by Jeff Wheeler
“I came to thank you, actually,” he said, surprising her. Perhaps it showed, because he continued without letting her reply, “Don’t look so surprised, Cettie. I know it was Mother’s idea to invite the Patchetts over for dinner, but certainly the two of you spoke. She wouldn’t have done it without your consent.” His voice contained a hint of sulkiness.
“I have no objection to being good neighbors,” Cettie said. “But a ball felt inappropriate under the circumstances.”
“Of course you’d feel that way,” he said, straightening. He brushed something from his fine sleeve. “You never cared for dancing.”
That wasn’t true. Cettie did like to dance. She was just never given much opportunity. But instead of countering his statement and provoking more hostility, she chose silence instead and folded and tucked the letter into her pocket.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed again. “You and Adam aren’t . . . courting, are you?”
Cettie felt another throb of unease. “No, Stephen. We are friends.”
“Why the secrecy, then?” he challenged.
She was not going to put up with his interrogation any longer. “When have you ever tried to get to know me?” she said it in a calm, straightforward way.
“Ouch,” he said in a wounded tone. “Sheathe your claws. I was only curious.” He glanced around the chamber and quickly changed the subject. “Father always spent a lot of time in here. It smells of burnt metal.” His nostrils flared. “I’ve never cared for it. Too musty. It always feels like you’ll break a glass vial or something. Well, I came to thank you, not to argue. I’ll depart.”
Cettie nodded to him with civil composure. She had no doubt that Stephen would tell Anna about the letter. And she also knew that Anna would want to see it.
The Patchetts were not available for dinner that night, because the sister was away, but the steward accepted the invitation for the next evening. In the interim, there was dancing practice, and Cettie found herself making reasons to avoid the sitting room. The arrival of the older siblings had altered the mood at Fog Willows. She was anxious for them to leave, especially for Stephen to return to his responsibilities at Dolcoath. Surprisingly, Anna never asked about the letter. Cettie wondered whether she should preempt the awkward moment herself.
A tempest bearing the new residents of Gimmerton Sough arrived before sundown the following evening. Cettie had sensed its coming. She’d lowered the defenses after Mr. Sloan’s visit, and there had been no new arrivals since then. With a thought, she communicated the arrival to Mr. Kinross through a Leering in the butler’s domain. He went to welcome the new guests, whom Lady Maren and her children awaited in the sitting room. Cettie gave final instructions to the cook about dinner and left the kitchen to join Mr. Kinross in the entryway. Cettie observed through the Leerings as the group approached the house.
The steward was in his late fifties, not bald but with a fine ruff of gray hair spiked on his head. A fading brown bruise was prominent on his cheekbone. He looked surly and ill-tempered. The Patchett siblings walked before him. Not arm in arm, as one might expect in a formal situation. The sister wore a fine gown with a high, stiff bodice—the newest fashion that was all the rage. Cettie thought it looked about as comfortable as wearing a box. The brother, dressed in his regimentals, put her in mind of a caged beast—full of energy with no outlet. Something about him struck her as familiar, yet he didn’t look familiar. His hair was a bronzed brown, and he had a haughty air. A scar ran across his cheekbone up to the bridge of his nose. She felt power and energy radiating from him, an intensity of thought that surprised her. As he walked, he gazed up at the ceiling, the tapestries, and the decorations with a judging eye. His sister, Joanna, saw Cettie approach and smiled in greeting and did a deep curtsy. Her air was calm and pleasant, the opposite of her brother’s.
“You must be Miss Cettie,” Joanna said with a probing look. “I’ve just come from Pavenham Sky. I met your friend there. Miss Fitzempress. She was charming.”
Cettie was taken aback by the greeting. “Have you?”
“I wasn’t invited,” said the brother with a smirk. “Shall we get on with this, Sister?” he whispered to his companion, a trifle too loud.
“Be civil, Rand. Try, at least. This is our steward, Mr. Batewinch.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Cettie said, giving him a small curtsy.
He looked at her, as if startled to see someone so young in her position. “You are the keeper of the house?”
“I am,” Cettie answered.
“May I discuss something with you before we enter for dinner?”
“If you must, Batewinch,” said Randall with exasperation. He looked at Mr. Kinross and gestured impatiently. “Lead on. Lead on.”
Cettie watched as Mr. Kinross escorted them down the hall to the sitting room. The feeling of familiarity faded as the young man continued down the hall, but Cettie couldn’t shake the thought that she’d met him before.
“Miss Cettie, was it?” said Batewinch.
“Yes. Nice to meet you.”
“You may not feel that way after tonight,” he said with a gruff chuckle. “I will apologize in advance for my ward’s behavior. Not Joanna, she’s a pleasant young lady. But the young man can be rather . . . troublesome. In short, he’s arrogant and rude. But I ask you to forgive him in advance. He’s seen much action these last few years. And youth has never been known to be patient.”
Cettie raised her eyebrows at that comment, for she was younger than Mr. Patchett.
The steward seemed oblivious to his own gauche comment. “Now then. I wondered if you might come to Gimmerton Sough on the morrow, or the next day if it suits you. I’m having a devil of a time getting the Leerings to obey. I’ve banished the foul creatures that lurked there in the years the estate stood empty, yet they keep coming back. It’s like an infestation of rats. The keeper of the house quit after two days. I’ve started the search for a new keeper, but in the meantime, we’re in a rather unpleasant situation. Would you do me that service, young lady? I hear you are especially gifted with the Mysteries. Rare for one so young, but I’m an old bachelor, and I say whatever I like and care not if it offends. It would be neighborly if you could give me your opinion.”
Cettie swallowed, feeling at once uneasy and flattered. She’d not visited Gimmerton Sough since the Lawtons had taken ownership of the estate seven years ago.
“I will try, Mr. Batewinch.”
His expression somewhere between a frown and a smile, he nodded. “Thank you, Miss Cettie. I’m much obliged.” He snorted and looked down the hall, shaking his head. “Best follow them before more trouble starts.”
His words were prophetic.
Mr. Batewinch and Cettie arrived in time to hear the end of the introductions. Joanna was doing most of the talking, while her brother was studying the room as if expecting it to burst into flames. Cettie felt it again—a strange connection to him, like a memory that wouldn’t quite surface.
“You were so good to invite us,” Joanna said. “Everyone has been so friendly.”
“That’s because most of them want something,” her brother murmured under his breath. “Lady Fitzroy, I admire your husband. I’ve not seen anyone, even my own father, show more cool-headed responses during crises. He’s a remarkable man.”
Cettie noticed his gloves were stuffed into his belt. His hands, especially his knuckles, looked battered and scarred.
“Thank you, Mr. Patchett.”
“It’s commander, actually,” he said with a shrug. “But please, those who know me better call me Rand. I hate formality in all its disguises. I’d just as soon call you Maren.”
Mr. Batewinch scowled at his presumed intimacy, but Lady Maren merely nodded. “You may call me Maren.”
“And you’re Fitzroy’s son,” Rand said, giving Stephen a keen look.
“I am,” Stephen replied, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
“When I heard you were looking after the family mines, I
had presumed you’d be . . . bigger.”
“Brother,” Joanna said, putting her hand on his arm and looking at him with worried eyes. Though he flinched, he did not brush her hand away.
Stephen’s face went pale with rage, his nostrils flaring. Malcolm, unable to help himself, snorted out a chuckle, which he quickly tried to play off as a cough. Phinia’s eyes flared with shock and outrage as she dealt her husband’s arm a discreet swat.
“I say my mind, Sister. I cannot do otherwise.” Rand’s eyes never left Stephen’s face. “So you are here, wearing that, while we are out bleeding and dying to win this war?” The look of contempt on his face showed his feelings plainly. Stephen’s cheeks went even paler, if that was possible.
Cettie glanced at Mr. Batewinch, who looked at once resigned and disappointed. It was obvious he had seen such behavior before. And that there was nothing he could do to control it. Now she had a better understanding of why the man had not yet redistributed Admiral Patchett’s fortune.
“Perhaps we should return to Gimmerton Sough,” said Mr. Batewinch sullenly, his eyes flashing.
“Already?” said Rand with bemusement. “No, I don’t want to disappoint my sister. We can eat without becoming enemies, can’t we? But if you start any music, I promise I will leave at once.”
Lady Maren looked at Cettie with a surprised expression that nonetheless showed her willingness to press on despite the rude comments. “Shall we eat, then?” Maren said brightly.
Stephen glared at the other fellow. Cettie surmised they were probably the same age. So different in temperament and experience. She agreed with some of the neighbor’s sentiments, but she would never have spoken such words aloud. It was a virtue to be soft-spoken. To be guarded and careful not to provoke enmity. Meekness was not weakness, at least not to her.
Rand’s forthrightness had just earned him an enemy. She could see that in the smoldering look in Stephen’s eyes.
But Cettie also sensed that Rand’s outspokenness, his brashness and disdain for propriety, came from experiences he had endured in the war. This was a troubled soul, not a bully. There was something different about him, a spirit of independence and free thought. He would not have gone along with the wealthy set at Muirwood. No, this man wanted to lead others.
And that intrigued her.
CHAPTER NINE
BROKEN LEERINGS
The dinner did not go any better than the introductions in the sitting room. Cettie could not help but notice that Rand seemed incapable of sitting still for long. Joanna led most of the conversations, and sometimes her brother shot out a rude remark, but she didn’t seem too upset by his behavior. She’d merely give him a pitying look before proceeding as if nothing had happened. Stephen was rankled and didn’t involve himself in any of the exchanges.
Phinia could not be repressed, however, and she directed several cutting remarks at the visitor, which added to the awkwardness of the meal. Malcolm was more interested in the food than the conversation anyway, so it was left to Lady Maren to be a calming influence. By the time dessert was served, everyone was emotionally exhausted from the ordeal, and Mr. Batewinch remarked it was time to depart.
Cettie and Mr. Kinross escorted the guests back down the main corridor. She observed Joanna asking something of her brother but could only hear the brother’s sharp response.
“Let it alone, Jo. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Mr. Batewinch scowled at the young man and let out a frustrated sigh. Rand merely gave him a baleful look and shook his head. “I’ll wait for you on the tempest. I need air.” He then stormed ahead, and the servants posted at the doors quickly opened them before he could wrench them apart himself.
After he was gone, Joanna turned toward Cettie with a melancholy expression. “It was good of the family to invite us for dinner,” she said, dropping a brief curtsy. “I’m sorry he was so difficult tonight. He’s not always like this. Please don’t think too ill of us.”
Cettie was surprised by the comment. It would seem the Fitzroys weren’t the only family Randall Patchett had offended. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Patchett,” she said, inclining her head.
“Likewise.” There was something in her eyes, a burden she was carrying. Cettie could sense it but did not think it the proper time to press her. “I did enjoy meeting your friend Miss Fitzempress,” the girl added. “The others spurned her, but I thought she was charming. Three years is far too long in my view to shun someone. Especially someone of her rank. I could tell she was surprised that I spoke to her.”
An ache bloomed in Cettie’s heart. “I’ve sent her several letters,” she said in a quiet voice, “but they have all been returned unopened. I don’t think Lady Corinne will permit them. But I’m saving them for her still.”
Joanna’s expression softened into one of warmth. “You are a true friend, Miss Cettie. You may not know, but she was summoned to court. This happened while I was at Pavenham Sky.”
“Indeed?” Cettie asked in surprise.
“You didn’t know! Well, I’m pleased that I could be the one to tell you. When I have a reason to see her again, I will let her know about the letters.”
“Please do.” Cettie gave her a warm smile.
“Come, Batewinch,” Joanna said to the steward. “Before Rand starts bullying the pilot to leave without us!”
Mr. Batewinch nodded to them and stepped closer to Cettie. “You will remember to come by Gimmerton Sough? On that favor I asked of you?”
“I will come tomorrow, if that is agreeable.”
“It is. Thank you for your hospitality. And your . . . understanding.” He looked pained and embarrassed by the entire ordeal. Normally someone of his station wouldn’t have eaten with the family, but he had always been on hand—which Cettie had interpreted as a preventative measure.
After they were gone, Mr. Kinross shook his head and muttered, “Astonishing.”
“Our new neighbors are quite different than the Hardings,” Cettie observed wryly.
The butler flashed her a bemused smile and arched his eyebrows at her. “To say the least, ma’am. So you will be going to Gimmerton Sough tomorrow? I’ll have the tempest prepared for you.”
“I’ll take the zephyr,” Cettie said. She was confident in her piloting skills.
“As you please, ma’am.” He chuckled to himself and departed to the dining room to oversee the servants as they cleaned up.
Cettie joined the rest of the family in the sitting room.
“Are they finally gone?” Phinia demanded angrily. She was pacing like an animal on the prowl.
Cettie nodded, for the Control Leering had alerted her to their tempest departing.
“Even though they’re relations, I always thought the Hardings could be a bit ridiculous,” she went on, “but at least they had courtesy. The commander is handsome, there’s no denying it, but he’s impossible. How ill-mannered.”
Stephen was sulking in a chair, stroking his upper lip. “I don’t know about you, but I think it was a show. They disdain those who own their property. They’re only leasing, after all.”
Cettie thought that a hypocritical comment coming from Stephen. He had been enamored with the Hardings’ daughter—an infatuation that had ended as abruptly as the reversal of their fortunes. He was only interested in allying himself to someone he considered an equal.
“We are not inviting them back,” Phinia said assuredly.
Lady Maren wrinkled her brow. “Is it now your decision whether or not to invite guests to Fog Willows?”
“Surely, Mother, you cannot approve of how they treated us?”
“I don’t approve of rudeness in any of its forms, including my own children’s,” she said with a meaningful look at them. “We don’t know all the circumstances. That young man is suffering from some sort of affliction.”
“It’s called arrogance,” Stephen quipped.
“Because he wounded your pride?” she challenged. “Can you not summon a spark of empa
thy, Stephen? They lost their father in this accursed war. How would you all feel if that happened to our family?”
Her words caused a visceral reaction in all of them. Cettie’s insides squirmed with dread, and Anna, who was sitting on a couch across the room, looked on the verge of tears. Even Stephen and Phinia appeared chagrined. Malcolm swallowed and set down the cup he’d been drinking from. He looked abashed too.
“So have a care,” Lady Maren said, noting their reactions. “Don’t pretend you understand the Patchetts until you’ve imagined being in their circumstances. There’s a reason the Lawtons allowed them to lease Gimmerton Sough. They may have inherited more wealth than we realize. There may be some special consideration at work, which we don’t understand. They are our neighbors, and I intend to learn more about them before I judge them.”
Although Gimmerton Sough was the nearest manor to Fog Willows, it was still a journey by zephyr, but Cettie loved the thrill of speed when she was piloting the sky ship, which made the journey shorter. The estate was an ancient castle that had been plucked out of a moat, and the stone on the lower portion still showed watermarks from centuries of high and low tides. There were two main sections connected by a double-arched stone bridge. While not as large and grand as Fog Willows, it was nonetheless a sizable manor. Even so, it bore the marks of years of emptiness—broken windows in need of repair, ivy that had crawled up the walls unchecked.
Once, there had been a small park before the entrance, and she saw a few laborers working hard to try to tame it again. The grass had withered, and many of the bushes were dead. As she landed and moored the zephyr, some of the groundskeepers glanced up at her before returning to their work. Several pots of lavender bushes had been brought up, and the ground was being prepared for the new plants. The sight of the lavender reminded her of the little cottage she and Sera had shared at Muirwood, the thought of which made her smile as she descended the rope ladder.
Cettie walked past the workmen to the front doors. No one opened them for her as she approached, so she lingered on the landing with a hint of confusion and unease. The wood around the edges of the door was weathered and peeling. There was a Leering at the threshold, but it felt dead.
