In which a dandy is dismayed
As a general rule, one must not give credence to the continental belief that one’s handwriting can reveal character. In some circumstances, however, writing can reveal its owner.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
While Judith tied up her mobcap, Dacian woke Wooten up from his wardrobe den. The vampiri’s purple silk dressing gown was miraculously uncreased as he stepped onto Dacian’s hand, yawning.
Dacian explained the plan and Wooten nodded in approval, though he shook his head gloomily when Dacian resumed his disguise as the long-faced, bald-pated manservant. Then they encountered a problem, as they searched Dacian’s trunk for Wooten’s velvet cloak.
“I cannot see it anywhere,” said Wooten, in a worried tone. “Where is it?”
“Hm.” Dacian also rifled through the contents, which currently consisted of Judith’s masculine attire, a charmed pocket watch, and some spare clothes of Robert’s. “It looks as if we might have forgotten it in the rush.”
Wooten stared. “What am I going to wear?”
Dacian straightened, eying him. “What about your dressing gown?”
“This old thing?” Wooten said in horror. “Most certainly not. Apart from anything, it is purple!”
His face was a mask of dismay.
“Perhaps,” suggested Judith, “you must simply stay in your creature form. We can carry extra handkerchiefs, in case of an emergency.”
Dacian produced one with a flourish. “Like this one.” It was a large flannel square that he had borrowed from Robert, while Judith had been employing his own fine cambric one.
Wooten wrinkled his nose. “Are you serious? Handkerchiefs are for peasants.”
Judith raised her brows. “Fortunately, Marigold isn’t here for that remark.”
Wooten sniffed. “I think I will make do with my dressing gown,” he muttered, “though it is a little voluminous for flight.”
“Buck up, Wooten,” said Dacian. “At least this means you won’t spoil your cravat.”
Wooten simply gave a gusty sigh, tucked his purple silk closer, and crawled into Dacian’s pocket with an air of dejection.
After listening closely at the door, Dacian finally eased it open and they crept out. The corridor was quiet. They trod along the length of thin carpet, ignoring the main staircase and slipping into the servants’ stairs.
Judith shut the door behind her, and followed Dacian down the narrow, dark stairwell. The silence felt tense, their footsteps too loud. At the bottom, Dacian again opened the door a crack, and peered out.
“Wait here,” he whispered. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
She grimaced but allowed it. He was still disguised as the valet, so his presence would not occasion too much comment. He vanished through the door, shutting it behind him.
Judith stood on the second step, waiting, all thoughts suspended in the silence. It seemed an age before the door opened again and Dacian crowded into the confined space. He held a heavy tome under one arm.
He lifted the large book up as if it were a pillow. “Success.”
“So easily?”
He shrugged. “I had to force the study door open, and I broke the locks on the desk. It was quite a satisfying exercise.”
Judith tutted and took the accounts ledger, laying it on a step. She flicked the pages open. It was too dark in the stairwell to read easily, so she gestured for Dacian to open the door a crack.
In the slither of light, she knelt to peer at the dates. With difficulty she found the year of 1801, when she was certain Harriet had been alive. Strong, slanting script marked out the bills and receipts in black ink.
Scrolling from there, Judith tracked through the years: 1802, 1803, 1804… the same distinct hand continued to record the household accounts, remarkable in its continuity and legibility, even in the faint light.
Judith reached 1805 - the current year - and the last, active page of the accounts. It was noticeably similar to the first one she had read, though fewer in its list of expenses.
“It is as I thought.” She looked up, triumph thudding under her breastbone. “The handwriting remains the same. It is our proof that the same woman still lives here. We just need a witness to say that Harriet used to tend to the accounts, and this shows that she still does.”
Dacian’s eyes gleamed. “Excellent.”
“Is Robert waiting?”
“As instructed.”
As Judith stood, her knees gave a faint crick, while Wooten vanished again. Dacian wrenched off his charmed button, and with it, his Illusory face. She was glad to see it again, and lifted a hand to brush his cheek, before she could help herself.
He caught it and kissed the back of her hand, smiling. Then he lifted the tome from the step, and reached for the door. “Are you ready?”
For the next part, they had to step out of hiding and make their presence known. Judith bit back a pang of cowardice, which sprung purely from her fear of losing him again. She nodded, smoothed her skirts down, and stepped out into the hall.
To her great relief, no one accosted them in the entranceway. Of course, Faske was no longer there to keep guard, and Harriet was no doubt embattled with housework in her role as housekeeper, or plotting something dastardly.
Dacian quickly led the way through a rear corridor to the back door. Outside, Robert was waiting impatiently, his task completed, his lower lip clenched in his teeth with apprehension. Beside him stood Mrs Selina Southcott.
Mrs Southcott wore walking boots and a fine cambric gown of apple green. A delicately patterned paisley shawl draped over her shoulders, the soft greens setting off her blonde hair, which hung in ringlets from under her mobcap. She curtsied deeply, sliding a startled glance towards Dacian (who was revealed as himself), then turned a wary gaze to Judith.
Judith nodded greetings and exchanged a few quick words with her, while Dacian passed the book to Robert for safekeeping. Then they all proceeded up the main staircase, the very same one Dacian had carried Judith up a few days ago.
Dacian removed Wooten from his pocket and set him on the floor in a bundle of purple silk. “Keep a look-out,” he instructed quietly, “in case you must fetch help.”
Wooten nodded. Judith had barely a moment to observe that Selina did not seem to be overly taken aback at the sight of the vampiri, then Dacian flung open the drawing room door.
Leaving Robert, Selina, and Wooten stationed outside, Judith took a deep breath and followed him in.
Lady Garvey was no longer in her usual place, huddled in the armchair by the fire. Instead, she stood at the oriel window, watching the front drive, leaning on her walking stick. At their entrance, she turned abruptly and stared.
“You!” she exclaimed. “How did you mount my staircase without me seeing your carriage?”
Judith dropped a curtsy. “Good evening, Lady Garvey. I confess, I walked here. I apologise for the lateness of my visit.”
An odd look of relief showed in Lady Garvey’s eyes, but then she turned a grim gaze upon Dacian. “And you - I recognise you .” She raised a quivering finger and pointed dramatically. “That is the Duke of Sargen, the man who killed my son.”
Judith became aware of another presence in the room. From behind the door, a soberly dressed man stepped out. He was the red-haired constable from the village, with the long sideburns, flushed cheeks, and brass buttons straining over his black coat. He held heavy iron manacles in one hand, and his truncheon hung from his belt.
Yet Judith’s attention was also distracted by the hollow sound of Lady Garvey’s last word, ringing with the tenor of a lie. Judith turned to look frowningly at her hostess.
“I introduce you to Constable Carter,” continued Lady Garvey triumphantly. “Arrest that man, Carter. Not only did he kill my son, but he has turned his violence upon my butler, who now lies dead. You saw yourself the duelling sword thrust through his body.”
Her ladyship’s words still rang hollowly, and Judith’s eyes narrowed. Lady Garvey clearly knew that Dacian was not the culprit, and yet she was willing to have him arrested on false charges.
The policeman took another step forward, his face set with resolution. “Are you indeed his grace, the Duke of Sargen?”
“Indeed.” Dacian, in the centre of the room, raised his hands placatingly. “I see my reputation precedes me. However, I swear to you, good sir, that I did not kill Lady Garvey’s butler.”
Constable Carter eyed him with a touch of nervousness, as well he might, facing down a man known for his violence and rank. Yet, admirably, he clenched his jaw and marched up to Dacian, rattling the irons a little for courage. “Nonetheless, you are under arrest for killing Lord Charles Garvey, by means of an illegal duel to the death nine years ago.”
Dacian gave his most charming smile and held out his wrists. “By all means, take me to the magistrate and he may decide whether to press charges.”
Constable Carter hesitated, thrown by this apparent placidity, while Lady Garvey frowned by the window.
Judith intervened. “There is something you must hear before you proceed, Constable. You would not want to arrest and manhandle a peer of the realm without due cause.”
“There is nothing to discuss!” snapped Lady Garvey. “Sargen’s flight was proof of his guilt. Arrest him, Arnold. Do not bow to his rank.”
Constable Carter’s lips pressed together. He extended the manacles out, readying to do his duty and clasp them over Dacian’s wrists.
“Wait.” Judith stepped forward. “There is a witness you must hear first.”
She turned. With a gesture to rival Lady Garvey’s denouncement, she grandly indicated the door.
Hearing his cue, Robert pressed it open, and led Mrs Selina Southcott into the room.
Selina ran her hands nervously down her apple-green skirts, and curtsied, her face pale and determined.
A startled silence fell. Constable Carter’s hands dropped, and he gave a small bow to the newcomer in recognition. Most likely they were neighbours, and well known to one another.
Judith cleared her throat. “May I present Mrs Selina Southcott, previously Miss Selina Pelling, who was present at the scene of Lord Garvey’s death.”
The constable’s brows drew together in a frown. “Were you, indeed, Mrs Southcott? This is the first I have heard of it.”
Selina inclined her head. “I am afraid that I kept my presence a secret, Mr Carter.”
Lady Garvey blustered. “It doesn’t matter if she were there or not! Sargen still shot Charles!”
Selina held up a gloved hand. “Yet I think you should hear my testimony, Constable Carter, before you proceed.”
He gave a short, sharp nod. Dacian, who had been obediently holding out his wrists, dropped them, and turned his attention to Selina.
She was staring at him, a faint blush in her cheeks. “Your grace.” She dropped a low curtsy. “I must thank you for saving me from Lord Garvey’s cruel, lascivious attentions when I was a girl.”
Spluttering came from Lady Garvey, but Selina continued, turning to look at the constable.
“The duke has honourably kept quiet upon the true circumstances of the duel, but I will speak out on his behalf.” She drew a breath and Constable Carter frowned, as the room hung on her words. “His grace came across myself and Lord Garvey in the maze. Lord Garvey was forcing his attentions upon me, even though I had begged him not to do so. His grace intervened, and called his lordship out.” Here she lowered her eyes. “I am eternally grateful for his intervention, which was the chivalrous action of a true gentleman. I was a helpless young girl, unable to defend myself.”
For the first time in this shocking recitation, Judith heard the clang of a lie. Her eyes sharpened on Selina, but no one else noticed anything amiss. Constable Carter took a faltering step backward, the irons now swinging limply in his hand.
“So you see,” Selina finished, “no jury would convict the duke. You would be wise to leave him be, and not embroil our families in scandal.” She gave a small nod at Lady Garvey, who looked apoplectic.
“And why,” demanded her ladyship, in fulminating tones, “would you wait ’til now to share this convenient story?”
Constable Carter nodded, his attention still on Selina. “Yes, you constrained the duke to exile with your silence, Mrs Southcott.”
Selina winced. “I know, and I am sorry for it. In my defence, I was very young, and frightened. If I had spoken up, I would have been cast as a harlot, though Lord Garvey’s attentions were unwanted.”
The constable shifted uncomfortably. Judith knew it was true: the female victim was often blamed in these circumstances. Lady Garvey scowled.
Selina’s voice strengthened, hearing the acknowledgement implicit in everyone’s silence. “If the true story emerged, I would have lost any chance of marrying, and moreover, I may have lost the regard of Mr Southcott. I could not bear that to happen, and so I allowed the duke to carry the burden of exile.” She straightened her shoulders. “Now, however, I am a married woman, and my reputation can only suffer a fraction of what it would have. I am happy to testify in the duke’s defence.”
Lady Garvey ground out a rebuttal. “You were Charles’ betrothed, Selina. He could scarcely molest his own fiancé!”
Selina met her gaze squarely. “Yet he did. Until the duke intervened.”
“It was nothing,” said Dacian modestly. “Anything to protect a lovely young woman from harm.”
Selina blushed and stared at him with devotion. Judith carefully did not roll her eyes. Nine years’ exile was not nothing . There was still the matter of Harriet’s lies and Illusions to account for, but they could not address such matters in the presence of the worthy constable.
Lady Garvey snarled, “You cannot believe this poppycock, Arnold!”
“Hm.” The constable coughed, and looked from Lady Garvey to Selina. “Perhaps if you come with me, Mrs Southcott, and make a written statement to that effect, describing the scene as you experienced it. Then I can pass it on to the Bow Street Runners, to see if they still wish to pursue the issue. I think you are right that your evidence changes the complexion of the matter.”
Lady Garvey glared. “You are a coward, Arnold. When I think of how many excises I have paid to you!”
“I apologise, my lady,” returned Constable Carter. “Excises are not bribes, however, and I will do my duty as I see fit.”
These were brave words from a local squire, and Judith gave him a warm smile.
“What about my butler?” said Lady Garvey shrilly. “He killed my butler. With a sword! And what’s more, he stole my horse!”
Judith suppressed a wince: the last, indeed, was true.
Constable Carter looked unconvinced. “What possible reason would his grace have to attack your butler or steal your horse, my lady?” He gave Dacian an apologetic look and shook his head at Lady Garvey. “It is far more likely that some vagrant was hiding in your maze, and Faske stupidly confronted him. I will set my men to search the locality, but you can be assured that whoever did the deed is long gone from here by now.”
“Quite.” Judith directed a steely look at Lady Garvey. “Unless you can think of something that Faske was trying to hide?”
Her ladyship clamped her mouth shut, appearing much as if she had tasted rancid milk.
Constable Carter bowed, and made as if to leave. It seemed they might at last be rid of him. At that moment, however, there came a rattle from the longcase clock.
It was a sharp banging, from deep within its bowels. The whole edifice shivered a little. Everyone turned to stare at it, and it fell quiet once more.
The rapping came again. Judith clenched her hands in her skirts. Marigold, it was clear, was now awake and able-bodied. It was not, however, the right time for her to make an appearance.
“What is that?” Constable Carter was the first to speak, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Judith cleared her throat. “I am not certain…”
The clock rattled again, in a distinctly irritated fashion.
A grim smile of comprehension came over Lady Garvey’s face. “Yes,” she said pleasantly. “What is that, I wonder? It appears some small creature is stuck in my clock. Arnold, do me the favour of dealing with it, seeing as you are useless for everything else. The key hangs on the side. Whatever you find, please kill it.”
Constable Carter glanced from under his brows, but stepped forward willingly enough, perhaps eager to make up for his betrayals. Judith tensed. Even if Marigold might fly from the constable’s grasp, she would be breaching the Edicts to appear as a bat in the drawing room. It might raise all sorts of questions from no less than the local parish authority. Or heaven forbid, she might appear in her naked, human form.
The constable strode up to the clock and fumbled for the key. Judith looked at Dacian with anguish, hoping that Marigold would have enough sense to keep quiet and move fast.
“Wait,” said Robert suddenly, from behind her. “I think I might know what is trapped in there.”
Judith swung around. “You do? How so?”
Robert gave a discreet, footmanly cough. “I regret to inform you, my lady, that it is possibly my pet mouse.”
“Your pet mouse ?” Judith remembered to act with hauteur, even as relief swept through her at Robert’s quick thinking. “Are you joking, boy?”
Robert cringed and shuffled forward, holding the household accounts in his arms. “I have domesticated a little black mouse, my lady. She scampered off when we were here yesterday.” A rattle came from the clock, and he flinched again. “That might be her. She’s a mettlesome one. Shall I look?”
Judith sniffed. “I suppose so. Constable Carter, let my deplorable footman rescue his mouse.” She paused. “I hope you know, Robert, that you will be losing your position over this.”
“Yes, my lady.” Robert put the accounts book on a side table, and glided forward, politely taking the key from Constable Carter.
Lady Garvey glared, impotent. “What is this nonsense, Judith? Preposterous! I will not have a rat in my house. Capture that rodent, Arnold!”
The constable shrugged and stepped back. “I wouldn’t want to hurt a pet, my lady. And I believe it is a mouse, not a rat?”
Robert bowed in appreciation. Murmuring quietly to the clock, he turned the key and swung the door open. The constable stood close by, peering with interest over his shoulder.
Judith held her breath.