In which a noble lowers his station
Repetition will assist one in most pursuits; even more so in the casting of a charm.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
Dinner took a toll on Judith’s nerves. Every time Phyllis entered with a new serving platter, or to remove plates, or to pour drinks, Robert had to conjure up Dacian’s disguise. It was just as well, Judith acknowledged, that Robert was playing the part of a footman, for it allowed him to keep watch at the door and listen for footsteps. However, after the first couple of interruptions, he thought it wiser to simply leave the Illusion in place.
Judith nervously watched as Dacian ate his food, wondering if the moustache looked convincing enough. He shovelled food into his mouth and winked from under his thatch of brown hair, seeming to enjoy her scrutiny. Judith rolled her eyes and tucked into the beef and vegetables. She was famished, and she could trust Robert to watch out for them.
Dessert arrived - stewed apple and custard - and then, to her horror, she saw that Robert had added a touch of verisimilitude by placing a spot of custard upon the ducal moustache.
She turned her head and gave him a disapproving glare. Robert’s lips quirked, his cheeks slightly flushed. Judith’s brow furrowed with concern. He was clearly becoming Bemused.
When Phyllis returned, she told her they would not require chocolate, after all, and that they wished to be left in peace now.
As the door shut behind her, Dacian’s real face became apparent, wearing an expression of surprise and concern.
“Not require chocolate? Marchioness, are you feeling alright?”
She nodded at Robert. “Your moustache is taking a toll.”
Dacian examined Robert, who stood a little straighter. “Are you Bemused, my boy?”
“No,” said Robert sturdily. “Not much. Not yet.”
“What about the custard?” demanded Judith.
Robert grinned. “Just a momentary diversion.”
“What custard?” asked Dacian suspiciously.
“On your moustache,” said Judith. “A little dribble.”
Dacian looked horrified. “Good God, Robert! Have pity!”
“It is only to be expected, if we overtax him with such an onerous task.” Judith paused. “Perhaps we should look into constructing a charm, to contain the Illusion. That way it can continue on without his presence.”
Robert stepped forward, interested. “I’ve tried to do that before. Do you know the trick of it?”
“It is not a trick.” She pushed a bowl of custard and apple towards him. “Sit down and eat this, and I will tell you.”
The fact that Robert did as she instructed was another indication that he was not quite himself. Judith waited until he was comfortably eating custard, then continued. “A charm requires an extended casting, repeated many times to imprint the magic to an anchor. We will require an object and the flame of a candle.” The element of fire assisted Illusions, just as water made Discerning easier.
Dacian nodded. “I can help you, Robert - I’ve made many Defence charms before, to work in my absence. It will exact a toll too, of course, but you can sleep it off.”
Robert nodded eagerly, then appeared to recall his position. “Yes, your grace.”
Judith cleared a space on the small dining table, hoping that the magical exercise would ease any formality between them all. “What object should he use? It has to be something you can wear on your person.”
Dacian’s hand went to his neatly pinned cravat and he withdrew a small silver pin, topped by a pearl. “This should do.” The folds of his cravat loosened, revealing the hollow of his throat.
“Very well,” replied Judith, ignoring how the lamplight played over his cheekbones. Perhaps she should have ordered chocolate, after all. She launched into an explanation of how charms worked, as far as she understood the theory.
Robert listened intently. When he had finished eating from his bowl, she let Dacian take over the instruction. She watched as Robert held the end of the pin (between gloved fingers) over a candle flame. He waited until the metal heated and became more susceptible to the spell, then set about imprinting the Illusion of Mr Fortnew’s mop, moustache, and mole. Dacian hovered his face at the correct distance above it, so that the proportions would align.
Robert already knew the word for Illusion, so soon he was continually muttering alucin as he attempted to build the link between his efforts and the cravat pin, while Dacian patiently gave instructions or advice.
It took many repetitions to cast a charm, so Judith retired to the writing desk, leaving them to it. Her letter to her children lay ignored, however, for her mind kept returning to what Dacian had said: that he went out into the maze hoping to see her , even though she had already - the day before - given him a piece of her mind in the greenhouse. What exactly had he been hoping for that night? To seduce her, no doubt, and instead he had found her already seduced.
Who had sent him to witness such a sordid scene?
In a pause between castings, Robert rested, and Judith took the opportunity to ask a question.
“Who gave you the note, Dacian? The one that told you to go to the maze.”
Dacian rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck. His cravat now lay discarded on the table, and he looked disconcertingly casual, his throat bare. “The butler. A different fellow to the one there now, I imagine.”
“Hm.” Judith focused on the matter at hand. “Even if we could track him down, it is unlikely he would remember who gave it to him .”
Robert picked up the cravat pin again, this time using tongs from the fireplace, for it was becoming hot enough to burn through his gloves. “There is one thing I’m curious on,” he said, blinking slowly. “I gather that your grace saw an Illusion of Lady Avely with Lord Garvey?”
Clearly, he was quite Bemused, to directly address the subject. Judith bit her lip. “How did you guess?”
Robert waved the tongs in a lackadaisical manner, almost setting a painting on fire. “Easy enough. It had to be something that would provoke his grace. I guessed that such a portrait would provoke him. But the question is - who else knew of the affection between you?”
Judith looked down, her cheeks heating. “Um.”
Dacian cleared his throat. “It is a sensible question, Robert, but I am afraid that most of the house guests knew that we passionately…provoked one another. We had, er, an encounter in the glasshouse, which was witnessed by most of the guests.”
Judith’s blush deepened. The weave of the carpet was suddenly extremely fascinating.
“Why, what happened?” Robert twirled the tongs innocently and raised his brows.
“You focus on casting the charm,” said Dacian repressively, and glanced at Judith. “You need at least ten more imprints for it to settle.”
Robert looked a little mulish, but fortunately, at that moment, there was movement at the window. Marigold and Wooten slipped through the gap, two winged shapes darting down behind the escritoire. Judith stood and busied herself with assisting Marigold into her gown, while Wooten vanished into the curtains. When at last he came out (immaculately dressed), he interrupted Marigold’s account of their adventures to describe her utter foolishness in engaging with a mysterious lady bat named Miss Yvette.
“That hussy even invited Marigold to spin around the poplars,” he finished, “and then to go back to her belfry apartment!”
Marigold huffed. “I didn’t go, did I? Not to her belfry, anyway.”
“Her belfry?” questioned Judith. “You mean at the Stokesford church? Is this Miss Yvette there alone, unattached to a Musor?”
“She didn’t say,” said Wooten. “She was very evasive. She didn’t even give us her full name!”
“A lady need not reveal everything at once,” said Marigold.
Wooten glared. “Oh? You should keep that in mind.”
“One moment.” Dacian held up a hand. “I hope you didn’t reveal our reason for being here.”
“Of course not,” scoffed Marigold. “Though Wooten almost announced his noble companionship with you, if I hadn’t jabbed him in the stomach.”
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
Judith intervened. “Regardless, Miss Yvette is probably not remotely interested in the duke.”
“Did you see any ghosts?” asked Robert, from where he leaned upon the mantelpiece; still at his ease, Judith was glad to see.
“No,” said Marigold sulkily. “Not one.”
“Well, Kenneth is away,” said Dacian, leaning back in his chair. “If he is the culprit, maybe we should track him down in London.”
“At least let me speak to Lady Garvey first,” said Judith. “She might have something to say about it all. And Miss Garvey sounds as if she is quite stifled. I do want to extend the hand of friendship to her, as a matter of Christian duty.”
She glanced at Robert as she said it, hoping that he would also eventually accept her friendship. But he seemed to withdraw in on himself again, abruptly shifting the tongs and avoiding her gaze.
The next day dawned overcast, with a threat of rain hanging in the air. Judith, eating her breakfast in the parlour, peered out the window anxiously. Her plan today required that she walk to Garvey House, and she did not want to get drenched.
She took a bite of her hot buttered roll, her eyes drifting to where Dacian had sat the night before. He and Robert had stayed up late, long after she went to bed, taking time to construct the Illusion charm. She hoped they would both stay abed today, out of trouble. Robert would need to sleep off his Bemusement, certainly.
Yet, just as she was finishing her cup of coffee, the door opened and Dacian slipped in. He was dressed in Robert’s dark blue coat and breeches, with a neat, unobtrusive cravat tied at his throat. His face was disguised, and a glint of silver and pearl showed the presence of the enchanted cravat pin. Under his mop of brown hair, Judith perceived a gleam in his eye.
“Why are you wearing Robert’s uniform?” She had a sinking feeling, and she eyed his white stockings with disapprobation. Unfortunately, they displayed his muscular calves rather nicely.
“I am going to play the footman today. Robert is completely drained, the poor boy. It is my turn to escort you.”
“Must you? I am perfectly capable of walking to Garvey House myself.”
“Absolutely not.”
“At least your new charm is working nicely.” Her eyes narrowed. “Though one end of that moustache appears pointier than the other.”
Self-consciously, Dacian’s fingers went to the point in question, but of course his hand passed through the Illusion and it momentarily vanished. “Robert was becoming tired, and I didn’t want to strain him. He can refine the details tonight. I pass muster though, do I not?”
The moustache sprang back into existence, and Judith regarded it with disfavour. “Indeed, no one would guess that beneath that moustache lies the Duke of Sargen.”
The slight asymmetry gave his face a roughish look, not tempered by the grin he gave her now. “Then let us depart.” He held out his arm, then dropped it. “Damn. I’ll have to walk behind you.”
Thus arranged, they set off on the walk to Garvey House. Although the clouds remained threatening, the air was pleasantly warm and still. Judith found herself wishing to talk to Dacian. However, even on the lonely country lanes she did not want to risk giving rise to comment by chatting to her footman, or ogling his calves. They fell into a companionable silence, Dacian a few feet behind her, and sound of birds twittering around them in the hedgerows.
The lane took them past the flowing stream, the same one they had walked besides nine years earlier, with some ducks of a similar descent paddling in the waters. Then Judith turned up the long drive to Garvey House, and marched through the browning, rotting ash leaves.
At her resounding knock, the front door eventually opened. The burly butler stood there, his hand still on the doorknob, and his chin at an arrogant angle as he sneered down at her.
“Yes, my lady?” He might as well have said You again?
“I am here to see Lady Garvey,” Judith said firmly. “I know she is at home and will receive me.”
“No one is at home, my lady.” The lie clanged, and the man’s gaze shifted to Dacian, who stood behind her. The butler’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. Judith hoped he didn’t notice that her footman appeared different today, and moreover possessed an asymmetrical moustache.
“It concerns Miss Georgina Garvey,” pressed Judith, “and a personal invitation to a wedding.”
The butler’s eyes came back to her face. “Do you have the invitation?”
“I wished to personally invite her.”
“Invitations can be delivered by the postboy,” he said, and then, shockingly, shut the door in her face.
Judith spun around. “Did you see that?” she hissed in outrage.
Dacian nodded. “A butler, my foot. The Garveys must be desperate.”
“I won’t have it.” She pushed past him, and marched along the avenue in front of the house. “We will try the back door.”
However, when they rounded the back corner of the house, Dacian coughed. She glanced over her shoulder and he jerked his head towards the maze.
“Can we have a quick look in there? Before you storm the castle? Wooten remarked upon something last night.”
“Oh?” Judith hesitated. “I warn you, Robert and I became quite lost yesterday.”
“I have a map,” he replied. “After you went to bed, Wooten drew one for me. Apparently, he flew over the maze several times, while he was waiting for Marigold to finish frolicking in the poplars. He said there is a path through the wilderness that leads directly to the centre.”
“How odd. When we walked it yesterday, we could not find it.” She turned and led them into the maze, away from the watchful window panes. It was a relief, in a way, to retreat within the privacy of the yew walls. They walked along the green avenue in a sudden, quiet silence.
Judith heard a rustle and looked over her shoulder to see Dacian had pulled a scrap of paper out of his livery. He showed it to her: a tiny map drawn in Wooten’s fastidious hand. After examining it a moment, Dacian looked up.
“May I take the lead?”
“Of course.”
To do so, however, he had to edge past her in the narrow confines of the maze. Judith pressed herself back into the leaves, but her bodice almost touched his chest as he passed.
He paused, so close, looking down at her. “We barely have a moment alone, with Robert always hovering.”
“That is as it should be,” she replied weakly. She could feel the warmth of him, and her hands ached to grasp his coat and pull him closer. With a force of will she kept them by her sides, clenching her skirts tightly.
“You were right, you know.” His expression was serious.
“About what exactly?”
“About my misjudgement,” he clarified. “I should have known it wasn’t you in the maze that night. I can only say that I was drunk and didn’t stop to think.”
“Hm.” The hedges pressed around them like a green cocoon, and she felt a little dazed. “And what about the intervening nine years? Surely you weren’t drunk for the entirety of that .”
“Wretch. That is why I asked you about it, to see if there was some explanation.” He paused. “I did write to you from Spain once, you know.”
“I never received it.” She almost didn’t believe him, except her Gift could hear his truth.
Dacian brought a hand up to brush her arm. She wondered if he had infused his touch with Impact, that it swept through her body with such power. “Even when I sent it, I doubted it would reach you, with the war on the continent.” His gaze was rueful. “It must have been intercepted.”
The knowledge that he had written, even once, suddenly lightened her heart. Her fingers unclenched. Then she recalled the possible contents of that letter. “Did you accuse me of seducing Lord Garvey?”
“Er, no.” He hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“You still believed the Illusion, in fact.” Her jaw tightened and she jerked her head. “Let us not dally too long.”
For a moment longer, he stared down at her. She gazed back defiantly. Then his lips twisted and he moved in front again, turning his back to her.
Judith let out her breath and proceeded after him. Was it indeed true that he was irresistible? She had almost thrown herself into his arms, just at the scent of him: cocoa, spices, and whisky.
Perhaps she just needed a good drink of chocolate. And soon.
Dacian’s broad shoulders progressed deeper into the maze, until they reached a corridor that disappeared into an overgrown press of hedge. Yew banked close together in a wild, unchecked generosity. Nearing the impassable wilderness, he glanced down at Wooten’s map and then turned to his right.
“Strange,” he murmured. “Wooten must have marked it wrong. He drew a path here.” Dacian pointed to where tendrils stretched out in a haphazard growth.
Judith came to stand beside him. “It certainly needs a trim.” She reached out restlessly to tweak an errant twig.
Yet her fingers brushed through thin air.
With her groping grasp, a section of the overgrown tangle suddenly vanished. Where before there had been an impenetrable mass, a gap opened before them, showing a neatly clipped path.
“An Illusion,” she breathed.
“I doubt it is being cast as we speak.” Dacian glanced around sharply. “It must be held in place by a charm. Where is the enchanted object?”
After a short inspection, they soon found it: a large, brass key hanging in the yew branches, obscured by leaves and berries. Judith held it up. “A common household object, and easy enough to heat above a candle.” She paused. “An Illusor must live at Garvey House, or close by.”
“Kenneth,” said Dacian, tucking the key away so it was once more hidden. “He must have left this enchantment in place while he resides in London.”
“Perhaps,” said Judith thoughtfully.
“I’ll go first, marchioness.” Dacian shouldered in, still bearing his map. Judith followed, wondering if it were wise to tread into a secret tract. Her eyes trailed down to Dacian’s tapering waist. Was his striking figure instantly recognisable? The silly moustache would not do much at all to disguise him if they came face to face with their quarry; indeed, it would better if the duke could melt into the maze as a piece of shrubbery. She would have to suggest it to Robert for next time.
Dacian held his map aloft, but there was no need for it now. The hidden path cut a direct, though tight, swathe through the morass which pressed upon them. After the suffocating tightness of the corridor, it was jarring when it suddenly opened onto a large, perfectly round clearing.
Judith recognised it as the centre of the maze, for standing in the middle were two thin swords set upright in a cross, as if marking the spot. Their wicked points were rusty now, and the pommels, resting in stone cradles, were dull with age. Oddly, despite the respectfully pruned clearing that encircled the swords, the stone plinth was covered in a wild flowering vine that had been allowed to grow unrestrained. The vine snaked over the stone, as if swallowing it whole, and flowers crept up the sword handles, unconfined and lush.
The blooms were large and white, with purple splotches in their centre. Yellow filaments made them look much like a cross between a briar rose and a pansy. Opposite the swords, a worn, wooden bench looked well used, its arms curling down on either side of the seat.
Sniffing the air, Judith recognised the same cloying scent that she had smelled yesterday. She and Robert must have been closer to the centre than they had realised.
“Is it someone’s secret garden boudoir?” wondered Dacian. “Carefully hidden. Suspicious, don’t you think?”
Judith stepped forward and sniffed one of the flowers. The sweet smell became overpowering. “This scent is familiar, yet I do not recognise this plant.”
“I don’t fancy it much. Better not touch the blooms, in case they are poisonous.” Dacian strolled the circumference. “It seems there is not much else here.”
“Check for Illusions,” she advised. She demonstrated by trailing her hands along the surrounding circle of hedge. It stayed as a bower of topiary, though Judith could see small round gaps spaced throughout the wall of foliage. Dacian poked through the flowers, to test the barely visible plinth and rusty swords, but they found nothing further out of the ordinary.
“Why the concealment?” Dacian questioned. “We must be growing close, marchioness!”
“Indeed.” Judith contemplated the clearing. “Unless the charm was simply purchased and installed for amusement’s sake? Perhaps Georgina hides here when she grows bored of her grandmother.”
“Hm,” said Dacian skeptically. “Well, the house awaits us. Maybe it will have more answers.”
He took the lead again, and they traversed the hidden path in silence. Once free, they turned to see the Illusion spring up again.
Consulting his tiny map, Dacian led them back through pruned avenues. Judith expected him to find the exit soon, but he stopped. Over his shoulder, with a sinking feeling, she saw the Apollo statue, with its lewdly angled quiver of arrows.
“Here it is,” he said grimly.
“Yes.” Judith cleared her throat, desperate not to conjure the image of herself with her hair and gown unbound. “I wonder where the Illusor hid that night.”
Dacian strode into the clearing. “I heard footsteps. Whoever it was must have been obscured by the hedges.” He glared at Apollo. “It still boils my blood, just thinking about it.” Judith felt a tingle of pressure on her skin, and a rustle passed through the leaves.
“Think about this, then,” she suggested. “There must have been a person under the Illusion: a real woman. It is entirely possible that she constructed the Illusion herself, rather than a hidden watcher.”
Dacian stalked round the statue. “It is possible. But who would do such a thing?” He paused uncomfortably. “I suppose Garvey might even have been complicit in it, as some sort of erotic play.”
Judith frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He may have asked for the woman to take on another guise, to titillate him.”
Judith swallowed, repulsed. “How revolting.”
Dacian’s fist clenched. “He deserved to die, if that was the case.” The pressure returned, with a promise of thunder. Then it dissipated, and Dacian’s fingers loosened. “However, Garvey didn’t show guilt when he turned to face me, so I rather think not. The Illusion must have been cast for my eyes only.”
“Someone who knew of your temper and your Gift.”
“Not necessarily my Gift,” said Dacian. “They would have known of my reputation for duelling, at least. Perhaps Kenneth pinned his hopes simply on that.”
“Maybe.” Judith turned her back on the aloof visage of Apollo. “If it was indeed Kenneth.”
It was easier today to find the way out, with Wooten’s map once more taking them to the spacious poplar avenue. Out of the maze, Judith took the lead, and skirted round the back of the hedges, with Dacian resuming his role as a footman.
When they came in sight of the house, Judith took a breath. “We need the element of surprise. And a convincing reason why they can’t refuse us entry.”
“Yes, marchioness?” said Dacian. “I suspect that you have a plan.”
“Can you carry me?”
He raised a brow. “With ease.”
“Well, I have twisted my ankle,” said Judith resolutely, as she tightened the ribbons of her mobcap. “You will need to carry me to the front door and demand assistance.”
“Quite.” Dacian grinned. “Come on, then.”
He stepped forward. Judith frowned at his chest. “I abhor the necessity, but I cannot think of another way inside.”
“Oh, absolutely, a terrible necessity.” He put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. Judith’s legs threatened to give way in reality. “If I can bear it, then you can, marchioness.”
She examined his face, ostensibly to check that he was still disguised. Robert’s charm was holding up remarkably well: Dacian’s moustache was bushy and concealing, his scar hidden, and his eyebrows muted. A pity his eyes were so amused and direct.
“Are you ready?” He bent slightly, slipping his other arm around her thighs. Judith’s blood rushed to her cheeks, but before she could change her mind, she was suddenly airborne.
It ought to have been lurchingly unstable, but instead she felt contained and steady, held by his strength. Her ribs and breast pressed against his chest, and she smelled oak, smoke, and whisky, with the tantalising fragrance of spices.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” he murmured in her ear.
Mutely, she shook her head, then managed to slip her arms around his neck. “Onwards.” Her voice was a little husky.
Dacian shifted slightly and began walking. He peered down at her. “You look rather flushed. Try to look pale and distressed.”
“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped. “Stay in character. Remember, you are my servant now.”
“Always,” he said. “Now clutch a little more, marchioness, ready for the pantomime, but don’t dislodge my moustache. I’m about to kick up a fuss.”
Judith let her head droop onto his shoulder, and contorted her face into an expression of pain. After all, it was torturous, she realised, to be this close to Dacian and be unable to nuzzle into his neck and run her fingers through his thick hair. She distracted herself by watching the house through half-closed lids, and was rewarded by the sight of the curtain twitching on the second floor at the oriel window.
When they arrived at the back door, Dacian began shouting.
“Hallooo? My mistress is hurt! Let me in!” He kicked the door for good measure, and Judith jiggled against his chest. She gulped.
He bellowed again, right next to her ear. She flinched, clutching at his hard shoulders, fearing that he would send her deaf. Before he could do so, however, the back door suddenly swung open.