by Emma Newman
“You will convey this letter to Mr Derne and advise him of the change in circumstances. You can assure him that the supply of goods will not be interrupted as long as I have his full and unconditional support. If I do not, I will sever the supply and replace him with a more cooperative individual. Then you will obtain the file on Mr Lutea-Digitalis, former Marquis of Westminster, and the one held on my wife. You will bring both of them to me. And then you will wait for your next instructions.”
“Am I to understand that I am now in your employ, your Grace?”
“That would imply that you would be entitled to a wage, when you are simply working off a debt. This may change if you prove to be capable of more than blackmailing a defenceless woman convalescing from a near-fatal knife attack.”
Bennet had the grace to look ashamed at the mention of the crime. “I will do everything I possibly can to prove my worth to you, your Grace.”
“Good. Take this, then, and come back as soon as possible. If I’m not here upon your return, you will wait in the antechamber. Do not let those files out of your sight.”
Bennet approached his desk and held out a quivering hand. Will gave him the letter. “Derne will need to give you something in response to that,” Will said as he placed it in Bennet’s hand. “If he refuses to comply, then return and tell me so. If you fail to return, I will come to the Agency myself and replace the entirety of the managerial staff. If you fail to return because you choose to flee rather than see this through, I will hunt you down and kill you. Do you understand?”
Bennet nodded with the earnestness of a terrified man. “I shall return as fast as I can, your Grace. And thank you.”
Will watched him leave, satisfied, and then glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. He checked his cravat using the hand mirror he kept in the desk drawer, tidied away a few loose strands of hair, and then called in a page to brush down his frock coat and give his shoes a brief polish.
As the clock struck the hour, he went to the mirror behind the screen, pulled away the silk cloth, and said “Lady Eleanor is welcome in my study.”
A few moments later she stepped through. She looked immaculate, dressed in an Edwardian-style dark blue gown with her silver hair swept back and arranged artfully. “William,” she said, and held out her hand.
“Lady Eleanor,” he said, bowing to kiss the back of her glove. “A pleasure to see you again.”
He covered the mirror again as she walked further into the study, taking in the details. “A move to the Tower was exactly the right thing to do, William,” she said, nodding with approval. “Far more history and gravitas than that imperial administration building. I never liked Somerset House. This place makes a statement. What do you feel it says?”
“That just as the Irises took this mundane land and made it theirs, we have taken our rightful place once more.”
“Which is?”
He smiled. “Looking down on everyone else, evidently.”
She laughed. “Oh, you look very handsome when you’re pleased with yourself. Tell me what’s put that sparkle in your eye.”
“If you would care to sit, Lady Eleanor, I have some news.”
Eleanor sat down with the grace of a queen and regarded him expectantly.
“The woman who tricked your husband and usurped you is dead.”
There was the briefest widening of Eleanor’s eyes, nothing else. She calmly folded her hands on her lap. “Well, that is an interesting turn of events. Did she meet with an accident?”
“No, Lady Eleanor. She was found wanting. Lord Iris expressed his displeasure most viscerally.”
“A specific failing or was a proverbial straw involved?”
Will paused, considering his options and remembering her plain speaking.
“Why do I have the suspicion that it has something to do with your wife?”
“Because that’s correct. Did Cathy explain the reason why she wanted you to help her intimidate that woman?”
“I assumed it’s because she had the poor girl under her thumb and was making her life a misery. It’s what she was best at, after all.”
“That’s true, but there was another reason.” He leaned forwards, making her naturally reflect the movement. “The former Dame Iris was tasked with ensuring that Cathy conceives my child within the next month. Just before she revealed you, Cathy destroyed a potion that the Dame had ordered her to drink, most probably one to guarantee conception.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows arched. “I do hope the problem does not lie in your ability, William.”
He flushed. “It does not, madam. We have consummated the marriage but Cathy doesn’t want a child. And with all of the pressures upon us, and the attack on her person and the fact that I seem to be constantly fighting fires she’s lit unwittingly, we haven’t yet achieved our goal.”
“She doesn’t want a child? I don’t understand.”
“She fears that Lord Iris has plans for our baby, and without knowing what they are, she’s reluctant to give him what he wants. If I may be so bold, could I ask if he insisted upon the same when you were newlyweds?”
She shook her head. “With marriages and fertility spanning hundreds of years, it was all very relaxed. Of course, I fell pregnant only two months after marriage. One doesn’t like to make people gossip, after all.” She paused as she considered something. “Well, this is a kindness, William, explaining the trap ahead before you lead me into the woods.”
He smiled. “I thought a great deal about our conversation in the tea rooms. You said you still love your husband and that you are not content. It seems to me that there is only one path to your contentment, and it has opened ahead of you.”
She looked down at her gloved hands. “I am not what I once was.”
“And that is why we are going to see Lord Iris. Lady Eleanor, would you permit me to facilitate your return to Society and the rightful place that was stolen from you? Though you would be eminently capable of engineering it yourself, I believe that I could tell a tale that would be truthful and cast you in a most favourable light.”
“And yourself in the process.”
Will smiled. “Of course, Lady Eleanor. And in light of what I’ve just told you, I’m sure you can appreciate why I’m so keen to gain favour with our patron.”
“You may facilitate, dear boy. But I have one question first. Pray tell me: why, when you have such privilege, do you not simply cast a Charm upon your wife to bend her to your desires?”
He flicked a speck of dust from his desk. He couldn’t tell her about the Lust Charm. What if that truthful tongue of hers repeated it to Cathy? “Because, I confess, I have been a victim of Charms that rule the heart and I could not bring myself to do that to my love.”
“You said ‘could not’ instead of cannot. I take it that has changed.”
Will sighed. “I must satisfy our patron, Lady Eleanor. What other choice do I have?”
• • •
Cathy went to look out of the window, but Carter pulled her back, dropping the seat cushion back into place to do so. “Forgive me, your Grace, but you should stay away from the windows. Please, tuck yourself into that corner as best you can.” She obeyed. “They will have frozen the horses and Dolled the driver and footmen. That means there’s more than—”
The glass of the window farthest from her and closest to Carter smashed inwards and she saw a masked face, that looked like Pantalone from the commedia dell’arte with a shock of fake red hair, peering in. The wearer focused on Carter, said something, and blew sparkling powder towards him.
Carter just shook his head at the masked attacker and punched him through the gap in the broken window, square in the face. “If there’s anyone else out there planning to do more than Doll me, don’t bother; I’m an elite with the highest security clearance and have immunities to—”
A movement at the other window made Cathy shrink back. “Carter!” she yelled, and then there was the terrible sound of a gunshot. It pierced the glass,
shattering it, and Carter slammed forwards, his head cracking against the far wall of the carriage before he collapsed.
Cathy screamed at the sight of him crumpled in the space between the seats, her ears still ringing from the shot. Then the carriage door started rattling. It would only be moments before the lock was shot out and she was right next to it.
She dived away from it, crouching down to keep away from the window, squeezing herself next to Carter.
“Oh God, Carter,” she whispered, blinking away tears. She shook his shoulder but he didn’t respond.
She could hear voices outside, a little distance away, an argument of some kind. Perhaps murdering a man wasn’t in the plan. There were more than the two she knew of, and even if she made it out of the carriage and into the mists without them seeing her, there was no guarantee she’d be able to find her way back to the road again.
As low down as she was, Cathy noticed that the seat cushion wasn’t firmly back in place. Carter had been about to open it up, presumably to find something to help. His arm was draped across it, so she gently moved it off, weeping at the way it dropped so heavily against his body when she let go.
The cushion was the top half of a lid, and beneath it were two shotguns. She’d never even held a gun before, but she’d seen them in enough films to know which end was the dangerous one. Cathy pulled one out of the clips that held it in place as a hand reached through the broken window of the door to her right to unlock it from the inside.
Please be loaded, please be loaded. She shifted away from the door, having to half sit on Carter’s back to give her room to point the gun at the arm. The argument had stopped and now she could hear laughter outside, reminding her of a bunch of drunken men watching a friend trying to do a handstand at the student union. “Come on, old chap, open the bloody door!” one of them cheered.
“Get away from that door or I will fucking shoot you!” Cathy yelled. She was aiming for Ripley levels of badassitude and was horribly disappointed by how high and squeaky her voice sounded.
The hand stopped fumbling for the lock and withdrew. She whipped her head round to look through the other window and saw the top of another Pantalone mask, this one with bright blue hair, approaching the door.
“I mean it!” she yelled.
The hair got closer and she moved the barrel of the gun towards that door instead. She aimed high and pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through the top of the door and its frame. The knockback slammed against her shoulder, making her cry out, and if it hadn’t been for the seat behind her it would have knocked her over, she was so unprepared for it.
At the sound of running footsteps, Cathy risked a peep over the lower sill of the window. There was no one there, nor on the other side of the carriage. It sounded like they were receding into the distance, but she didn’t trust the noise, thinking they might be trying to lure her out.
“Carter,” she said. “Carter?”
She rested the shotgun on the seat and felt his back, trying to find where his wound was. If she could staunch the bleeding, he might survive. She couldn’t find anything.
Fumbling her fingers around his head, Cathy tried to feel if he was still breathing without standing and exposing herself through the windows. As she brushed his forehead she could feel something wet and she pulled her fingers back to see blood.
Cathy couldn’t stop the tears then. She just sat, crumpled up next to him, staring at the blood on her fingertips, until there was a snort from one of the horses and a string of expletives from the driver. She felt the carriage rock as the footmen got off the back.
“Your Grace!” they yelled, and she finally let go of the shotgun, knowing the gang must have fled. A pale face appeared at one of the doors, and she unlocked it with shaking hands.
“He’s dead,” she wept. “They killed Carter!”
One of the footmen reached in to feel Carter’s neck. “No, your Grace, he’s alive.”
In her shock, she’d forgotten to check his pulse. Cathy laughed at her idiocy and it rapidly degenerated into something hysterical. “Pull him out,” she told them. “Let’s get him in the recovery position.”
“But your Grace, we need to leave—it isn’t safe!”
“They won’t come back,” she said, patting the shotgun. “Pull him out. He’s all squashed and he needs air.”
They did as she ordered and then helped her out too, glass tinkling on the cobbles as it fell from her hair and clothing. Glancing back to see where the shotgun was, she spotted a flattened bullet on the floor of the carriage.
“Was he Charmed against bullets?” she asked the footmen, who both shrugged.
“I reckon he’d be a poor bodyguard if he weren’t,” said the driver, coming round to see what was going on after calming the horses. “I’m so sorry, your Grace. They made something flash like a firework to startle the horses and then Dolled us all. Weren’t a thing I could do about it.”
Cathy knelt beside Carter and examined the gash on his forehead. There was a nasty lump with it, but it didn’t look too bad. The force that knocked him forwards had made him bang his head against the inside of the carriage and simply knocked him out. She fetched a clean handkerchief from her reticule and pressed it against the wound. She thought of her father, how he’d been Charmed to be protected against shrapnel and bullets before going to fight in the First World War.
Then she imagined what Will was going to say. Cathy groaned, feeling the bruise from the shotgun blossoming on her shoulder. “Okay, you all need to listen. When the Duke asks what happened, you tell him the truth, but I didn’t fire the shotgun, Carter did. Right?”
They all frowned at her.
“He wasn’t knocked out,” she added. “He just banged his head, that’s all. If the Duke thinks I did that, and that Carter was out of action, he’ll sack him and never let me out of the house again. Understand?” They all nodded. It helped that she paid their wages, but they were still uncomfortable. “I know you don’t want to lie to him, but this way, Carter will be fine. Agreed?”
They did. The driver climbed up to his seat and fetched a flask of tea that was shared round and before long they were laughing about what she’d yelled at the gang. Cathy grimaced. “Don’t mention that bit, either.”
• • •
Will knelt in front of Lord Iris, feeling the intensity of the gaze on the top of his head. There was no sense of anger or disapproval, just his patron’s usual iciness.
“You received my gift.”
Gift? Will realised he meant the case and…her. “Yes, my Lord. A most eloquent demonstration of your expectations.”
Lord Iris reached down and with one of his long fingers lifted Will’s chin until their eyes met. “And what did your wife think of it?”
Even though Will had already seen his blue eyes and knew there was no pupil or white or anything human about them at all, his heart still faltered at the sight of them boring into him. “She was rather shocked and distressed, my Lord. But she understood the meaning well enough.”
“Have you come to make excuses for her?”
“No, my Lord. I came to discuss another lady of our family.”
Iris glanced towards the edge of the clearing. “You brought another into Exilium but not into my domain.”
“I needed to explain what has happened to her first. Our family is incomplete, Lord Iris. We are without a Dame, and the women of the family are without guidance. I wish to offer a solution in the form of the lady I’ve brought with me. She was the former Dame Iris, before the one who displeased you.”
Lord Iris tilted his head. “Eleanor did not meet the expectations of her husband. She was replaced and died.”
“For all intents and purposes, my Lord. The one who displeased you wove a web of deceit and despicable lies, convincing Society that Lady Eleanor had gone mad so that she could be usurped. In order to preserve the perfection of the family, Sir Iris was forced to send Lady Eleanor to an asylum in Mundanus to live out her days—�
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Lord Iris stood as leaves and iris flowers in the clearing were pressed back by a sudden blast of cold radiating from him. “He said nothing of madness! Why did he not bring her to me?” He stared at the edge again, whispering something as Will frantically tried to think of a response.
Will had no idea why Sir Iris had decided to hide Eleanor away rather than bring her to his patron. Now he was thinking it through, it did seem rather poor form to not bring his wife here first. Then he feared it was because Sir Iris hadn’t wanted to save Eleanor and simply wanted a new wife. “Because—”
“Because the usurper executed a brilliant plan, my Lord,” Eleanor said from the edge of the clearing. Will turned to see her give a deep curtsy and then straighten again with some effort. “My husband knew that even if you could help me, the damage I had done in Society by offending the idiots of the Court with no more than the truth would make it untenable for me to remain in my position. Better to lead you to believe that he had lost interest in me, so you would simply let me go and he could take another wife quickly, to preserve order within the family.”
She took a tentative step forwards and, seeing that Lord Iris was expecting her to continue, spoke again. “It was a very delicate time for the Frankish Empire. With war ravaging Mundanus, the mundane underpinnings of our power were under threat. He acted swiftly and decisively to limit the damage I had done, but he was also proud and he loved me. The reasons behind the action he took may not have been perfect, my Lord, but to everyone else outside of the family, perfection was swiftly restored once I was gone. He had a wife who was beautiful and devoted, willing to destroy anyone who threatened him or the family’s honour. Not the one he loved, but the family came first.”
Lord Iris stepped down from his living throne of wood and flowers and walked past Will towards Eleanor. Will stood, unable to read what the Fae intended. Iris stopped halfway across the clearing and beckoned her further in. “And why did you not come to me for help?”
“Because you do not exist to resolve my difficulties, Lord Iris. I exist to serve and please you, and if I am found wanting, I accept the consequences. My enemy exploited the complacency of our marriage and my sense of security. I never dreamt that a daughter of an inconsequential family would even contemplate destroying my life. That was a dreadful mistake, and I was willing to pay for that deviation from perfection.”
