I favoured her with a long, drawn-out smile. “Yes, Delysia?”
“Yes! Oh.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Isabella, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I shall carry on, wounded but brave. Who has been murdered?”
“Poor Lady Topher! The servants found her this morning, all over the bedroom floor. The maids haven’t stopped having hysterics yet.”
I sat down with rather a jolt. Ideas were spinning in my head, round and round, making no sense. Right at the back of my mind was the horrible thought that somehow, this was my fault.
“The poor child! Married barely a month! How is Lord Topher taking it?”
“He doesn’t know yet,” Delysia said, sombre now. “The Watch has been trying to get in contact with him all morning.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” said Delysia, a dissatisfied line between her brows. “Harroll won’t tell me.”
“Typical! Lord Pecus is just the same. I can guarantee he won’t mention the matter to me tonight unless I mention it first. Something ought to be done about it!”
“You’re always doing something about it,” opined Delysia unexpectedly. “Ever since I’ve known you you’ve been doing something about it, no matter what it happens to be at the time.”
“Do you know, I think you’re right. How very proactive and forward-thinking of me! Will future generations erect a statue to me, do you suppose?”
“More than likely,” she said frankly; “But not for the reasons you suppose, Belle! I’m only surprised that it’s taken this long for someone to lock you up.”
“For crimes not my own,” I pointed out, firmly. “Don’t forget that, Delysia!”
“It’s probably all they could get you for.”
“I wonder if Susan knows?”
Delysia bristled. “She hasn’t come home since yesterday, Isabella! If that is your idea of proper behaviour there is nothing more to be said, of course; but it is not mine!”
“Susan was out all night, was she? You had better look out, Delysia, there’s undoubtedly something in the wind.”
“Yes, I thought so,” she said darkly. “The trouble is, I’m not sure whether the horselords are a bad influence on her, or if she’s a bad influence on them!”
“A little of both, I should imagine. Is she with Emmett?”
“Always! I even have to feed him, Isabella! Do you know how much a fully grown horselord eats?”
“Rather significantly less than an overgrown one, and Emmett is nothing if not overgrown. I am surprised, however, to hear that you’re suffering from a lack of food, Delysia. Alas, you will have to begin to economise on the plumage of your hats.”
Her bosom swelled. “My plumage is not an inordinate expense, thank you very much!”
“Oh, so Harroll has mentioned it, has he?” I remarked, with something very close to a smirk. “Never mind, Delysia, I won’t tease you. I am glad, however, that Susan and Emmett seem to be managing together.”
Delysia sniffed and seemed unconvinced, but let the matter drop. “Harroll is unaccountable, Isabella!” she said instead, reverting to her former grievance.
“Oh?” I raised my brows invitingly, and patted the seat beside me. “Do tell!”
She popped down next to me on the windowseat, the enormous plumage in her hat bobbing perilously close to a gently drifting cobweb that had evidently been too high for the maid. I watched it breathlessly, stifling the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl as Delysia continued crossly: “He’s already sent for those wretched children, Isabella! I’ve told him and I’ve told him I won’t have it, but it makes no difference.”
She gave herself an annoyed shake, twitching her skirts, and the feather swayed nearer to the cobweb, stirring it with a light breeze.
I had to bite my lip before I could say with any attempt at an even tone: “How very barbaric of him, my dear.”
“Well, it is!” declared Delysia, tossing her head. This sent the feather scurrying briskly across the wall and finally carried away the cobweb, much to my delight, leaving the clinging strands to trail behind in the breeze.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like to have Harroll do something you don’t want him to do,” I said, eyeing the feather in fascination. It nodded, and the cobweb floated.
“Now you’re just being difficult!” she complained.
“Yes, so I’ve been told. I enjoy being difficult, it gives one something to strive for.”
Delysia gave me a soulful look that almost rivalled that of Keenan begging for food. “You could talk to him, Isabella.”
“I could,” I agreed, laughing; “But I won’t. You and Harroll must fight it out between you, I’m afraid.”
It could never be said that Delysia is anything but determined. Therefore, it was no surprise to me that she was still trying to inveigle me into speaking with Harroll by the time Vadim arrived to help me dress for dinner. In fact, she was determined enough to follow me when I insisted that I must go down to dinner, and only left when conversation with Lord Pecus’ blank, polite mask faltered without any idea of his inviting her to remain for dinner. I gave her a saucy smile as she left, which she returned with a narrowed gaze and pursed lips, and turned to rejoin Lord Pecus. If I were not mistaken, his green eyes were laughing behind the holes in his mask.
“I thought I heard the sounds of trouble,” he said. He sounded quite as usual, and the realization that I had been quite right, and that he was not intending on telling me about the murder of Lady Topher, cost me a little pang. I debated briefly within myself upon the merits of mentioning the matter myself, and decided, taking my seat with a decided swish of my skirts, that I would not do so. After all, the idea that Lord Pecus was hiding certain information from me was not a surprising one, and I found that I still felt guilty about poor Vadim. There was no good in being unable to take what one, in the vernacular, dished out. Lord Pecus might very well begin to tell me more by-and-by. As for Vadim and the message I had left with her, all that was left to do was wait- and hope that Lord Pecus did not find out.
It is impolite to show too great an interest in what one is served for dinner. It is, of course, equally rude not to notice at all; but a few, light compliments upon the aesthetic quality of the course is generally the extent of such politeness. Lord Pecus, however, had chosen to serve a first course of creamy potato soup, topped with curls of leek and tiny bacon pieces, followed by beautifully crisp vegetables served over potato rosti and tender beef, attended by a perfectly done jus; and if he expected to be attended to while I was savouring such delights, he was very soon made aware of his mistake. Perhaps he didn’t intend to be taken notice of: he didn’t make any great attempt to start a conversation, and once or twice I caught him watching me with a decided smile to his eyes.
At last, tipping the last few drops of jus onto my tongue, I sighed contentedly and said: “Am I amusing you, Alexander?”
“I’ve been trying an experiment,” he explained, his eyes narrowed in amusement. “It’s been a great success, I have to say. It’s come to my attention that when your dinner is particularly good, you seem to talk less.”
“Oh yes!” I told him airily: “My proclivity for poking my nose into other people’s affairs can be traced back to the lack of food in my youth. It was a terrible time, you know; school dinners and a dreadful lack of sweetmeats. When there is nothing for me to eat, I invariably become bored and look about me for something to do. You may safely keep your secrets when I have an excellent dinner.”
“I haven’t noticed that a good dinner produces miracles, Isabella. It merely makes things easier.”
“A jus this wonderful is worth contemplating in silence. Besides, the investigation is going quite well-” I acknowledged his raised brow with a small, prim smile, and continued: “And I would have no qualms about continuing at Pecus Manor for as long as your cook continues to produce a jus in which I can taste both the butter and the wine.”
“Is that so?”
demanded Lord Pecus with interest, leaning forward on his forearms and observing me with a smile that, much to my annoyance, made my heart skip a beat. “That being the case, I have no scruple in once again inviting you to remain as my wife.”
“Alexander, are you seriously proposing to me with the enticement of an excellent jus each night with dinner?”
“Well, I thought it might make a difference.”
I resisted the urge to tell him that if he added the wonderful battered toast-and-bacon for breakfast every morning, he would have a deal, and likewise bit back a number of rash things that I felt very tempted to say; contenting myself merely with observing: “You’re hard to discourage, Alexander.”
He remained thoughtful for a moment, and then asked: “Is it this?” gesturing briefly at his face with its superimposed beast-face.
“Indirectly,” I said. “But you’re asking the wrong question.”
“So I’m beginning to think. What would be the correct question?”
I opened my mouth to reply, closed it again, and sighed. Drat the Book of Interesting Excerpts! It was quite right.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you.”
Lord Pecus looked speculative. “Would you marry me as I am?”
“Oh yes!” I said encouragingly. “Do go on.”
“Will you marry me, Isabella?”
I shook my head.
“No, my lord.” He looked quizzical, though not discouraged, so I explained. “You’re asking the wrong question again.”
He took a meditative sip of port. “Do you know how to break the curse?”
“I believe so. There, you see how much easier things are when you ask the right questions!”
“I suppose it would be too much to ask of you to tell me how to do so?”
“That’s another of the things I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you,” I said regretfully. “I’m terribly sorry, Alexander; but I’m afraid you’re going to have to work it out on your own.”
Lord Pecus grinned, and suggested: “But just think, Isabella: you could add truth to your rumours!”
My immediate feeling was one of clear, sweet relief that Vadim had not been the leak. My second thought was one of cold rage: Lord Pecus had been listening in on my commlinks!
“How. Dare. You!” I said, through my teeth.
Lord Pecus set his port glass down carefully, and ran one hand ruefully through his hair. “Yes, I was afraid you’d catch that. I expected you to catch me out sooner, as a matter of fact.”
“How dare you listen to my private conversations!” I said, in a voice so tight with rage that the words had to be forced out. I was terribly afraid that I would begin crying in sheer anger, and that would never do. Heavens above, how often had Susan and I discussed Lord Pecus? Or Delysia and I?
“They were never meant for you!”
I had blindly risen to my feet somewhere along the way, and now I felt my thighs losing the strength to hold me up. I was never one to faint, and it puzzled me in a distant way, so I curled my fingers around the ledge of the table and leaned my weight on it.
“I didn’t expect this of you!” I told him, panting with the effort of standing.
Lord Pecus was silent for a long moment; then he said, without looking at me: “You forget that you’re a prisoner here, Isabella. Well treated, as I like to think, but still a prisoner. I took what precautions I felt to be necessary.”
The anger drained away, leaving me empty and weary.
“I see,” I said, in a voice that seemed to come from a long way away. It sounded cold, though I had not meant it to. “I did forget. I won’t do so again.”
I pushed myself away from the table and tried to walk to the door. I say ‘tried’, because after the first few steps my legs gave way, and I found myself being held closer to Lord Pecus’ massive form than I was entirely comfortable with. I pulled myself away with the last of my strength and sat down rather less than gracefully in the nearest chair, supporting myself more by an exercise of will than anything else.
I looked up to find that Lord Pecus was watching me, his face carefully emotionless, and I said in that strange, distant voice: “Alexander, what have you put in my wine?”
“A sleeping draught only,” he returned, quietly. I thought he pulled at the bell, but it was beginning to be difficult to tell exactly what was happening. “I couldn’t trust that I’d be able to stop you slipping out. The servants will carry you to your suite.”
“I see.” I let the words hang there, more because it was becoming hard to speak than for the effect, and made a last defiant effort before the potion took me. “Then it is perhaps . . . incumbent upon me . . . to bid you goodnight.”
I thought I heard him give the ghost of a laugh, and then all was darkness.
Chapter Seven
I may perhaps have mentioned that I do not take kindly to sleeping potions. This aversion is based on more than a mere dislike of being rendered insensible by persons known or unknown, however; and since my reaction to most of them is to commence being violently ill as soon as I regain consciousness, I will draw a discreet curtain over the first few hours of the next day.
Vadim, charming child, attended me the entire morning, methodically dampening strips of cloth which she laid alternately across my heated forehead; and although she was still quiet she showed no signs of sulking, which I greatly appreciated. Keenan sat at the end of my bed and watched with great interest, but I was too exhausted to send him away; besides, he had no qualms about emptying my sick bowl when it was required.
When at last the paroxysms had ceased and I felt brave enough to sit up cautiously against my pillows, I beckoned to Vadim, who was tidying away the various strips of cotton.
She looked doubtfully at the cotton, and I said: “Never mind that now; Keenan can take them down with the sick bowl.”
As Keenan obligingly did so, I patted the bed beside me. “Sit down, Vadim. I think that we should have a talk, you and I.”
Vadim sat down readily enough, but there was a slight line between her brows.
I gave her an enquiring look. “Well, child? What is it?”
“Did you send me away to Susan because you thought I’d been telling Lord Pecus things I shouldn’t?”
“I was afraid you might have done so. Lord Pecus knew too many things he should not have known otherwise.”
“I never did, lady!”
“So I have found. In my last commlink with Susan I mentioned in jest that I would be meeting with the earl last night. Lord Pecus subsequently drugged me to prevent my leaving the manor. I apologise, Vadim: I’ve never been more glad to be wrong.”
Vadim frowningly considered this for a moment, and then said: “That wasn’t right of him, was it?”
“I’m hardly likely to be the most unbiased opinion upon the subject, child: suffice it to say that there are different opinions upon the matter. Lord Pecus seems to find himself perfectly justified. I am not so certain.”
My tone must have been less than cordial, because Vadim threw me the kind of cautious look that one gives to a dog one is not certain won’t bite.
“You’re angry,” she said. “I don’t remember you being angry before. Not really.”
“Well, I’m hurt,” I told her. “And perhaps just a little piqued. I think Lord Pecus is sorry, however. He will certainly be more so by the time the week is out.”
This earned a grin from Vadim, bloodthirsty child that she was; but it was Keenan, arriving with zest into the late sickroom, who demanded to know Who was going to be sorry and Could he help?
“Certainly you are going to help,” I said. “You are my secret weapon, Keenan.”
Keenan grinned a wide, fierce grin, quickly divining his target. “You want I should magic his boot soles?”
“As amusing as that might prove, I believe I’ve thought of something more elegant,” I told him.
He looked dubious but willing to compromise, and curled his arms around his knees with a
conspiratorial look.
“Wot we goin’ to do to him, lady?”
“Vadim?”
She shook her head, instantly comprehending. “No one can hear. I checked.”
“Very well.”
I cast my thoughts back to the one time I had been in Lord Pecus’ private office. There were two brown leather chairs set by the vast, arching windows; and one behind the solid desk that seemed duller but not so battered. I frowned, considering the remnants of my memory, and turned to Vadim once again.
“Which chair does Lord Pecus most often sit in?”
“The right hand one by the window,” she said, without blinking. “He puts his feet up in the seat of the other one.”
“Of course he does!” I murmured. I had rather thought that one of the window seats, with their shiny, well-worn seats was most likely, but with so much riding on the correctness of my memory, I would much prefer to be sure. “Keenan, do you know your right from your left?”
Keenan wrinkled his brow, as if suspecting the presence of a trick question, and then ventured: “Wossat?”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. “You use both hands, don’t you?”
“’Course!” said Keenan, in a scoffing tone. “Everyone does.”
I ruefully considered my options and said; “Perhaps we could still attempt it if we were to tie a piece of string about your right arm.”
“Um, Lady?”
“Yes, Vadim?” I enquired, with the humorous certainty that my ignorance was about to be shown up.
I was not mistaken.
“He’ll know which one. It’s the one with Lord Pecus all over it.”
“And by ‘all over it’ you mean-”
“He’s got a very distinctive signature,” she nodded.
Interesting. The disadvantages of a lack of natural magic were manifold, I thought regretfully, not for the first time. I wondered briefly whether Lord Pecus’ signature was so very strong because he was the Commander of the Watch, or if he had become the Commander as a result of the strength. I could see both the advantages and the disadvantages of magically inclined felons knowing one’s signature, if one were the Commander of the Watch.
Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence) Page 28
