In which there is only one horse
Discernors often have a strong sense of duty, arising from a wish to honour the truths that they perceive.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
First, Judith marched up to the back door of Garvey House, Dacian close behind. She banged loudly on the door several times and yelled a demand for entrance - much like Dacian had as a footman - and eventually the door opened a crack.
Mrs Froode’s weathered face peered out, blinking. She was not wearing her usual apron and mobcap, and her head showed thick grey curls. Her gown was unrelievedly dark, though it was difficult to see past the narrow gap in the doorway.
“What is it?” the housekeeper said irritably, yet the whites of her eyes showed as they took in the sight of Judith’s stained gown and Dacian’s grim face.
Judith put her foot in the crack. “Where have you been in the last hour? Answer me now, and truthfully.”
The housekeeper’s face shuttered. “I don’t have to answer any questions. Especially at this time of night.” She pushed the door against Judith’s foot so that pain shot through it.
Dacian put his hand on the wood with a threatening fluctuation of power. “Answer now, or I will force this open.”
Mrs Froode’s eye twitched. “Very well,” she sniffed dourly. “I’ve been doing my work, as usual. I was in the study, going over the household accounts.”
“That is a lie,” said Judith. At the same time, she noted that the housekeeper seemed to be in possession of her wits, and not as if she had been casting Illusions willy-nilly all over the place. Or perhaps she was keeping a careful hold of herself.
“Is it now?” Mrs Froode stared back, impassive, her pupils dark in the dim light. “And what gives you the right to say so, if you don’t mind me asking, my lady?”
Judith pressed her lips together. She could not announce her Gift. Indeed, it was a hidden tool in their arsenal, and she should not reveal it. Yet it galled her that Mrs Froode could calmly lie to their faces without consequence.
“Faske is dead,” said Judith abruptly. “What do you think of that?”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. It was a convincing facsimile of shock, but Judith did not trust it. Mrs Froode knew something; she could see it as the housekeeper’s eyes darted to the gardens outside.
Dacian, too, shifted behind her. “We’d like to know your thoughts on the matter.”
After a long moment, Mrs Froode spoke in a low whisper, with a faint note of hysteria. “If he is dead, it is because he was stupid.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Judith. Was Mrs Froode Bemused, after all?
“He laughed at the ghost, didn’t he?” She grew louder, her fingers white on the door frame. “It’s unwise to mock that which you don’t understand.”
Judith stared. The housekeeper’s voice was thick with some meaning which she could not decipher. Not a lie, that much was clear to her Discernment. A warning, then?
Or the truth, from the lips of a clever dissembler?
“A ghost didn’t do this,” said Dacian sharply.
“I never said it did,” was the cryptic reply. A grim smile flitted across Mrs Froode’s face. “How was it done? A gunshot, perchance? You’d better watch out, your grace. You might be blamed.”
Judith pulled her foot back in surprise.
“You know who I am?” asked Dacian. He still leaned his hand against the door, unyielding.
“I recognise you right enough, with your handsome face under that foolish moustache,” said Mrs Froode, giving him a contemptuous look. “And I won’t be the only one. I advise you to leave this property. I will have to call the parish constable now, to deal with Faske, if what you say is true. You’d better make yourself scarce, or you might find yourself blamed.”
Judith backed away from the door, uncertain. It almost seemed as if the housekeeper was trying to help them, for no lie coloured her voice. Or perhaps she was threatening them.
Then Mrs Froode shut the door in their faces.
Frustrated, Judith retreated with Dacian to the terraces.
“She lied about doing the household accounts,” she said angrily. “And yet we cannot prove it.”
“You think she is our quarry?”
“I don’t know! She did not seem Bemused, though she was being rather insolent.” Judith hesitated. “We must find Kenneth, Isobel, and Lord Triskett, and see how they fare.”
“You cannot possibly still think that Biscuit…” Dacian trailed off. “Very well. Just to eliminate the possibilities. With any luck we will find Biscuit asleep and Kenneth quite Bewildered.”
They walked quickly around the house, keeping to the shadows. The moon was high now, small and bright in the sky. Judith gnawed at her lip. “It will take too long to walk back to the inn. I think we should steal some horses.”
Dacian grinned. “You surprise me again, Judith.”
They made their way to the stables, the cold night air seeping through Judith’s cloak. Yet when they sneaked in, there was only a single horse sleeping in the stalls; a dappled grey mare.
Quickly, Dacian bridled it and led it out. “You can go ahead without me,” he suggested reluctantly.
“Absolutely not. We ride together.” Yet she hesitated, looking back over to house. “Where is Robert? Do you think Yvette found him and led him away? If not, we must tell him to withdraw.”
“Cover your ears,” instructed Dacian, and proceeded to bellow loudly into the night. “Robert! Return to the inn! We go there now!”
Judith winced. Dacian had probably roused the whole of Stokesford with that directive. However, she was relieved when she saw a shadow detach from a tree in the distance and wave acknowledgment.
Dacian mounted the horse and put out a hand to hoist her up with his effortless strength, pulling her to sit behind him.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
Judith muttered an agreement, feeling a little embarrassed that she was astride behind him, his warmth between her thighs. As he guided the horse out into the night and into a trot, she grasped his waist with cold fingers, then eventually slipped her arms around to hold him more tightly. He was all muscle and strength, and she sighed as she leaned into his back.
The ash trees sped by as they passed down the drive. Dacian turned his head to murmur, “I must say that I was heartened by your earlier display of concern, my dear.”
Judith breathed him in; the smell of freshly cut yew and smoke. “I was simply happy that I didn’t have your death on my conscience,” she said into his shoulder.
“Yes, it was only a sense of duty that moved you.” There was a laugh in his voice, and it caused a frisson to run through her. Or perhaps that was the friction of his body against hers.
“I have a strong sense of duty,” she said primly.
“Very passionate,” he agreed. “I would like to see it roused again.”
She blushed. The horse thundered beneath as he guided it into a canter. For a long while, they were silent in the thrill of the ride, and Judith revelled in the pleasure of being so close to him, even as she mulled over what they might find at the inn.
Halfway back to Stokesford, Dacian suddenly slowed the horse, and Judith soon saw why: darting glimpses of movement suggested that a bat circled them. Dacian put out an arm, and the creature landed to swing from his elbow, then claw its way up to his shoulder.
Wooten. Judith whispered a greeting, glad to see that he, too, was safe. He remained as a bat, clearly reluctant to shape-shift without ready access to his clothes, which were tucked away in Dacian’s pocket.
When they reached the inn, Dacian became grimly focused on the matter at hand. Dismounting, he shook Wooten off and helped Judith down, then barrelled inside, heading straight to Kenneth’s parlour.
Yet his insistent pounding on the door obtained no response. The room lay dark, its occupants seemingly determined to ignore them.
Dacian scowled. “I’ll break down the goddamn door! Kenneth! Open up!”
“I say, sir!”
Judith turned to see the disgruntled innkeeper behind her. Testily, he informed them that Kenneth had departed the inn that afternoon for London, and moreover he would thank them not to damage his property.
They retreated in disorder. Judith was displeased that their questions had been balked, and wondered if Kenneth truly had fled Stokesford and why. Could it be a cover for his murderous hunt that night? Then she bethought herself of a different quarry, and spun on her heel, making her way to Isobel’s quarters.
Dacian kept close behind, muttering. At Judith’s forceful knock, a maid opened the door and reluctantly went to fetch her mistress.
After several minutes, Isobel came forward, tying a green silk dressing gown around her slender waist. She appeared to be half asleep, blinking confusedly at Dacian and Judith.
“What is it? Is there a fire?” She yawned. “You both look very fierce.”
“No fire,” said Judith grimly. “There has been a murder, and I want to know where you’ve been this night.”
Isobel snapped her mouth shut, her eyes widening. “What? Do you dare impugn me in the matter?”
Dacian held up a hand. “We just need to know everything we can, Isobel. Please help us.”
Mollified, Isobel gave him a coy smile. “I’ve been alone in my bed, more’s the pity.”
Judith narrowed her eyes. It was a lie, and moreover, Isobel seemed to lack her usual sharpness. Was she not yet fully woken, or was she Bemused?
Isobel put out a dreamy hand to brush Dacian’s arm. “Did you kill someone again, my fearsome man?”
“Isobel!” Dacian pushed her hand away. “You know I would not. It was Faske who died, the butler at Garvey House, and we don’t know who killed him.”
Isobel blinked innocently. “Is that blood on your gown, Lady Avely?”
Judith looked down. The deep red stain stood out starkly against her lavender skirts. It brought bile to her throat, recalling how she had knelt before Faske’s mauled body, seeing his face overlaid with Dacian’s, stricken with violence.
She spun on her heel. “Indeed, I must change.”
Dacian followed, and she heard Isobel’s door close behind them with a pointed snap. Judith stalked past her own door and headed for the stairs.
“Well,” Dacian caught up with her on the landing. “At least we know that Isobel can’t have done it.”
“She lied,” snapped Judith. “When she said she was alone in her bed, it wasn’t true.”
“Hm. Perhaps Lord Triskett was in there with her?”
Judith darted him a glance, relieved to see that Dacian suspected the same, and did not seem to mind the vagaries of Isobel’s affections.
“Well, let us see if Lord Triskett is in his room.”
Judith pulled her cloak round her to hide the ugly stain on her skirts and marched down the corridor. There was no time to change. They had to find Lord Triskett to see if he knew anything about the matter.
Lord Triskett was not in his room. His manservant said that his lordship had gone to partake of dinner at the local tavern, and had not yet returned.
Dacian frowned at the news, and Judith raised her brows. So Lord Triskett had not been safely ensconced at the inn all evening - unless the story of the tavern was simply to cover his presence in Isobel’s bedroom.
Quickly, they made their way down the cold street to where the Stokesford tavern still glowed with light and chatter. With a shock, Judith realised it was not yet midnight. It felt as if an eon had passed since they had left the village at dusk.
She let Dacian take the lead, following him into the pub and pulling her cloak close. Warmth assailed her from a fire, roaring heartily at one end of the room. Several men sat around nursing their ale, turning to look at the newcomers. The smell of beer and meat hung in the air.
Dacian ignored their audience. He scanned the room, then strode towards a dark corner at the back, where a figure slumped over a table.
Judith followed. As she drew closer, she could see that it was Lord Triskett, his slender wrist flung out, holding a glass of spirits loosely. His head lolled on his upper arm, his eyes half closed, and he did not seem to notice their approach.
“Biscuit!” Dacian stepped close. “Wake up.”
His lordship straightened, blinking. “Ah, Shargen. What are you doing here?” He lifted the glass in a half-hearted salute. “Shplendid whisky, this.”
He was drunk. Judith examined him narrowly. Or was it a cover for Bemusement?
Dacian seemed to realise her thoughts, for he slid her a reproving look. “Have you been here long, Biscuit? We need to know.”
His lordship frowned, confusion clouding his eyes. “A while. Long enough to soften the harshness of life.” He tilted the glass again, and the golden contents sloshed wildly.
Judith grimaced. There was no point questioning Biscuit in this state; his lordship was either too drunk or too wily to answer them directly. She turned and marched over to the counter, to ask the tavern owner for a more reliable account.
“That man there.” She jerked her chin. “How long has he been sitting at that table?”
The tavern-keeper was a large man with a huge beard to match. He tipped his head, considering. “Aye, his lordship has been there since sunset, drowning his sorrows.”
Judith did not want to believe it, but she could hear the truth in the man’s voice. Her shoulders drooped, and she turned, finding that Dacian had come up behind her. He put a hand on her arm.
“He’s as drunk as a wheelbarrow,” he said. “I’ll come back for him, once I’ve put you safely to bed.”
Despondently, she allowed herself to be led out the tavern, into the cold night air.