In which a duke is reputed as wicked
Gossip contains a surprising amount of truth, despite its lashings of lies.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
Alone in the carriage, Judith sighed a little, remembering the party all those years ago. It seemed as if she had spent much of her life angry with Dacian. With the maturity of hindsight, she was starting to see that it was easier to be angry than to admit the strength of her attraction to him. It was far more dignified to be coldly furious than to be one of his adoring women.
She had adored him, a long time ago. She was beginning to realise that she had never stopped doing so. It was a rather unsettling realisation.
Looking back, she knew that she most likely would have soon forgiven him for keeping Nicholas’s secrets, had Dacian not vanished from England. Even at the time, after their first riposte in the laneway, she was aware that he had only done what he thought right, in keeping her husband’s confidences. She would have forgiven Dacian, and then he might have pursued her.
And then what? He would have stripped off her bodice and ravished her in the maze before the house party was over, if he had had his way.
She shifted on her seat. She could not deny the image held some appeal - the thought of his strong, caressing hands, and his mouth hot on her skin. But it was poisoned by the fact that he had thought she had done the same with Charles Garvey.
How could he have misjudged her affections and her character so? Wryly, she remembered how angry she had been nine years ago. Perhaps it was not so strange that he thought her capable of cruelty. And as much as she might wish Dacian was not so quick to temper, she could scarcely exempt herself from that fault.
Ten minutes later, the carriage rolled through Stokesford and up to the Golden Bat.
It was a low stone building, also made of limestone, but much more modest in its aspirations than Garvey House. A faint tang of smoke hung in the air as Judith stepped down, promising the warmth of a fire. Robert leapt down and although she gave him a speaking look, he busied himself with unloading her valise. Well, she would let him play the footman, for now, and keep his distance. She knew from experience in managing her own children that sometimes it was better to take two steps back in order to invite a step forward.
She repressed an anxious thought for Elinor and Peregrine, who were somewhere in the seas around Sark, or possibly on the island by now. Why had she allowed them to go? At the time, a remote island had seemed safer than London, but now a prick of premonition troubled her mind. She could, if she allowed herself the indulgence, worry about her children endlessly. It was pointless to do so, however, when she was helpless to assist them.
Perhaps that was why she was concerning herself with Robert’s welfare instead; it was something she could deal with directly, if only he would allow her.
The innkeeper informed Judith loftily that the best room and parlour were already taken, but allowed her to bespeak two bedrooms and the second-best parlour. She retreated to tidy her hair, glad to see that the rooms were small but clean. Her bedroom even had an oak dresser with a lockable door, suitable for Marigold. Quickly, Judith transferred the little sleeping creature into the low cupboard, shielding her from the light as she did so. Then she locked the door with a wince. Marigold would not like to be imprisoned, but it was better than having her discovered by a curious servant.
Just then a maid knocked and offered to unpack Judith’s valise. She nodded, though she was more than capable of the task herself. While she pinned her hair back before a mirror, she asked the maid her name - Phyllis - and whether the famous Garvey Maze was open to visitors, as a way to broach the subject.
Phyllis knelt by the valise and clicked it open. “Oh no, my lady. The manor house is all shut up. Lady Garvey is away with family, and visitors are not encouraged.” It seemed that the lie was commonly accepted, for Phyllis’s voice rang true. She began pulling out Judith’s gowns and shaking them out. “Not that you should go anywhere near it, if you don’t mind me saying. The old maze is haunted.”
Judith widened her eyes. This was news. “Truly? By whom?”
“Lord Garvey himself. He was shot dead, years back.” Phyllis smoothed out a crease. “His ghost has been seen at night, staggering through the hedges with a gaping hole in his chest.” She gave a theatrical shudder.
“Goodness me. How ghastly.” Judith narrowed her eyes. This sounded like the work of an Illusor. “Who has seen such a horrifying vision, if I may enquire?”
“The new butler, for one.” Phyllis carefully hung a lilac gown in the cupboard, and spoke over her shoulder. “He said it gave him a terrible fright to see the old lord lurching around, bleeding from a bullet wound just like what killed him.”
“Hm,” murmured Judith, continuing to pin her hair. Maybe this was simply another story, concocted like the butler’s other lies, and intended to discourage visitors.
Phyllis seemed to sense her skepticism. “Ay, and even our Constable Carter has seen it, and he is a sensible sort, my lady. He said he was patrolling for poachers in the Pelling woods - which adjoin Garvey’s land - and he saw a well-dressed gentleman standing still by the maze, obscured by the mist. Then suddenly, the gentleman vanished.”
“How intriguing. Did your constable see the bullet wound?”
“I don’t know if he were close enough, my lady.” Phyllis gave another shiver as she unfolded a cloak. “If it were me, I would have run in the opposite direction. Poor Lord Garvey, without any rest. That wicked duke should hang.”
“Wicked duke?” Judith accidentally pricked her scalp with a pin, and winced.
“The Duke of Sargen, of course. He who killed his lordship. They were fighting over a woman, it’s said. Lord Garvey tried to rescue a poor maid from his grace’s evil clutches.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”
“Well, I suppose it may have been,” admitted Phyllis. “Lord Garvey was a bit of an adventurer in his day, as far as I’ve heard.”
“Indeed. I knew Lord Garvey while he was alive, and I can assure you that he was more likely to imperil a young woman than save her.”
“Is that so?” The maid gave her a measuring glance. “You’d know best, my lady. I was a little lass when it all happened.”
Judith gave her a resigned look, feeling rather old. Phyllis must be around eighteen, so she would have indeed been nine years old at the time, when Judith had just embarked on her third decade.
“Before your time,” she acknowledged. “Do you know any of the servants at Garvey House?”
Phyllis turned back to her work, her hands respectful as she hung the gowns. “Not many stay long at Garvey House. Especially after Mrs Bollopher died. She kept the house ship-shape, I heard, but now it’s falling to wrack and ruin.”
Judith knew this was true of the front exterior, and she could imagine the inner rooms suffered too. She knew that Harriet had looked after the household accounts and overseen the housekeeper, for Lady Cordelia Garvey was an indolent woman, the sort who was happy to play the matriarch without doing any of the work. Like how Lady Garvey had taken Harriet’s kind suggestion for a walk and turned it into her own order.
“How did Mrs Harriet Bollopher die?” Judith ventured to ask.
Phyllis tucked the last gown into the cupboard. “She was found dead in her bed, I believe. It must have been her heart that gave out. Mayhap Lord Garvey’s ghost came upon her and frightened her to death,” she added, with a sideways look.
“Mayhap,” said Judith dryly.
“Is there anything else you need, my lady?”
“No, thank you, Phyllis.” Judith passed her a coin. “Only, is there a second key to this dresser? I have some valuables which I am rather particular about, and I wish to possess both keys.”
“Of course, my lady.” With one last curious look, the maid dropped a curtsy and left.
Once she had both keys tucked into her reticule, Judith made her way to the parlour, trying to gather her composure before the duke arrived. At least now she was vindicated in her opinion that Dacian needed to tread carefully in Stokesford. She would be sure to tell him so.
The second-best parlour was not much bigger than the bedrooms, with a writing desk by the window, and a small dining table crammed into a corner. Three chairs upholstered in green fabric were arranged around a small fireplace. A tidy blaze warmed the room, and Judith ordered some tea and sat down at the escritoire to compose a letter to her good friend Caroline Axelton, who was still in London and might have heard whether or not the law intended to pursue the duke. Judith was a little embarrassed to explain how she had become tangled up with Dacian again, as Caroline was one of the few who knew of their complicated past.
Once that missive was completed, she began one to her children, who might return to Devon soon, before they repaired to Cornwall with the vampiri roost. If, indeed, they managed to find the French roost with its sleeping queen, and then persuade it that Castle Lanyon would make a suitable residence.
She had only just begun when a sharp rap at the parlour door heralded the appearance of a handsome middle-aged man. He had brown, straight hair, a rather ostentatious moustache, a mole on his left cheek, and a twinkle in his dark eyes.
Putting down a large trunk, he bowed deeply. “Lady Avely. It’s been far too long since I saw you last.”
Judith rose from her writing table, her heart beating a little faster. “Mr Fortnew. Please do come in.” She was glad he had assumed his disguise, after hearing Phyllis’s willingness to have the ‘wicked duke’ hanged. His striking features were still recognisable after a few moments, but only, she hoped, because she knew to look for them. And perhaps, she admitted to herself, because they held a special fascination for her. And for many other women, of course. She was not alone in that regard.
Dacian stepped inside, Robert behind him. The door shut, the Illusion dropped, and Robert went so far as to wink. Mr Fortnew’s gentlemanly pallor faded, showing Dacian’s face that had seen the sun in Spain, along with the new lines that fanned out from his eyes and the scar on his forehead.
“See?” Dacian strolled over to take her hand and kiss it. “Easy as drinking whisky.”
“Ha.”
“I bought some more liquor in my luggage. I couldn’t guarantee that the Golden Bat would be suitably equipped.”
“I think we have already imbibed too freely,” she said primly. “I need to have a clear head for tomorrow, when I call on Garvey House again.”
“Again?”
“We stopped by on the way here.”
“Judith!”
“There was no harm. Nothing much came of it, for the man at the door turned me away.”
“You mean the butler?”
“Officially, I suppose he was butlering. Yet he didn’t seem like a butler, did he, Robert?”
Robert shook his head. “He was a bit rough around the edges.”
“Moreover,” Judith sat down again at the writing desk, “the ‘butler’ lied to me. He claimed the Garveys are visiting family in the north, but it was poppycock.”
Robert picked up the duke’s luggage. “I’ll unpack Wooten, shall I, your grace?”
“If you would be so kind. Pop him on top of a cupboard. People don’t tend to look up.”
Judith frowned in disapproval, both to this cavalier attitude towards the dignified Wooten, and to Dacian treating Robert like a servant again. Before she could say anything, however, Robert left, tenderly bearing Dacian’s suitcase aloft.
Dacian sauntered to the window to look outside. “Tea, Judith?” he noted. “I’m disappointed; I expected chocolate.”
She poured him a cup. “I am partial to tea as well, you know.”
He leaned against the window frame and took a sip. “Interesting that this butler seems determined to keep visitors away.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “When I pressed him, he only embroidered further. And apparently he has also been spreading a rumour that Lord Garvey’s ghost haunts the maze.”
“Ah! An Illusion, perhaps? We are in the right quarter then.”
Judith topped up her own cup and held the warm vessel in her hands. “Unless the butler was simply lying again. However, the Stokesford constable has also seen the vision, according to my maid. But we must be careful not to mention the magicks or the possibility of Illusion. The locals put it down to ghosts and faeries, and we cannot breach the old rules of secrecy.”
“It will make things difficult.” He smiled. “However, I am confident in your ability to sniff out our villain.”
She was pleased by his remark and took a sip to hide it. “I do have a question for you.”
“What is that?”
“How was it that you happened to be in the Apollo alcove just in time to witness the Illusion? Why were you there in the first place? Surely it wasn’t a coincidence.”
Dacian frowned. “It wasn’t. I was given a note, directing me to that spot for ten o’clock. It was unsigned.” He paused, embarrassed. “I had hoped that it was you, actually, who wrote the note.”
“ Me? ”
He nodded.
“You thought I would invite you down to the maze after dark?” Judith gave him an offended look. “You really do have an odd notion about my character.”
He grinned. “Well, I am irresistible. I thought even your uprightness might give way before my charms.”
“How insufferable…!”
“No, not really,” he said, “It was more that I thought you might want to apologise - after behaving like such a shrew the previous day. That you might beg my forgiveness for assaulting my chest.”
Judith choked on her tea. “I did not assault your chest! I merely…pushed it.”
“If you say so.” Dacian watched her over his cup. “Just because I am an Impactor does not mean I am immune to violence, my dear.”
“It wasn’t violence! And besides, you assaulted me first!”
Dacian raised his brows in affront. “I was comforting you. Clearly, I must work on my technique.”
Judith blushed furiously. “This is all beside the point. I did not write that note, which leaves us with the question - who did?”
Dacian looked down.
“What?” asked Judith suspiciously. “Do you have some idea?”
“I admit, it has crossed my mind that it might have been Lady Vosse.”
A silence fell.
“Ah,” said Judith at last. “Of course. She would invite you down into the maze. And you would go.” She hated herself for the jealousy that speared her.
“Not for the reasons you imply, you wretch,” said Dacian calmly. “She had been making overtures, it is true, and I planned to tell her that I was still not interested.”
“Oh, really ?”
“Yes. Quite apart from the fact that my interest was otherwise engaged-” he shot her a glance “- her husband had warned me off, the year previously. Lord Vosse felt we were making a fool out of him, and told me to back off. Which I had, and I don’t know why Isobel thought it wise to pursue me again.” He sighed. “Like I said, I am irresistible.”
Judith rolled her eyes. Before she could (mendaciously) refute this claim, there was a knock and Robert came in. He took up position by the door, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Robert, please,” begged Judith, pouring him a cup of tea. “Do sit down. You need not claim relation with me; simply be our acquaintance, Mr Robert Steer.”
Robert shook his head. “Best I stay here, my lady. In case anyone comes and we need the moustache.”
“True, but you may do that from the chair,” she insisted, holding the cup aloft. “For goodness’ sakes - Dacian, tell Robert he cannot be our footman anymore.”
“Robert, you cannot be our footman anymore,” said Dacian obligingly, and took a sip of his own tea.
“Yes, your grace.” Robert stayed where he was, avoiding Judith’s gaze.
“Dacian, you’re as bad as he!” Judith accused, putting down her cup with a clatter. “Dismiss him from your service this instant!”
“Well, it might be convenient for Robert to play a servant.” Dacian defended himself. “He can gossip belowstairs, and go where we cannot.”
“Dacian!”
“It’s true,” agreed Robert, but Judith could sense some other reason for his diffidence.
“Hmph,” she said, then added reluctantly, “I suppose you can provide a buffer between the staff and Marigold and Wooten. They mustn’t be seen.”
Dacian sat down on one of the green chairs, pushing it back so he could stretch his long legs out. “Indeed. When I passed through London, I heard rumours that King George has set up a new branch of vampiri to investigate any breaches of the Edicts. Apparently he is inspired by the success of John Fielding’s establishment.”
Robert tilted his head, intrigued. “You mean the Bow Street Runners?”
“Yes, except these ex-vilitia are called the Beauchamp Fliers, for they operate out of the Beauchamp Tower in the Tower of London. We must assume that His Majesty has instructed them to spy on their own kind, just like the Runners.”
Judith allowed the change of subject, and picked up her tea again, taking a sip. “Using the vampiri to police their own? Dear me, I abhor these new strictures.”
Robert looked thoughtful. “Do these new Beauchamp Fliers assist the Musor Custos?”
A faint look of discomfort flitted across Dacian’s face. “No. I believe not. The Musor Custos are far older, and law unto themselves.”
“The Keepers of Obruo?” asked Judith nervously. Those guardians were rarely mentioned in polite company, the same way that one did not speak of the hanging docks. Judith had been loath even to tell her own children of them. “What do you know about them, Robert?”
“I warned him of them,” said Dacian, crossing his ankles casually. “When he told me about his Gift. Just as I warned Lewis. It is better to know the consequences of misusing your power.”
Judith caught her lip between her teeth. The Obruo could wipe the magic from one’s veins without a trace. It was a severe measure, usually only administered in extreme circumstances, for the Musing was rare. It was rumoured that the Musor Custos served it with a dose of Lethe as well, leaving the person as a husk, emptied and forgetful. She took a fortifying sip of tea. “The Musor Custos only intervene in desperate cases,” she remarked. “They would not concern themselves with such trifling matters as the Edicts, even if King George thinks they are so important.”
Robert, intrigued by the conversation, was staring at Dacian with interest. “What about the crime of duelling?”
“No.” Judith answered for him. “That is a common law matter, and the Musor Custos will stay out of it. They only deal in the magicks.”
“Ah,” said Dacian. “Regarding that matter, I am afraid that I must tell you something.”
Judith set her cup in her saucer carefully, for Dacian had put back his shoulders. “What is it?”
“I didn’t kill Garvey in a duel.”
Robert’s brows shot up, but Judith’s heart sank. She had, truthfully, suspected this was the case. It wasn’t the first time that duelling had been used to hide Dacian’s reckless force. She made herself speak calmly. “But I heard the gunshots myself. We all did.”
“I fired them as a ruse. I thought it was better to be guilty of a duel than of killing a man by magic.” Dacian’s jaw clenched. “He was dead in an instant, long before I shot him. I flung him aside with my Gift, and his head hit stone.”
Judith bit her lip, appalled. Dacian’s eyes lowered to the table.
“Lord help us,” said Robert, in awe. “So the Musor Custos and the Runners could be after you!” He seemed almost impressed, curse the boy.
“I doubt it,” said Dacian brusquely. “Nine years have passed. Neither of them will bother with the matter now.”
Judith spoke up reluctantly. “Unless the Garveys demand justice. Or the Musor Custos discover your transgression.”
“Which is why we must find the truth.” Dacian met her eyes once more. “If I was being manipulated by an Illusor, the Musor Custos will be far more concerned with that misconduct than mine.”
Judith took a breath. She could hear his unspoken plea - that she also forgive him, for his fatal, heedless power. His nature was the opposite of her own; it was another reason to keep him at a distance.
Robert coughed. “There is one thing I don’t understand: how did you fire two guns simultaneously by yourself?”
Dacian looked over. “Lord Triskett helped me. I found him on the terrace and asked for his help, and he fetched Garvey’s own pistols from the gunroom.”
Judith, about to refill her cup, stilled her movement. “Lord Triskett was on the terrace? Did he see anyone leave the maze?”
“I don’t know. I’ve written to ask him, actually,” said Dacian. “As soon as I realised that I had been tricked, I sent a note to him. He might have seen Kenneth skulk out, which would confirm our theory.”
“Kenneth?” asked Robert. “Who’s he, now?”
“Kenneth Garvey, Charles’ brother and the new Lord Garvey,” explained Dacian. “He didn’t want Charles to remarry and start begetting heirs to oust him from the line of succession.”
“I remember him being rather angry about it,” admitted Judith, recalling the scene in the laneway as she resumed pouring. “He thought the girl was too young. He was right, too. Poor Miss Selina Pelling. I wonder what happened to her.”
At that moment, a knock sounded at the parlour door. Judith nodded at Robert, and Dacian’s clean-shaven countenance became marred by Mr Fortnew’s smug moustache and prominent mole.
“Come in,” Judith called. She glanced askance at Dacian, for he was sitting in a very casually arrogant way, leaning back with his ankles crossed. He looked much like a duke at his ease, and unlike a lowly steward, for all his neat garb and mousy brown hair.
Seeing her pointed look, he sat up straighter and pursed his lips. The maid, Phyllis, entered and dipped a curtsy.
“Would you like to have dinner served in the parlour, my lady? Sir?”
Dacian nodded. “A capital notion. And drinking chocolate afterwards, if you would be so kind.”
Phyllis nodded and departed, and the moustache and mole dropped away. Robert grinned.
“See?” said Dacian, leaning back again, putting his hands behind his head. “A simple matter. Good work, Robert.”
A faint red rose in Robert’s cheeks.
Judith stood, annoyed that he was so easily charmed by the duke, while she had to fight for every concession. Outside, she could see that the sky had turned a pale lilac; dusk had fallen. “Marigold will be rattling at her cage. I must fetch her. And while we are eating, the vampiri can investigate Garvey House. I know it is rude to spy, but if the Garvey’s won’t let us in, we need to discover the reason.”