In which clothes maketh the man
A cunning liar will use their body and gestures instead of their words.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
After Dacian left, Judith dressed hastily, and paced around her room restlessly, her mind too busy to look at the breakfast tray that Phyllis soon delivered. The maid opened the curtains, but as soon as she was gone, Judith carefully shut them again, for Wooten’s sake.
She was growing very anxious for Marigold. If the vampiri had not returned, it might mean that she was still with Yvette - or that she was captive. Alone, in enemy territory, while Judith had been sound asleep. They must besiege Garvey House again to find her.
She had the beginnings of a plan too, though Dacian would not like it.
He and Robert came in, and Wooten’s head popped out of Dacian’s pocket.
“What a brilliant insight, Lady Avely,” Wooten said with admiration. “It explains why Selina thought Harriet was preoccupied before her death. She must have been concocting her evil plan to change places with her housekeeper.”
Judith nodded distractedly. Selina had mentioned that Harriet had argued with someone too. Perhaps it had been her own granddaughter. Did Georgina know of the plot? It would have been hard to keep it from her. Judith remembered how Georgina had ducked out of sight in the window. She had perceived the movement as one of fear, but now she realised it may also have been guilt. Georgina might have helped her maternal grandmother to maintain the charade, especially if she believed her life depended upon it.
And they must have gained Lady Garvey’s cooperation through threatening to withdraw the Galenia flower. Judith would have to make a counter-proposition to the old battle-axe, if only she could gain entry into the house.
Dacian put Wooten down on the empty dresser. “Harriet’s alleged preoccupation before she died is scarcely proof enough that she is now masquerading as a housekeeper. I can’t imagine how we are to make this wild accusation.”
Robert shut the door. “Perhaps accusations can wait, until we find Marigold. I feel awful that I left her alone.”
Judith nodded, and proceeded to explain her plan.
Dacian folded his arms and leaned against the dresser. “It will not work.”
“Of course it will,” said Judith. “Do you not have faith in Robert’s Gift?”
“I have perfect faith in him,” said Dacian calmly. “But you will not pass as a man, Judith. The idea is ludicrous.”
“Kenneth is plump, like me,” she argued. “And his moustache will hide most of my face. If I claim to be ill, I can cough into a handkerchief, and you can do all the talking, as his valet.”
“You just want me as your servant again,” Dacian grumbled. “And your curves look nothing like Kenneth’s, I can tell you that for certain.”
Judith blushed and turned to Robert. “Did you have a good look at Kenneth and his manservant, when you were in his room?”
Robert nodded hesitantly. “Perhaps.” He stared at a wall, and a face materialised over the wallpaper. It was Kenneth, complete with bushy grey brows and the luxuriant moustache, his hooded eyes blank.
“I will need it in a charm,” said Judith. “I rather fancy myself in a cravat.”
“God help us,” said Dacian.
Wooten spoke up in a pained voice. “Not a cravat, if I may say so, my lady. It takes years to master the art of tying one properly. You are much better off having a shawl wrapped around your neck, particularly if you are pretending to be ill.”
“A good notion,” she acknowledged. “And Dacian, you will suit the role of Kenneth’s superior valet; you must simply lean into your natural arrogance.”
Dacian lifted his nose. “I assure you, I will be superb.” He paused. “What does this valet look like? A handsome fellow, I hope?”
Robert closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. The image of Kenneth was replaced by one of his supercilious valet: gaunt cheeks, long nose, and a bald pate.
“No.” Dacian’s tone was shocked. “Absolutely not. He has no hair.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “Your vanity knows no bounds. You will do this to save Marigold. You might even look quite dignified without hair.”
“Not with a nose like that,” he protested. His eyes drifted to her breakfast tray. “Eat, Judith. You’ll need your strength today, I suspect. God save me, but I will try to find some breeches for you.”
He took Wooten with him for sartorial advice, leaving Judith alone with Robert.
“Are you up for the task?” She smiled at him. “We are asking a lot of you, I know.”
Robert straightened his shoulders, pulling his chin in like a soldier readying for duty. “It is the least I can do.”
“You don’t owe us anything. If anything, it is the opposite.”
Robert’s gaze shuttered. “Mm.”
Judith frowned. “You must let me repay you by hosting you in Cornwall.”
“No, I thank you, my lady.” He took two steps backward. “I will construct the charms now.”
He left, shutting the door quietly, and Judith’s shoulders slumped. Curse the boy. And curse herself for pushing when she should have stayed silent. She had thought they were growing a little closer in the extremis of their circumstances, but it seemed that Robert persisted in that characteristic trait of young men: refusing to acknowledge the superior understanding of those twenty years older than themselves.
With her own children far away, Marigold missing, and Robert so distant, Judith felt suddenly quite alone in the world. At least, now, she told herself, they must work together to foil a killer, which should surely build the bonds of camaraderie. Hopefully, they would also horrify Wooten in the process.
Two hours later, they set off in Dacian’s carriage, leaving Isobel and Lord Triskett still abed. With any luck, Isobel was prone to leisurely mornings, while his lordship would be preoccupied with a pounding skull.
Halfway to Garvey House, Dacian ordered his driver to stop the carriage, and they donned their disguises.
Robert had decided against another cravat pin, on Wooten’s advice, and instead had enchanted a pocket watch that Dacian had purchased in the village. It lay on top of Judith’s new coat, which Dacian had obtained from the milliner, along with a natty pair of gentleman’s breeches and boots.
The men waited outside while Judith climbed into her new clothes. The coat was rather tight across her chest, despite her attempts to bind her breasts. To counter the curve of them, she stuffed her paisley shawl into her waistband, so that she appeared unrelievedly round.
Unfortunately, Wooten was now asleep in her (Dacian’s) trunk, and was not there to witness her depredations upon male fashion.
Next she put a beaver hat upon her head, and tied a thick woollen scarf round her neck, and said the word for Illusion.
A faint warmth settled on her face. She peered past her own nose, glimpsing a protrusion of grey. The excessive moustache now adorned her, and, she hoped, would distract anyone from looking too closely.
She stuck her head out the carriage window and cleared her throat.
Dacian and Robert turned to look, and their eyebrows shot up.
“It might even work,” said Dacian reluctantly. He had donned Robert’s livery again, now equipped with a magical button, and he wore the long, gaunt face of Kenneth’s valet, topped by a bald dome without any telltale scar. His expression was doleful. “You, at least, have a virility of hair. Can you cough in a manly way?”
Judith gave the deepest cough she could muster. Dacian winced. “Fortunately, Kenneth doesn’t have much of a baritone.”
Robert grinned through a yawn. He had been casting the new charms for the last two hours, and was thoroughly Bemused, his hair tousled and his cheeks pink. “Judith, that moustache is a masterpeesh.”
“I miss mine.” Dacian looked down his lengthened nose and sighed.
“Never mind,” said Robert consolingly. “I can make it bigger next time.”
Dacian stiffened. “I do not like your implication, my boy.”
Judith interrupted hastily. “Robert, perhaps you should have a little nap in the stables when we arrive.”
Robert was to accompany them as a groomsman and stay outside nearby, to be on hand in case anything should go wrong. He was garbed in a coarse brown coat and matching hefty boots, with a jaunty kerchief around his neck.
“Yesh, my lady,” said Robert, bowing.
She frowned at him. “When I said to give up your role as footman, I did not intend you to go even lower,” she said severely. “This is the last time I will countenance any sort of role of service from you, Robert, whether you like it or not.”
“Yesh, my lady,” said Robert, with a deeper bow.
Judith glared.
“You can argue about that later,” said Dacian with amusement. “Let us hurry. My head might catch a chill.”
As their carriage rolled up the drive to Garvey House, Judith’s chest tightened with fear. A lot depended on the next few minutes: whether or not they could manage to gain access to the house, and find proof of Harriet’s duplicity before they talked to Lady Garvey. Judith knew where to find it too: in the household accounts, which Harriet had always kept. If she was still alive, her hand would still show in the neat columns.
But the household accounts were kept inside. Judith had to be convincing in her role as Kenneth: plump, harassed, and ill.
The vehicle pulled to a halt. Outside, the sky was heavy with clouds and the threat of rain. Dacian leapt down and held the door open, his bald head gleaming, his lips pressed close together.
Judith took a deep breath, wrapped her thick scarf more tightly, and descended, holding Dacian’s cambric handkerchief aloft. She was rather self-conscious in her breeches, with her limbs so exposed. It was not at all what she was used to, compared to the layers of a gown. Dacian’s eyes trailed down her body, then whipped up again.
He turned smartly on his heel and rapped on the front door. After an interminable five minutes, it opened. Yet, in a stroke of luck, it was not the visage of the indomitable housekeeper who greeted them, but the youthful countenance of Georgina.
She frowned at the sight of Dacian, then her gaze slipped past him to Judith.
“Uncle Kenneth! I thought you had left for London!”
Judith coughed as deeply as she could manage, and shook her head behind her voluminous handkerchief.
Dacian intervened. Peering down his long nose, he said, “His lordship has taken a cold, and wishes to sleep here tonight.”
Georgina looked surprised, yet a brief expression of anxiety crossed her face. “We don’t have any rooms prepared, I am afraid…I thought you preferred the Golden Bat for comfort, Uncle?”
“No,” Judith croaked, and proceeded to have a fit of coughing into her handkerchief, as if unable to speak.
Dacian carried on with aplomb. “The innkeeper’s maid is sick. His lordship does not wish to dally there any longer.” When Georgina still seemed reluctant, Dacian’s tone sharpened. “As this is his lord’s ancestral home, he will sleep here tonight.”
Georgina did not dare protest any further. She backed away from the door. “Yes, of course. I will take you up to the old master bedroom, Uncle, and send Mrs Froode to air it. It hasn’t been used in some time.”
“No need,” said Dacian austerely. “I am accustomed to seeing to my lord’s needs, in various inferior establishments.”
Georgina grinned, but she did not object. Her step light, she led them up the first flight of stairs and opened the door to a large bedroom.
She was correct: the furniture was covered in white sheets, and the air smelled musty. Judith, huddling behind her handkerchief, wondered why the household was so certain Kenneth would not wish to stay there. And where was Harriet now? Why was Georgina reduced to answering the door?
Dacian seemed to have the same thought, for he turned imperiously to Georgina. “What occupies your housekeeper? We shall need a hot brick for my master.”
Georgina bit her lip. “I think Mrs Froode has been called to discuss something with Lady Garvey.”
Judith frowned at the uncertainty in Georgina’s voice. It was far more likely that Harriet was giving Lady Garvey instructions. She raised her brows in question.
Georgina shrugged, leaning forward with an air of confession. “I believe they are plotting something to do with Lady Avely. Grandmama says we are to expect another visit from her, and I fear she will take the opportunity to rescind her promise. You mustn’t let her, Uncle!” Georgina took a step closer, lowering her voice. “If you do not uphold my visit to London, I will not help you with the Galenia plant anymore.”
Judith tried to remain impassive at the determined glint in Georgina’s eyes. So the girl was indeed in the plot - or in two plots, it seemed. She was helping Harriet maintain her deception, while also making a ploy for freedom by assisting Kenneth in his venture.
Dacian was listening, even as he wrestled with the window locks, thrusting the panes open. Judith merely nodded at Georgina, and coughed again to disguise her voice. “You’ll go to London, child.”
Georgina, relieved, withdrew to the door. “I will fetch the hot brick myself. We are a little short on staff at the moment. Faske seems to have disappeared. I know you always thought he was shifty, Uncle, and it seems you were right.”
Judith and Dacian exchanged a look. So Georgina did not know the whole of it.
The girl gave a small curtsy and vanished through the door. Dacian shut it carefully behind her, then whipped the dust sheets off the bed and bundled them into a corner.
Judith sank onto the bed.
“I don’t think she suspects,” she whispered.
Dacian shook his head. “No, I was the one who had a view of you from behind.”
Judith blushed. “The breeches are rather tight.”
Dacian cleared his throat. “Indeed. It seems that Georgina is muddled up in her grandmother’s schemes. Do you think she will obstruct us?”
“It is hard to say. She will scarcely want to act against her own blood. Lady Garvey, on the other hand, might be more willing to throw off Harriet’s iron rule over her household.”
“Should we seek the domestic accounts now? As master of the house, you have a right to simply demand them.”
“No,” said Judith. “We do not want to alert Harriet to our interest. We must steal into the study when no one is looking. And first we must find Marigold. I fear for her safety.”
“I will look for her,” said Dacian. “You climb into bed. Georgina will be back soon enough, and we must stick to our parts.”
Obediently, Judith crawled into the blankets, relieved to hide her legs beneath their weight. Dacian set about pulling the rest of the dust sheets off the furniture, and unpacking the trunk, careful to transfer Wooten to Kenneth’s old wardrobe. It was easily done, as the vampiri was deeply asleep, curled up in a startling purple silk brocade dressing gown that suited his dark hair and swarthy colouring. Dacian then knelt by the fire, where dusty twigs lay ready for lighting, and set a small blaze to warm the room.
Judith kneaded her hands together, grateful for his efforts but anxious for him to start the search for Marigold.
She was glad he remained, however, when Mrs Froode herself appeared at the door instead of Georgina.
The housekeeper held a swaddle of cloth that presumably contained the hot brick. Her white mobcap was as pristine as ever, yet her blue eyes looked even more washed out as she narrowly examined Judith.
“My lord.” She dropped a curtsy, and took a step forward, proffering her bundle. “This is to keep your feet warm.”
Judith was relieved that Harriet - if it were indeed her - was keeping to her part, perhaps afraid of exposure if she questioned Kenneth too directly. Harriet’s caution might keep Judith from being revealed too.
She stared at the housekeeper’s weathered face, trying to see some hint of Harriet’s plain, pleasant features behind the Illusion of servitude.
Mrs Froode trod towards the bed, but Dacian stepped in briskly, taking the bundle. “Thank you,” he said in his most supercilious tone. “My lord will require some broth too, with fresh bread and butter.”
Judith rather suspected he was asking for himself.
Mrs Froode nodded. “Certainly, my lord.”
She gave another curtsy, and withdrew after another glance around the room. Once the door shut behind her, Judith let out a sigh of relief.
She waited a moment before whispering, “She didn’t seem to suspect, either.”
“I hope not.” Dacian pushed the brick under the blankets to rest by her feet. Then he trod to the door with a warning glance. “I’ll prowl around the place, pretending to look for a compress or something. You will need to eat, after all, so I’ll leave the door unlocked for the soup, and take the key with me.”
Judith nodded and lay back against the pillows, watching as Dacian slipped out into the hallway.
Left alone, she was prey to her own doubts. Was she wrong about Harriet? Perhaps she really had passed away, and Mrs Froode simply knew all visiting nobility by sight. It would be rather awkward if Judith attempted to rip off the Illusion, only to find that it really was Mrs Froode behind the chatelaine. It was essential to see the household accounts, and determine if they bore out her theory.
As for Marigold - Judith’s jaw tightened with fear, even as she told herself that the vampiri could simply be sleeping somewhere safe, away from sunlight.
The slow hands on her new pocket watch showed the minutes ticking by. Dacian did not reappear, but Georgina did, bearing a tray of broth and bread from the kitchen. Judith, huddled in her blankets, nodded her thanks, relieved when the girl set the tray beside her bed then left again promptly. Thank God, she was not being overly solicitous.
Judith had just settled her shoulders into the pillows with a sigh, when she heard new footsteps in the hall, accompanied by the tapping of a walking stick. She tensed as a knock rapped on the door, knowing it would be Lady Garvey. Would her ladyship see through the hastily cast Illusion of her own son? Should Judith confide in her now, and tell her of Harriet’s part in Charles’ death?
She remained silent, frozen and undecided, and then Lady Garvey thrust the door open and advanced, tottering, into the room.
Her beaky nose jutted forth with irritation, under a thunderous frown. “Good God, what are you doing here, Kenneth?” Her pinchbeck quizzing glass glinted on her bosom, and she lifted it to peer at Judith, her eye sharp beneath the glass. She was wearing a pale grey gown edged in white lace.
Judith gulped nervously, and hoped that Kenneth would have done the same. She had just seen Mrs Froode standing behind Lady Garvey, a hovering black crow: Harriet, wearing the guise of her old servant’s face.
“Mother,” she croaked, and took refuge in another bout of coughing into her handkerchief. “I am ill, take pity,” she said hoarsely, from under her bushy moustache.
“Lord, do you think I care?” Lady Garvey’s penetrating glare turned into an impatient glance heavenwards, and she dropped the quizzing glass. “It is the worst possible time for you to thrust your presence upon us. You must not move from this room, do you hear? You might expose Georgina to your illness, and you well know that she has a delicate constitution.”
Judith nodded meekly, and coughed again. She dared not petition Lady Garvey right in front of Harriet, without Dacian’s support. She must wait until their plan could come to fruition, along with their incontrovertible proof.
“And,” continued her ladyship crossly, “we are expecting Lady Avely to call this afternoon. You would not want to infect her too, would you, now?”
Judith peered nervously over her quilt. “Oh?” she mumbled, and tried to deepen and roughen her voice. “Visiting again?”
Lady Garvey’s lips thinned. “So I gather. We have something she wants returned, I believe.”
A chill crept into Judith’s heart. Marigold. They had Marigold. She blinked, and tried to remain expressionless, while her pulse beat erratically in her throat.
“You look rather pale. You need laudanum,” said Lady Garvey decisively. “Mrs Froode, fetch some for Kenneth, would you?”
“Yes, my lady,” came Mrs Froode’s rasping voice.
Judith grunted in agreement, and added another cough for good measure. She would certainly not consume any medicine provided by Mrs Froode.
Lady Garvey gave her a last disparaging look as she stalked to the door, sweeping her housekeeper before her. “Stay abed, if you know what is good for you, Kenneth. God knows you will just lower the tone of Garvey House if you are seen in its halls.”
Judith did her best to look cowed, which was not difficult.
The door shut with a snap behind them. Judith lurched up, blood humming in her ears, grateful that Robert’s Illusion had held up.
Yet she was clearly expected. They were planning something, that much was certain. And they held Marigold hostage.
Judith gripped the blanket tightly, her eyes going to the window. Heavy, grey clouds still covered the sky, which was a minor comfort. Direct sunlight would be far worse. Marigold might endure filtered, gloomy daylight for a short time, if only they could find her.
Broth wafted at Judith’s elbow, but she ignored it, too tense to stomach a single mouthful. Georgina arrived again, this time bearing a bottle of laudanum, which she set on the table. Judith eyed it with suspicion, and hoped that the untouched soup was a convincing sign of Kenneth’s illness. She nodded weakly, and tossed fitfully as Georgina left again, shutting the door behind her.
It seemed an age before Dacian returned. When he finally slipped through the door, he had one hand thrust into his pocket. His face was grim as he undid his Illusion charm with the other, and seated himself on the bed.
He proceeded to confirm Judith’s fears.
“I found an attic abode,” he said quietly. “A vampiri residence, with signs of struggle. It looks like Marigold was held there for some time, as she has torn the place apart. Unfortunately, I could not see her. Perhaps she has escaped, or they moved her.”
“Where? Not outside…”
“I also found this ,” said Dacian.
He pulled his hand out of his pocket. His long fingers were wrapped around the body of a black bat. Its head stuck out from his fist. Little black eyes stared up at Judith defiantly.
“Yvette?” Judith breathed. “Where?”
“Under the attic stairs, sleeping. I grabbed her without much difficulty. So it is one for one now.”
The black eyes snapped with scorn, but Judith was glad the creature had been wrenched from slumber so unceremoniously. For it was undeniable now that Miss Belfleur was with the enemy.
“Well,” said Judith icily, “let us hear her story. Release her, so she may talk.”
Dacian looked unconvinced, but he proceeded to lock the door and windows one-handedly before he released his grip, placing Yvette on the bed.
The bat stretched out her wings with a shudder, then transformed into a beautiful, miniature woman. Thick waves of black hair fell around her shoulders. Her eyes were an odd colour of violet, and her figure boasted long legs, a slender waist, and a full bosom.
“Hm,” said Judith. Without the covering of darkness and a cloak, she could now see why this exquisite creature might exert an undue fascination on Marigold. “You are Miss Yvette Belfleur?”
“I am.” Yvette inclined her head and spoke in low musical tones. “That is a remarkable moustache you are sporting, Lady Avely. An improvement upon the last time I saw you.”
Judith frowned at this sally. “I thank you for helping me escape the maze last night, but I must now ask: have you entrapped Miss Cultor?”
Yvette cleared her throat. “Indeed, and I am sorry for it.”
“Oh?” said Dacian sceptically. “Where is she then? What have you done with her?”
“May I have something for my modesty first?” replied Yvette coolly.
Judith dug crossly for her cambric handkerchief and flung it at the vampiri. “Now tell us everything. Or you will find that the duke’s grip is not so kind next time.”
Yvette tucked the heavy fabric round her shoulders and drew it calmly across her breasts. “I trapped Miss Cultor in the attic, it is true. But I have freed her again.” She paused. “I began to realise that my blood companion has violent tendencies, and I feared for Miss Cultor’s safety.”
Judith could hear the truth in her words, and her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally against the pillows. It seemed that Yvette was not going to obfuscate matters. “Your companion, Harriet Bollopher?”
“Yes,” said Yvette, with a piercing, approving glance, along with a modicum of surprise. “Last night, I saw Harriet kill the butler in the maze, with nary a hesitation. It caused me some consternation, however. Now I wonder what other crimes she may be capable of.” She paused. “I feared if I left Marigold sleeping in the attic, Harriet might return and simply snap her neck.”
Judith shuddered, appalled to have her suspicions borne out. Yvette’s tale rang with honesty, mixed with shame.
“Then Harriet has played a part all this time?” Judith narrowed her eyes. “Faske might not be the first murder to her name.”
Yvette’s eyes dropped to the coverlet. “It is possible. I always thought she simply grasped the opportunity presented to her. But now I wonder if perhaps Harriet orchestrated it.”
“To what end?” demanded Dacian. “Simply so she can be sure of a roof above her head?”
“That, and retain access to the Galenia flower in the maze,” Yvette explained. “Its healing properties keep her illness at bay. She feels she has a right to it, as her daughter made it.”
There was more Judith wanted to know, but it could wait. “Never mind all that,” she said. “Where have you put Marigold?”
Yvette licked her lips. “She was reluctant to trust me, but I managed to convince her to hide in the longcase clock in the drawing room - she only agreed when I mentioned the aforesaid possibility of her neck being snapped. We sneaked across to it only an hour ago, despite the daylight. I reasoned that if Harriet notices the escape, she will search all the other rooms first, before thinking to look in the drawing room.”
“Clever,” said Dacian, “and I suppose you locked Miss Cultor inside?”
For the first time, a trace of discomfort crossed Yvette’s features. “I am afraid so. I wanted to keep her safe. She hates me anyway, of course.”
Judith sighed. “You wanted to stop her from flying into Harriet’s grasp again.” Despite herself, she found herself glad of Yvette’s action. God knows what Marigold might do, addled with rage and lack of sleep. At least this way, she was safe and contained.
“Yes,” said Yvette. “I fear that my mistress is filled now with some kind of exultant fire, after last night. I must warn you - she has sent for the parish constable. She plans to have the duke arrested as soon as he appears.” Her eyes slid to Dacian. “I don’t think she suspects yet that you have snuck in beneath her nose.”
Dacian glowered over his own long proboscis. “You mean you didn’t tell her of our plans this time?”
Yvette shrugged. “I thought I’d give you a fighting chance. I even told her that I heard you make plans to visit at dusk, which is why she doesn’t suspect Kenneth yet.” She nodded at Judith, then paused. “I find I don’t approve of murder.”
“Good of you,” growled Dacian. “Nonetheless, there is a trunk that you are about to become intimately acquainted with, Miss Belfleur.”
“I think not,” replied Yvette calmly. “I must return to under the attic stairs. You wouldn’t want Harriet to look for me and notice anything amiss.”
Dacian’s power momentarily fluctuated in the room, then he controlled himself and turned to Judith. “What do you say? Can we trust her?”
“I am afraid we must.” Judith frowned at Yvette. “She has been truthful, as far as I can tell.”
Yvette gave an ironic nod, and turned to Dacian. “If you want further proof of my good faith, I will tell you that Harriet means to blame you for Faske’s death. She returned to his body and plunged the duelling sword through him, to make it look like a fight between men. So be careful, or you might end up charged with two murders, not just one.”
This echoed Mrs Froode’s warning to them the previous evening, and Dacian’s brows lowered with the reminder of his own crime long ago.
Yvette, finished with him, casually tossed the cambric cloth aside.
“Wait,” said Judith, raising a hand. “What if Harriet should demand to know where Marigold has gone?
“I shall simply pretend to search for her,” replied Yvette. “And fail to do so.”
“You’re a sneaky little bat,” said Dacian.
“Why, thank you.” Lifting into the air, she flew peremptorily to the door. Dacian stalked over and opened it a crack, watching as Yvette glided out the room.
“Conniving creature,” he said grimly.
Judith sighed. “We must be thankful that she has belatedly found her conscience and warned us of Harriet’s intentions. It gives us time to take countermeasures.”
“Throw Harriet out the second-floor window, perhaps? Or force Lady Garvey to speak out against her?”
“No,” said Judith reluctantly. “Not in front of the constable. His presence will certainly complicate things.” She felt a little sick at the possibility that Dacian might be snatched away, this time by forces that were backed by authority and legality. “If we betray the Musing to the local constable, that will unfold all sorts of trouble for us. Especially if you are concerned about the Musor Custos.”
Dacian paced around the room like a caged dragon. “She has us checkmated.”
“Perhaps not,” Judith said slowly. “But I require Robert to run another errand for me, curse it.”