In which a mobcap is removed
Those who speak or Discern the truth are often shunned.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
Back at the inn, Robert was waiting anxiously outside the parlour for their return from Garvey House. He confessed he had slept very late, repairing his Bemusement, but he wished that he could have gone to see the fun.
“We stormed the drawing room with Judith aloft,” said Dacian. “It was masterfully done.”
Judith tutted and told Dacian to change out of his livery before someone noticed that her footman had doubled. Robert turned to follow, but she called after him.
“Please, Robert, take a seat.” She gestured towards one of the upholstered chairs by the fire. “Enough of this nonsense.”
Robert remained uncomfortably standing. “I don’t think…”
“As Mr Avely’s son, you should most certainly not be gadding about as a footman,” she said firmly. “I cannot countenance it any longer. Please, put us out of this misery.”
Robert raised his brows and folded his arms. “I will not renounce my position just to assuage your guilt, my lady.”
Judith eyed him speculatively. That was just the sort of impertinent remark her own son, Peregrine, might make. Disrespect, she decided, was a good sign. It was far better than distant formality.
Fortunately, she was well equipped for such battles. “Such a shame,” she said sweetly, “that you refuse to lessen the burden that weighs on my heart.”
He regarded her uneasily. “Er…”
“At least sit down so I may tell you about our morning,” she continued gently. “If you loom over me, you will give me a crick in my neck, something I can ill afford at my age.”
“Er…” he said again, but he glanced at the chair. “What did happen this morning?”
“I will tell you.” She looked up expectantly, rubbing her neck as if it pained her.
Either her conniving or his curiosity won the day, and Robert crossed to the chair and reluctantly sat down. “Very well, you win this round,” he said. “What happened?”
Pleased, Judith told him about the false screen of yew, hiding a passage to the centre of the maze. He leaned forward, intrigued, and pointed out that it might be the unlikely butler who had put it in place, or indeed anyone from Garvey House, even Kenneth. The question of why, however, was baffling. Was the centre of the maze used for secret meetings, perhaps? The fact that Kenneth Garvey was staying at the Golden Bat indicated he had some covert business in Stokesford. But then why not stay at Garvey House?
When Judith recounted the ‘storming of the drawing room’, Robert chuckled at the introduction of ‘Harold’. Yet when she concluded her tale, he sprung up again.
“Thank you for telling me, but now I must see if his grace needs help changing out of the livery.”
“Nonsense. Dacian is perfectly able to change his clothes. Tell me, have you been drawing at all since we left Sargenet?”
“I’ve scarcely had time…” Robert trailed off.
“Precisely.” Judith stood and crossed to her writing desk. “Here, take some foolscap and my charcoal nibs, while we are stuck at this inn.”
Robert accepted the proffered items, but his expression became shuttered.
She ignored it. “Have you already tried your hand at landscapes?”
“Ah, a few, here and there.”
“And are they any good?”
“Not really.”
She raised an eyebrow at the white lie, and smiled. “Well, I can’t wait to see them, if that is the case.”
His jaw tightened even more. Dratted boy. He might think she was trying to force her way into his affections, but she had an obligation to ensure his welfare. Children! As they grew up, it seemed they became less receptive to parental love. Yet in Robert’s case, she could hardly blame him for being wary.
Briefly, she wondered what Elinor and Peregrine would say to their new half-brother, then she put the thought aside. There was plenty of time to sidle up to that particular confrontation. At this rate, it seemed like Robert did not want to meet his half-siblings.
“Well,” she said, “you would have plenty of time to paint landscapes in Cornwall, if you decided to go with me.”
Robert looked uncomfortable. After an awkward pause, he put his chin up. “I am afraid that I must tell you that I won’t be joining you in Cornwall.”
“What?” Judith stared. “I thought you were growing accustomed to… the idea.”
He shifted on his feet as he held the paper and nibs. “After some consideration, I have decided that it is inadvisable.”
“Why?” It seemed to her, rather, that he had only just decided on the matter.
“His grace told me that Lewis is going to manage another one of the duke’s estates, in Hertfordshire. I think I should go with him.”
“Oh,” said Judith blankly. She knew that Lewis and Robert were very good friends, both being born on the other side of the blanket and going to Taunton together. She had extended her invitation to Cornwall to Lewis too, but now it seemed that Dacian had mucked things up, by offering to transfer Lewis to Hertfordshire. Devil take his thoughtfulness!
Yet it seemed to her, also, that Robert had not been entirely honest in his excuse.
“Well,” she said, after a moment. “I am sorry to hear it. Of course you must do as your loyalty demands, and I well know that you don’t owe me anything. However, are you sure that is the only reason you won’t accompany me?”
Robert nodded quickly. “Of course.”
The words fell with a hollow clunk.
She did not want to flaunt her Gift by pointing out the lie, especially when she would rather invite his confidences. Yet Robert seemed to realise her speculation, for he looked up guiltily. “Thank you for these papers.” He gave a small bow and rushed out of the room.
Confounded, Judith stared after him. Clearly, he felt uncomfortable around her Gift, just as she had suspected. She sighed, reflecting that Truth Discernment was its own sort of curse. People didn’t like being an open book. If only Robert knew that she was completely baffled by him.
What was bothering the boy? It must be his loyalty to his dead mother, something that she could not fault. His duty, too, to Lewis, was something she could admire.
Frowning, Judith retired to her bedroom for lunch, needing to gather her composure after the morning’s adventures. After a large plate of shepherd’s pie and roast parsnip, she felt much restored, if somewhat heavy with food. Marigold still slept in her cabinet, and Judith likewise indulged in a nap. She might be required to conduct some nocturnal investigations, after all. There was still the matter of the alleged ghost of Lord Garvey tramping about the maze, and possible secret meetings taking place in the hidden grove.
When she awoke, she turned her mind to the problem of how to beard the new Lord Garvey in his den, in the Golden Bat’s superior parlour. Could she simply waltz in and force an acknowledgment? It was a little rude to do so. She didn’t like to play the role of a pushy matron (too often), but perhaps certain circumstances required it. If Kenneth was the killer, it would be better to establish that fact without delay.
The best parlour was on the ground floor, directly beneath their own. Robert had said that it opened onto a small garden courtyard. An idea occurred to Judith.
She made her way into her own little green parlour, and found Dacian reading a newspaper. He was back in his guise as Mr Fortnew, with the moustache once more returned to its former glory, or lack thereof.
He stood and bowed. “Lady Avely. How is your ankle? Shall I call for some chocolate?”
She gave him a reproving look. “Perhaps later.” She crossed to the window. “I must find a way to interrogate Kenneth now. I thought I could drop something into his garden, as an excuse to venture into his parlour.”
Dacian folded the paper up. “I will come with you, of course.”
“No, you won’t.” Judith pushed the window open. The hinge grated a little. “If Kenneth recognises you, he will be put on his guard - or worse, have you arrested. Now, what should I drop outside?”
She turned, looking for some small object that she might conceivably have left on the windowsill and knocked over. Briefly, she considered a teacup, but she didn’t want to risk it breaking. A book, too, might be damaged.
Dacian was watching her with a gleam in his eye. “I have a suggestion.”
“Yes?”
“Your mobcap. If you hung it on the window handle, a breeze might have caught it.”
She pursed her lips. It was a good notion. Reluctantly, her hands went to her ribbons.
In three strides, Dacian was in front of her. “Here, let me. You do owe me after all, for the cravat.”
She was about to refuse him, when she remembered his words from earlier. He lived in hope. A breath of hope ran through her also, like a bellows whooshing onto coals. She let her hands drop. Perhaps it would do no harm to allow him some familiarity, if he had been hoping for it for nigh on ten years.
She cast her lashes down.
There was a charged silence, then he accepted her tacit permission and stepped forward. The brush of his fingers moved against her throat, then came the tug of lace, gently pulling. The ties loosened and his hands lifted the silk away, whispering past her ears.
As he pulled the cap off, her scalp tingled. Heat rose in her cheeks as he threaded his fingers through her hair, tugging it loose from her pins and softening the tightness of her coiffure. In fact, her whole body tingled, as if he were removing her very gown.
She felt as if she were unravelling.
After a few minutes, pins lay scattered on the floor, and he lowered his hands. In a daze, she saw that he was presenting the cap to her.
“Marchioness.” His voice was hoarse. “Your cap.”
He took a step back. She felt bereft, as if some great gift had been suddenly snatched out of her grasp. She blinked, staring at the crumpled silk in his hand.
“Throw it out the window,” she managed, “if you would be so kind.”
Some of his old sardonic manner returned. “With pleasure.” He crossed to the window and tossed the blue silk out, then peered down. “Ah, it has landed on a blackberry bush. I fear, much to my dismay, that it might be rent and unwearable.”
“Hmph.”
Dacian turned, concern now etched on his face. “Please take Robert with you.”
“On the subject of Robert,” she said, remembering her grievance, “how could you arrange for Lewis to transfer to Hertfordshire without consulting me?”
“I was not aware you were intimately involved in the matter.” Dacian raised a brow.
Judith flushed, realising she was being rather presumptuous. She put her hands on her hips. “Well, Robert wants to go where Lewis goes, so now he won’t come to Cornwall with me!”
“Hm,” said Dacian skeptically.
For a moment, she considered asking Dacian what other reason Robert might have, then she decided against it. After all, she wanted Robert to trust her, so she should not pry behind his back.
And it would be extremely irksome if Dacian knew more about it than her.
Turning, she left the room in a huff.
After fetching a subdued Robert, Judith knocked loudly on the best parlour door. Her blonde hair now bare, she braced herself for a tricky interrogation.
If Dacian’s guess was true, Kenneth must be wily and conniving. Surely, as soon as he recognised her - the feminine object of his fatal Illusion - he would be on his guard. She would have to be careful, and equally as cunning.
The door swung open and she was given her first surprise. Not Kenneth, but some other man greeted her.
He was lean and tall, smooth shaven with a bald head, and in the elegant garb of a valet. His features were gaunt, punctuated by a rather long nose.
“Yes, my lady?” He gave her a quick perusal down that long proboscis. “How may I help you?”
She clasped her hands in feminine dismay. “I am so very sorry, but I think I dropped something into the garden.” She jerked her head at Robert, who stood just behind her. “I would have trusted my footman to fetch it, but it is my favourite cap, you see, and I wanted to extricate it myself from the blackberry bush, in case it should tear.”
“Your cap?” said the valet, with pardonable aloofness and a hint of disbelief.
“Indeed.” Taking a leaf out of Dacian’s book earlier in the day, she wasted no compunction in pushing past the servant. The valet stepped out of her way, taken aback, as she swept in, looking around. Robert edged into the room behind her, and took a place opposite the valet, by the door.
The Golden Bat’s superior parlour was certainly much larger than the tiny parlour she had been allocated, and more plushly furnished. A thick red patterned carpet led up to a broad fireplace, where two armchairs rested in splendour. A small piano sat against the rear wall, its keys covered, with a vase of flowers upon the doilies. The glass door onto the garden was closed against the day, where it had finally begun to rain. Judith was glad to see it, as it lent her story more urgency.
Opposite the fire was a rosewood writing desk, similar to the one in Judith’s parlour. Papers were strewn across it, with an inkwell open and a quill lying upon the sheets.
Kenneth Garvey’s plump figure sat at the writing desk. He swung round to stare at Judith, his bushy eyebrows going up. He sported a luxurious moustache which quite put Dacian’s to shame. It was grey, to match Kenneth’s thick hair and brows, with a dashing curl. His tailoring, likewise, showed the smartness of town, with a well-cut coat in walnut brown and cream pantaloons.
Judith made a show of pulling up in surprise. “Why - is that Kenneth Garvey? Your lordship, fie, I did not expect to see you here!”
“Mrs Avely?” said Kenneth slowly. He stood and bowed in reluctant recognition.
“Oh, it is Lady Avely now,” she said airily. “My husband was granted a title for his military services. I am on my way now, actually, to visit my new property in Cornwall. What are you doing here, if I may be so bold to ask?”
“I live nearby,” said Kenneth shortly, while his valet looked on woodenly.
“Oh, indeed!” she exclaimed. “Garvey House is in Stokesford! But why on earth are you staying at the Golden Bat, my lord?”
Kenneth’s hand drifted across the paper on his desk, palm down. “I find this inn far more agreeable,” he said, after a moment, and seemed disinclined to expound on the matter.
Judith dared to sit herself down on one of the armchairs, and Kenneth sat, too, though hesitantly. However, good manners forbade that he promptly turn her out of the room.
“Why is that?” she pressed. “Don’t tell me you subscribe to these ridiculous notions that a ghost haunts your property? Oh! Is it possible that you have seen it yourself?”
Kenneth shot her a look and shifted the chair so he could face her - thereby also blocking her view of his correspondence. “No, no ghost,” he said uneasily, and Judith could hear the lie in his voice. So he had seen the ghost. Or had he cast it? He continued, waving a deprecating hand. “Garvey House is merely draughty, which is not good for my health.” He coughed unconvincingly, to match the lie in his voice. “I must stay warm, and I find that the Golden Bat is better at keeping the chill out.”
Judith’s eyes narrowed. There was some other reason at play, given his mendacity. Was it indeed guilt, as Dacian suggested?
“It must be a great burden,” she suggested, “to take Charles’ place.”
Red crept into Kenneth’s cheeks. “No one can take my brother’s place.” He spoke with a note of bitterness, and Judith felt a surprising flash of sympathy. Charles had always been Lady Garvey’s favourite son, despite his vile character. “Yet I do the best I can. I live in London, and simply visit Stokesford regularly, to fulfil my responsibilities. Believe me, it is easier to manage them from here, in the village, than in that ramshackle place. For one, the servants here are more efficient.”
His valet’s eyebrow twitched in supercilious acknowledgement, while Robert took a step sideways - closer to the escritoire, Judith was pleased to see. Perhaps he could manage to see what Kenneth wished to hide.
She attempted to distract her host. “Indeed, good servants are hard to find,” she said. “I confess I visited Garvey House this morning, and found your current butler to be an odd sort.”
Kenneth sighed, his guarded manner seeming to relax. “I agree, Faske is atrocious. He is my mother’s man; she insists on employing him. You can see why I would prefer to stay here.”
Judith wondered what talents Faske hid, that made him a desirable employee. She saw that Robert had edged closer to the desk, his gaze lingering on the strewn papers, out of Kenneth’s line of sight.
She hurried on. “Well, in fact, I am very glad to have found you here,” she said, with an air of confession. “This morning I invited Miss Georgina to my own daughter’s wedding, but Lady Garvey was reluctant to give her permission. Perhaps you could grant it in her stead? I venture to say that you are better fit to make such decisions.” She repressed an internal wince as she appealed to his sense of patriarchal right, which lurked in all men. “Indeed, I would go so far as to suggest that Lady Garvey is not a fit guardian for a young girl.”
Kenneth’s lips thinned. “No doubt she would say the same about me.”
This was so close to the truth that Judith did not know where to look. Kenneth gave a short, mirthless laugh, and pulled on his moustache. “I will, however, speak to my mother. I thank you for the invitation, Lady Avely, and I will do my best to persuade her to allow Georgina to gain a little town polish - but the fact of the matter is that I do not think she will listen to me any more than you.”
“Perhaps if we join our entreaties?” suggested Judith. “Lady Garvey said she won’t see me again, but if I arrive with you, she cannot turn me away. Perhaps we can go this evening.”
“Not tonight.” Kenneth’s eyes darted away. “Perhaps tomorrow you may accompany me? I quite agree that poor Georgina is wasting away in that mausoleum.”
Judith could hear a note of sincerity and smiled in sympathy. But then he leaned forward, his moustache bristling.
“But that cannot be the reason you knocked, Lady Avely?”
“Ah, I quite forgot!” Judith blushed. “I am staying in the parlour above, you see, and my cap blew out the window. I believe it is hanging off your blackberry bush and likely to catch the rain.”
She stood. The valet, lean and noiseless, crossed the room and opened the terrace door. Judith trod past him. “Yes, there it is!” she said brightly. “How silly of me.”
Advancing into the soft rain, she carefully unpicked the blue silk from the thorns. A particularly sharp one tore at her thumb, and a pin drop of blood stained her mobcap. Ignoring it, she retreated all the way to the parlour door. “Thank you and good day, Lord Garvey.”
“A moment, Lady Avely.”
She turned at the door. “Yes?”
Kenneth had stood, folding his arms across his soft belly. “When I was in London, I heard a rumour that the Duke of Sargen has returned to England. You knew him well, I believe? Can you confirm whether or not the gossip is true?”
Judith blinked, uncomfortable that the tables had turned. “I don’t know, your lordship,” she lied, as smoothly as she was able. “I have not seen him.”
“Hmm.” Kenneth fingered his moustache. “I hope he doesn’t have the gall to show up around Stokesford.”
“No.” She hesitated. “Do you intend to press charges against him?”
Kenneth gave her a shrewd look. “I ought to. He did kill my brother, after all.” The statement rung with truth - but it did not absolve his lordship of any hand in the matter. “Yet even if I were to bring the full force of the law against his grace, I expect Sargen will find a way to squirm out of it. He is a devilish slippery sort of fellow, the duke. And the scandal of a court case would adversely affect my own family - and Georgina’s chance of a good marriage.”
Judith nodded. “Though one would want to see justice served, of course.” She paused. “Yet sometimes justice is a complex matter.”
“Indeed.” Kenneth’s brown eyes examined her closely. “Good day, Lady Avely. A pleasure to see you again.”
His last phrase sounded with a note of discord. Was it simply social hedging, Judith wondered, or something more?
Hurrying back to her little green parlour, Judith found Dacian pacing restlessly, his brow thunderous. Dusk showed at the window, which was still open, rain pattering on the darkening sill.
At the sight of her, Dacian pulled up short. “Thank God. What happened? You were gone an age.” Pressure rose in the air, against her skin, and then faded, as if it had ascertained she was whole before withdrawing.
Judith came in and sank down on an upholstered chair. It was not as comfortable as Kenneth’s armchair. She wrung her stained mobcap in her hands, casting her mind back over the conversation. Robert came in and carefully closed the door behind him.
“Did Kenneth guess her purpose?” Dacian demanded of Robert.
Robert shrugged. “He was a bit suspicious, but Lady Avely played her part well.” Judith was glad that accord seemed to be established between them once more, despite the awkwardness of their earlier conversation. Then Robert added thoughtfully, “Lord Garvey does have a magnificent moustache. I felt quite inspired.”
“Never mind that,” snapped Dacian. “What did he say? Is he our man?”
“Hush,” said Judith. “We must talk quietly, for Kenneth is right below us. He lied to me, certainly. He would not tell me the real reason he stays here rather than Garvey House. And he attempted to hide his correspondence, didn’t he, Robert?”
Robert nodded. “I managed to have a peep. It looked like accounts to me. And an invoice of a large sum, directed to a Mr Poleney.”
“Poleney?” Judith frowned. “That name is familiar.”
“Yes,” agreed Dacian, then he shrugged. “Probably a local tradesman in Exeter.”
“I didn’t recognise the name,” said Robert. “And I know most of those who do business with the Sargenet estate. Besides, it was an invoice, not a bill. Lord Garvey was selling something to Mr Poleney, not the other way round.”
Judith set her mobcap aside in a crumpled heap. “Something he didn’t want us to know about.”
“Intriguing,” said Dacian, “but I cannot see what this has to do with Kenneth arranging his brother’s death nine years ago.”
Rain pattered against the window. Judith frowned. “I am not so certain that Kenneth is the guilty party. He seemed quite bitter about taking his brother’s place, if anything, and expressed a distaste for Garvey House. Furthermore, he showed kindness when I taxed him about Georgina. I confess I find it hard to imagine him as our villain.”
Dacian snorted. “One kindness does not exclude a person from villainy.”
“No, but I cannot see his motive so clearly anymore.” Judith folded her hands in her lap, her mind wandering back to the drawing room at Garvey House. “I find myself curious about Miss Selina Pelling, who is now Mrs Southcott.”
“Charles’ young fiancé? What of her?” Dacian frowned.
“She had a stronger motive: to escape a predatory marriage with Lord Garvey, and to marry the man she loved. Also,” Judith added, “today I recalled Harriet Bollopher mentioning that Selina was a girl of ‘unusual talents’. Perhaps she was referring to Selina’s ability to cast Illusions.”
She felt another pang of grief for Harriet’s passing. It would have been useful to discuss the entire matter with Harriet; she had been observant and might have noticed something on the night of Lord Garvey’s death. Judith sighed. “As we cannot speak to Harriet, we must at least question Mrs Selina Southcott. Robert, could you please take my card to the Southcott residence now, so I can call upon her tomorrow?”
“Certainly.” Robert gave a small bow, smirking. “It seems it is convenient for me to play the footman, after all, Judith.”
Judith fixed him with a reproving stare, but inwardly she felt some relief at the return of his impertinence. Surely it was only a short step from there to accepting her as a parental figure. Indeed, the two were practically synonymous.
Although perhaps neither would result in Robert telling her his private concerns. She pursed her lips. Maybe someone younger or more carefree would have more success. Perhaps she should ask Marigold to make some overtures to Robert, in a discreet sort of way, and determine what bothered him.
“Forget Selina,” snapped the duke. “The idea is ludicrous. It is dark now; let us wake the vampiri. Perhaps they can spy on Kenneth and prove me right.”
Judith returned to the parlour half an hour later, wearing her red paisley shawl over her shoulders to hide Marigold, who hung as a bat within its folds. The vampiri had refused to don her gown, rightfully pointing out that she would just have to remove it again.
Judith saw that Dacian had delivered Wooten to the dining table, sporting his black velvet cloak, ready for a quick transformation. When Wooten saw Marigold flutter out of Judith’s shawl, however, he was clearly unimpressed. He folded his arms where he stood on the table.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “I refuse to go gallivanting about with Miss Cultor like that.”
Marigold gave a high-pitched noise of disdain and spun in a lazy circle around the parlour.
“It is bad enough,” retorted Wooten, “that I must play third wheel if that conniving Miss Yvette shows up again. I will certainly not do so if you are naked , Miss Cultor.”
Marigold flapped her wings impatiently, while Robert stifled a laugh.
Wooten shook his fist. “You will snatch at my own cloak again, to cover your modesty!” He turned with entreaty to Judith. “That is what she did last time, almost revealing my own nakedness! I utterly refuse to be so mortified again. If we are to go out together, I insist that Miss Cultor also take a cape.”
Marigold whistled scornfully and seemed inclined to fly off without him, but Judith intervened. “He has a point, Marigold,” she said gently. “Yvette was wearing a cape, wasn’t she? You would not want her to feel overdressed.”
With a flounce, Marigold became human and vaulted onto the writing desk. Wooten let out an inarticulate noise of protest and covered his eyes. Indeed, the little vampiri’s naked limbs were a shocking sight in the prim and proper setting of the parlour. Robert and Dacian hastily turned their backs, while Judith sighed.
“If I must,” Marigold huffed. “Make it something pretty, if you please.”
“This is not a party,” huffed Wooten.
“Yes, do be careful,” said Judith, reaching into her reticule for a piece of cloth she kept there. “Do not reveal the duke’s presence - and try to determine Kenneth’s movements. And also, if you can, Miss Yvette’s business in Stokesford.”
“With pleasure,” replied Marigold, taking the orange-gold cloth and tying it around her neck.