Page 67

The house’s great front doors were flanked by heraldic greyhounds holding petal-adorned shields. Upon the door hung a tarnished brass knocker in the shape of a sprig of wild roses. Aurienne pounded out three impatient knocks thereon, startling the night insects into silence.

She expected a dramatic opening of the doors, and perhaps a sinister butler, for whom she preemptively formulated a curt request to fetch his wretched master. However, there was no opening, and no butler. Instead, the handles rattled, accompanied by muffled swearing.

At length, Mordaunt’s gloved fingertips appeared in a crack between the doors, then his hands, then his face.

“Don’t get many visitors, do you?” asked Aurienne. (She did not assist with his struggle.)

Mordaunt looked cross. “You took so long to come, the hinges bloody rusted.”

“I was unavoidably delayed. You’re lucky I came at all.”

Mordaunt did not care enough to ask why she had been delayed, which was fine; Aurienne was reserving that for some upcoming negotiations.

“Use the entrance round the back, by the kitchens, next time,” said Mordaunt.

Presumptuous of him to assume there would be a next time, but all right.

Mordaunt managed to drag one door open enough for Aurienne to slip through. “Get in.”

He wasn’t as well put together as usual. His collar wasn’t crisp; his shirt wanted ironing. His gaze was suspicious, bordering on wild. His silver-white hair, normally artfully windswept, was askew.

He jammed the door shut behind her. A bit of plaster fell on Aurienne. Likewise a spider. Mordaunt brushed both off with a muttered apology for these disagreeable additions to her person.

“I don’t care,” said Aurienne. “I live in an attic.”

She followed Mordaunt into the house. Their footsteps echoed along the cavernous front hall’s flagged floor. The windows—those that remained unboarded—were stained with more heraldic greyhounds and roses. Great beams ran across the ceilings, blackened with mould. Candles flickered here and there, shedding little light.

“Do you live alone in this great, empty house?” asked Aurienne.

“Yes,” said Mordaunt.

“You’re a misanthrope, then?”

“Why do you think I kill people?”

Mordaunt led her out of the front hall and through a series of high-vaulted corridors.

“What happened to your family?” asked Aurienne.

“Killed them all.”

“Ah.”

“Ate their hearts.”

“Oh.”

“You believe me?”

“Yes.”

“How dare you?”

“I thought you wanted me to trust you,” said Aurienne.

“Not when I’m obviously lying,” said Mordaunt.

“Where is your family, if you didn’t kill them all?”