by Emma Newman
He always known that obedience was one of the qualities his patron favoured most highly, but he’d always believed it was because Iris was obsessed with perfection. But having watched the way Iris had deliberately drawn out his mother’s disobedience and made it manifest physically, Will had less faith in his own appraisal. And now Iris was forcing his father to be so strict it would encourage rebellion in Aquae Sulis. With a shudder, Will realised that was probably a better explanation for the exacting standards Iris placed upon his family: not to pursue perfection but to put them all under so much pressure that one day they would disobey him. And he’d insisted upon his marriage to Cathy, despite her many flaws. Now Will had a feeling it was because she embodied this quality that Iris craved. No one in the Nether was more disobedient than Cathy.
With a racing heart, Will felt that he’d brushed against part of something much bigger than he, something he and Cathy were at the centre of—had always been at the centre of—unknowingly and innocently.
He didn’t fully understand it yet. All Will knew was that he wasn’t going to give this creature what he wanted now. He was just as powerless to help Sophia as he ever was, and dancing to this tune was not going to get her back. He had to find another way to save her.
Letting his shoulders fall and the tension go from his back, Will bowed. “Forgive me, my Lord, I forgot myself. I should not have allowed myself to be distracted by such matters. With your permission, I shall return to the Nether and concentrate upon the most important task of seeing my wife returned to me, safe and sound.”
After a fleeting expression of disappointment, Iris nodded and directed the faerie with a pointed finger. Will bowed again and stepped through the Way that had been opened to the mirror in his own study. Once the glass had returned to normal, he replaced the covering silk with trembling hands and then poured himself a brandy. Knocking it back, he rested against the sofa once more and let the glass slip from his fingers as the full horror of his situation crowded in upon him.
13
Standing outside the house she’d grown up in, Cathy felt sick. There was the window in the nursery wing that she’d spent so many years staring out of, watching the real world whenever she could get away with it. How many times had she been shooed away by her nanny whenever she was caught gawping at the cars, wishing she could sit in one, then later, wishing she could drive one. Wishing she could escape.
She wore a hoodie and one of Mrs M’s coats and it felt like a disguise, even in Mundanus. But she still couldn’t bring herself to walk up to the house and use the Charm of Openings right there, on the open street. She walked back down to the bridge, then back up Great Pulteney Street, avoiding looking at the Holburne Museum as much as possible as she tried to muster some courage. Then she walked round the back, to the high wooden gate that separated the garden from the street. Away from the traffic and people, the back lane still had traces of snow in the corners, and Cathy found herself staring at cat pawprints in a tiny drift.
“Come on,” she muttered to herself. “Just get it over with.” She whispered the Charm of Openings at the gate and stepped into the Nether on the other side. Just the sight of the silver sky was enough to make her pause, heart thrumming, tempted to turn and run. Surely the Irises would know she was back? Surely Will or Lord Iris would be mobilising now?
She rested her hand over her heart, recalling as much of the formula as she could. She was warded.
Cathy let the gate close behind her and looked at the Nether reflection of the house. All of the curtains were drawn and there was a black ribbon tied over the door knocker. A wreath of yew leaves hung from it, with another black ribbon decorating it. Cathy finally believed her father really was dead.
All she could do was stand there, staring at the wreath. He wasn’t in that house anymore. He wasn’t at his desk, nor standing in front of it, swagger stick in hand, waiting. He would never look at her with that mixture of rage and disappointment.
He would never hurt her again.
Then she was crying and she didn’t know if it was relief or guilt or sadness. It just was.
She was only vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening and then her brother’s arms were around her, holding her tight. For once, his height and broad shoulders felt like a shield between her and everything else and she wrapped her arms around his waist and cried into his chest. When the worst of it was done, Cathy pulled back enough to look up at him, seeing his cheeks were wet with tears too. It was such a shock, to see a man of the Nether weep, that she returned to the embrace. She held him tight, becoming aware of the slight shaking of his body as he wept silently.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry.”
“I am too,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “For everything.” He let her go, swiped his hand across his cheeks, and tried to smile at her. “Come inside. Let’s have a cup of tea together. Lucy is in Londinium but I’m expecting her back soon.”
“Elizabeth isn’t here, is she?”
“No. She was earlier. She’s actually been quite sweet.”
He took her hand and she let him lead her in, closing the door behind them once they were in the back hall. She took off her coat and pulled down the hood, expecting him to comment on her mundane clothes, but he didn’t seem to care. She followed him through to the living room, taking care to avoid looking at the study door. At the doorway her breath caught at the sight of the familiar space with black crepe veils draped over the portraits and sprite globes. It took her a moment to place what was missing: the ticking of the clock. She supposed that they had all been stopped for mourning.
Wilson appeared briefly at the door, gave her a sad smile, confirmed the need for tea, and left again. The room was stuffy with warmth from the fire and there were letters scattered over the coffee table, most of them bearing the Agency marque at the top.
“Funeral arrangements,” Tom said, gathering them up into a neat pile.
She was shivering, despite the warmth. It all felt like a terrible unreality. How could she be back in this house again? How could her parents not be here? How could Father be dead? None of it made any sense.
“Sit down,” Tom said, pulling a blanket from a nearby chair. “Oh, Cat, sit down. You’ve gone so white.”
She sat and he put the blanket around her shoulders and rubbed her back. “I don’t think I really believed it,” she said. “Not until I saw the door.”
“It’s still sinking in,” Tom replied. “I’m so glad you’re here. Lucy told me everything. Cat, I never should have brought you back. If I’d known what was going to happen, I never would have.”
Was this her brother? She stared at him, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, the drawn cheeks. There was something different about him. “You mean when you found me in Manchester?”
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking. About Father. About what he was like. And why he was like that. I’ve found myself regretting things I’ve never really even thought about before. I was so angry with you. I thought you were selfish and…and I blamed you for everything I lost out on when I was looking for you. But then, I thought about Mother, and the way Father treated you and…oh, Cat.” His voice cracked and he covered his face in his hands, sinking onto the sofa beside her. “I don’t want to be like him.”
Tom’s shoulders shook as he wept again. She wrapped her arms around one of his and rested her head on his shoulder and it was like they were children again, together against everyone else. It felt like the time of their lives when they both thought Elizabeth was ridiculous and stupid and they were both so scared of their father and Tom came to her room after a beating and sat with her, guilt-ridden, upset. But now it was he who wept, instead of her.
“You’re nothing like him,” she whispered. “You’re gentle and thoughtful and—”
“Gentle? I threw you over my shoulder and carried you out of that flat. And I threatened you. I didn’t listen to you. You didn’t deprive me of a Grand Tour. I al
lowed that to happen because I was too weak to stand up to Father. Too weak to fight for what I wanted. Like you did. It just…it feels like nothing is actually what I thought it was, Cat. And I feel so bad for thinking this way about Father. I loved him, I really did. But I was scared of him too and…and I’m starting to realise that he might not have been the person I made him into, in my mind.”
“Father was angry, all the time,” Cathy said, thinking of that ride in the carriage to the Oak on her wedding day. “He was twisted up inside because of it, I think.”
“But this is my point,” Tom said, resting his hand over one of hers. “I was angry all the time, too. Angry with you. Furious with Mother for leaving. I’ve even been angry with Lucy. Lucy, of all people! There is not a gentler soul in the worlds and yet I’ve found myself shouting at her about the most ridiculous things.”
“This is what happens,” Cathy said, softly. “It gets passed on. Father to son, over and over again, all of these things that no one ever questions. All these ways women are treated. How men are treated, too. Oh, Tom, I hate to see you so upset but I’m so glad you’re crying and that sounds horrible but…the men here are like stone. Not allowed to be anything but strong, you know?” When he nodded, she tightened her embrace around his arm. “But right now, I think you’re being stronger than you ever have before. It’s so brave to admit these things. Father never could, and I think that’s why he was the way he was. He kept it all locked up inside and just lashed out. When he beat me, it wasn’t really about what I’d done. I don’t think so, anyway. I look back and I think about how I was just this kid, you know, just messing up stupid stuff and he treated me like I’d done something a million times worse. So that was all about him. Not me.”
“I should have stopped him,” Tom said.
“You were a kid too. You shouldn’t have had to do that. It was his fault.” She pulled the blanket tight around her, covering his arm too. “It took a long time to figure this stuff out. Time in Mundanus. Reading stuff there, learning from people who talk about things in a way that never happens in the Nether. You never had that opportunity.”
“I spent a lot of time in Mundanus, Cat.”
“Yeah, but not sorting yourself out and learning stuff. You were still under his thumb and stressed out of your mind. How could you have had the space and the time to do that?”
They both fell silent as tea and an assortment of sandwiches and cakes were brought in. Cathy had no idea what time it was, but she hadn’t had anything since breakfast and it was a welcome sight.
“Thank you, Wilson,” Tom said, and extricated himself from Cathy’s arms to see to the tea. As he fussed with the teapot, Cathy wondered how to ask the one question on her mind that she didn’t feel able to speak. She wanted to know what had happened, but decided to let Tom tell her in his own time. He’d never spoken this way with her before, not even when they were children, and she dared to hope that this wasn’t just a state of mind brought on by grief. Could Tom really have changed?
“Miss Rainer and Margritte are both well,” he said out of the blue. “I asked Lucy to write to them and make sure they were finding their feet.” Cathy forced a smile, remembering how he had exiled Natasha. “I’m not proud of what I did,” Tom said as he handed her a cup of tea. “As I said to Lucy, it seemed very important at the time. Now…I regret hurting you. And Miss Rainer. I just couldn’t see any other way to handle it.”
“Is that what you think of what Will did?”
The look of horror on Tom’s face made her feel terrible for doubting him. “No, Cat! Do you think of us the same way? Am I really as terrible as him?”
“Sorry. Look, I want to talk to you about all this stuff, but…I’ve never been very good at being delicate about things, have I?” His lopsided smile reassured her. “I think the two of you have a lot in common, but hear me out. All the stuff you did before, that you just said you regret—that was all to keep men happy. Father. Or the Patroon. Or just Society in general—keeping it as it always has been. You put the needs of those men above mine and Miss Rainer’s and all of the other women—and some men, too—who want it to change. That’s exactly what Will did. He just went further. He put everyone else’s needs and demands above mine and when I refused to comply, he forced me, rather than listening and trying to find another solution with me.”
Tom stared at his teacup. “You’re never going back to him, are you?”
“No.”
He nodded and looked her in the eye. “I support you. I understand.”
The tears came back, rolling fat and hot down her cheeks out of nowhere. She’d never realised how much that mattered, how much she’d needed to hear that from him, until this moment. He reached across and touched her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she said. “Really. I’m okay. Thank you. It means a lot.”
“Does it mean you have to stay with your friend?” Tom twitched. “My God, Cat, the Irises could find you here! Did anyone else see you?”
“No one else knows I’m here and I’ve got protection from them, don’t worry. I’m working on a long-term solution.” She meant the sorcery, but then she wondered whether she should tell him about the bigger plan to just destroy the Nether. No. This wasn’t the time. “Has Will been hassling you to find me?”
“No, he hasn’t told a soul. He’s been saying you’re unwell, which is a flimsy excuse at the best of times. Lucy said a few people in Londinium are gossiping about you being pregnant and it going badly.”
Cathy rolled her eyes. “It’s going to come out sooner or later.”
“Would you be very upset if it did?”
“Of course not.”
“Even if it meant he’d lose everything?”
Cathy finished her tea, feeling better for it. “You mean the Dukedom?” When Tom nodded, she found herself actually thinking about it. She hated Will, but actively wishing harm upon him? But then, it was only his social status. “He dug his own hole. He can dig his way out of it.” She noticed how uncomfortable Tom looked. “What is it?”
“Cat…I think you should know what’s happened. With Father. And the Irises.”
“What have the Irises got to do with any of it?”
“From what I can tell, they found out that Mother left Father somehow. Even though he didn’t see anyone after she left and as far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone. I think what must have happened was that the Irises had a dinner or something arranged, and pushed him to confide when he sent an excuse. Either way, George Iris acted very quickly to exploit the situation.”
Had Will told his father about her mother leaving Father before she had? Cathy was back in her dressing room for a moment, Will’s hands all over her, trying to tempt her out of her underwear as she dressed for the wedding, just before he put the choker on her. She remembered confiding in him, so thoughtlessly, not even considering the possibility that Will would use that information against her family. They’d been allies for so long and she was distracted and stupid and…
And now her father was dead. She felt the tears run over her hand as she covered her mouth, trying desperately to ride out the urge to throw up again.
“Is this too hard, Cat? Would you rather not know?”
She shook her head. “Go on,” she said through her fingers. She had to know.
“George Iris was pressurising Father into signing over his properties before he was publicly disgraced and lost his seat on the Council. You know no one here would ever let a man whose wife had left him keep his status.”
She hadn’t considered it, not for one moment. Cathy had only thought of her mother and the freedom she’d gain. “What happened? Did he refuse?”
Tom was struggling too. He pretended to choose a cake from the stand, but she could see his hand shaking. “He…” Tom’s hand dropped as he stopped trying to hide his distress. “He shot himself, Cat. In the head. With his service revolver. He did it in his study just before the Irises were due to call.”
Hand still firmly over her o
wn mouth, Cathy squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of nausea passed through her. “Does Mother know?”
“I don’t think so. I have no means of getting in touch with her. Not even a Letterboxer works. The letters come straight back. Even when you left, they went somewhere.”
“Oh God, Tom, it’s so awful. I had no idea he’d…I thought it was a heart attack or something.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him her part in it. She couldn’t bear the thought of Tom blaming her as well as the Irises.
“There’s more. George Iris stole our inheritance. He said Father signed all the properties to him. I know he didn’t. Father left me a letter. I don’t know whether you want to see it. It isn’t easy to read.”
How was she supposed to deal with this? She didn’t know whether to cry, to rail against the Irises, to mourn her broken father, or to hate him for all he had done. No. She couldn’t find it in herself to do that. But she didn’t love him, either. Was that okay? The thought of reading his last words made her feel ill, but the thought of never knowing, of leaving this house and never truly knowing what he’d left behind seemed just as awful.
“I’d like to read it,” she finally said. “Otherwise I’ll always wonder what it said.”
Tom pulled the envelope from his inside breast pocket and handed it to her. It was crumpled and warm. It took a while to open it, Tom busying himself with the teapot in an adorable effort to stop her feeling pressured. She read it in silence, the tears returning. Afterwards, she folded it, put it back into the envelope, and handed it back. “You’ve been carrying this all alone?”
“Lucy has been a rock, but no one else has seen this letter, Cat. Not even Elizabeth.”
“I do forgive him,” she said. “But I can’t say I loved him.”
Tom nodded, tucking the letter away again.
“When will the funeral be?”
“I was hoping tomorrow. It depends on you.”
