Page 43 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

Rather to Valance’s surprise, his mother took seriously his suggestion that she leave the newlyweds to themselves. Shortly after his return to London, she announced that she’d had her fill of the Season. She wanted to return to Dreadnaught Hall.

“Someone ought to keep an eye on things in Surrey,” she explained. “We really ought not neglect the estate.”

Valance made all the appropriate responses, assuring her of her welcome whenever she chose to come back to Curzon Street.

Secretly, he was relieved that he and Honora would finally have the house to themselves.

Perhaps they were no longer technically in their honeymoon, but he nevertheless very much enjoyed being a newlywed.

Things kept getting better and better between them in bed.

Valance could not imagine wanting to keep a mistress again.

How other men could prefer to dally with the muslin company rather than devoting their attention to their wives baffled him.

But perhaps, he thought tolerantly, they did not have wives like Honora. Few men could be so lucky.

Because he cared about his wife, Valance did not forget his scheme for gaining leverage over Belmont.

He summoned his solicitor to discuss the possibility of investigating the death of Belmont’s most recent duchess.

She had died a year and a half ago, so it might be too late to uncover new information about her death, but every avenue was worth investigating.

Even so, it took nearly four weeks for the Bow Street Runner Mr. Watson had hired to track down the duchess’s former lady’s maid. When he found her, the investigator reported that she would not or could not speak to him about the late duchess’s final illness.

Could not, Valance mused. There were spells that could prevent a person from revealing information.

Such magic was illegal, and there were few magicians powerful enough to make such a spell last for more than a few days.

But though compulsion spells were illegal, there were undoubtedly some magicians willing to work them for the right price.

The Duke of Belmont could afford the services of the best magicians.

The possibility of magic interference could not be ruled out.

Valance decided the best course of action was to visit the lady’s maid himself, to see if he could succeed where the investigator had failed.

True, he had not been trained in detection, and he knew little about criminal law.

On the other hand, he was a skilled magician, unlike the average Bow Street Runner.

Mademoiselle DeRose currently served a lady who lived in Bath, so interviewing her would take Valance out of town for several days. Valance did not like leaving Honora alone for so long again, but this investigation might be important.

When he proposed the plan to Honora, she raised an objection he had not anticipated.

“Can’t I go with you? I like Bath, and I have not been there for years.”

She lay beside him in bed, an open book still in hand. She wore her spectacles, which always incited conflicting desires in Valance. On the one hand, he thought she looked adorable wearing them; on the other hand, he wanted to take them off so he could thoroughly kiss her face.

“I would feel safer if you stayed home.” He did not want to draw unnecessary attention to Honora.

It would look odd for him to leave town abruptly after committing to a dinner party and a ball this week.

The journey might seem even stranger if both of them left.

Honora could more easily excuse his absence if he left her behind.

She could simply say he’d been called away on business.

“No one is likely to hurt me.” She smiled. “You are worrying about nothing.”

“I do not worry about nothing, I worry about you,” Valance explained.

He kissed her lightly on the mouth, and she put a hand on his head to keep him there so she could kiss him back, not quite so lightly.

He removed her glasses and placed them carefully on the bedside table so they would not get smudged.

After that, they grew further distracted and did not return to the subject of conversation until the next day.

*

Ultimately, Honora agreed it made more sense for her to stay behind and deliver his apologies to the few social events they had accepted. Thus, Valance set off on his own, for once leaving even his valet behind.

He arrived in Bath late on the second day of travel, but the hour prevented him from calling on Mademoiselle DeRose until the next day. Valance met with her in the private coffee room of his hotel, thinking it might be better not to attract attention at her place of employment.

Mademoiselle DeRose was a plump, middle-aged woman who, unlike Cherie, seemed to have actually lived in France at some point.

And the investigator Mr. Watson had hired was right: she could not say anything about the death of her previous mistress.

She happily described the duchess’ character as an employer, and her taste in clothing and jewelry, but when Valance asked about her final illness, all she said was “I cannot say, sir.”

“Mademoiselle,” Valance said at last, “Do you know there are powerful mind control spells that can prevent a person from talking about a given subject?”

“I cannot say, sir.” Her voice remained flat, but he thought he saw a flicker of reaction in her eyes.

“But there are release spells—general cancellation spells—that can undo such magic,” he continued. “It might take powerful magic, but a good sorcerer or wizard could break even a strong compulsion spell. Did you know that?”

“I cannot say, sir.” But she leaned forward, pleading in her eyes.

Valance reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a piece of notepaper he had folded into thirds and sealed with wax.

From the outside, it looked like a letter.

But if it were opened, one would find three of Valance’s runes, including the one he’d recently developed.

The cancellation rune might have been effective on its own, but combined with the two supporting marks, it became one of Valance’s most powerful spells.

“This envelope contains a cancellation spell,” Valance told the maid.

“I poured as much of my power into it as I could—and, mademoiselle, I am generally considered a strong magician. If I hand this paper to you and activate the spell, it should break any spells or enchantments currently affecting you. All you have to do is hold the paper while I activate the spell. Do you want to try that?”

“I cannot say, sir.” But she extended a trembling hand, and he took that as acquiescence.

Valance placed the folded paper on top of her open palm and tapped it, pouring a final spark of power into the spell. The effect was immediate: Mademoiselle DeRose coughed and gasped, struggling to draw breath. Then she began to weep.

Oh God, no! Not tears! He had not come prepared for a crying female. He patted his waistcoat pockets hurriedly, hunting for his handkerchief. By the time he found it, she had gotten herself under control. She used the handkerchief to wipe away the remains of the tears.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said between sniffles. “I did not understand why I could not say anything about the duchess’s death. I did not realize someone had cast a spell on me. I did not know such spells were possible!” She shivered.

“So, you don’t know who did it?” Valance guessed. If he could discover which magician Belmont had hired, the perpetrator might be arrested. And he or she might be willing to make a deal.

She shook her head. “I have no idea. But I know who must have ordered it. His Grace would not want me telling what I know about the poor duchess’s death.”

Valance drew a notebook and a pencil out of his pocket, then leaned forward. “What do you know about the third duchess’s death? Did she die of natural causes, or not?”

“She died of natural causes, yes.” But the maid frowned and nervously played with the handkerchief. “She had a lung complaint.”

“Consumption?” Valance suggested. That was difficult to treat even with magical medicines. Without magic, it was fatal.

She shrugged. “As to that, I cannot say. I am no doctor. It killed her quickly, though. I always thought consumption was a slow death. This disease progressed rapidly.”

“So, there was no sign of foul play?” Valance pressed. That made no sense. There had to be a reason why someone was willing to go to so much trouble to silence the maid.

“No deliberate murder, I suppose.” She hesitated, frowning. “That is, I do not believe Belmont poisoned her, or cursed her, or otherwise directly caused her illness. But . . . there was neglect. Much neglect.”

“Tell me about that,” Valance urged.

“Her Grace coughed for weeks. Weeks!” Mademoiselle DeRose said indignantly. “But the duke would not send for a physician. He forbade anyone in the house to send for a physician.” Her mouth tightened into a grim line.

“He did not treat her illness, then?” Valance pondered that information.

Could failure to seek medical treatment constitute a legally culpable degree of neglect?

He had no idea. There was probably no law that required a husband to order a physician every time his wife fell ill.

After all, many people could not afford the services of a physician.

“He ordered a cough syrup from the apothecary.” She grimaced and waved a dismissive hand.

“The sort of cheap thing you might get for a trifling cold. A hedgewitch could have brewed better! It did not help much. But he did not call in a doctor until a week before she died. When the doctor came, he was very upset about the delay in treatment. Very upset.” She nodded her head emphatically.