“Look, let me think about it for a bit, yes?” Edwin said, rubbing the back of his head.
“Of course, of course. But, please don’t take too long? I’m not getting any younger.”
“Um, thank you, for the tea,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’d best be going. Robin?”
Robin was sitting with the cake still in his lap where it had fallen. He came to his senses and placed it back on his plate, wiping the crumbs from himself.
“Thank you, ladies. Good day,” he said.
Together, they left the beautiful tea room with a good deal more to think about than when they entered.
“OUR CHILD WILL have the most magnificent copper mane,” Iris whispered into her clasped hands.
“Steady on, he’s not agreed yet,” Eva said as she lifted a delicate forkful of honey cake to her lips.
“Oh, but he will, I’m certain he will,” Iris squeaked.
“You never know, Mr. Shipp might not be too happy with the proposition.”
“He’ll be delighted! Can you imagine anyone better suited to being a father than Robin Shipp?”
“Yes—Edwin Farriner. It’s why we asked him.”
“You know what I mean. Robin will be a wonderful parent.”
“He may not be anything if he and Edwin never wed.”
“It’s much too soon for them to be considering marriage.”
“It wasn’t too soon for us,” Eva said with a grin.
“We’re different. We’re spontaneous, spur of the moment, quick off the mark. Robin is…”
“Slow?”
Iris playfully slapped her wife’s wrist. “Sedate,” she corrected.
Eva laughed. “Have you tried these cakes? They’re exquisite. I must congratulate the baker.”
She waved a hand to call over their server, who was dispatched at once to fetch the person responsible for the wonderful, flavoursome cakes.
He returned moments later with the head chef in tow.
“Ladies,” she said, dipping into a rough approximation of a curtsey.
“These are delicious,” Eva said of the cakes. “Wherever did you learn to bake them?”
“Well, I, I mean to say, it’s an old family recipe, ma’am,” the chef said.
“Really? An old family recipe? It’s just they taste quite similar to ones I’ve had in Blashy Cove,” Eva said.
The chef became visibly uncomfortable.
“Ah, yes, you see, when I say an old family recipe, I don’t mean my family, I mean, well…wait there, please.”
With that, she dashed off back to the kitchens and returned in the company of a dark-skinned woman with tired eyes.
“This is the person who baked them,” the chef said, sheepishly.
“And what might your name be?” Eva asked.
“Hester, ma’am,” said the baker. “Hester Farriner.”
Chapter Five
DUNCAN TOOK A bit of coaxing but eventually he accepted Robin’s offer to join them for a drink in the bar of the Lion Lies Waiting. A flight of steps with a woodworm-riddled bannister led the men down to a long room. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with dry, dust-caked volumes wedged in without care. The names on most were age-worn and illegible, and a few of the books looked brittle enough to crumble at the lightest touch. The far wall held a tiny fireplace and another flight of stairs leading up to a poorly-lit mezzanine. Across the centre of the room ran a massive wooden arch, so thick and old it looked as if it were supporting the entire building. It had been defaced countless times, scratched with initials, rude jokes and genitalia in varying sizes and states. The gaps in the structure of the arch, too, were stuffed to capacity with books.
The whole space was cast in a sickly yellow light by lanterns hanging from the low ceiling. The men were assaulted by the musty air of the place, but Robin’s stomach was rumbling so they sat at a rickety table near the fireplace and ordered food. Three plates of unappetising meat and hard bread were soon dropped onto their table. Edwin tutted when he lifted a roll and tapped it.
“I could bake better than this in my sleep.”
The bar started to fill up. A group of women in shawls, stony-faced and silent, sat on a bench beneath a row of tiny, grimy windows set high in the wall. A bunch of men in tricornes sat in a corner, eyeing the Merryapple trio and muttering among themselves. More than a few heads turned to examine the new arrivals, and while the patrons were carrying on as though the Merryapple men were regular visitors, Duncan was keenly aware they were being closely scrutinised. Edwin didn’t seem comfortable and shifted about in his seat. Robin, true to form, was oblivious and chatted away happily to whoever would listen.
Some other drinkers, clearly not locals, were mingling with the townsfolk. Robin suggested from their clothing and tattoos they were most likely sailors who passed through regularly and were perhaps the other guests at the inn. The air was laced with pipe smoke, made worse by the plumes belched out by the small fire beside them bravely trying to heat the room. Over by the steps, a group of musicians plucked at their instruments and cleared their throats. They began to sing local songs about losing one’s love at Midwinter, dying in a silver mine during the first snow of winter, and getting scurvy when sailing to a new life overseas, amongst other similarly cheery topics.
While they digested their food and drank rum strong enough to strip the barnacles from a ship’s hull, the trio talked quietly. Edwin was getting a little tipsy and was explaining all the things the inn’s cook had gotten wrong about baking when Duncan’s attention drifted to the archway. The man standing there was good-looking, that much was certain. Even to those whose tastes didn’t run to the slightly heavyset, the appeal of his sparkling eyes and boyish grin would have been undeniable. He was Duncan’s age, more or less, a tad taller, his head square, his hair wavy. A few days unshaven, his cheeks were dappled with salt and pepper stubble and he was dressed in a grey waistcoat over a white shirt with the sort of loose-fitting sleeves popular in the town. He had a plump lower lip Duncan immediately wanted to nibble. And he was coming over.
“I’m terribly sorry,” the stranger said, “but do you mind if I join you? That’s the only seat and my feet are ever so tired.”
“Actually—” Duncan began.
“Not at all, please, sit,” Edwin said, pushing out the chair beside Duncan with his foot. Duncan wasn’t sure if he did it because he was drunk and magnanimous, or drunk and mischievous. Whatever the reason, Duncan shot daggers at him.
“I’m not sure why no one else has claimed it,” Edwin said, winking at Duncan, whose cheeks started to flush.
“Ah, well, it’s next to you lot,” the man said.
“I beg your pardon?” Edwin said as the man sat down and placed his tankard on the table.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean…hah, it’s just you’re not from round here, so people are keeping their distance.”
“This is an inn. Surely the people who drink here are used to strangers?” Edwin said.
“Oh, they are. You wouldn’t be quite so welcome in other establishments.”
“This is considered a warm welcome on Blackrabbit?” Edwin said.
The stranger leaned in close to Duncan, who suddenly found his mouth had run dry.
“I would like to play with those,” the man said.
It took Duncan a moment to realise he was talking about his spectacles.
“One of a kind, I’m afraid. My own design,” he said proudly, adjusting them slightly.
“Magnifying lenses attached to individual arms. Fascinating,” said the stranger, moving in for a closer look at the glasses. Duncan was transfixed by his beautiful eyes.
“Sorry, this is entirely too close for a stranger to get. Oliver Boon,” the man said, smiling and holding out his hand.
Duncan promptly shook it, admiring the strength of his grip.
“Duncan Hunger,” he replied, “and this is Edwin Farriner and Robin Shipp.”
“Are you here for long?” Oliver asked.
“We’re over on business,” Duncan lied. “Just a couple of nights.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. If you stay until solstice, you’ll be able to see some of my work. I’m a mask maker, you see. I’m providing the masks for the tar barrel carriers.”
The musicians were hitting their stride, and getting louder, making it difficult to hear what others were saying but Duncan was happy enough to sit and stare at Oliver. He wasn’t being in the least bit subtle, but after two or three rums, he found he didn’t much care. The music had taken an upbeat turn, with one woman playing a pipe and tabor, and another playing a battered fiddle. The song was one everyone else in the pub knew and was singing along to. It told the story of the triumphant victory of the Chase Trading Company over a ship of bloodthirsty pirates. The people sang joyously about how each and every one of the vicious marauders drowned as the Company men watched and cheered. The lyrics were shockingly graphic in their depiction of the pirates’ suffering. Though the pirate vessel wasn’t mentioned by name, it contained more than enough details for the men from Merryapple to ascertain its origins. To them, it was clearly about the sinking of a ship called The Caldera, which meant the entire pub—including Oliver Boon—was unknowingly singing a jubilant song about the death of Robin’s father.
Listening to the lyrics, Duncan frowned and turned to Robin, who sat with his cap low over his eyes. Edwin had decisively moved from tipsy to drunk and was visibly irate.
“Don’t you like this song?” Oliver asked. “I remember my father singing it when I was young.”
Edwin stood up and slammed his tankard onto the table top.
“Those crewmen had families and you sing happily about their deaths! Show some respect!”
“Those crewmen were pirates!” shouted a voice from the crowd.
“You don’t like it, you can go home!” someone else bellowed.
“Keep it up and you’ll wake the man upstairs!” said another, her comment causing a peculiar reaction in the crowd as many turned their attention to the mezzanine level above where the men were sitting.
Robin took Edwin by the arm and calmed him down.
“It’s fine, my darlin’, sit down. They don’t know any better, it’s just a song to ’em.”
He smiled and held his big hand to Edwin’s face. “But thank you for lookin’ out for me.”
Edwin looked a little confused, then ashamed. His actions had provoked a change in mood amongst the drinkers and their conversations dulled, their singing stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked.
“Nothin’,” Robin said. “I think we’ve ’ad enough merriment for one night.”
Sensing the rising tension in the room, Duncan agreed. As they lifted their coats and prepared to leave, Oliver spoke to Duncan.
“I hope your friend isn’t too upset?”
“No, he’s fine, it’s…a long story,” Duncan said.
“Perhaps you could tell me about it. At my shop? I could show you my masks.”
He slipped a little card with an address on it into Duncan’s hand.
“Perhaps. Thank you for your company this evening, Mr. Boon. Goodnight,” Duncan said, before following Robin and Edwin upstairs.
The music, such as it was, continued for a long time afterwards.
THE GRAVELLED COURTYARD of Chase Manor crunched beneath horse hooves and coach wheels.
“That sound always makes me nervous,” Iris said. “It will forever be associated with secret liaisons and moonlight flits.”
“That must be why it gives me a thrill,” Eva said, grinning.
A young girl with short hair opened the door of the carriage and the women disembarked. As several footmen collected their belongings, Eva took her wife’s arm.
“I wasn’t sure we’d ever be back here,” Iris said, gripping Eva’s elbow with a mittened hand.
Eva stared up at the huge house looming out of the grey winter mist. “I must admit I have missed it.”
The manor stretched out before them in either direction, a monument to the town’s craftspeople. Constructed from stone quarried on the far side of the island and patterned after Eva’s grandmother’s family home in Devonshire, it was so pale in colour it merged with the winter fog. One could almost miss it entirely if it weren’t for the candles burning in the windows and the one addition Eva’s grandmother, Allyne, made to the design—the opulent glass dining hall on the topmost floor named Moonwatch.
Together they strode up the broad granite steps rising up to kiss the oak doors, both of which held an ostentatious Midwinter wreath. Inside, the thick, curved bannisters of the staircase led from the polished floor of the entrance, itself inlaid with a mosaic pattern of a ship’s wheel, up to a generous landing before splitting in two. The landing, where Eva had sat as a child, watching the comings and goings of the great house, had a startling new feature. A great grey beast stood with its menacing fangs bared, hind legs braced and one paw lifted, as if it were set to pounce. Iris stood in wide-eyed astonishment. Eva licked her teeth and almost laughed at the crassness of the statement.
“A stuffed wolf…” Iris said.
“Just ignore it, darling,” Eva whispered.
The hallway and overhead galleries were deserted. They hadn’t expected to be welcomed by a throng of well-wishers, but they thought someone would have been there to receive them.
“You’ve arrived safely, then, Lady Chase.”
The women turned to face Mrs. Knight, the butler, who had appeared from nowhere. Small, round and sharp featured, she was dressed in customary black, with a pale lace shawl about her shoulders. Her snowy hair was set tight.
“Actually, its Lady Wolfe-Chase now,” Eva corrected.
“Of course. My mistake,” Mrs. Knight said with a stern face. “I must admit, we were all surprised when we received your letter announcing your imminent arrival. Given the nature of your departure.”
As she spoke, she looked Iris up and down with expert dismissiveness.
“I half expected the doors to be barred and armed guards at the gate,” Eva said.
The butler narrowed her eyes in such a way as to give Eva the distinct impression barricading the house against her return was exactly what she would have done if she’d had her way.
“You’ll be in your old rooms, Lady Chase. Sorry, I mean Lady Wolfe-Chase,” she said, hitting the first part of the name entirely too hard. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a hundred things to prepare for our dinner guests tomorrow.”
“You needn’t go to any trouble,” Iris said.
Mrs. Knight glared at her. “I didn’t mean you.”
“Then who?” Eva asked.
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the matter.”
“How mysterious. Regardless, tell cook to prepare a further three meals. We will have friends joining us,” Eva said as she pulled off her fur-lined satin gloves.
“Cook won’t be happy about the short notice, but I warned her you’d do something like this,” Mrs. Knight called over her shoulder as she sailed off.
“She still frightens me,” Iris said.
“I have not missed everything about this place,” Eva said, taking Iris’s arm once again, “but when it’s ours, we can make a few changes.”
The footmen who had been hovering nervously at the entrance way took Mrs. Knight’s departure as their cue to complete their journey.
The suite of rooms which had once been Eva’s was located in the east wing of the manor. When all of their bags and boxes had been brought to the rooms, the first footman began to unpack them, hanging their garments in wardrobes and laying them in drawers. Iris kept trying to help him.
“Let him be,” Eva said, taking her hand and leading her to the window. “Let the boy work.”
They stood by the window and gazed out across the courtyard, though there wasn’t much to see at that time of the evening. Lamps ringed the area, illuminating the snow-topped hedges. Iris uttered a sigh of relief when the door clicked shut
.
“I’ll never get used to being waited on hand and foot,” she breathed, sitting on the side of the enormous four-poster bed.
Eva blurted out a little laugh before she could stop herself.
“What?”
“Well! You don’t exactly come from humble origins!” Eva said.
“Oh, please! Wolfe-Chase Lodge is a shack compared to this place.”
“You still grew up with servants.”
“One cook and one maid!” Iris said, holing up a finger for emphasis. “Not the platoon of footmen, maids, and cooks who patrol this place.”
“The Lodge used to have a lot more staff.”
“That was well before my time. Before my parents’ time, even. It’s the bare minimum now.”
Wolfe Lodge—as it was originally named—had once been so prosperous a row of houses had sprung up beside it to accommodate the workers it employed. It was in one of those very houses Robin Shipp lived, and Eva surmised one of his parents or grandparents had once worked at the Lodge.
“It’s exactly as I remember it,” Iris said of the room.
“Did you ever see it in daylight?” Eva said.
Iris giggled. “So many nights spent here, sneaking in through the servants’ quarters or through open windows. Illicit rendezvous with the great shipping heiress Lady Eva Chase. What a thrill those nights had been. It looks like they’ve left the room untouched.”
“There has been minor touch-ups and repairs to the décor,” Eva replied, tracing her hand along the window ledge. “I definitely damaged this the night I left.”
She thought about the night she clambered out of that window and scrambled down the wall to the waiting carriage below. She remembered the frantic dash along the dirt roads towards the harbour. How her heart sang when she found Iris waiting for her by the water’s edge with the promise of a new life on her lips, and how tantalising the chance to escape in her arms. She remembered most clearly of all how radiant Iris had looked, with her red hair faintly glowing like dying embers where it was touched by the moonlight. They set sail just as her father arrived at the dockside. Eva blew a single kiss to him. The next day, she and Iris were handfasted at the Moth & Moon on Merryapple, and while she never regretted her decision for one moment, it had meant not returning here, to her family home, for over a year. Iris hugged her around the waist. Eva hadn’t even heard her moving from the bed.
The Lion Lies Waiting Page 4
