—except for money. Five hundred regals! It might as well have been a thousand. Or ten thousand. The archdeacon said age did not matter. Yet it would if Eldyn died of old age and toil before he could save enough to enter the Church. No matter what Eldyn did, he could not wash himself of the sins of Vandimeer Garritt—not without five hundred regals, at any rate. And where was he going to get that? He was not going to earn it on the wages of a scrivener.
Yet what about the wages of an illusionist? Eldyn lifted his hand. His palm was empty. However, it took only the slightest thought, and suddenly he held a handful of thick gold coins.
Good God, what was he doing, working illusions in a church? Did he want to make his lot more impossible yet by compounding his sins? Except it didn’t matter. What you have done before you enter the Church is of no importance, the archdeacon had said.
Eldyn gazed at the shining coins on his hand. He could not pay his portion to the Church in illusory regals. This was not a dark tavern where they wouldn’t notice a silver penny going copper in the drawer. But there was another way that illusions could give him money—real, hard coin. The wage Madame Richelour had offered him was double his wage as a scrivener, and she had said that when he moved from understudy to performer, his wage would double again.
Nor would he have to give up his work clerking at Graychurch. For he could do one job by day and one by night. Yes, sleep would suffer, but that was a small sacrifice. He did a quick cipher in his head. With his combined wages, he could save all he needed for himself and Sashie in no more than a year’s time. Nor did he have any reason to fear that working at the theater might irreparably tarnish his soul; the archdeacon himself had assured Eldyn it did not matter what he did before he entered the Church.
A thrill passed through Eldyn at the idea of standing on the stage with Dercy and crafting illusions together. True, he would have to give it all up when he entered the Church, but it would be easier then, for he would have had an entire year to experience life in the theater. No doubt by then he would be quite weary of it, and more than ready for the quiet life of a priest.
Until that time, he had coin to earn. He would go that very evening to the Theater of the Moon and tell Madame Richelour he would gladly and gratefully accept her offer.
Even as he decided this, a thought nagged at the back of his brain. Was there not something else he was supposed to do that night? His pleasantly distracted mind could not seize upon what the thing was. Besides, what could be more important than this?
Eldyn tossed the glittering coins into the air, and with a flash they became a flock of doves which fluttered up to the vaults above.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THOUGH IT WAS not a far length down Marble Street from the Halls of Assembly to The Seventh Swan, Rafferdy’s spirits had traveled to an entirely different realm by the time the carriage neared the inn. By then, all thoughts of Stouts and Magisters and White Ladies had gone from his head, replaced by more pleasant notions. Soon they would sit and have tea, or go for a stroll, while her combination of good wit and good sense amused and delighted him in a way politics never could.
Why had he ever conceived to deprive himself of Lady Quent’s company? He supposed he had dreaded the pain of seeing her again; and indeed, he had suffered a severe discomfort upon their meeting at Lady Marsdel’s house. However, as was so often the case, the anticipation of a hurt was far worse than the hurt itself, and like the sting of a thorn, it passed almost as soon as it was removed. He now had no qualms at all about seeing her.
The carriage came to a halt before the inn. Rafferdy did not wait for his driver to come around, but rather opened the door and bounded out, cane in hand.
“Will you be long, sir?” his man asked.
“I have no doubt of it!”
The driver bowed, and Rafferdy proceeded into the inn. He found himself in a parlor room that was appointed in a fine but staid manner. It was in every way respectable, and in every way dull. No doubt she would tell him how practical it was to stay in such a modest but sufficient place, and how both propriety and funds were preserved. However, he would make it his particular purpose today to induce her to admit how stuffy and boring it was! Amused already by this idea, he found the innkeeper and asked him to tell Lady Quent she had a visitor.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said, “but her ladyship is not here at present.”
Rafferdy shook his head. He had not accounted for this possibility, and thus it was difficult to comprehend. “Not here?”
“Just so, sir. She went out a little while ago.”
“But when is she expected back?”
“I cannot say, sir. She didn’t say. Though I do think she might be gone for a good while. She and her visitors were to take a drive in the country, I understand. And it’s a fine day, isn’t it?”
A fine day? No, not any longer. Rafferdy felt his spirits returning to their previous low state. That was foolish. He had come on a whim and could hardly fault her for not being here. Besides, he had their visit tomorrow to look forward to.
Yet that offered scant solace when he wished so much to see her now. Besides, who could she have gone for a drive with? Hadn’t she mentioned that Mr. Quent was to be gone from the city? It couldn’t be the Baydons. Mrs. Baydon would surely have included him in such a scheme.
“Should I tell her you called, sir?”
Rafferdy supposed there was no harm in letting her know he had come. In fact, it might make her think of him, and thus serve to remind her of their visit tomorrow. Not that she would ever forget such a thing.
“Yes, please do.”
“And who should I tell her called?”
“My name is—”
“Mr. Rafferdy!”
Both he and the innkeeper looked up as a pretty young woman with an oval face flounced down the steps. It was the youngest of Mrs. Quent’s sisters. She came to him directly, made a florid but comely curtsy, and then proceeded to seize his arm in a vigorous manner.
“Mr. Rafferdy, it is so marvelous to see you! You’ve been away so long. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? It is very rude of you to come so unexpectedly. And where is Mr. Garritt? Is he not with you?”
Rafferdy managed a smile. “If it is rude of me to come unexpectedly, Miss Lily, would it not have been twice as rude to bring a guest?”
“No, it would have been just as rude, but far more considerate.”
“Well, I will see if he can be brought tomorrow.”
“But you must bring him! Do not even think to come to call tomorrow without Mr. Garritt.”
These words rankled. Was he not of any value himself, that he must bring another with him to earn his entry? He maintained his smile. “Where is your sister today?”
“Rose? She’s upstairs, of course.”
“I don’t mean Miss Lockwell. Rather, I am referring to Lady Quent.”
Lily’s face lit up. “Oh, she is out with the viscountess!”
Rafferdy was not astonished by anything that went on in Invarel these days, but these words did surprise him. “You mean Lady Crayford?”
Lily nodded. “Yes, Ivy attended the viscountess’s party last night. Then this morning Lady Crayford and some of her companions came to take Ivy for a drive in the country.”
“Her companions? Who was with her?”
A hint of a frown clouded Lily’s otherwise exuberant expression. “I don’t know. Rose and I were away at the time. I only heard it from one of the maids. I do so wish I could have gone with them.” She sighed, but then quickly brightened. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be able to go the next time. No doubt Lady Crayford will take Ivy on many drives in the country. Ivy and the viscountess are the very best of friends now.”
The best of friends? Rafferdy didn’t know what to think of this. He supposed he should be happy that Ivy had made such a high and valuable connection. In the course of barely a month she had been made a lady and had been welcomed into the most fashionable circles of society in the c
ity. Yes, he should be very happy for her.
But it was all he could do to keep some vestige of a smile upon his face. “Very well, I will see you tomorrow, Miss Lily, and I will look forward to hearing about your sister’s drive in the country.”
“Yes, Rose and I will be very glad to see you. And Mr. Garritt, of course. I’m sure we will have a grand time. Only you shouldn’t expect Ivy to be here. The maid told me that the viscountess said they would all be going out for a drive again tomorrow to find more pretty scenes to paint. Lady Crayford is a very accomplished artist, you know.”
Rafferdy took a step back, as if struck a blow. “But tomorrow—are you sure?”
Lily gave an emphatic nod. “Very sure. If Ivy had the chance to go for a drive with the viscountess, could you imagine her doing otherwise?”
The dim interior of the inn had suddenly grown oppressive and cloying. It was difficult to breathe.
“Excuse me,” he said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “There is … I must go see to something now.”
“Are you going to see Mr. Garritt, you mean?”
He stared at her stupidly. “Mr. Garritt?”
“Yes, to tell him he must come with you to see us tomorrow.”
Rafferdy was beyond words. Instead he made a stiff bow. Then he put on his hat, gripped his cane, and fled out the door.
HIS CARRIAGE WAS not before the inn. However, that was to be expected; he had told the driver he would be a while, and the man had no doubt gone to find a pint to pass the time.
It was just as well. Rafferdy could not sit still; he needed to move. Cane in hand, he walked along Marble Street, his mind awhirl. There had to be some mistake. He could not believe Mrs. Quent would either forget or disregard a prior commitment. It was entirely against her character. Mrs. Quent would never do such a thing.
But what of Lady Quent? It was impossible to separate a person from their circumstances. One’s position influenced everything that one perceived or thought or said. You could take the same infant and place him in the house of a chimney sweep or a lord, and by the time he was a man he would be a chimney sweep or a lord himself. Who was to say, just because Mrs. Quent would not do such a thing, that Lady Quent would not do it without equivocation?
In any case, why should she forgo such an outing with a viscountess to endure a visit with him? What had he ever been able to offer her other than the false hint of a promise he never had the power to make or to keep? Mr. Quent had offered her something of real value. Now so had Lady Crayford. What use was Rafferdy to her anymore—if indeed he had ever been any?
“Hey now, watch where you’re going!” a man called out.
Rafferdy snapped his head up, for he had been gazing at the ground as he went. Now he saw pale spires rising up before him; he had walked nearly all the way back to the Halls of Assembly.
He looked around, fearing he was about to collide with someone. However, the shouted admonition had not been for him. Ahead, a group of people lurched and stumbled in all directions as a man moved hurriedly down the side of the street, for if they had not gotten out of his path it was certain he would have careened into them. The man’s coat of blue velvet was cut in the latest mode, and he held the brim of his hat with a gloved hand so that it shadowed his face.
The man made a quick turn to avoid a boy who was hawking a stack of broadsheets. As he did, he clipped a plump woman in the gray dress of a servant, knocking the basket from her hands and sending apricots rolling across the cobbles. She gave a cry as she lost her balance, and she reached for him to keep herself aright, clasping at his free hand.
He gave his right arm a violent shake, freeing himself of her grasp, then dashed into Marble Street. At that moment a carriage was racing up the street. The driver cried out, pulling on the reins. The hooves of the horses struck visible sparks, and the wheels made a horrible din. Rafferdy thought the carriage would surely run down the man in the blue coat as the other flung up his right hand in a warding gesture.
Rafferdy drew in a breath of astonishment, and not only because the carriage managed to swerve and just avoid striking the fellow. The plump woman must have stripped off his glove when she grasped at his hand, for it was bare now, and as he held it before him Rafferdy saw the black, angular lines that marked the palm.
In an instant it was over. The carriage rattled down the street; people continued on their way as the woman in gray retrieved her basket. There was a flicker of blue in the entrance of a narrow lane across Marble Street. Rafferdy stared, mouth agape.
Then, making sure no more carriages were coming, he hurried across Marble Street.
Rafferdy stepped into the lane where he had seen the man in the blue coat vanish. Why he was doing this, he could not entirely fathom. After seeing the body of the traitor on the opening day of Assembly, the last thing he wished for was to be reminded of the awful encounter. However, the markings he had glimpsed on the corpse’s hand that day were the same as those he had just seen on the palm of the man in the blue coat. He was certain of it. Only what did the marks signify? They reminded him of some of the symbols he had seen in the ancient book of magick at Mr. Bennick’s house.
The lane curved past a row of brick houses that quickly became drab as he left behind the bustle of Marble Street. It occurred to him that what he was doing was far from prudent. The man in the blue coat was likely a rebel and a murderer. Or perhaps he was something worse. Rafferdy would never forget how gray fluid had seeped from the corpse’s neck that day. A shiver crawled across his skin. All the same he kept moving, wondering where such a being might be going in so great a hurry.
He reached an intersection with another lane, and he looked both ways. Each direction was devoid of people. All he could hear was the muted rumble of Marble Street and the noise of his own heart.
Then he caught it—the echo of footsteps receding down the lane to his left. Rafferdy started in that direction, increasing his pace as he went until he was nearly at a run. He turned a corner just in time to see a figure in blue pass between two buildings and vanish into the dimness of an alleyway. Gripping his cane, Rafferdy pursued.
“Stop!” a gruff voice called out.
Rafferdy was so startled that he could only obey. He turned around. A hulking man had just rounded the corner and now moved toward Rafferdy with swift strides, a pair of redcrests marching behind him.
“Stay right there,” the man growled as he approached.
He was clad in various shades of gray, and his clothes were of a fine, even rich, cut. But there was nothing fine about the cut of the man who inhabited them. He had a thick, bullish neck, oversized hands, and a deeply cragged brow. In moments he was upon Rafferdy.
“Mr. Moorkirk!” Rafferdy exclaimed.
The other’s eyes were small and set close together, but there was a keenness to them. They flicked down toward Rafferdy’s hands.
“Hand me your cane.”
Again Rafferdy was too astonished to do anything but comply. He held out his cane, and it was jerked from his hand.
“Now remove your gloves.”
Rafferdy shook his head, mute with a sudden dread. The soldiers reached for the hilts of their swords. Moorkirk’s expression darkened into a glower of menace.
“I said remove your gloves, Mr. Rafferdy!”
A sick feeling stirred in Rafferdy’s stomach as at last he understood. He fumbled with his kidskin gloves, tugging and jerking at the fingers as quickly as he could. First one glove then the other fell to the street. Moorkirk snatched Rafferdy’s right hand, turning it over so quickly that Rafferdy experienced a sharp pain. This action was repeated with the left hand. For a moment all of them were still as stone.
Moorkirk let out a breath. The soldiers released their swords.
“I saw him,” Rafferdy managed to utter. It was difficult to draw a breath.
Moorkirk glared at him. “Who did you see?”
“The man in the blue coat. You were following him, weren’t you? He ha
d marks on his hand like the—like the other did at Assembly. I saw him go between those two buildings. It was just a minute ago.”
He pointed to the place where the man in blue had vanished. Moorkirk studied him for a long moment; Rafferdy willed himself not to flinch or look away.
The larger man glanced at the soldiers. “Go,” he said.
At once the two redcrests dashed down the street and headed into the mouth of the alley.
Moorkirk returned his gaze to Rafferdy. “So, once again when I am investigating one of them I come upon you as well, Mr. Rafferdy. It is a curious thing.”
Rafferdy moistened his lips. “I saw him on Marble Street. He ran into a woman, and he must have lost his glove, because I saw the palm of his hand. Then he was nearly run over by a carriage. Only he wasn’t.” Rafferdy knew he was babbling, but he could not stop himself. He finished describing how he had followed the man in the blue coat to this lane.
Moorkirk raised a dark eyebrow. “You followed him, Mr. Rafferdy? Why would you do such a thing, knowing what they are?”
A chill coursed through Rafferdy. “They? You mean there are more of them—the men with gray blood?”
Moorkirk seemed to think for a moment. “Yes,” he said in a low voice.
“And they all have that same symbol on their hands?”
“The ones we have found all bear the same markings, yes. Nor can I believe it is chance that it has become popular fashion to wear gloves just when such men have appeared in the city. Gloves just like you were wearing.”
Rafferdy blinked, then his wits cleared a bit. It was one thing to be suspected of being a traitor to the kingdom; it was another thing altogether to be accused of following a mode rather than setting it.
“I assure you, I have been wearing gloves since well before it became popular to do so!”
The House on Durrow Street Page 33
