In which a gentleman is prepared
Marigold
Marigold awoke to the smell of old oak, and the sense that the sun had just set. She was in some sort of wooden cupboard, with dim light seeping through the edges. Pushing against the door, she found it was locked, and waited impatiently for Judith to release her. Cursed Edicts. Why should she have to hide away all the time? The only consolation was that she knew Judith didn’t like it either. And Wooten would also be out of sight, for all that he thought he was a vision.
She busied herself by dressing in her new primrose gown that Judith had sewn for her. Lady Avely was a funny old thing. Prim and proper - until the duke turned up. Then suddenly she wanted to investigate murders and ghosts and gallivant around after dark. Maybe Marigold would stay as her companion a bit longer, though ordinarily she did not like to pin herself down.
Soon an iron key thrust into the lock and released the door.
“Marigold,” whispered Judith. “Are you ready to do some flying? We need you to investigate Garvey House.”
Marigold huffed with annoyance. “I knew I shouldn’t have dressed.”
“You’ll need clothes - you must wait for Wooten.”
“He takes so long to garb himself.” Marigold complained. “And he won’t even want to go.”
She was right: when they reached the parlour, Wooten did not want to abandon his immaculate cravat and coat to become a bat. He informed them that he would much rather stay by the fire and partake of whisky with the duke, despite his grace’s atrocious new facial hair.
Dacian lifted his nose. “I thought I was carrying it off with suitable gravitas.”
Wooten winced. “A gentleman’s face should remain unadorned. And I’m not flying off into Garvey House uninvited.”
Marigold stood on the parlour table and folded her arms over her new yellow bodice. “I don’t need your escort,” she said. “You can stay here and stroke your cravat if you like.”
However, to her annoyance, Dacian insisted. “Wooten, I regret to inform you that an English bat must be chivalrous. What if there is a cat, or an owl? Or someone sees Miss Cultor in the house?”
“Precisely my point,” said Wooten gloomily. “Very well, then. Robert, please would you fetch my flying cloak?”
Robert raised a brow but gave a mock click of his heels and retreated once more.
“Robert is not our servant!” expostulated Judith.
“Flying cloak?” demanded Marigold. “Are you serious, Wooters?”
“A gentleman should always be prepared,” sniffed Wooten, “and never be exposed.”
Marigold sighed. It was no wonder that she preferred lady bats.
Once Robert had returned with a scrap of black velvet - a silk ribbon hanging from it - Wooten disappeared behind the writing desk. While they waited for him to disrobe, Judith relayed to Marigold what she had discovered so far, including the brazen butler’s lies, and the oddly neglected grounds of Garvey House. When Wooten eventually flew out in his bat form, the shimmering velvet hung down in front of him: a back-to-front cape.
Marigold shook her head. “Don’t blame me if that catches on a tree, you dandy.”
Wooten merely put his snout in the air.
She stripped off her gown while Robert and Dacian looked at the ceiling, clearing their throats. Then she and Wooten swept out the window like two swallows of the night, wheeling into the darkness.
It was glorious to be winged again, carefree and wild. Marigold shot ahead, following the road that Judith had described, allowing herself to loop crazily and zigzag between the trees. Wooten flapped more slowly behind, no doubt encumbered by his ridiculous cape. Above them, clouds streamed across a waxing moon, making the light dip and flow around her.
After a stretch of flying, some of her energy had dissipated, and she was glad to see the line of ash trees looming ahead. These must be the ones that marked the drive to Garvey House. Just as Judith said, as Marigold drew closer she saw that the manor seemed closed and abandoned. Cautiously, she led the way round to the back of the house, noting the dark mass of the maze to the left and the glint of the glasshouse to the right. And just as Judith had surmised, candlelight showed from the right-hand windows of the mansion.
A graceful oriel window jutted from the second floor. That was where Judith had seen the frightened girl, so Marigold made a bat-curve for it. She landed to cling upside-down to the upper window frame, her wings tucked neatly around her. Wooten attempted the same, but she was amused to see that the velvet fell in his face. He wriggled until he could twist his neck around the fabric, while Marigold rolled her eyes.
She turned her attention to the room inside. The curtains provided a gap of less than an inch, but she could make out a drawing room with old, shabby furniture and a worn carpet. Within her line of sight, an elderly woman sat in front of the fire, her evening attire covered by a rich silk dressing gown patterned in peach and blue. Over her grey hair, she wore a peach, silken mobcap that reminded Marigold of one of Judith’s, and she possessed a beakish nose and sharp eyes. A walking stick rested against her knee. The strength in her expression belied the frailty of her gnarled hands, which lay limp on the armrests. This must the Lady Garvey that Judith mentioned, living in her son’s house. An old-fashioned quizzing glass hung around her neck, framed in ornate pinchbeck gold.
Listening, Marigold could hear a young female voice engaged in the monotonous lilt of reading, though she could not see the reader. There was an empty plate on a side-table next to the old lady, and an embroidery frame resting on the mantelpiece, next to an ugly old candelabra. It was a scene of feminine retreat and genteel poverty. A longcase clock ticked in the corner, its face round and mournful.
Other than that, there were no masculine voices or knick-knacks. It seemed that Lord Kenneth Garvey was absent from the familial hearth, just as the butler had claimed.
After a while, another figure crossed Marigold’s sight. A black-clad servant, quick and skinny, with gaunt features. She took up the empty plate and interrupted the reading, asking the old lady if she would like tea. The old woman - who must be Lady Garvey - nodded.
Marigold caught the flounce of a pink skirt and the sound of a heavy sigh. Poor young Georgina, to be stuck in this house with two old crows. She, at least, would be willing to accept Judith’s invitation, if only Judith would be allowed to make it.
After the tea was fetched, old Lady Garvey took over the reading. Her diction was decisive yet emotionless, and Marigold heard another soft sigh emanate from Georgina.
It was irksome not to be able to see more. There remained the possibility, too, that Lord Kenneth Garvey was somewhere else in the house. Marigold dropped away from the pane and investigated the other windows, searching for a way inside. Unfortunately, they were all tightly latched against the cool autumn air. Crossly, she swooped up to the roof.
Wooten followed, and when she landed in her human form, he reluctantly followed suit, careful to swing his cape to preserve his modesty.
Marigold ignored his theatrics, and stood stark naked on the rooftop, hands on hips. “I want to go inside.”
Wooten heaved a long-suffering sigh. “How do you propose to do that?”
She pointed to the stone column of a chimney, silhouetted against the dim sky. “I’ll climb down that.” She clambered over to it and put her hand against the brick. “It’s not warm, so there’s no fire at the bottom.”
Wooten looked aghast. “You’ll get dirty.”
“I’m not wearing any clothes,” she pointed out.
“I noticed that .” He whisked his cape a little closer, as if it might somehow become contaminated by her nakedness.
“ You don’t have to come with me. You can keep watch up here.”
Wooten grimaced. “His grace will expect me to accompany you.”
“I won’t tell him, if you don’t.” Marigold pulled herself up the bricks, still in her human form. Wooten turned his gaze away from her bare bottom. She ought to spare him, but it would be easier to fit down the narrow chute without the length of bat wings to hinder her.
However, just as she was about to swing her legs into the spout, a new voice, female in timbre, came from behind the chimney.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”
Marigold startled backwards and slid down behind the chimney in fright. She landed with a plop on the roof tiles, grazing her rear. Cheeks burning, she darted behind the chimney again. Clutching the brick, she peeped round it, her curls bouncing against her cheek.
“Who spoke?” she demanded.
“I.” The voice came again, low and sultry. “You may call me Yvette.”
A vampiri was hidden in the shadow of the chimney. Her skin was pale and she was very beautiful, with full, sensuous lips, sculpted cheeks, and liquid dark eyes that looked almost violet as she stepped into the moonlight. She was clad in a soft fall of black silk, in a cape much like Wooten’s. Somehow, she made it look far more attractive.
She was staring at Marigold’s face with curiosity. Marigold stared back.
The strange vampiri trod forward softly, rounding the side of the chimney. Marigold, suddenly embarrassed at her state of undress, scuttled back to stand next to Wooten. She grabbed a corner of his velvet cape and held it in front of her. Wooten grabbed it back. After a short tussle, they managed to arrange the cloth so that it covered both of them, though Wooten huffed in indignation.
The woman raised her brows in amusement. “And who may you two be?”
Marigold cleared her throat. “I am Miss Marigold Cultor, and this is Mr Wooten Willoughby.”
“Excuse me,” said Wooten, affronted, “I’ll have you know that I am blood companion to-”
He stopped on a grunt, for Marigold had employed a sharply placed elbow. She didn’t think it was wise to announce that he was companion to the Duke of Sargen, especially to this stranger.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “I know you like to think that Mr Fortnew will inherit the baronetcy one day.”
Wooten coughed. “Hmm. I am certain of it.”
The new vampiri - Yvette - raised her brows. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
Marigold smiled brightly. “And who do you belong to, er, Miss Yvette?”
“I might not belong to anyone.” The full lips curved in a smile. “And who do you belong to, Miss Cutlor?”
Marigold lifted her chin. “Perhaps I prefer not to say.”
“Ah, a lady of mystery,” Yvette said with interest. “How delightful.”
Marigold was inclined to agree. Then she remembered that this beautiful woman had tried to curtail her adventure. “Why shouldn’t I go down the chimney?” she asked suspiciously.
Yvette’s violet gaze weighed her. “It breaches the Edicts, for a start.”
Marigold scoffed. “I don’t care about them.”
“Perhaps you should. If you go down there you will land in a sooty mess and call human attention to yourself.”
“Exactly what I said,” put in Wooten.
Yvette ignored him. “Humans don’t like bats. And if you are in your vampiri state, that might be worse. Do you know what they do to bats who breach the Edicts, Miss Marigold Cultor?”
Marigold wrinkled her nose. “They strip them of companion status. It does not overly concern me. I am never a companion for long anyway.” For most vampiri, being a Musor companion was the only way to seek civilised shelter and food. Yet Marigold had never been particularly civilised, and was not so afraid of being cast out of human society.
“Oh?”
“I prefer flexible arrangements.” Marigold dared a wink.
Yvette examined her, appearing unmoved. “Why do you want to go indoors, if I may enquire? I take it you do not belong to the house, temporarily or otherwise?”
Wooten interposed. “We heard talk of a ghost on the premises. Miss Cultor has a morbid fascination with such things.”
Marigold nodded, glad he had come up with a plausible story. “Yes, I adore ghosts. So delightfully gothic. Have you seen any in these parts?”
Yvette pursed her luscious lips thoughtfully. “Ah, you must be speaking of the unfortunate Lord Garvey’s spectre. I, too, have heard rumours of his ghost, but I am yet to witness it. Apparently, he haunts the maze.”
“Oh.” Marigold blinked innocently. “Where is that?”
“We could have a look together,” suggested Yvette with a smile. “You are already unclothed and ready to fly.” Her eyes flickered down, to where Marigold’s ankles were bare in the moonlight.
Marigold found herself blushing. “I suppose we could do that.”
“Must we?” said Wooten grumpily.
“You needn’t accompany us,” replied Marigold, her eyes fixed on Yvette.
“I will accompany you,” snapped Wooten. “Now, remove your person from my cloak.”
Yvette laughed and turned away. Her black silk swirled and then lifted, as she transformed into a bat. Hastily, Marigold followed suit. Wooten was the last to join them in the air, struggling to swing his velvet frontwards.
Together, they flew off over the gardens, heading for the maze.