Brenna’s heart dropped. “You didn’t open it, did you?”
“And why should we not have?” Grita demanded. “Unless you have something to hide?”
“We were suspicious,” Batrice explained, rather mildly. “And curious. It just seemed odd. What could someone be leaving you that was so important and that only you were supposed to see?”
Brenna looked around the room, counted again, and noted that all seven women appeared to be unharmed. Perhaps it wasn’t what she feared.
“We all have things to hide,” she reminded Grita firmly. “And we promised not to dig into one another’s secrets. I don’t mind if you opened it, but it would be safer for you to leave my problems to me in the future.”
“With secrets like this one, we might not all have a future!” Grita snapped. “You owe us an explanation!”
Brenna sighed and moved closer to the table. “What happened?”
“We heard something moving,” Batrice said quietly, “so we decided we’d better find out what it was.”
She picked up the basket, turned it over, and dumped it out. A pile of laces and ribbons slithered out onto the tabletop, along with the dark, sinuous body of a very long, very poisonous, very dead snake.
A krait.
“Well, that’s certainly not a very nice present,” Brenna said into the ensuing silence. The other women just stared in horrified fascination. Brenna leaned over the table and observed that the snake’s head had been separated very cleanly from its body. “Who killed it?”
Sinna raised her hand. “Grew up on a farm,” she said with a shrug. “Had to know how to kill things.”
Brenna nodded. “And the woman who left it?”
“Old,” Dora said. “At least, she wanted me to think so. She wore a hood, and she sounded old. But her hands were smooth.”
Brenna shuddered a little as she imagined sweet, gentle Dora carrying the deadly basket into the house. The venomous creature could so easily have been set loose amongst women who had no idea of its true destructive potential.
Had it been her mother, this old woman with young hands? Was Louise capable of such hatred, such disregard for life? If she was, Brenna needed to be gone from here. She could not continue to endanger other lives merely to protect her own.
“I’m sorry,” she said, meeting the eyes of each woman in turn. “Sorry that you were caught up in this. I had no idea that my troubles would follow me here. I’ll be gone as soon as I can gather my things.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Grita’s arms were folded and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Even if you leave, this person could be back, and you owe us the truth.”
Brenna met her eyes coolly. “Are you sure you want it? Makes no difference to me, but once you have it, you can’t go back.”
“Try me,” Grita said challengingly.
The other women looked back and forth, from Grita to Brenna.
“Fine.” Brenna put her hands on her hips. “My real name is Lady Breanne Seagrave, Countess of Hennsley, and I’m hiding in Camber under an assumed name because I was the target of a professional assassin who may or may not have been hired by my mother.”
Dora gasped, and Batrice’s eyes grew avid and bright.
“I think,” Grita said dryly, “that you’d best start at the beginning.”
So Brenna did.
A few nights later, The Bad Apple was bursting at the seams with enthusiastic customers. It was payday for most of the working men, and they were happy to share their wealth with Myra, who was quite willing to receive it in exchange for beer, bread, and stew. Brenna was familiar with most of the regulars by that time, and stopped to converse with several as she passed with her hands full of mugs, dirty dishes, trays and towels.
It was loud, wild, and jovial, and she loved it. Sadly, it would probably all be over soon. Rom had sent word that he’d instructed Danward to search for a letter, written by Quinn to the mysterious Grim Hill, revealing Brenna’s whereabouts. If it could be found in her mother’s possession, their mission would be complete.
Rom had been furious at what he was convinced was Quinn’s betrayal, but Brenna thought it a stroke of genius. This sort of ruse would never work on a seasoned criminal mastermind, but was more than worth the attempt in this case. They needed to sort this out quickly, and Louise was likely to be desperate. In Brenna’s experience, desperation bred mistakes.
The krait, for instance—and its method of delivery—had most assuredly been a mistake. If Dora was correct, Louise might have actually brought the basket herself, risking discovery and even death had the creature escaped. The risk of collateral damage had likewise been enormous, and still gave Brenna nightmares. Probably would have given Rom nightmares as well, if she’d had the nerve to tell him about it.
The train of her thoughts brought Brenna up short as she realized that she’d stopped thinking of Louise as merely the most likely suspect. At what point had she begun to believe without question that her mother wanted her dead? Also, when had she started thinking of Lord Griffin as simply Rom?
Brenna’s arms were both loaded down with trays when the noise and bustle of the tavern suddenly ceased. Every head turned to the door, every breath caught in a motionless throat. Brenna turned too, carefully, so as not to spill, unsure what it might take to silence the entire room. She should have known.
Louise Seagrave stood in the doorway, clothed in glittering, jewel-encrusted satin, with emeralds around her neck. Her golden hair was piled high upon her head, and her hands were gloved in silk. She looked as though she’d just prepared for a ball at Evenburg rather than an evening out in a pub. She also looked absurdly young for a woman of almost fifty.
When Brenna said nothing, only raised a curious eyebrow, Louise lifted a gloved hand beseechingly.
“I have found you at last, my darling. You don’t know how worried I’ve been these past days, wondering what might have happened to you. But you’re here, and you’re safe, and now you can come home with me and everything will be all right again.”
She sounded as though she were auditioning for a part in a play.
Brenna blinked and set her trays down. “I beg your pardon?”
“Brenna, please, you know that I love you. Can you not forgive me for wanting only to care for you as a mother should?”
It took tremendous effort not to roll her eyes. “How did you find me?”
“Rom told me he’d seen you, and that you’ve been calling yourself Renee, of all things. He was terribly worried about you, my dear.” Louise took a tiny step forward, her hands clasped in supplication. “I know you begged him to keep your secret, but I have told him so many times of how much I dote on you, how much I was looking forward to helping you fill your new role as Countess of Hennsley, so he told me everything. I hope you’re not angry.”
As certain as she’d felt of her suspicions before, ice entered Brenna’s heart as they were finally confirmed. Rom would never have told Louise anything. The only way for her to have known that name or where to find Brenna was through Quinn’s letter. Beyond all question or doubt, Louise was Grim Hill.
It was enough for Brenna, but it wouldn’t be enough for Crown justice. They were going to need real, physical proof if they hoped to convince anyone else.
Brenna opened her mouth to respond but she was interrupted by one of her customers, who stood up so abruptly that his beer sloshed over his hand to splash onto the floor.
“Just hold on there!” The man set down the mug and wiped his hand on his shirt. “You’re a bleeding countess?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m just a countess,” Brenna said wearily. “But that doesn’t make me incapable of serving beer.”
“Well, I don’t want your ruddy noble hands touching mine,” another man sneered, provoking a chorus of laughter. “Who knows but what some of those fancy manners might be catching!”
The man whose arm she had threatened to break on her first night stood up, his lips twisted in dislike. “Who do you thin
k you are, anyway? Pretending like you’re a barmaid when you’re really some bleeding noble. Like it’s some kind of joke? Were you having a laugh at our expense, then?”
“I’m just working, Petey,” Brenna snapped. “Same as you. I work for a wage and I pay my way. What she calls me makes no difference.”
“But… Brenna, darling, of course it makes a difference,” Louise objected in shocked accents. “You’re different. You’re something special. You shouldn’t be here with these rough types, picking up coarse habits and vulgar language. You should be at home, with me, where I can mold you into a countess all of Andar can be proud of.”
Suddenly, Brenna realized what her mother was doing, and silently applauded the tactic, even as she cringed at the effect Louise’s words were having on the crowd. Sentiment was rapidly turning. Where most of the crowd had been willing to laugh at first, more and more heads were turning to look at Brenna with hostility.
Even Myra walked out from behind the bar with a tense, angry stride. “And just how many lies did you tell me, hoping to sweet talk me into giving you a job? Making me feel sorry for you.” She crossed her arms and her eyes sparked with outrage. “I shoulda known better when that Lord Griffin came round asking for you. You said you’d got no place to live, but it sounds to me like you’ve got a mighty fine one, and a mother who seems to think you’re a mighty fine pet. Why don’t you go on back and play dress up and leave us rough folk to our coarse habits and vulgar language.” Myra leaned forward deliberately and spat on the floor, before turning her back and walking away.
The crowd stood almost as one, and their expressions were anything but friendly. Brenna shook her head in disbelief, but there was nothing she could do. Louise had done what she’d come for. She’d poisoned the entire crowd against Brenna and made it impossible for her to stay.
How had it taken so little for them to turn against her? For the past two weeks she’d served them, laughed with them, learned about their families and proven she knew how to work hard, just as they did. She had more in common with them than she did with Louise, and yet the moment they heard her title, it was not enough.
“Very well.” Brenna took off her apron, folded it neatly and set it on the table next to her trays. “I’m sorry,” she said into the overwhelming silence. “Sorry for wanting to make my own way and be something other than useless and decorative. Sorry for not wanting to be like her.” She waved disdainfully at her mother’s glittering form. “I never meant any harm, and I don’t believe I hurt anyone by choosing to work for my living instead of having everything handed to me. I’m just sorry you can’t accept that—or accept me in spite of my birth.”
The first one took her by surprise. As a full mug’s worth of beer caught her in the face, Brenna gasped, and barely managed to duck the second, which was flung at her head mug and all. A bowl of stew was next, and struck her in the arm before cascading down her skirt in a greasy waterfall of meat, potato bits and broth.
After that, the barrage intensified, as the outraged patrons vented their feelings with flying food and the occasional piece of flatware.
Brenna abandoned her dignity and ran for it. She had enough presence of mind to notice that her mother had disappeared, but was too preoccupied with saving herself to spare much thought for where that much satin could have disappeared to without a trace.
She was almost to the door when something heavy struck her on the temple and the whole world went black.
Chapter 10
Lord Griffin,
I’ve enclosed the incriminating letter, as you requested. Further search confirmed a possible interest in poisons, so be wary. If it eases Lady Seagrave’s mind, you may tell her that I’ve long since taken the liberty of informing her maid of the situation, though Miss Faline seemed both unsurprised to learn of her mistress’s survival and entirely unconcerned about her safety in the future. I swear I’ve done nothing to indicate the truth of our presence here, but she also made it clear to me some days ago that she was aware of my duplicity and has apparently harbored suspicions regarding my honesty since shortly after entering the house. In fact, it was Faline who aided me in gaining access to Louise Seagrave’s private papers, and the success of this endeavor might be said to have depended entirely on her cleverness and ingenuity.
I’ve never asked this before, as there has never been reason to consider it, but have you a firm policy on courtship and marriage amongst your retainers?
- Danward
He was always just a moment too late. Rom took in the suddenly silent scene with a murderous glare as he bent over Brenna’s still form. She was almost entirely covered in gravy, drenched in beer, and a knot was forming on the side of her head.
Rom was just brushing her hair back to get a better look when her eyes fluttered open and blinked at him.
“You’re late, as usual,” she murmured. “You really need to work harder at this rescuing business.”
He chuckled in spite of his anger. “How about if I carry you home to prove that I can manage at least one thing properly?”
“As I’ve told you before, Lord Griffin, you can’t carry me anywhere. I’m no willowy maiden, to be swooning about expecting a man to sweep her up in his arms.”
Rom grinned and winked. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said, “but never tell me I can’t.”
Without waiting for further protest, he picked her up and turned to face the surprised crowd. “You lot ought to be ashamed. If you have a grievance, you talk it out like men. You don’t attack a woman like a pack of wolves.”
“She had no business bein’ here,” one of them muttered. “Lied to us, she did. Let us think she was one of us, when all the time she’s got a fancy house and a fancy title.”
“Then would you like to throw some soup at me?” Rom snarled. “Or am I exempt because I buy you beer and act like you’ve decided a nobleman should?”
“You never pretended to be anyone but who you are,” Myra said with a glint in her brown eyes. “She led us to believe she was poor and alone. That she needed us. We helped her and this is the thanks we get—her hoity-toity mother coming in here to talk down to us?”
“So,” Rom returned coldly, “you attacked a woman, for no better reason than not liking the family she was born in? Would you want to be judged by your parents? Weighed and measured by what people expect from looking at your past? How would you feel if this was another pub somewhere, and this woman was your sister, or your daughter?”
He didn’t give them a chance to answer, just stalked out the door and into the dark street. “My horse is nearby,” he said. “It won’t be a comfortable ride, but I can get you back to Lorenhall and find someone to see to your injuries.”
“The first thing you’re going to do is put me down,” Brenna demanded. “It was a nice thought, and I appreciate you proving that you’re fully as strong as you look, but I believe I can walk.”
“If you’re sure.” Rom lowered her feet to the ground, but didn’t let go of her shoulders just yet. She staggered a little as she tried to stand, but gained her balance after a few moments.
“Thank you,” she said, her hand still on his arm. “I appreciate it. I think they were fully prepared to drown me in beer if you hadn’t come.”
“What happened?”
“As Myra mentioned, it was Louise.” Brenna’s voice sounded pained. “I think she was hoping to deprive me of a job so I’d have to go back to Crestwood and be murdered in peace. She told them a countess was serving their drinks and they rioted.”
“When was she here?”
“Just now. You didn’t see her?”
Rom shook his head. “She was nowhere in sight when I walked up.”
Brenna’s face grew grim and cold. “Rom, it was no accident that she found me. She knew exactly where to look and what name I was using. She’s definitely the one, I just don’t know how to prove it.”
Rom placed his hand over hers, his heart hurting for her discovery. He couldn’t help a surge
of satisfaction when he realized she’d used his name, but this wasn’t the time to tease her about it.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “We can prove it now. My man Danward worked together with your maid and found the letter in Louise’s study.” He felt her whole body sag just a little before she caught herself and stood firmly upright.
“I feel like there’s a story there,” Brenna said dryly. “It wasn’t that long ago Faline was complaining of Danward’s highly unbutler-ish behavior. However did he convince her to trust him?”
“If Danward’s letter can be believed, she considerably more than trusts him,” Rom admitted. “And he sounds utterly besotted with her.”
“Oh dear.” Brenna took off her scarf, wrung it out, then retied it to keep her hair out of her face. “Definitely a story. But we can’t go back until we find Louise. She’s already proven she’s willing to hurt others to get to me.”
“Is there something you haven’t told me?” Rom couldn’t think of anyone Louise had injured other than Brenna herself.
“She put a krait in a basket and sent it to my house,” Brenna answered curtly.
A chill spread through his body and he flexed his fingers against a swell of anger. “Even I wouldn’t have dreamed she’d go that far, but—”
Brenna interrupted suddenly, her eyes gone wide.
“Rom, that means she knows where my house is!”
They looked at each other and broke into a run.
Rom let Brenna set the pace and kept an eye on her to ensure she was sufficiently recovered, but she seemed none the worse for her adventures as they dashed across two streets and headed for the tiny house with the green door. Despite the inhabitants’ dislike of men, Rom didn’t pause at the gate, or even the walk, but raced after Brenna up to the door and through it, all the way into a tiny sitting room where they burst into the middle of a very strange scene indeed.
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