In which a hat is purchased
A gesture can tell a lie of a thousand words.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
Judith, Robert, and Dacian stayed up late, waiting in the parlour for the vampiri to return. It gave Robert some time to reaffix the moustache charm, and then they played cards, though Dacian insisted they use sign language to communicate the play. Bereft of her Discernment, Judith was unable to see through the duke’s bluffs, and he gloatingly amassed a pile of winnings.
Dacian’s cravat pin lay on a side table. He wore his own visage now that Phyllis had delivered a last tray of chocolate and withdrawn. His black locks were disheveled as he took a long gulp and teased Judith for relying too much on her Gift instead of skill. She didn’t mind, for she was rather pleased that Robert was slouched in one of the chairs, grinning at her losses.
“I swear you two are siding together,” she grumbled. Her cards were woeful, and it certainly couldn’t be her fault.
“Not at all,” said Dacian. “You are merely discovering what it is to be a mere mortal, deprived of your omniscient powers.”
“Hmph. Hardly omniscient.”
“And look at me.” Dacian gestured to his broad chest, his eyes gleaming. “A mere Mr Fortnew, no longer a duke. We are brought down together, my dear. I even played a footman today.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “You’re still a duke on the inside; accustomed to having your way in everything.”
“That’s not true!” Dacian said in mock affront. “I have endured deprivation before. In Spain, I had no whisky for months.”
She turned to Robert. “He is still being ducal, isn’t he? Would a lowly Mr Fortnew insist on depriving a lady of her natural advantages?”
Robert’s lip quirked. “Perhaps not. Though as a footman, I am glad he did so.”
“You are siding against me!” Judith huffed.
Robert lay down a ten of spades. “No, but you should keep in mind that Illusion could equally well be used to win at cards.”
Before their eyes, the ten of spades became an ace of diamonds.
Judith’s mouth fell open. “How dare you…! Dacian! Did you see that?”
Robert laughed. “I’m only teasing. I haven’t been cheating.”
“That is true,” she replied with a smile, hearing it in his voice, and Robert rolled his eyes at her. She felt quite satisfied indeed.
“This is why the Musor Custos exists,” put in Dacian dryly. “To keep two such reprobates as yourselves in check.”
“Nonsense,” said Judith. “It is to police the shameless misuse of moustaches.”
“Wooten does that.”
“As if you would listen to him.”
“Do you see me ordinarily wear a moustache?” objected Dacian. “This subterfuge is my only opportunity.”
“I wonder where Wooten could be?” remarked Robert. “They’ve been gone a while.”
They continued to bicker over their play, and the candles were near to guttering when movement finally came at the window. Judith set down her cards, then stood hastily, for Marigold was flying slowly, favouring one wing. She collapsed dramatically on the rug by the fire, sprawled in a heap.
“What happened?” Judith rushed forward. “Are you hurt?”
Wooten circled the parlour once, then vanished behind a curtain. His voice emerged, though he kept discreetly hidden as he dressed.
“Miss Cultor attacked a ghost, and the ghost attacked her back,” he called out. “She was grabbed and crushed. I fear that her wings and ribs were broken in the experience, but she is better now. She certainly spent enough time laying in Miss Belfleur’s lap to aid her recovery.”
Marigold gave a theatrical whine to indicate otherwise, and Judith knelt down beside her.
“Quick, have a drink.” Judith offered her wrist, and Marigold propped herself up in order to sink her tiny fangs into the vein.
Once she had fed, Marigold transformed into her human form (under a handkerchief) and told them of the night’s events. Wooten interpolated from behind the curtain, and they described the Illusion they had seen.
Judith was horrified and angry, but Dacian was almost satisfied, though sorry that Marigold had to suffer for it.
“Well,” he said, gathering up his cards, “at least this proves that I was right all along. Clearly Kenneth is up to no good.”
“And,” said Robert, “we know that Faske and Kenneth are co-conspirators.”
Wooten stuck his head out of the curtain, frowning. “I’m not so certain of that. Faske seemed very surprised to see Kenneth.”
“Odd,” said Judith, “and why would Kenneth need to sneak into his own house late at night?”
“Unless it wasn’t Kenneth after all,” pointed out Marigold, supine beneath her handkerchief, her hands behind her head. “It could have been another layer of Illusion. I could still sense Musing emanating from him.”
“Yet,” said Wooten, “when we flew back much later, I saw Kenneth returning to the inn by foot, from the direction of Garvey House. So we cannot rule out the possibility that it was him.”
“Either way,” said Dacian, “it is a good sign. The ghost is walking again because it means to scare us off. Now we know for certain that the Illusor is here, and furthermore, that he is uneasy.”
Judith leaned back in her chair thoughtfully. “And I’m intrigued about the plant from the maze, Wooten.” She paused, smoothing her sleeve back down. “I find myself a little concerned for Lady Garvey’s wellbeing.”
Dacian set the cards down in a neat stack. “You mean the tea? I did warn you that the plant could be poisonous. Do you think the housekeeper is slowly doing away with Lady Garvey?” He frowned. “I always thought that I hadn’t used enough Impact to kill Lord Garvey. Perhaps if he was weakened beforehand by poison, it might explain why he keeled over so quickly.”
Judith tutted disapprovingly. “Don’t underestimate your own strength, Dacian. Besides, if our killer had resource to poison, why bother to involve you at all?”
“They needed a scapegoat,” said Dacian. “And perhaps they became impatient.”
“Yes,” agreed Robert. “A duel is a much quicker method, and placed the blame squarely on the duke.”
“And put him in the sight of the law, as well the Musor Custos.” Judith narrowed her eyes. “But why bother with the ghost now? Is it simply to frighten us off, or is there some other plot afoot?”
The following morning, they were all rather tired, despite rising late and being fortified by drinking chocolate. A small fire blazed in the green parlour, and outside the rain had cleared, showing an unfeeling blue sky.
Judith held a fresh cup of chocolate in her hands, taking comfort from its warmth. She considered her plan for the day. “I feel we ought to warn Lady Garvey about that herbal tea, and see if we can gather any evidence about Mrs Froode. Only I am check-mated, because neither Faske nor Froode will let me into the house. And I doubt Kenneth will escort me either, now.”
“He is sleeping late,” put in Robert. “I checked downstairs.”
Dacian chuckled from under his false moustache. “I shall be interested to see if Miss Cultor managed to leave a mark on him.”
“He might sleep ’til noon.” Judith sighed and put down her cup. “Is it too early to call on Mrs Selina Southcott? It is unbearable to sit around doing nothing. Quite apart from anything else, I am running out of time. I was supposed to visit Cornwall before I return to London. All this gallivanting has disrupted my plans.”
“Don’t fuss yourself about that,” advised Dacian. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and stretched out a hand. An object glowed in his palm, circular and ornate: a topaz ring. “You can use this Travel charm to speed your journey. It will take you straight to Falmouth in the blink of an eye. From there it will be only a few hours’ ride to reach Lanyon Castle.”
Judith stared down at the gold ring with its blue topaz stone. “That is a valuable trinket.”
“A gift from the Trisketts, a long time ago,” replied Dacian. “Lord Triskett comes from a family of Travellors. His younger brother taught me how to imbue charms, actually, just like I’m teaching you now, Robert.”
Robert nodded in acknowledgment from his station by the door. Despite the camaraderie of the previous evening, he had retreated into formality once more.
Dacian extended his palm in offering, but Judith looked away. “I cannot use something so precious for my trivial journey. You might need it - especially if the law comes after you.”
He closed his fingers over the ring and tucked it back into his waistcoat. “If you are determined. Just remember that it is here if you need it.” He glanced out the window. “It is a pleasant day. Perhaps we should make the most of it, and wander around the village. We might learn something, if we keep our ears pricked.”
So it was that they spent the next hour strolling around the tiny village of Stokesford, with Robert acting as footman and Dacian in his disguise as Mr Fortnew, man of business. They sampled buns at the bakery, and circumnavigated the church, peering curiously up at the belfry. Around them rolled a bucolic view of hills and valleys, interspersed by the vivid colours of autumnal leaves.
Dacian squinted at the darkly shadowed dome of the bell tower. “Do you think that is where Miss Yvette Belfleur lives permanently? Or is she simply passing through Stokesford?”
“It does concern me,” confessed Judith. “Especially now you have mentioned these Beauchamp Fliers. What if she should report Marigold’s unorthodox behaviour?”
“Let’s not worry about it now.” Dacian took her arm. “I propose we visit that little dressmaker we passed, and buy you a hat.”
She gave him a wry look, but he insisted escorting her to the little modiste that doubled as a milliner. Its walls were crammed with silks, caps, and bonnets, but Dacian determinedly led her away from the subdued, matronly selections to the window display.
“After all, you will need it, for your daughter’s wedding, will you not?” He plucked up an extravagant confection made of cream lace and pale blue satin, and presented it to her. “ This is much better than your mobcap.”
“It is far too … showy.” Nonetheless, Judith found herself reaching to caress the smooth curve of satin.
“Try it on,” he insisted, and she was both disappointed and relieved that he did not offer to divest her of her current headwear. He did, however, step forward to receive the object in question, rather than have the shopkeeper take it. She wondered if he was planning another mobcap-themed seduction later, and then firmly repressed the thought.
Judith admired her reflection in the mirror, flushing slightly at the ridiculousness of it. Yet the cream and blue suited her complexion, and the elegant shape of the bonnet framed her face nicely.
“She will have it,” declared Dacian, “and the blue shawl to match.”
“To whom shall I make out the bill, sir?” The shopkeeper named an outrageous price.
Judith widened her eyes and shook her head, but Dacian was already reaching for his purse. “Ah, I’ve been abroad, and I am accustomed to paying for things in the moment. We can settle it now.”
The shopkeeper bowed, and Judith found herself leaving the shop with a hatbox and a new shawl draped over her arm. Reluctantly, she allowed Robert to take them from her, to give credence to his presence as a footman.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then she turned to stare at Dacian. “You, however, are presumptuous.”
“It was to please myself,” he said, “and give me respite from your damn caps.”
“At least you do not have to gaze upon that moustache,” she retorted.
Dacian looked down his nose. “It is a fine moustache. Robert, do not be offended.”
Robert winked from above the hatbox. “I am not offended, your grace. It is an honour to have you wear my creation.”
“Indeed, you quite improve his countenance,” said Judith with asperity.
“Impossible!” retorted Dacian, and Judith, a Truth Discernor, could not bring herself to refute him, though she could hear he did not believe his own words. She gave him a small smile instead.
Dacian looked smug and held out his arm. They began strolling back down the main street, enjoying the sight of late blooming foxgloves set beyond the cobblestones, and the smell of freshly baked bread in the air.
A neatly clad gentleman with red side-whiskers nodded as he passed, a truncheon swinging from his waist. Judith stiffened, suspecting that this was the Constable Carter that Phyllis had mentioned. Fortunately, he did not seem to pay them any undue attention, and moved further up the street. Of course, any thought of the exiled duke would be far from his mind. It had all happened so long ago, but the constable might have an opinion about the ghost he had reportedly seen. Judith wondered if she dared question him about it later.
Her eye travelled towards the Golden Bat. An expensive carriage had just drawn up, its wheels clean as if it had not travelled far.
A gentleman emerged, slender and well-dressed. He turned to help a lady disembark. Her moss-green skirts swished as she stepped down, and her russet-red hair gleamed in the sun.
Judith tensed, clutching at Dacian’s arm. “Is that… Lady Vosse?”
His step faltered briefly. “Good God, you’re right. With Lord Triskett.”
“What are they doing here?”
Dacian frowned. “I wrote to Biscuit, remember. I didn’t want to put anything too incriminating in a letter so I asked him to come to Sargenet. I didn’t tell him to meet me at Stokesford.” He glanced down at Judith. “And I certainly didn’t request Lady Vosse’s presence.”
Without realising it, they had drawn to a halt. Wary of drawing attention, Judith turned to examine a shop window, pulling Dacian with her. Dazedly, she stared into an apothecary, its display full of colourful glass jars and bottles. The sight of Lady Vosse was causing old feelings and suspicions to come roaring back. Yet Dacian’s voice had rung true: he had not expected her company.
Robert stopped close by. “Might they recognise you, your grace, and give you away?”
Dacian raised his brows. “So little faith in our disguise, Robert? I am sure it will pass muster. Though Lord Triskett has known me for a long time, it’s true.” He didn’t add that he had known Lady Vosse in a far more intimate way.
Judith stared at Dacian’s reflection in the window. “They will probably take one look at you and announce your name to all and sundry. And I just saw the local constable pass us.”
“Nonsense.” Dacian pursed his lips at himself, turning his jaw this way and that. “This is a chance to test the moustache out. I bet you another bonnet that they won’t even blink twice.”
Robert winced, not so confident. “Perhaps I could pass you this hatbox to conceal you better?”
“I will not hide behind a hatbox,” said Dacian with disdain.
Judith released his arm. She had just noticed something else. “Poleney,” she breathed.
“Excuse me?”
“The name of the apothecary.” She pointed to the white lettering that arched across the window. “Poleney and Assoc. To whom Kenneth Garvey made out his invoice.”
“Good God,” said Dacian blankly. “You’re right.”
Robert leaned in. “What on earth would Kenneth sell to an apothecary?”
They all looked at one another, then said together: “The flowers.”
“Maybe they are medicinal, after all,” said Dacian, but he turned away to look down the street at Lady Vosse and Lord Triskett. “We can examine the question later, however. Judith, we’d better head Biscuit off before he starts asking the inn-keeper if he has seen me. Quick now.”
With trepidation, Judith turned down the main street again, with Dacian and Robert falling behind her in formation.
The two newcomers were scanning their surroundings. Judith was glad to see that the red-whiskered parish constable was at the other end of the street. She glided towards the Golden Bat, wishing that she was dressed in a slightly more dashing gown than her navy cambric. Next to Lady Vosse’s stylish green muslin, she felt positively dowdy. Lady Vosse was of a similar age to herself, yet the woman dressed like she was in the market for a lover.
Which, Judith supposed, she was. Lord Vosse still allowed his beautiful wife every freedom, it was clear, if Isobel was allowed to jaunt off in a carriage with Lord Triskett. Yet not when it came to the Duke of Sargen, Judith recalled. His grace had been too notorious, or their affair too obvious, for Lord Vosse to stomach.
Jealousy, annoyingly, churned in her own gut.
Lady Vosse, with some instinct, spotted them first. Her green eyes narrowed on Judith and she tapped Lord Triskett on the arm. His lordship turned, blinked, then bowed.
Judith advanced, smiling, conscious of Dacian behind her right elbow. A constable might not recognise the duke, but these two certainly might. “Ah, Lord Triskett, Lady Vosse, a pleasure! How strange to see you both in this corner of the world!”
Lady Vosse inclined her head. Her eyes were set rather far apart, giving her a gamine charm which gentlemen seemed to find extremely attractive. Judith thought it made her look cross-eyed. A young, handsome footman with blond hair stood behind her, holding the carriage door.
“I am equally surprised, Mrs Avely, to find you here.” Lady Vosse fluttered her lashes. “Perhaps we seek the same quarry?”
Judith gestured to Robert. “I am not sure: are you seeking to buy a hat? There is a lovely milliner here. You simply must visit it.”
Her ladyship’s gaze took in Robert, with his chestnut hair, blue eyes, and firm chin, and lingered there with some appreciation. Oh dear, thought Judith. The damn woman was paying far too much attention to her male escorts.
“Ah, hats!” put in Lord Triskett jovially. “Nothing like a hat to distract a lady! Isobel, I can take you shopping, if you like.”
Lady Vosse ignored him and turned to the duke, who stood diffidently behind Judith. She examined his even taller, broader form, and frowned a little. Judith saw out of the corner of her eye that Dacian had adopted a slight hunch and jutted his chin in as if nervous, his eyes cast down. It did almost more than the Illusion to disguise him, for she had never seen the duke take such a cowering stance.
“And who is this, Mrs Avely?” asked Lady Vosse. “Pray, won’t you introduce us?”
“Oh, ahem.” Judith coughed. “This is Mr Fortnew, my man of business. He is accompanying me to my new property. In fact, I have a new title as well: Marchioness of Lanyon. You may address me as Lady Avely now.”
She was glad to see that this news momentarily distracted her ladyship. Her eyes widened, making her seem even more impish as she stared at Judith. “Goodness me, Lanyon? You cannot mean the Lanyon Castle?”
“I do, indeed.”
“How intriguing. My cousins live in Cornwall,” confided Lady Vosse, in her guileless manner. “They have reported some rather strange stories about your castle. Its cellars are rumoured to be desperately haunted.”
“Oh?” A quiver of apprehension slid through Judith. The royal steward had warned her that there was some trouble afoot in her new residence: it was worse to know that the cellars were implicated, as they were needed urgently to house a roost of vampiri. At least, however, it seemed that Lady Vosse had not yet recognised the duke. “Perhaps you can tell me all about it, if you would be so kind? Would you like to step inside? I have taken a parlour at this inn, to break my journey, and can offer you some tea.”
“Charming,” replied Lady Vosse, then waved her hand at her footman. “Edward, I shall stay here tonight. Unpack my things.” The young man hastened to untie his mistress’s valises, while Judith blinked in consternation. She had meant to offer momentary respite only, not for Lady Vosse to take a room.
Lord Triskett gave another bow. “We would be delighted, Lady Avely. We have just come from Gurney, nearby, and I’m afraid their breakfast and accommodation were rather inadequate.”
Judith sighed in defeat, while also noting that the two had been staying in the county the previous evening, not far from Stokesford. She led the way in, requesting tea from the innkeeper as she did so.
She nodded at Robert, allowing him to retreat with the hatbox, but Dacian stayed at her side, his face expressionless below the flat brown hair. Arrogant man. It was only a matter of time before Lord Triskett realised he was in the presence of his childhood friend, despite Dacian’s ridiculous hunch. Or perhaps Lady Vosse would recognise her old lover first.
Judith’s hands clenched in her skirts, as she examined the gleaming russet curls that cascaded down Lady Vosse’s back. The woman should really be wearing a mobcap, at her age.
Soon they were all crowded into the tiny parlour. Judith took a seat, and Lady Vosse joined her at the dining table, throwing her cream muff aside and looking around with an air of disdain. Dacian remained standing by the fire, his arms clasped behind his back, still adopting a downcast pose. Judith sighed. He was determined to test how long his moustache would prevail.
Lord Triskett strode over to the window then turned to face them, speaking in a low voice. “Lady Avely, I confess we are in Stokesford not for hats. We are looking for his grace, the Duke of Sargen. I don’t suppose you have seen him anywhere near here?”
Judith carefully avoided looking at Dacian. “Er, I am afraid not, my lord, but I suggest that you don’t mention the possibility to the local constable.”
Lord Triskett’s eyes widened, but Lady Vosse leaned forward. “Yet you’ve just come from Sargenet, haven’t you? You saw the duke there?”
Judith hesitated. “I did.”
“That was quick, wasn’t it?” The green eyes were speculative.
Judith stared haughtily. “I do not know what you mean to imply, Lady Vosse.”
“You must have been the very first to visit, when he returned.”
Briefly, Judith considered telling this sly woman that she had been at Sargenet on other business entirely. But she could not reveal Robert’s connection to her without his permission. Instead, she nodded reluctantly. “I saw his grace in London, and he invited me to break my journey at Sargenet.”
Lord Triskett frowned. “I thought you said you are breaking your journey here.”
“Hats, my lord,” said Judith. “I am afraid hats waylaid me. Yet why do you look for his grace in Stokesford?”
His lordship laughed uneasily, and avoided a direct answer. “I don’t think Sargen has come to buy hats.”
Judith purposefully did not look at Dacian, but raised her brows in question.
Lady Vosse folded her hands in her lap. “We heard from his sister, Lady Agatha, that Dacian had some odd notion to visit Lady Garvey and apologise. We thought we should stop him, before he provokes another quarrel.”
Of course, Lady Vosse would feel comfortable using Dacian’s name. Fortunately, Judith was distracted from her own irritation by the arrival of Phyllis with the tea tray. She thanked the maid then set about pouring the tea, wondering as she did so how Lady Vosse had managed to attach herself to Lord Triskett’s journey. Were they intimately involved now? Would Dacian be jealous? And how much did Lady Vosse know about what happened on that night nine years ago?
Manners dictated that she offer a cup of tea to Mr Fortnew as well, and Dacian stepped forward to take it. Then he retreated back to the fireplace, hunched over his teacup, his moustache maintaining its curl and the mole firmly in place.
Lady Vosse watched him curiously.
“So!” said Judith, once Phyllis had gone. “I must warn you that it is best not to mention his grace, if you can. The Stokesford imagination paints him as the ‘wicked duke’ who callously killed Lord Garvey.”
Lady Vosse raised a brow. “That is the truth, isn’t it?” she said archly. “His grace is very wicked.”
Dacian choked a little on his tea and Judith ground her teeth. “Maybe so, but nonetheless, we do not want him to hang,” she said firmly. “Memories are long here, longer than nine years, I’m afraid, and they might not be willing to let the whole matter slide.”
“Dear me,” said Lady Vosse. “Poor Dacian. I hear he has become quite browned in Spain. Is it true, Lady Avely?”
“Er,” Judith glanced down at her tea rather than look at Dacian. “Yes, I suppose he is not quite so pale as when he left.”
“A price to pay for his misdemeanours,” sighed Lady Vosse. “While poor Lord Garvey was cut down in his prime. Do you know how it all happened, Lady Avely?”
“I am quite in the dark,” replied Judith blandly. “Do you know how it happened, Lady Vosse?”
The delicate shoulders shrugged. “Something about a woman, no doubt.”
By the fireplace, Dacian took a deliberate sip of tea, gaze averted.
Judith sat up straighter, deciding to grab the cat by the tail. “I did hear that Lord Garvey went to meet a woman in the maze that night. It wasn’t you, was it, Lady Vosse?”
Her ladyship blinked. “Me?” She gave a rather brittle laugh. “No, it was not. What a suggestion!”
Judith held her gaze over the teacup. Lady Vosse’s words did not echo with the hollowness of a lie. Yet even if Lord Garvey had not met with her, she might still have orchestrated the whole thing from a distance. Or from within a disguise.
Avoiding Judith’s speculative look, Lady Vosse’s eyes slipped sideways and landed on Dacian. She frowned thoughtfully at his hands, holding the teacup. Then her gaze slowly lifted to his face, where she became riveted. Her mouth fell open.
“Devil’s horns,” she uttered. “Dacian? Is that you?”