Page 12 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

‘Nobody like you.’ The daemon ran his finger along one of the cracks in the leather seat, his brow furrowed.

‘What are you thinking, Tobias?’ These were the first words Lady Satine had uttered in some time.

‘What day is it?’ Pitch asked. ‘Tell me it’s not Tuesday.’

‘It’s not Tuesday,’ Lady Satine replied. ‘It is Sunday evening.’

Pitch’s smile was a pretty swing of full lips. ‘Marvellous. I seem to recall that Mrs Charters was partial to a soirée on a Tuesday night. She has an insatiable appetite for baccarat. It is invitation only.’

Tyvain snorted. ‘Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but Tobias Astaroth ain’t got no chance of gettin’ an invite to that place.’ The soothsayer cracked her knuckles, ruining the veneer of refinement her stiff clothing gave her.

‘Of course.’ Pitch was smug. ‘But the woman that Mr Charters was courting briefly this summer will be welcomed with open arms.’

Lady Satine sat up, her skirts bunched about her, one sleeve slipping from her shoulder. Her hair was mussed at the back by the cushions. For someone Silas suspected was altogether far more powerful than he imagined, she looked a right mess. ‘What are you up to, Tobias?’

Pitch shrugged. ‘Mr Charters and I were very near to being affianced at the beginning of summer.’

That gave Silas cause to stop his pacing. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Pitch laughed, no doubt relishing the confusion in the room. ‘Mrs Charters is very aware that Edward has always had a preference for a pretty boy and is not so fond of a skirt. It causes her no end of grief, what with the need for heirs and all that, but it made for lovely sport for a while there. For a short time, I became Miss Margaret Cargill, just to mess with her sensibilities. A lovely American visitor to British shores for the summer, and a member of an astonishingly rich family. An heiress, no less. And one who thought Edward a dream. Mrs Charters nearly blew her wig off when he first introduced me. A rich and suitable child-bearer.’ His gaze slid to Silas. The ankou did his level best to keep his expression smooth. ‘It was a way to amuse myself, pass the time. They were all falling over themselves to impress me, which brought me no end of pleasure, and Edward was free to indulge his predilection for a cock whilst I could wear corsets to my heart’s content. It didn’t work out for us, of course. I got bored with being gawked at like a prize bird in a cage. So I returned Miss Cargill to American shores, just a few weeks after the affair began.’

‘I do recall that phase of yours.’ Lady Satine’s laugh was brittle. ‘You had my seamstress thinking I’d gone mad for corsets, the tighter the better, and preferably near to works of art.’ She cupped her hands beneath her breasts and wriggled them about in a manner that had Silas glancing away. ‘But it has always astonished me why you prefer to wear these confounded things. I truly don’t know what I was thinking when I made this form. It’s an inconvenient sex at times.’

‘Well, you are not so prone to coming apart as I am,’ Pitch said. ‘You’d understand then why I adore a decent lacing up.’

Silas glanced at him, hearing the dry, tangled note of self-loathing in the words. He tried to catch Pitch’s eye, but the daemon would not look at him.

‘So you reckon this Cargill woman can get an invite to this party, then?’ Tyvain said.

‘Certainly,’ Pitch said smoothly. ‘We should request one immediately, advise her that I’m in town and would like to attend. If he is just ill, Mrs Charters will soon have Edward on his feet if she thinks he’s in with another chance to turn his seed into an heir.’

Silas looked to the Lady Satine, hoping he’d see her shaking her head and casting out the idea as foolish. But instead she pursed her bottom lip and nodded slowly.

‘Come now,’ Silas said. ‘It’s all very well to put on a dress and some rouge to deceive the purebreds, but do we not have greater things to concern us? The Morrigan for one. Should we not be worried about Pitch’s natural state being noticed?’

The natural state Silas’s new musicality had apparently not noticed enough to declare.

‘We can deal with that,’ Lady Satine replied. ‘There is an elixir I’ve concocted, capable of concealing a natural’s aura, though the results do vary. For me it was a day, perhaps a day and a half, but it worked much better for Sybilla when she tried it. Four days I think she was concealed. Trouble is it loses efficacy with each use until it does not work at all. I’ve not found the time or inclination to fix that.’

‘Lucky Cinderella only needs to go to one ball, then,’ Tyvain declared.

‘I’ll take anything, so long as it doesn’t make me throw up.’ Pitch rubbed at his chest. ‘I’ve had far too much of that of late.’

The Lady shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. But I do have concerns about how effective it will be for one of your…shall we say, unique calibre?’

‘Oh by the feckin’ saints.’ Tyvain scratched at her armpit. The dress did not agree with her at all. ‘’E’s vain enough as it is. Don’t give ’im any more reason to feckin’ prance about like one of them princes from the House of Windsor.’

Silas studied his nails very closely. At least he knew for certain Tyvain had no clue who Pitch truly was. He doubted even the bold and very brassy soothsayer would be so boorish if she knew the truth.

She also did not know when to shut up. Tyvain jerked her head at Pitch. ‘I can’t see those auras you lot talk about, but I’ve ’eard yours looks like a shit stain.’

‘That’s enough, Tyvain.’ Lady Satine got to her feet, stretching her arms overhead. ‘You are hardly in a position to cast aspersions. If you’d told someone, anyone at all, about your premonition regarding Mr Charters, we’d not need this meeting to begin with.’

‘Figured I’d find ’im first, see if ’e was actually important later.’ Tyvain sulked into her chair. ‘Didn’t seem ta make sense ’e was truly worth a damn, so I assumed me signs were all fecked up as usual. Thought I’d save ya all lookin’ at me like I’m shit on a wheel like you usually do when I tell ya me guts are swirlin’.’

‘Because it’s normally the beans you ate the night before and nothing more,’ the Lady said. ‘You must admit, your strike-to-win ratio is rather high for the strike. I do sometimes wonder if you are truly your mother’s daughter. But at least there is a plan now. We shall see where this leads.’

‘And where do I figure in this plan?’ Silas demanded. ‘I am going with him, surely?’