“It’s been a long time,” Clive said. “I’ve missed you.”
I glared at him, then reminded myself - sharply - that I wasn’t in the shop any longer. There were eyes and ears everywhere. The grooms weren’t paying any attention to us, as far as I could tell, but that meant nothing. They were probably at least as practiced at listening - without making it obvious - as me. I was starting to get the impression that it was a useful skill in Bolingbroke Hall.
“I ...” I controlled my temper with an effort. “What are you doing here?”
Clive cocked his head. “Did you miss me?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Stick your head over here so I can try to hex you again.”
He laughed, as if I’d cracked the funniest joke in human history. “Here’s the official note,” he said, holding out a piece of sealed parchment. It had the Hiring Hall’s sigil on top. “And I have a verbal message from him .”
I glanced up, sharply. “From him? From Zadornov ?”
“Yes,” Clive said. He lowered his voice. “He figured you’d listen if I took you a message.”
“I suppose,” I said. Zadornov hadn’t just sent me one message. He’d sent two. Using Clive as his messenger was a reminder that he knew more about me than I cared to admit. I wondered, briefly, what Clive had told Zadornov when he’d asked about me. Had he exaggerated the truth? Or ... I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “Are you working for him now?”
“Yeah,” Clive said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. The hell of it was that Zadornov could and would make Clive a better offer - and perhaps a better employer - than his former masters. But Zadornov was a crime lord and I had no doubt he’d discard Clive like a contaminated potions beaker if Clive became inconvenient. We might all wind up being discarded once Zadornov got his hands on the notebook. “What’s the message?”
Clive leaned forward so he could whisper in my ear. “He wants you to keep your ear to the ground during the ball,” he said. “What ball?”
“Never mind,” I said, sharply. Zadornov probably hadn’t bothered to explain the message. “I’m not ...”
I shook my head. I was his spy, no matter how many times I told myself that I was only working in the hall to recover the notebook. Zadornov could easily demand I stayed, if the hue and cry didn’t sweep over me ... I shook my head, again. Reginald might not make a public fuss if he lost the notebook - I found it hard to imagine him complaining that the notebook he’d stolen had been stolen - but he’d know that someone had sneaked into the hall and taken something that, on the face of it, wasn’t very valuable. There were items in the Grand Entrance that were worth enough golds to buy and stock a dozen apothecaries. No thief would bother with the notebook unless they already knew what it was. He would know it was me. No one else would even recognise the damn thing.
“Fine,” I said. No doubt Zadornov hoped I’d pick up some gossip. I hoped he’d get his money’s worth. “What else?”
“He wants to see you, a few days after the ball,” Clive said. “You have to send him a note.”
“Very well,” I said. Lucinda wasn’t likely to give me an afternoon off willingly, but it was my right. The only problem was that all off-days had been cancelled during the run-up to the ball. Everyone would be applying for a few hours off afterwards. “I’ll let him know.”
Clive held out the parchment. I took it, my fingers unsnapping the seal effortlessly. The wax grew warm under my fingers, then melted away. Master Travis had once commented that a trained sorcerer would have no trouble opening and reading the parchment - the only way to make a message truly secure was to use more complex charms tuned to a particular reader - but he wouldn’t be able to replace the seal. My lips twitched as I unfurled the parchment. Lucinda could have broken the seal, but she’d never have been able to conceal what she’d done. The Hiring Hall would not have been pleased.
If they ever found out about it , I mused, as I read the message. It wasn’t much, just a simple enquiry into my first ten days at Bolingbroke Hall. Lucinda was going to be disappointed she wouldn’t have the chance to lecture me about a non-existent suitor. I wonder if she’ll insist on dictating the reply .
I folded the parchment and slipped it into my dress. “You’d better go,” I said. Lunchtime was almost over. Lucinda might let me eat, when I got back, or she might decide I couldn’t eat outside lunch hour. And there was nothing I could do about it, save perhaps sneaking some food out of the kitchen, if she said I couldn’t eat. “Clive ...”
Clive met my eyes. “Do you want to go out one evening? After you see ... him?”
“No,” I said. I felt a pang of guilt. Clive was annoying, a would-be suitor I didn’t want, but he hadn’t asked to be dragged into the madness surrounding me. “Clive, get out of the city. Take whatever you can carry and go.”
“I can’t go,” Clive said. “What would he think of me if I ran?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You should go.”
I looked down at my hands, feeling helpless. Zadornov might make a horrible example of Clive’s family ... or he might shrug and let him go. Clive might like to think he was on the way to somewhere important, but I doubted Zadornov saw him as anything more than a glorified messenger for the underworld. It would take a long time for Clive to climb the ranks, if he wasn’t killed in a gang fight or arrested by the City Guard. And yet, if he did climb the ranks, who knew where he’d end up? It wasn’t as if he gave a damn for legality.
“I’ll be fine,” Clive said. He looked, for a moment, as if he wanted to give me a hug. “And I’ll be back.”
“I know,” I said, regretfully. “Just ... be careful.”
Clive smiled. “You do care,” he said. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”
He pressed his fingers to his lips and blew me a kiss, then turned and hurried to the gates. I stared after him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. One of the grooms made a rude comment and it was all I could do to keep from hexing him. The other laughed uproariously as he led the horse back to the stables. I sighed and walked back to the kitchens. It was no surprise to see Lucinda standing by the doors, her arms folded over her chest. She’d been waiting for me.
“You took your time.” Lucinda held out her hand. “Give me the letter.”
I passed her the parchment and waited while she read it. “You’ll answer this tonight and show it to me before you put it in the box to be posted,” she said, curtly. “Do you understand me?”
I dropped a curtsey. “Yes, Miss Lucinda.”
“And you will be completely accurate about the conditions in the hall,” Lucinda added. “I expect complete and total accuracy.”
Or whatever the complete and total opposite of accuracy happens to be , I thought, wryly. Lucinda had every interest in making Bolingbroke Hall sound like a good place to work, although clearly not enough interest to make it a good place to work. But then, there was nothing she could do about Reginald, Uncle Wesley or any of the other aristocrats with wandering hands and bad intentions. I wonder if Ginny expects me to tell the truth too .
“Yes, Miss Lucinda,” I said, instead. “May I go eat before we start the rehearsal?”
“You may,” Lucinda said, with the air of someone granting an immense favour. “And do try not to be late.”
I nodded, trying to conceal my concern as I hurried into the kitchen. Zadornov was pushing me now, trying to turn me into his tool. And I had no way to say no. All he had to do was send a quiet tip-off, from a safe distance, and I’d be in hot water. Ginny and Clive would probably follow me into the cells. I’d heard stories about people who went into the City Guard’s Ironhold Prison. They rarely came out again.
I have to get that notebook , I told myself. There was a third aspect to the message. Zadornov wanted me to hurry up. The longer I stayed in place, the greater the chance that Reginald would recognise me or my cover would be blown in some other way. And then I have to find a way to get out from under his thumb .
But, try as I mi
ght, no ideas came to mind.
Chapter Twenty
“You look wonderful ,” Jill said, as I checked my appearance in front of the mirror. “I wish I looked half as good as you.”
I rolled my eyes at her. Lucinda had given us new dresses for the ball, even to the point of hiring a seamstress to actually tailor the garments rather than force us to tailor them ourselves. She’d made it clear that we’d be giving the dresses back later, which we really should have expected, but I found it hard to care. My dress showed more of my cleavage than I wanted. Everyone was going to be looking at me, at least until they saw Jill in her dress. She was a vision of beauty.
“As long as we don’t outshine the aristocrats,” I said, ruefully. I checked the clock as Jill hastily did my hair. “Are you ready to go?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jill said. Her face twisted, just for a second. “You won’t outshine anyone.”
I heard a dull gong echo though the hall as we made our way to the Grand Hall’s antechamber. Lucinda had had us rehearsing for the last few days, reminding us - time and time again - that the honour of House Bolingbroke rested on our shoulders. I was tempted to point out that we probably needed stronger shoulders, but I’d kept that thought to myself. Lucinda had been striding around like an army sergeant, carrying a notebook in one hand and a ruler in the other. She hadn’t hesitated to smack anyone who dropped out of line. A director telling his actors where to go on the stage could not have been more pedantic.
“Take your places,” Jill muttered, mockingly. “And make sure you’re wearing armour under your dresses.”
Lucinda swooped. “What was that?”
“I was merely reminding Rebecca that she had to take her place,” Jill said, blandly. “It’s her first formal ball.”
“Well, I suppose Lady Younghusband was not much for formal balls.” Lucinda sneered. I’d had problems during the first couple of rehearsals, when I’d had problems staying in line while carrying a tray of charmed wine glasses. Lucinda had accepted my excuse without question. “Just do as I told you and you’ll be fine.”
“Yes, Miss Lucinda,” I said.
“And I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Lucinda added, to Jill. “I don’t abide cheek.”
I smiled as Lucinda stalked off to make someone else’s life miserable. “Busted!”
“She has sharp hearing,” Jill said. “And she really does not want this to go wrong.”
I nodded. Lucinda was just as much of a perfectionist as Master Travis, but she didn’t have anything like the authority he’d wielded in his own house. She could sack us, I supposed, yet we weren’t the problem. There had been something almost desperate in the letter she’d dictated to the Hiring Hall, practically begging them to believe that there were no problems at Bolingbroke Hall. It had taken me some time to realise that the high turnover of staff reflected badly on Lucinda as much as House Bolingbroke itself. Even her position wasn’t secure.
The gong rang again. “Here we go,” Jill muttered, picking up a tray of drinks and passing it to me. I tried not to believe that a single glass of rosewater wine cost more than I’d earn in a year if I stayed at Bolingbroke Hall. “Smile, everyone.”
I pasted a smile on my face as we walked into the Great Hall. The sight took my breath away. The room was huge, decked out in House Bolingbroke’s formal colours; the walls were covered in paintings of famous figures from the family’s past, each one with a little inscription detailing what they’d actually done for their bloodline. A handful of aristocrats, all lesser family, were already milling around in the centre of the room, pretending to dance. I looked over at the musicians, unsure if I should envy or pity them. They’d be very well paid for a few short hours of playing.
If anyone actually listens to them , I thought. Jill had warned me that hardly anyone, including Lord and Lady Bolingbroke, would be on time, but I couldn’t help feeling as if the party had turned into a giant flop. The hall was so large that I felt tiny, as if all of us together didn’t even begin to fill the room. They might suffer the indignity of watching helplessly as no one listens to them .
Jill nudged me. “Take some drinks to the men,” she ordered. “And then work the room.”
The hall slowly started to fill up as the first real guests arrived. Staunton, wearing a uniform that made him look like a general or an admiral, would appear at the top of the stairs and announce the newcomers in a booming voice, then stand behind them and watch as they descended the stairs to casual applause. I wondered, as I served the newcomers drinks, if there was a way to deduce their social position by the number of people who applauded. But I couldn’t figure out a way to read the room.
And they’re all falling into social groups , I thought, as I moved around the room. Jill had told me a little about who was in and who was out, but she’d admitted that it probably didn’t matter to us. We had to serve everyone, even the middle-aged harridan who was being cut dead by everyone else. And they’re all drinking like fish .
“They say she killed a dark magician,” a woman said. Her livery suggested she was related to House William, but not strictly part of it. “And that she’s a dark magician herself.”
“Nonsense.” Her companion snorted, rudely. I couldn’t make out her livery. “A young girl, kill a dark magician?”
“That young brat from Rubén killed you-know-who,” the original woman said. “And that isn’t in doubt.”
“He had an Object of Power to help,” the companion said. “No, the rumours from Caithness are just rumours. I have a contact in the Kingsmen and he said that the wretched old man blew himself up. Damn stupid, if you ask me.”
She turned to look at me. “Yes?”
I held out the tray. “Would you like a drink, My Lady?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “And then you can go hover around someone else.”
I kept my face expressionless as I scurried away. Caithness? What had happened in Caithness? And what did it have to do with a dark magician? I listened, carefully, to some of the other gossips as I moved from group to group, hoping I could put the pieces together. But nothing quite made sense. One group appeared to believe that a twelve-year-old had killed a dark magician, while the other argued that the magician had been conducting an experiment that had finally blown up in his face. I couldn’t decide, as I collected another tray of glasses, what I should believe. It certainly didn’t seem to be something that might be connected to Master Travis.
But he lost all contact with his friend at roughly the same time , I thought, numbly. A coincidence? Or something more sinister? I could have kicked myself for not asking Clive if any letters had arrived for the shop. He would have told me, wouldn’t he?
“My Lords and Ladies,” Staunton boomed. “The Honourable Ambrose and Ellen Han Sun Li Griffin.”
I turned to stare as Duke Ambrose Griffin and his wife descended the stairs, followed by their children. Duke Griffin was nothing special, a middle-aged man who held himself like a military officer, but his wife caught and held my eye. Ellen Griffin was the first female pureblood Hangchowese I’d seen, perhaps the only one in Tintagel. I knew the story, everyone did. Duke Ambrose had fallen in love with her during a mission to Hangchow and - somehow - convinced her to come back with him to Shallot. I was sure there was something missing - Hangchowese women apparently never left the country - but ... I wondered, suddenly, if my father was married to a woman like her. She had the air of someone who expected to be respected wherever she went.
And she was stunning. Her face was paler than mine; her almond eyes soft and warm, her dark hair woven into a tight bun that told all and sundry she was married. I looked past her to her daughters, feeling a stab of envy at their luck. Sandra Griffin was tall and stately, her social life unblemished by her mixed features; Laurel Griffin looked more studious, her hair cut short to show that she was more interested in women than men. And, beyond them, Rachel Griffin ... no older than me, but very different. Her dark hair hung in braids, warning e
veryone that she hadn’t yet had her Season. Rachel looked cute, rather than pretty, although she was clearly growing up into an attractive young woman. Our eyes met, just for a second, and I looked away hastily. They said Rachel Griffin never forgot anything.
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