In which a name is obtained
Marigold
Their first port of call was to spy on Kenneth.
Marigold had heard about Judith’s foray into the best parlour. It sounded as if Kenneth had behaved suspiciously, even with a lady sitting in his armchair. An unseen watcher might gather further evidence of misconduct.
Accordingly, Marigold (now with a pesky orange-gold cape tied around her front) dropped down from Judith’s windowsill to the French doors below, protected from the soft rain by a small eve, and clung upside-down on a vine. The damn cape, now damp, hung in her face. After a short struggle, she wriggled it aside and looked in.
A portly man with a magnificent grey moustache sat by the fire. He moodily picked at a plate of food, while his bald-pated manservant stood by with a pitcher of beer.
After twenty minutes of watching Lord Kenneth Garvey desultorily eat his steak and potatoes, Marigold was convinced that he was a person completely without interest, and far too boring to be a master villain. Fortunately, the rain had now subsided. She let go of the vine, and flew off in the direction of the church, hoping that Wooten would not notice her departure.
She hadn’t liked to mention it, but on the previous evening, Yvette suggested they meet again at the belfry tonight. Marigold wasn’t certain of the tenor of the invitation, and a flutter of anticipation quivered through her wings. Yvette had certainly seemed intrigued by her company. It was possible that Wooten would be de trop .
Unfortunately, when Marigold cast a look back, she saw the flicker of his black wings following. With an irritated sigh, she swooped up the church tower and through the arch of the belfry.
The large iron bells hung still in the night. Marigold slowly flapped round the pale stone cavern that housed them. Thick ropes were affixed to the wheel, hanging in the darkness. The belfry overlooked the village of Stokesford, quiet and blockish below, and the aloof spire above was an ideal place for a bat to take refuge (except, of course, for the noise). Yet Marigold, looking around eagerly, could not see any other creature, supernatural or otherwise, hanging from the arches.
A ledge jutted out two-thirds of the way up. With an uncomfortable tumble, Marigold landed in her human form. As nonchalantly as possible, in case Yvette should be watching, she shifted her golden cape so it fell round her shoulders and covered her limbs.
“Hello?” she called tentatively. There was no need to shout, for vampiri had very good hearing.
Silence met her. Then came the hushed flap of wings. Yet it was only Wooten who flew into the belfry, his furry bat nose wrinkled in distaste. He, too, landed on the stone ledge and fumbled with his cape.
“What are we doing here?” he demanded, once he could speak.
“Just looking,” Marigold lied. “I thought we could see if there is any sign of Miss Yvette’s occupancy.”
Wooten cast a disparaging glance around. “It appears not. Who would want to reside in such a dusty, dark tower?”
“It seems swept and clean.”
“That is not enough to indicate a permanent residence.”
“No,” agreed Marigold. “She might be a bit of a vagabond, like me.”
“She is nothing like you,” enunciated Wooten. “Miss Yvette, at least, had the decency to wear a cape while abroad. Her manners, too, seem to indicate a level of sophistication that you lack.”
“Don’t be snide,” huffed Marigold. “I’m dressed now, aren’t I?”
Yvette’s voice rose from the darkness. “Of a fashion.”
Marigold spun round and saw the vampiri emerge from beneath the lower ledge of the belfry. Her dark hair was swept up into a knot, with ringlets falling over her ears in the current fashion, and she wore a soft lavender cloak. It brought out the violet colour of her eyes, which gleamed in the faint light of the tower. Her hair and cloak seemed to be damp; she had been out already that evening, in the rain.
Yvette hauled herself onto the stone ledge and fixed those startling eyes on Marigold. “You came.”
Marigold nodded, suddenly bashful, and looked round the belfry. “A delightful residence you have here.”
Wooten looked sharply between them. “You invited us, Miss Yvette?”
“I invited her .” Yvette’s lips curved with amusement. “I have a little apartment hidden below. I won’t take you there now; it is a bit too cosy for all three of us.”
“Another time, perhaps,” said Marigold diffidently and glared daggers at Wooten, who was glaring knives at her.
“We could do some sightseeing instead,” suggested Yvette, “and fly to the next church tower. The night air is moderate with the clouds amassed, yet we might catch a glimpse of the full moon later.”
Marigold swished her cloak. “It would be my pleasure.”
“A moment,” interposed Wooten. “I would like to know more about you, Miss Yvette, before we fly off into the full moon with you. You will oblige me by telling me your full name and title, and your blood companion.”
Yvette turned with faintly arched brows. “My name is Yvette Belfleur, and I have told you that I belong to no-one.”
“No one?” Wooten folded his arms over his cloak. “How do you sustain yourself, then?”
“That is my business, not yours.” Yvette’s tone became supercilious.
Marigold spoke up hastily. “I apologise for Mr Willougby. He does not mean to pry, but we are seeking an Illusor in these parts, and we wondered if you were bonded to one.”
Yvette stared between them, violet eyes opaque. “I am not.”
Marigold found herself wishing that she possessed Judith’s ability to discern lies. Then she shook away her slither of doubt. Yvette was from France; it was unsurprising if she were to shun a formal Musor companionship, after what had happened in that wretched country. Even without having experienced the horrors of the revolution, Marigold found it better to change her human companions often. Besides anything, it was boring to stay in one place for long. Perhaps Yvette was a kindred spirit like her, eager to explore the world.
Marigold smiled. “Maybe you can help us then.”
Wooten bristled. “I don’t think-”
Yvette tilted her head. “I gather you are trying to gain entrance into Garvey House.”
“Yes,” admitted Marigold.
“I do,” said Yvette slowly, “as it happens, know a way inside.”
“Oh?” said Wooten. “And how do you know that ?”
“I have been exploring a little myself,” replied Yvette. “Call me curious, but I wished to know what you were looking for.”
“And you found a way in?” said Marigold eagerly. “Can you show us?”
“First tell me: why do you seek entrance?”
This was too much for Wooten. “We won’t tell you why,” he snapped. “Allow us to have some secrets too.”
“Secrets?” Yvette smiled. “Intriguing indeed. But I will show you, for it amuses me to watch you play your games. Come with me.”
Before Marigold could say a word, Yvette took a flying swallow dive into the belfry. Marigold watched with admiration as the graceful human form became a bat and looped away. She stepped forward to follow.
“Be careful,” said Wooten grumpily, behind her. “I don’t trust her.”
Marigold scoffed and dived into the night.
Yvette’s passage into Garvey House turned out to be a loose window pane on the second floor. She became human, clinging to the frame in order to gently lift it out, and Marigold was treated to a glimpse of Yvette’s delightfully shaped backside and elegant shoulders as she led the way in, her lavender cloak proving insufficient to maintain her modesty. Marigold didn’t bother to see if Wooten managed it better, for she was too busy struggling with her own cape. Cursed conventions.
The uppermost floor was in darkness. The room they found themselves in was unused, the furniture covered in white drapes. A scent of dust and mould hung in the air. As Judith and Dacian had observed, the house must be on a skeleton staff, leaving most of the rooms empty and neglected.
Becoming a bat again, Yvette flitted through the partly open door and led the way towards the occupied quarter of the house, past the drawing room that Marigold and Wooten had spied on from outside. Peering in, Marigold saw that it was now empty, though still lit by the ugly candelabra on the mantelpiece. The flickering light made the large room seem eerie and somehow sad.
Yvette had continued on down the corridor, but she pulled up to hover in a dark corner. She lifted her wings expressively. There you go , she seemed to say. Now what?
Marigold also hovered cautiously and pricked her ears. Down the turn, light crept from under a closed door, along with the sound of a monotonous girlish voice. Georgina, reading aloud again to Lady Garvey.
Creeping up to the door, Marigold clung to a ceiling cornice and listened.
Georgina was reading Belinda , but just as she reached a particularly interesting bit, she broke off and heaved a deep sigh.
“Why are you stopping?” Lady Garvey’s voice was impatient.
Georgina sighed again. “Oh Grandmama, please won’t you let me visit Elinor Avely? I am half inclined to stop reading until you allow it.”
Marigold’s sharp ears heard a blanket rustling. “Don’t be ridiculous, Georgina. It is beneath you to attempt to manipulate me on this matter.” Lady Garvey sniffed. “Quite besides the considerations of your health - and mine - I have heard unsavoury things about Miss Elinor Avely.”
“Unsavoury? What can you mean?”
There was a pause. “Accusations of theft, for one.”
Listening, Marigold found herself surprised. Judith hadn’t mentioned any scandal attached to her daughter’s name. Indeed, Judith had hardly mentioned her children at all. She was probably relieved to have a moment’s respite from them, though Marigold couldn’t imagine that any child raised by Judith would commit theft. Peregrine and Elinor Avely were probably very well-behaved young persons.
Georgina gasped. “Goodness me. That cannot be true!” There was a pause while she rallied. “Furthermore, as a Christian woman you should not make such judgements based upon heresay, Grandmama. At least allow Lady Avely to call upon us again, and ask her about these rumours before you banish her.”
“Certainly not,” grumbled Lady Garvey.
“You can’t just turn her away!”
“I can do what I like,” came the irritable reply. “I am mistress of this establishment and don’t you forget it. Now, keep reading, pert miss.”
“Yes, Grandmama.” Georgina’s voice became subdued and she resumed her tale.
Marigold, listening intently, felt a soft touch upon her wing. It was Yvette, reaching out beside her, and jerking her head in warning. Marigold became aware of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs.
The three bats retreated from their position above the bedroom door. From the shadows at the end of the corridor, they saw Mrs Froode tread onto the landing. She carried a tea tray laden with a steaming pot of tea. As she drew closer, the scent of the brew wafted towards them. It did not exude the crisp smell of black tea, but some kind of herbal concoction. Marigold wrinkled her nose, for it was an oddly sweet smell.
Mrs Froode manoeuvred the tray inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Cautiously, Marigold drifted closer again, hoping to hear the conversation.
With the advent of Mrs Froode, Georgina’s voice fell silent once more.
“Your medicine, my lady,” said Mrs Froode’s raspy voice.
“Is it that time already?” complained Lady Garvey. “I hope you have brought me some biscuits too.”
“Of course,” said the housekeeper. There came the sound of liquid pouring, and the clink of a cup and spoon. “Here you go. It will help you sleep.”
The sweet smell became stronger. Lady Garvey murmured something indistinguishable, but she took a slurping sip. “Ergh, it never tastes any better, does it? Georgina, rub your salve on now, if you please.”
“Must I?” Georgina sighed.
Marigold’s sharp ears caught the sound of a bottle opening. A silence followed, broken only by Lady Garvey’s sips.
“There,” said Georgina, putting something down with a clink. “I still think it is nasty, even if my mother made it. Mrs Froode, won’t you tell Grandmama that we should see Lady Avely tomorrow?”
“No, Miss Georgina,” replied the housekeeper. “It would be dangerous to let Lady Avely in again, as you well know. She might see something she oughtn’t.”
There was a silence that seemed suddenly weighted. Fascinated, Marigold flew closer, hoping that Mrs Froode would reveal more. What might Judith see, that they were so afraid to reveal?
“Quiet now,” Lady Garvey’s tone was harsh. “We have nothing to fear, Mrs Froode, unless it is catching a disease from London. I won’t hear anything more about Judith Avely, do you heed me?” She coughed, a rattling, dreadful cough that went on for a long time. Then she cleared her throat with one last hacking sound. “Oh, this dreadful condition. I wish everyone would just leave us alone and stop making demands of me.”
Teacups clattered. “Very well, my lady. I will keep all visitors away, as you have ordered, and ensure that Faske does the same.” Mrs Froode’s tone was now mild and obedient.
Realising that the servant was withdrawing, Marigold hastily backed away from the bedroom door. Just in time too, for it swung open and Mrs Froode carried the tea tray through, and the saccharine smell drifted up. The housekeeper made her way to the drawing room, where Marigold could hear her tidying up, then finally retreated down the stairs again.
Georgina’s voice had resumed her reading once more. Marigold perched again above the door, hoping for more revelations now that the housekeeper had gone. Wooten hung back, but Yvette joined her, clinging to the cornice right next to Marigold.
Yet after ten minutes of the monotonous recitation, Marigold was utterly bored. Lady Garvey must have been too, because a faint snoring sound now emanated from the room.
With another weary sigh, Georgina stopped her reading. There was the sound of a book being laid down, and a chair scraping. Marigold and Yvette scattered backwards, and Georgina slipped out of the room holding a candle. But she only made her way to another bedroom, and, by the sounds of it, into bed. Soon the candle darkened, though Georgina tossed and turned in her soft captivity.
Marigold abandoned that avenue of investigation, and set off to explore the rest of the house. Despite their decorous conduct, the Garveys were hiding something. What did they fear Judith would see? Perhaps she, Marigold, could uncover the mystery.
Carefully, with Yvette and Wooten following, she navigated down to the ground floor, looking for anything out of place or suspicious. Unfortunately, most of the doors were shut, and even without being locked, this was sufficient to keep the vampiri out. Neither bat claws nor tiny human hands could manage to turn the knobs. Sniffing around the edges, however, Marigold could smell that most of the rooms were dusty and unused.
Only one smelled different; a room fragrant with ink, paper, and books. A study, or a library. Marigold wondered if Lady Garvey ever managed to descend the stairs to use the room, or if it was Georgina’s refuge. Or perhaps Mrs Froode had commandeered it.
The kitchens and scullery were clean, rich with the smells of fat, coals, bread, and herbs. Peering in, Marigold saw Mrs Froode tending to the stove fire, while someone else clanged dishes in the scullery. Faske, perhaps, or a scullery maid. Wary of being seen, Marigold retreated with Yvette and Wooten down a narrow passageway to the servant quarters. Only three beds showed signs of occupancy.
The poor creatures, to have to run even a small household on so little - even if help came in the daylight hours. Judith had seemed to think it was simply poverty that dictated Lady Garvey’s reduced household, but Marigold knew it was also caution, born of a desire to hide something. The question was what?
She became aware that Wooten was beckoning with a wing, hovering above a high shelf set in one of the servant’s rooms. He vaulted down into his human form, hastily arranging his cloak to cover his unmentionables.
“Miss Cultor!” he hissed. “A word!”
Rolling her eyes, Marigold landed beside him, and as an afterthought, adjusted her cloak. Yvette flapped above them in slow circles.
“That smell,” continued Wooten. “From the teapot - I recognised it.”
“You did?” Marigold wrinkled her nose, remembering the sickly scent.
“It was the same as in the maze. Very distinct.”
Marigold frowned, trying to recall. “Perhaps you are right.”
“We should check. It might be significant.”
She was loath to abandon access to the house, but the smell was unusual. “I suppose. The scullery door is open; let’s leave that way.”
Marigold leapt off the high shelf and became a bat again. She did not look to see if Wooten followed, for she could sense him close behind as she darted above the scullery maid hunched over a sink, and winged her way outside.
The full moon made the gardens seem even clearer than the candlelit shadows of the kitchen. Marigold revelled in the cool night air and the sense of wide, open space. Stretching her wings, she flew rapidly towards the maze, ignoring her billowing cape. When she reached the centre, she pulled upwards and did a showy loop and nose-dive, hoping that Yvette observed her.
With another loop, Marigold landed on the rusty pommel of a sword, taking her human form. Her cloak fluttered around her and she impatiently shifted it out of the way.
With a deep breath, she realised immediately that Wooten was right. The thick, cloying smell of the flowering plant was the same scent that had wafted from Mrs Froode’s teapot.
“You’re right,” Marigold turned in a circle, swishing her cape. “The housekeeper must use these flowers in the tea that she served to Lady Garvey.”
White petals shone in the moonlight, marred only by their dark purple splotches. It was unusual to see flowers open at night; these had not closed with the setting of the sun, and the smell hung heavy on the air.
Wooten landed on the other pommel of the crossed swords, fumbling among the vine that grew over it. “I don’t know this plant. Do you?”
“No,” admitted Marigold, “but I’m not one for gardenology.”
“Botany.”
She ignored him, for she had suddenly realised that Yvette was not with them. “Where is Yvette?”