Page 67 of Master Wolf
Opening the door, he clambered inside to find that Marguerite was huddled up against the far side door, the carriage blanket draped over her legs. She had been gazing out of the window, but when the door opened, she turned to look at him. Immediately, a wave of anguish swamped him, shocking him with its intensity. When they’d set off, she’d been nervous and on edge, but this was something of an entirely different order.
“We’re nearly there,” he said, eyeing her carefully as he settled himself on the opposite bench. “Are you all right? You seem—” He broke off, unsure how blunt he should be.
She forced a mechanical smile that did not begin to touch the despair in her eyes. “I will be fine,” she said quietly. “I will have myself under control before I leave the carriage.”
Drew frowned and leaned closer, watching her warily. “What’s wrong?” he said. He had never seen her like this. Truly shaken.
She swallowed hard, and he saw that her gloved hands were in tight fists in her lap. “I am… I am almost sure that Alys is here.”
Drew raised his nose, scenting the air for another wolf scent, an unfamiliar one. But he could detect nothing. Oh, there were traces of all sorts of smells, mostly everyday ones, but nothing with that unmistakable lupine edge.
“It is not her scent,” Marguerite whispered. “I think it is our bond.” She raised one of her hands, still held in a tight fist, and pressed it against her body, underneath her left breast, knuckling and kneading, as though trying to burrow inside. She was pressing her fist so hard, it would leave bruises.
“You arealmostsure?” he said.
“I—cannot be certain,” she said in an agonised tone. “It has been so long and… perhaps it is because I wish it so hard? But what else could it be, Drew?”
She was distraught and hopeful at the same time.
Slowly, Drew said, “Do you want to wait in the carriage? I could go in alone.”
She shook her head in swift negation. “No. I will come with you. I must do this.”
“All right. Once we’re inside, if you become certain that Alys is there, give me a sign like this.” He demonstrated for her, extending his thumb and smallest finger while closing the other fingers into his palm.
Marguerite nodded. Then carefully, with an obvious effort of will, she dropped her fisted hand back to her lap and made the sign Drew had demonstrated. When he looked back up at her face, she had donned the mask of Madame Niven. And not a moment too soon, for the now the horses were slowing as the carriage drew up before the house.
Drew gazed out of the window at Spylaw Tower. God but it was an ugly house, like a dungeon that had been built aboveground instead of below it, with no care for symmetry or elegance. A square box of dark grey stone, its mullioned windows were small, few and placed irregularly around the walls. Drew doubted much light made it through them—the glass looked thick and warped with age, the small individual panes murky.
Opening the carriage door, he jumped out.
“Good day, Mr. Niven,” a voice called from front door of the tower.
It was Bainbridge. He looked well-pleased with himself… until Marguerite stuck her head out of the carriage. At that point, his face visibly fell.
“Help me down, mon amour,” Marguerite demanded, and Drew turned to assist her, or at least appear to, setting his hands lightly at her waist as she leapt down to the ground.
“Mrs. Niven,” Bainbridge said coolly. “This is a surprise.”
“A nice one, I hope,” she replied.
He didn’t answer that. Instead he turned to Drew “I thought you were going to ride over,” he said, his frown deepening. “I’m afraid I don’t have a groom to see to your horses and carriage.”
“That’s quite all right,” Drew said in an easy tone. “My coachman can see to them, and we won’t be here long. I presume the stables are round the back of the house?”
Bainbridge scowled.“Yes, but I’m afraid the house is rather unsuitable for a lady visitor. I have no female servants here and, well, it’s fine for a couple of gentlemen but for Mrs. Niven—”
“Oh, no, no, no!” Marguerite exclaimed, moving ahead of Drew and mounting the three steps to the front door where Bainbridge stood. He tried to retreat but had nowhere to go as she took possession of his arm.
“You insult me if you think I am the sort of poor creature who will have an attack of the vapours in the house of a single gentleman! What made you think such a thing?”
Bainbridge immediately protested. “I did not intend to suggest any—”
“Were you aware that I travelled with my first husband to India?” she demanded of him. “I can assure you that during our travels I put up with many inconveniences and hardships and never—never!—did a single complaint pass my lips!”
“Madame, I am quite sure that you are a very capable lady and—”
“Exactly,” she said, then turned her head and called to Wynne, “John, please do take the carriage and horses round to the stables. Mr, Niven and I will let you know when we are ready to leave.”