to help those of us often overlooked.”
Lavandula’s eyebrows shot so high the powder on his forehead creased. “A secret society for second sons? I’ve never heard of this.”
“Well…it’s a secret,” Oliver said.
“But I make it my business to know all the important secrets,” Lavandula replied. “This one has thus far eluded me. It must be newly established.”
“I beg your pardon, your Grace, but the letter said they’ve been established for over four hundred years. Of course,” Oliver added at Lavandula’s pursed lips, “it may be a lie.”
“This secret society told you to steal a baby?” Max asked.
“Not straight away. It said that if I was interested in knowing more, I had to leave a peony petal in my top hat when I went to the assembly rooms for cards. I did, thinking I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I thought, seeing as the reason for the invitation was simply the matter of my birth, I couldn’t possibly get it wrong.”
“Do you have the original letter?” Max asked.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr Arbiter, but the ink slipped off the page as soon as I read it. Dashed Secrecy Charm or some such.” Oliver frowned into his teacup.
“I take it you left the petal in your hat,” Lavandula prompted.
“I did, your Grace, and I played the most appalling cards all evening, I was so nervous. When I retrieved my hat at the end of the evening there was a note tucked inside the inner band. It said that only the most…” he looked up as he struggled to remember the wording, “…committed, trustworthy, courageous, and discreet of individuals are permitted to join the Second Sons. I must confess, I was rather disappointed. I’m trustworthy and I try my best to be discreet, but I wouldn’t dare call myself courageous. I’m not the likes of Will—I mean, his Grace the Duke of Londinium—and I couldn’t say that I’m committed, as I’ve never had cause to discover such a quality within myself.” He set the teacup and saucer down on the table, clasping his hands together over his knees. “The letter detailed three ways in which I could demonstrate some of the qualities required to gain an invitation to an initiation. I don’t recall the third, but the first was the…procurement of an item of lady’s underwear.” His cheeks flushed and his eyes darted to the Master of Ceremonies. “A specific lady’s item of underwear.”
“Not my sister!” Lavandula gasped, the handkerchief flying up to his lips once more.
“Yes, your Grace. I couldn’t dream of doing something so despicable, so I settled on the second. It said I had to steal a mundane child without the parent noticing, take it to my house, walk around the grounds with it three times, and then return it to Mundanus.”
“You found kidnapping an innocent less morally reprehensible than stealing underclothes?” Max asked.
“The mother doesn’t know! And they weren’t just any underclothes, Mr Arbiter. I felt this was the best way to gain membership without any damage done in the long term. If I had stolen something from the Lady Censor, it could have been used to embarrass her and I simply couldn’t bear the thought of it.”
Max noted how Lavandula smiled. “I take it that none of the correspondence was signed with a name?”
“Not even a scribble,” Oliver said. “I can only assume someone is watching my house to see if I have taken the child, and they’ll have seen both of you come inside. I’ve failed so utterly! I cannot describe the utter shame and embar—”
“Hush now,” Lavandula said. “The milk is spilt and beating your breast about it helps no one.”
Max went to the window and looked outside. There was an expanse of flagstones reaching up to the garden wall with no one in sight beyond in the mists. “I doubt anyone is watching, Peonia. They would have to linger in the mists and your kind aren’t fond of that. And they’d be seen watching over the wall. More likely they’ll take your word for it or bribe one of the staff to corroborate your story.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Oliver mumbled. “I’m such a buffoon.”
“And even if they did see myself and the Arbiter enter, it can only make your story more thrilling,” Lavandula said, patting Oliver’s hand.
“I doubt the Patroon will be thrilled by it,” Max said. “Time to go.”
“Oh, now, Mr Arbiter, do sit down and finish your tea,” Lavandula said, putting a hand on Oliver’s shoulder to stop him standing up. “Surely you can have a Bath bun whilst we consider the facts before us.”
“I have considered the facts. Regardless of the reason why he did it, the crime was still committed. While I waste time here a woman is sitting in Victoria Park, Charmed, rocking a pram containing a lump of mud. That is not acceptable.”
“I can take the child back right after I’ve walked round the house!” Oliver said. “It won’t take more than a minute or two at the very most. It’s a modest house, Mr Arbiter, and then I can return the child and lift the Charm.”
“You will take that child back immediately and lift the Charm under my supervision, and th
en you will accompany me to your Patroon.”
“Maximilian, dear chap, do please sit down and consider the wider picture here. There is a secret society encouraging young men to commit crimes in Mundanus. Surely that’s worthy of investigation? If you push for Oliver’s expulsion from Society, how will we discover the scoundrels behind it?”
Max frowned. The thought of not dragging the Peonia to his Patroon seemed…unbearable. Interesting. He’d never considered allowing such a severe breach to go unprosecuted and now even just the suggestion of it was eliciting a reaction within him that could only be described as emotional. Surely that was impossible?
Lavandula interpreted his silence as temptation. “After all, what else could they be coercing young men to do? Surely it’s more important to identify the ringleaders than punish one silly boy for a brief error in judgement? I’m certain Ekkie would agree with me. If you have Oliver exiled from Society, there will be no way to trace them. Why not give him a stern warning now and put him to better use flushing out these people? We’ll all be better off if they are expelled rather than this dear child. Look at him. He’s as harmless as syllabub.”
Max looked at the Peonia, his round cheeks flushed, lips pale, face covered in a sheen of sweat. Perhaps the Lavandula was right. Having someone in the Nether rooting out these people would be more useful, and more than that, having a parasite that was terrified his stay of execution would be revoked at any time could be useful. While the new Chapter was getting established, he’d need all the help he could get, even from the most unlikely places. And if Lavandula didn’t get his way with this, it would only increase the likelihood of him pressing more forcefully to see Ekstrand.
“All right,” he said. “Take the baby round the house so it will be reported if they bribe the staff. Then take the child back and restore the mother. I will be watching you every step of the way. If any harm comes to the child or the mother, I will drag you to your Patroon without a second thought.”
Oliver let out a breath. “Oh, thank you, Mr Arbiter, your Grace, thank you so much!”
“When the Second Sons get in touch, you must inform me right away,” Lavandula said. “I want to see any letters from them, so don’t read them until I’m with you.”
“I will visit you in two days,” Max said, “and I will want a full report.”
Oliver nodded. “Shall I fetch the baby from the maid?”
Max and Lavandula nodded and he bolted from the room. Lavandula stood after dabbing his lips with his handkerchief and then beamed at Max. “I knew you were a reasonable man. How thrilling! Secret societies and our very own mole—I think that’s the new word for it that all the youngsters are using—and my sister has no idea whatsoever. I simply cannot wait to find the ringleaders and see if they’ve stolen anything from her. I’ll be able to tease her for at least a century! I could kiss you!”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“No. I think not.”
9
Just being back in Mundanus made Cathy smile, even though the wind was bitterly cold and the clouds looked ominous. After three days of her sister living at Lancaster House, being a world away was the best thing for her spirits.
Elizabeth seemed to amplify everything. The house was ten times more gorgeous and the bed was the most heavenly thing anyone in the worlds had ever slept on. The need for new ballgowns—for events not even arranged yet—rivalled the need for oxygen. Will was the most handsome and dashing Duke, and of course, Cathy was simply the worst Duchess ever, whose backside shouldn’t come within a mile of any thrones anywhere, ever. Cathy had taken to shutting herself away in different parts of the house and not telling anyone where she was except for Morgan, who had also developed an astute sense of where not to be when Elizabeth was on the prowl.
Hiding was the only way Cathy could keep up with everything. Between her secret meetings, conspiring with Natasha to produce and distribute the pamphlets, and managing the properties in which she was hiding the people from the asylum, there was little spare time. With none of her own staff working for the Agency anymore she felt blind, expecting retaliation for emptying the Agency’s secret asylum. At least she’d been able to bring the asylum staff onside, but it was just a matter of time before someone was tracked down and it all came out. Some of the people she’d rescued were keen to find relatives and berate them for abandoning them to die in Mundanus and some had darker plans, but Eleanor was keeping them in line at Sam’s estate.
Life had become an exercise in spinning plates whilst waiting for the floor to open up beneath her. By the end of each day she flopped into bed, utterly exhausted yet unconvinced she’d really achieved anything. She was worried about Charlotte, who was losing weight, and worried that Will would exercise his marital rights again now that things were settling down between them. It didn’t help that she wanted to rip his clothes off him, even though she was terrified of becoming pregnant. Mundane contraception was becoming a more attractive risk as each day went by.
Walking down Shaftesbury Avenue with her nose tingling in the cold and no one asking her for anything was such a simple joy. Just wearing jeans and trainers again had made her practically skip along the street. The lure of a mundane life was as strong as ever. She tried not to wonder where her ex was, and which film star he was probably shagging. Not for the first time, Cathy wondered whether to ask Sam to break the wish magic acting upon Josh. She couldn’t make her mind up about it, getting tangled in guilt and envy and the basic fear of opening herself to the prospect of ruining Josh’s life for a second time. Surely he would be devastated to lose the lifestyle he had now. Wasn’t it kinder to just leave him alone?
It felt like her life with Josh at university had happened decades ago, to another version of herself. The old fear that somehow she’d lost who she really was crept back into her chest like a weasel returning to its favourite cubby. No. She hadn’t lost sight of her own desires—they’d just changed.
Meeting Sam felt indulgent, even though she was there partly to get a message to Eleanor. He didn’t seem to mind where they met, so she picked the American-style diner opposite Forbidden Planet on Shaftesbury Avenue and persuaded Carter that a quick look around would do no harm at all. She’d left the shop with a bag full of new books for her library, including a hardback with crossed flintlocks on the cover that a random woman in the shop had gushed about.
Even though she didn’t feel she needed a bodyguard, it was the easiest way to stop Will fussing about where she was and what she was doing. He was more relaxed than he’d been after the attack on her and Sophia, especially now that Thorn was back in custody, but he was still overprotective. Was that the Iris in him, or simply love mixed with paranoia? Either way, now that Carter was in her employ she felt better about it. Carter had got used to chatting with her, making it less awkward between them now, though it was sobering when she remembered that he could snap a person’s neck like a twig.
Carter had insisted on going into the diner first, checking the staff and even the table she pointed out that she wanted to sit at to make sure it all appeared normal. There were no other customers, which surprised her. He was subtle about it—to anyone else it just looked like he was scanning the room for a friend and somewhere to sit, but she knew he was working.
They sat at a table at the far back of the room. Carter straightened up when three huge men came in and scanned the room.
“They’re security men, your Grace,” he said to her. “Your friend is probably on his way.”
Cathy looked at the three men and their thick necks, trying to imagine Sam being escorted by them. It seemed ridiculous. But he wasn’t a hapless computer programmer anymore. He was Lord Iron. She still hadn’t got used to it.
The security men had taken an interest in Carter, and they gave each other long looks. One whispered into a hidden mic. Cathy was tempted to tell them to just go out back and have a pissing contest, but a limousine pulled up outside the diner and another huge man got out of it, fo
llowed by Sam. She waved when he came through the door and he smiled, heading over.
He looked different. He was wearing a black cashmere overcoat and was clean-shaven, his hair neater than usual. As Sam approached the table she realised that he seemed broader, perhaps even taller. Maybe that was confidence.
“Hi, Sam,” she said. “This is Carter; he’s here to make sure I don’t get mangled or crushed or something.”
“We met, briefly, at your house,” Sam said to him, then turned to her. “Can we talk in private?”
“I’ll be at the table over there, your Grace,” Carter said.
Sam sat opposite her and Cathy shuffled along her seat so there was no risk of their knees touching. Up close, she could see how much healthier he looked. When he shrugged off his coat she could see muscles beneath the long-sleeved white shirt he was wearing, and she couldn’t help the little ripple that went through her stomach.
“I wish I could hug you,” Sam said. “I’m guessing that’s still totally not allowed?”
Cathy nodded, wishing it wasn’t true and then blushing a little. “You look great. So much better. I mean healthier. Healthy. You look…”
“I’ve spent a lot of time in the forge,” he said, picking up the menu.
“So the Lord Iron thing isn’t just an empty title? You really work iron like a blacksmith?”
“Yup. I still don’t quite believe it myself. Feels good, though. Like I’ve been doing it forever.”
It was hard not to stare at him, especially his shoulders and arms. “The milkshakes are great here,” she said, scanning the menu to keep her eyes busy. “And the burgers too. It’s usually packed.”
“Oh, I hired it out,” he said. “Makes security less twitchy.”
“So this Lord Iron thing is working out for you then.”
