A Hanging at Lotus Hall

by Corrina Lawson

  Agnes announced her at the entrance to the duchess’s private sitting room. The duchess stood to welcome Joan. She wore clothing of soft cotton, though still grandly decorated about the neck and with long cuffs, and dyed a lovely shade of light blue. This must be more comfortable for her.

  In this lighting, better than the dining room, Victoria’s face still looked youthful, but the beginning of lines around her eyes indicated she was at least in her mid-thirties. Her dark hair was done up around her head in an intricate design that told Joan her maid was talented. A simple necklace of silver adorned her neck. But then, a noble face like hers needed little adornment.

  “Miss Krieger, your arrival is timely. Please come in.” Victoria glanced at the maid. “That will be all, Agnes.”

  Timely? Did the duchess desire to be the next person to accuse someone in the house of keeping secrets?

  “I’m glad I’m timely.” Joan glanced around the room. No Vai. And now, no way to leave to look for her, not when Joan was trapped by courtesy. And, besides, Gregor had asked her to protect Anne. Perhaps from her governess or even her mother. “I thought the dowager duchess would be joining us.”

  “She’ll be along shortly. She’s still in her morning communion with the sun.” Victoria frowned. “She was feeling tired after dealing with my daughter this morning. I’d have done that myself but…Jared would not hear of my leaving my rooms. He was adamant about it.”

  “He worries for you.” As Joan ventured farther into the cavernous room, she spotted Phyllis seated on a divan, unattended needlework in her lap. Phyllis stared ahead but saw little, given the blank expression on her face. Cosmetics had been used to hide her grief but her slumped posture revealed her devastation.

  Lady Anne had curled into a corner nook under the window, a book over her head. Not reading but sleeping again.

  “Is she well?” Joan asked, tilting her head to Anne.

  “I think so.” The duchess waved to the chair closest to her. “Please sit, Joan. Anne has a solid constitution. She’ll be fine.”

  “Are you certain?” Joan had questioned Anne and asked her to write down the memory. If the girl was terrorized, it was her fault. “I thought working through what she saw would help her, but perhaps I asked too much.”

  Victoria set her needlework aside. From what Joan could see of the floral design on the frock, it was fine work.

  “Joan, this summer, my daughter’s horse threw her hard enough to knock the breath from her body. The horse itself tripped, alas, and went lame. Instead of reacting hysterically or even looking after her own injuries, Anne was concerned about that horse. She led it back to the house for two miles in a rainstorm and spent the next twenty-four hours in the stable, nursing him.” She speared Joan with a glance. “My daughter is made of stern stuff. She’d not shirk from her duty, no matter how scared. However, I won’t deny last night was a serious fright. I’m eager to catch the killer who had the temerity to murder someone in my house. Now will you sit down?”

  “Anger is a good response to all this.” Joan sat, as ordered. “We’re doing our best to solve the murder.”

  “And you must think I want to interrogate you about the investigation, but I promised my husband I would not excite myself.” Victoria rolled her eyes. “We’ll wait until Vai is here to discuss that. In the meantime, I have an ulterior motive for wanting you here. Now that we’ve talked about my daughter’s clothing, I want to see your more modern designs for clothes. I forgot to tell you, I was somewhat disappointed that you dressed so conservatively yesterday, though that skirt and jacket set today looks quite, well, spiffy.”

  A year ago, having a prominent woman like the Duchess of Bennington interested in her new designs would have been the answer to Joan’s dreams. Did she still want to fulfill that ambition?

  “I am a guest in your home. I thought it best to be conservative last night,” Joan said.

  “Yes, probably for the best, especially with the men sniping during the meal. Jared has been in a temper lately. As you saw.” Victoria tut-tutted. “There the men were, wanting to pass bills to unravel part of the social structure, and yet they’d be appalled if anyone broke protocol by wearing the wrong sort of clothing.” She sniffed. “Once I’m ready for society again, I’m going to change that. You’re going to help me.”

  “I suspect I won’t have a choice, Your Grace.” Joan smiled. Yes, part of her still wanted this dream.

  “Good. And it’s Victoria, remember?”

  “Victoria. I apologize for not having sketches of the dresses Lady Anne wanted, but it’s been a busy morning. Once this is all over, I will have some for you.”

  “‘Busy morning.’ You are a master of understatement, Joan.”

  “I’m being more cautious than usual, I suppose. But if you’re feeling up to a few questions?”

  Victoria patted the stack of books next to her chair. “Oh, I am.”

  Sometimes, the best way to smoke out a killer was to reveal one’s hand. Joan glanced at Phyllis, who watched Anne with vacant eyes. She’d known Cooper well. Intimately. She might have known of the list.

  Joan pulled out the list of names and read them off, save for her mother’s name.

  Phyllis came to attention, her face pale, but said nothing.

  “That’s quite a who’s who of noble mages,” Victoria said. “What does it mean?”

  “I’m not certain, Victoria. I found it hidden in Samuel Cooper’s wardrobe, stuffed out of sight. I researched the names I recognized in your library. So far, all those on the list appear to be dead.”

  Phyllis made a strangled noise. Victoria shifted her gaze. “Phyllis, what is it?”

  The governess straightened. “Could Mr. Cooper have been killed for that list?”

  “I cannot say as yet, but he must have had a reason to hide it. Did he speak of it to you?” Joan answered Phyllis’s question with a question.

  “No.” An emphatic shake of the head accompanied that answer. “Sam—Mr. Cooper—he didn’t confide in me about it,” Phyllis said. “Please tell me you’ll get justice for him.”

  Joan nodded.

  “Sam?” Victoria asked.

  Ah, Joan remembered. Victoria didn’t know of the budding lovers.

  “I talked to him just last night, Your Grace,” Phyllis said. “We pledged to each other. We were going to be m-married. How could this happen?”

  Anne stirred at Phyllis’s raised voice. Her book dropped to the floor with a thud.

  The duchess put a finger to her mouth to signal quiet for the girl.

  “I can’t bring him back, Miss Dale, but I will find out what happened to him,” Joan said.

  “Will you?” Phyllis glared at them. “Sam said everyone keeps secrets at Lotus Hall. He was right. He even, if what you say is true, had some of his own.”

  Joan almost winced at the anger in the words.

  Anne sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What’s happening?”

  Her tone contained a sharpness utterly at odds with the smart, witty Anne that Joan had seen twice before.

  “Adults are talking, milady,” Phyllis said, with little sign of her earlier temper. “You should go back to your room to rest.”

  “I told you, I wanted to stay awake. I wanted to talk to Miss Krieger! How come you don’t listen to me?”

  Phyllis glared, letting loose her temper again. “I did listen. I brought you to your mother.”

  “And I’m here now,” Joan pointed out, to calm the girl. This, she had not anticipated.

  “You fell asleep though, once you started to read. That was your own choice, Anne,” Victoria added.

  “It’s not my fault!” Anne balled her hands into her fists and smacked her legs.

  It seemed Anne had something of her father’s temper.

  “Of course it’s not your fault. You were just tired, understandably so,” the duchess said in a soothing voice.

  “I’m not tired, Mother!”

  “You must be overtired to be so
rude. Lower your voice, daughter.”

  Anne hopped down from her perch and stalked over to her mother. “I want to go outside.”

  “It’s raining,” Phyllis said. “And I thought you wanted to help Miss Krieger. You’re being unreasonable, Lady Anne.”

  Anne shot her a dirty look full of contempt. Ouch. Even Joan felt the impact of that withering glance.

  Phyllis stared at the floor and shrugged, perhaps not having the energy to engage any longer.

  “I like rain,” Anne said.

  “If you go outside, you can’t help. Did you not mean what you said to Miss Krieger, then?” the duchess asked.

  Joan applauded her calm tone in the face of such unreasonableness. Why, she wondered, did everyone fervently wish for children when they could become so unreasonable?

  Anne blinked, her temper checked for a moment. “I meant it. I want to help.”

  “Good.” The duchess folded her hands into her lap. “Further crankiness, while understandable given yesterday’s events, is not acceptable. It’s not ladylike. You must learn to act like a proper lady.”

  Anne snatched the needlework from the table and flung it on the floor. “I’m already a lady. And I’m not cranky. I’m angry!”

  Her mother stood, anger flashing over her face. “That makes two of us who are angry now. There is no excuse for this behavior. You’ve had a fright. That does not mean you’re allowed to take it out on others. I’m afraid you have to go back to the nursery until you’re capable of proper behavior.”

  “You’re always telling me what’s proper. I hate it!” Anne balled her hand into a fist.

  Joan jumped out of her chair and grabbed Anne’s arm in mid-punch, only inches from Victoria’s swollen midsection.

  The duchess froze, her eyes wide, her mouth open in surprise. She closed her hands over her womb. No, she’d not expected a physical attack. Something was very wrong with the girl.

  Anne turned her anger on Joan. “Let me go. You’re no lady. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m preventing you from hurting yourself or others.”

  Ignoring the words, Anne flailed her arms, lashing out at Joan this time, but Joan grabbed Anne’s wrists and spun her around, as far away from the duchess as she could maneuver the girl.

  This was not normal.

  “Lady Anne!” Phyllis said sharply, rousing herself.

  “Go away, I don’t want a governess anymore!” Anne thundered.

  Joan kept a grip on Anne’s arms. Not an easy task with her squirming.

  “I’ve never seen her in such a state!” Phyllis said. “What is wrong with you today, Lady Anne?”

  Joan had never seen a child lose her temper like this either. But an adult, yes. Her father had behaved just like this. The quick flash of anger, the escalating violence, and spewing of insults: that had been him in the midst of one of his fits. Unlike a little girl, he’d been uncontrollable physically. Her father’s punches hit their target, usually his daughter.

  “Lady Anne Sherringford! Cease and follow orders,” Phyllis tried again, using an authoritative voice.

  Anne spat at Phyllis. The governess gasped. Joan pulled Anne back against her, to take away her leverage. The girl’s feet found a target in Joan’s shins.

  Joan hissed through her teeth, glad it’d been only a glancing blow.

  Anne seemed to be escalating.

  Joan’s father’s fits had been caused by loss of bits of his soul to a golem. Meaning, magic. Suddenly, Anne’s avoidance of what happened in the ante-library made horrible sense. Could this fit be the after-effect of some sort of magic? That would also explain Anne’s shaky handwriting in the latter part of her journal entry and the girl’s headache.

  “Someone might have hurt the child’s mind with magic, Victoria,” Joan said through gritted teeth and over Anne’s shrieks. “Do you know anyone who could help with a magical injury?”

  Phyllis gasped. “Magic? No!”

  The duchess switched from anger to worry in an instant. She nodded.

  “I’ve heard of these fits—they happen sometimes with children who learn magic. Let me try something. I’ve only a small mage gift but it may be enough.” Victoria waved her arms, reaching for her power. “Phyllis, find out what’s keeping Vai. We need her!”

  “Aye, Your Grace!” Phyllis ran for the door.

  Anne screamed and squirmed. Joan held tighter, praying she wasn’t giving the girl bruises. She almost knocked Anne out magically, but that was an extreme measure to use against a child.

  But as her mother waved her arms, Anne jammed her elbow into Joan’s midsection. Joan doubled over. Anne freed one of her hands. Joan grabbed her around the waist again, but not before the girl waved her hands at her mother.

  Two opposing waves of mage power collided in the center of the room, causing a flash of bright light.

  An unseen force hurled the duchess against the wall, hard, the impact knocking her out of her slippers. The duchess moaned, blood dripped from her mouth, and she slid to the floor in a boneless heap.

  Phyllis froze near the doorway and screamed.

  Joan yanked Anne sideways, off her feet, and pinned her on the floor. Anne cursed with a word a child shouldn’t know, and passed out.

  “Anne!” Joan rolled aside.

  The girl’s arms were splayed out wildly, her hair a mess, and her cheek smooshed against the carpet. Her eyes were open but unseeing.

  Joan gathered the child into her arms and felt for her pulse.

  “Anne?” Phyllis whispered.

  “Her breathing is steady and even,” Joan replied. Alive, but Anne had knocked herself unconscious. Too much use of raw mage power. “See to the duchess!”

  Joan shuddered, attempting to slow her own breathing. Her heart thudded against her chest so hard she could barely hear Phyllis calling for the duchess to answer. But Victoria remained silent and still.

  Joan breathed through her nose several times, for calm. The room came into focus again.

  Dear God, how could this happen?

  “Miss Krieger! Her Grace is bleeding!”

  Phyllis hovered over the duchess, as if afraid to touch her. Blood trickled down the duchess’s chin.

  “She must have bit her lip,” Joan said.

  “No, I meant…I mean…there’s a pool of blood under her…the baby…”

  Oh, God.

  “Get Vai,” the duchess moaned. “Vai.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Phyllis made the sign of the cross but otherwise seemed frozen in place.

  “God can wait, the baby won’t!” Joan commanded. “Get moving, Miss Dale!”

  Chapter 18

  Joan spent what seemed an interminable wait holding the duchess’s hand, hoping for some sign of recovery, hoping to ease her pain. Just hoping.

  “It’ll be fine, Victoria,” she said.

  Eyes flickered open. “A lot you know. What’s wrong with my daughter?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Find out. I command you, find out and help her,” the duchess ordered. A wave of pain took hold and she said the last holding back tears.

  “Help me.” An image of her mother screaming for help appeared in Joan’s mind, the second before Rachel Krieger had been obliterated by a rebound of her own twisted magic. Joan couldn’t save her.

  She must save Victoria and Anne.

  “As soon as I’m sure you’re under Vai’s care, I’ll look to your daughter.”

  Bloody hell, where was Vai?

  Finally, the doors flew open and the dowager duchess rushed in, with Phyllis and Mr. Dale in tow. At Vai’s orders, Mr. Dale scooped up Anne and carried her out of the room, with Phyllis trailing behind her charge.

  Dale? But he could be the enemy.

  “Find a mage to watch over her!” Joan called. “Don’t leave her alone.”

  “I won’t,” Mr. Dale said.

  When he left, Joan realized if he wanted to hurt the girl,
no one left in Lotus Hall could stop him.

  Vai was Anne’s grandmother. Gregor trusted his mother. Joan would have to trust her about Dale.

  Joan and Vai walked Victoria to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. The duchess sighed as she sank into the softness. Her forehead was cold and clammy, and her eyes had begun to glaze over.

  Victoria grabbed Vai’s wrist, her fingers digging into skin. “The baby?”

  “The baby is wriggling within you,” the dowager duchess said. “Both the midwife and doctor are on their way, but until then, you and the future duke will have to make do with me, Victoria.”

  “We’ll make do, then,” the duchess answered, but her statement lacked conviction.

  Joan glanced at the bright red blood that had leaked onto the floor as they’d moved the duchess. One of the seamstresses at Krieger and Sims had had her water burst while she was at work. That liquid had been murky and dark. Not full of bright red blood.

  Someone wanted to destroy the Sherringfords. And now they’d struck at its three most vulnerable members.

  “First, what hurts, Victoria?” the dowager duchess asked. No panic, no sign of terror. Cool and collected. Just like her son in a crisis.

  Victoria gritted her teeth. “I’ve gone into labor before. I know the feeling, but there’s a sharp pain too. That’s new.”

  Joan held Victoria’s hand. The duchess’s nails buried into Joan’s wrist, drawing blood. Joan flashed to her father grabbing her wrists, hard enough to bruise. Her mouth grew so dry she couldn’t swallow. No, this was not that. This was aiding someone, not being punished for nothing.

  “Oh Vai, I can’t lose this baby,” the duchess said between gasps for air. “Not like the last time. Our son was early then too, too early to breathe. I can’t take that again, I can’t—”

  “Panic and remembered grief won’t help this child. And I wasn’t here that day. I’m here now. Have faith. The calmer you are, the better for you both.”

  Vai wiped the duchess’s bloody lip. Victoria sighed and let go of Joan.