Page 68 of Master Wolf
“Very good, ma’am,” Wynne said, touching his crop to his hat. He began to move the horses away from the front door of the house, to Bainbridge’s obvious dismay.
“Mrs. Niven,” Bainbridge said desperately, “Permit me to be blunt with you.”
Marguerite turned back to him, regarding him with a mildly curious expression. “Of course. What is it?”
By this time, Drew had mounted the steps behind her, adding more force to their forward movement, and Wynne was already turning the corner. A slightly hunted look came into Bainbridge’s eyes.
“The, ah, item I offered to show your husband is not for a lady’s eyes,” Bainbridge said. His gaze flitted to Drew, flashing accusation and betrayal, and Drew tried to seem embarrassed.
“Is that all that is bothering you?” Marguerite offered Bainbridge a charming smile, glancing at him from under her lashes. “Well, you need not worry. Mr. Niven has already told me I am not allowed to see youritem. He says I will only have another turn, as I did when Mr. Muir showed us thathorribleskeleton.” She shuddered dramatically. “Anyway, I did not come to see it—I only wanted to come for the drive as I was bored and did not want to wait at home. So, if it is all right, Mr. Bainbridge, I will sit quietly in your parlour in front of the fire and perhaps one of your servants can bring me a little pot of tea? Or if not, a little glass of ratafia or wine will do very well instead.”
Bainbridge, who had relaxed slightly when Marguerite said she had no interest in seeing the item, nodded stiffly. “Very well,” he said. “The parlour’s like an icehouse, but there’s a fire going in the library, as I was working in there, so if you don’t mind waiting amongst my books, I daresay my manservant can manage a tea tray while Mr. Niven and I are occupied.
“Excellente!” Marguerite exclaimed. “Thank you, Mr. Bainbridge.”
She strolled over the threshold ahead of Drew, entering what looked to be a spacious hall. Drew hung back, leaning close to Bainbridge and muttering, “My apologies. She went into a jealous rage when I said I was coming over here—she was utterly convinced you had half a dozen harlots in the house to entertain us.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry though—now that she can see that’s not the case, she’ll be quite happy to sit and wait with a glass of wine. She hasn’t the slightest interest in why I’m really here.”
Bainbridge gave a stiff nod, though he still seemed unhappy. He said shortly, “Thankfully, the creature is muzzled in the cellar, so your wife won’t hear anything.” Turning away, he added over his shoulder, “Come on.”
Swallowing back the nausea that had arisen at the wordmuzzled, Drew followed him, closing the heavy door behind him and entering the gloomy hallway, where Marguerite was already waiting, looking about her curiously.
“It is very quiet here,” she observed. “How many servants do you have attending you, Mr Bainbridge?”
“Two,” Bainbridge replied. His face wore a strained expression that was probably supposed to be a smile.
“Only two!” she exclaimed, “For such a large house?”
“I am simple bachelor, Mrs. Niven, and only visiting the city for a short while,” Bainbridge said. “My needs are very modest.”
Marguerite shook her head. “It is time you married, Mr. Bainbridge. A wife would take care of these matters for you. Gentlemen always say they are happy living simple bachelor lives, but once they experience the homely comforts a wife provides, they realise how much better married life can be.” She patted Drew’s arm, “Do you not agree, mon amour?”
“Yes of course,” Drew said, taking her cue. Glancing at Bainbridge he added, “Mrs. Niven anticipates my every need. Before I have even realised what I want, it is there, at my hand—isn’t that right, my dear?”
Meeting his gaze, Marguerite said sweetly, “Well, what is a woman for, if not to be her husband’s right hand?”
Bainbridge was watching her with a more approving expression now, unbending enough to offer a small, polite smile. “Let me show you to the library, madame.”
He led them up three full flights of stairs. “My apologies for all the steps,” he said as they neared the top of the third flight. “I elected to work in the library as it has the best light—and the owner’s excellent book collection is one of the reasons I am visiting.”
There were only two doors on the short corridor and he opened the first of them to reveal a small library which was indeed full to the gunwales with books. Nearly every inch of the shelves that lined the chamber walls was crammed with volumes—only the doorway and the area of the far wall where the window was situated were bare. The towering rows of leather-bound books made the chamber feel dark and oppressive, and the window’s thick, mullioned panes did little to improve matters, only letting through some weak and dismal wintry light. Even in summer, it would be quite impossible to read in here without a candle—and this was the room with the best light?
While Drew and Marguerite took in their surroundings, Bainbridge busied himself locking away various papers that had been lying on the desk. When he was done, he pulled the servants’ bell, then crossed the floor to the hearth to set more wood on the low fire that was smouldering inadequately in the grate.
The library was at least a little warmer than the rest of the house, though that was not difficult given that the hallway and staircase had been as cold as outside. Maybe even colder.
“You mentioned the owner of the house a few moments ago,” Marguerite said. “Is he a member of your family?”
“No, a friend,” Bainbridge said. He glanced briefly at Drew. “We are members of the same fraternity. He is in England just now and offered me the use of the place while I am in Edinburgh.”
A White Raven, Drew surmised. He saw Bainbridge glance quickly at Marguerite—no doubt wondering if his comment might provoke some sign of recognition in her. Marguerite, however, didn’t react, only hummed and went to examine some book spines on the nearest shelf. A moment later, she turned back to them, pouting.
“They are all in Latin,” she complained.
Drew had to bite his lip against a smile—Marguerite was fluent in numerous ancient languages, including Latin. But Bainbridge simply accepted her words at face value, chuckling and saying, “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Niven.”
Bainbridge probably thought his words sounded indulgent, but Drew heard the derision in them.
Marguerite half-turned away from Bainbridge, meeting Drew’s eyes as she did so. Her gaze spoke volumes. Contempt for Bainbridge flashed there—and something else Drew couldn’t read. He tried instead to interpret her wildly shifting scent, catching a touch of desperation and a deep well of banked rage, but finding it impossible to read the rest. He did see the subtle gesture she made with her hand though, thumb and pinkie briefly extended, the other fingers closed into her palm.