by Emma Newman
Elizabeth followed, her dainty feet—the smallest and prettiest in Aquae Sulis—making no sound at all. Catherine went past her bedroom and headed towards the green baize door at the end of the corridor, the one leading to the nursery wing. Whatever for?
Once Catherine had gone through, Elizabeth picked up her skirts and scurried over to it as fast as she could. She opened the door, heard nothing in the Nether wing, and then closed it again. Catherine must have gone into Mundanus.
Elizabeth bit her lip, wondering whether a few minutes of ageing would be worth finding out whatever Catherine was up to. She tried to imagine her sister sitting in a newly decorated nursery, stroking the crib, wishing for a baby. Elizabeth was sure that was what took up at least half of the time for most new brides. But it just didn’t fit with Catherine. She covered her mouth as a new possibility occurred to her. Perhaps Catherine was planning to run away again! Elizabeth rested her hand over her heart as she imagined the thrill of catching her sister doing something despicable. She could tell William, and he’d be so grateful he’d find her the most wonderful husband. He would punish Catherine, too. Nothing but good could come of it. Elizabeth whispered the usual Charm and stepped through.
It was colder and fresher on the other side, and Elizabeth immediately regretted going through. If she didn’t find Catherine packing a bag within thirty seconds she’d go back to the Nether.
Elizabeth could hear those clomping feet pacing a room to the left. It was labelled “The school room,” and the door was still open. She tiptoed closer, managing to catch a glimpse of brightly coloured letters pinned to the wall. They’d already had the room decorated? Was Catherine pregnant or just planning a long way ahead? Neither seemed plausible.
“Ah, Max, great,” Catherine said, and Elizabeth shrank against the wall, holding her breath. She didn’t realise someone else was there.
Her heart began to pound. Max? Catherine was having an affair! She clamped her palm over her mouth to stop the delighted squeal erupting from it.
“How are you? Yeah. Petra gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind me calling.”
Calling? Was she on a telephone? Elizabeth had seen the butler using one in the mundane wing at home whilst she was growing up. Using a telephone was strictly forbidden. At least, it had been in their home when they were children. Her excitement ebbed. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as her sister sneaking off for a lovers’ tryst, but she still listened in, just to be sure it was a lover on the other end of the line.
“Listen, I wanted to ask you about the Agency. I’m not their favourite person in the world, and I’m going to make it worse soon. I thought Ekstrand was in charge of it—I think that’s what you said when we went to Green Dale—but Petra said he was dead and…”
A pause. Who was Ekstrand? Why was she talking about the Agency and not declaring her forbidden love? Urgh, Catherine couldn’t do anything right.
“No, don’t worry, I’m not going to tell a soul. Why would I do that?”
Elizabeth perked up. A secret, then.
“I know he’s my uncle, but I’m not a complete arsehole, Max. I know what they’d do if they knew. It’d be bloody chaos. Will there be a replacement? I don’t know how the whole Sorcerer inheritance thing works.”
A Sorcerer had died? That was Ekstrand? And why would their uncle be mentioned? He was Master of Ceremonies, he had nothing to do with—oh! She remembered the ball the night the Rosas fell. How her uncle had been returned by the terrifying Sorcerer. Was that Ekstrand? No wonder her uncle would want to know if he had died.
“That’s good. No, I won’t say anything to a soul. And has this new one taken over the Agency? He doesn’t? Oh, right. Okay. I only ask because I want to know if you have any sway with the Agency, now Ekstrand isn’t in charge of it. Shit. I’ll have to think of something else, then. How’s the gargoyle?”
Gargoyle? Was Catherine referring to a particularly ugly mutual friend, or a project of some sort?
“Cool. Well, take care of yourself, okay? And good luck in Bath. I hope your new boss isn’t as much of a dick as Ekstrand was. I will. Bye.”
There was a strange beep, and then it sounded like Catherine was heading out of the schoolroom. Elizabeth made it to the green baize door in three balletic leaps and dashed through it, not pausing once until she was back in her bedroom.
Elizabeth flapped her hands with excitement. A Sorcerer had died and this meant that no one was looking after the Agency. What was the Agency? Were those the people who managed the staff? Elizabeth knew she had stumbled upon an important secret, even if she didn’t fully understand all the implications.
She had to make the first important choice that all good secrets gave: whether to use it to do the most harm as possible, or to achieve the most gain.
Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, a terrible secret could do both. That had only happened for her the once, a few years ago, when she discovered that their governess, Miss Rainer, had been secretly giving Catherine books she shouldn’t read. Elizabeth had held onto that secret for weeks, trying to work out the best way to use it. Should she blackmail the governess? Her sister? Should she steal the books and give them to someone else who would want them and give her better things in return?
In the end, the most perfect use of the secret had revealed itself. Miss Rainer had been particularly mean to her that week—Catherine was always her favourite—and said that if she didn’t learn how to conjugate all the verbs in her French book, she wouldn’t be able to sing at a recital for all of the Aquae Sulis children. Elizabeth knew there was no way she’d remember all the silly endings to those words and had blazed with the injustice of it. She knew that her beautiful voice would impress everyone and make her the darling of the show and to have that stuffy, boring woman who taught them about the stuffiest, most boring things deny her the opportunity was simply unthinkable. So Elizabeth had waited for the perfect moment over dinner, just when her father was particularly sour-tempered and irritated with Catherine, and let the secret fall from her lips.
Elizabeth smiled at the memory of her father’s face. Catherine had kicked her repeatedly under the table, but she didn’t stop. After talking about the books in the most innocent way she could, Elizabeth described the lessons they’d had, mentioning things that had excited Catherine the most, like “Peterloo,” as she was certain those were the lessons that would make her father angry since he and Catherine were the exact opposites of each other. She’d watched with glee as her father went to Catherine’s room and used a Charm to reveal all the hidden books. She did feel the slightest pang of guilt when Catherine sobbed to see them being burnt on the fire, and when Father started to beat her until she screamed the nursery wing down. But she brought it on herself—and besides, when Elizabeth heard that the awful governess was going to be replaced right away and that her recital appearance was no longer under threat, there was no room for anything but joy.
This secret about the dead Sorcerer was trickier to exploit, being slightly confusing, so she decided to work out who would like to know about it the most and how useful that could be to her. The only people she could think of were her uncle, who was most definitely not her favourite person in the world, and William. Surely he would want to know that his wife was talking to a gentleman on a telephone without his knowledge? And William had been tangled up in the Rosa downfall, so he would probably be very interested to hear anything about that scary Sorcerer. But what he was probably most interested in was the fact that Catherine was planning to do something that would upset the Agency. He would be so grateful for the warning. Grateful enough to find her a wonderful, rich husband.
Yes, Elizabeth thought, going to the window to look down on the gardens. Her mean sister would get into the most appalling trouble whilst she gained favour with the Duke of Londinium. That would do nicely.
15
Stopping off at the Tower instead of going straight home had been a mistake, Will thought. So many people wanted to talk to him, m
ost of them men who were concerned about the Ladies’ Court. Most of the conversations boiled down to clumsy fact-finding attempts, of varying subtlety, to discover how they’d be looked upon if they kept their wives at home that night.
Will had done his best to allay their fears, knowing that if Cathy had heard only a fraction of what they’d said she’d be threatening to burn down the entire city. While he wasn’t as old-fashioned as many of them, he could understand their fears. They were probably terrified that their wives would attend one Ladies’ Court and come back home speaking like Cathy, challenging their authority. By the time Mr Lutea-Digitalis came through his door, he was hungry, tired, and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.
“I need to talk to you about a matter of some delicacy,” Digitalis had begun, and Will had sighed inwardly.
“You have my ear, Mr Digitalis.”
“I don’t quite know how to say this, your Grace, but…but it seems that your wife has decided to steal mine.”
Will half laughed, he was so surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“I went home this afternoon after visiting a friend and was told that the Duchess took my wife back to Lancaster House after a visit. I was delighted. There was talk of lawn tennis or something or other. The hours passed, I ate dinner alone, somewhat disappointed that my wife had failed to send a message of apology, and then it grew late.”
Will glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was half past ten. “And your wife has still not returned home?” Thoughts of highwaymen made his stomach clench. If a woman travelling alone had been attacked, it would be—
“She’s still at Lancaster House, your Grace. I received a message from the Duchess stating that my wife was going to stay the night. When I enquired whether she was unwell—I could think of no other explanation––I received this message.” He handed a piece of letter paper to Will, recognisably from the Duchess’s desk.
Mrs Lutea-Digitalis will be staying with me at Lancaster House for the foreseeable future, sir. I suggest you consider why I might believe that to be a necessity.
Catherine Reticulata-Iris
Duchess of Londinium
“Forgive me, your Grace, but I have no idea why the Duchess would say this. I didn’t know what to do, other than seek your counsel.”
Will folded the piece of paper and kept hold of it. “I have not been at home today,” he said, struggling to manage his anger and embarrassment. “I shall make enquiries upon my return and send word to you in the morning. I’m sure it’s a simple misunderstanding that will be easily resolved.”
Digitalis made a rather pathetic attempt at a smile after realising his Duke had no intention of returning the evidence of the Duchess’s interference. “Thank you, your Grace. I shall not mention this to anyone else, of course.”
“And you can trust my discretion,” Will said, coming round his desk to shake the poor man’s hand. “Don’t worry, all will be well.”
Will kept up the reassuring smile until he was alone again. He was just about to tell the page outside his door that he was returning home for the night when there was another knock.
He sighed. What more chaos had Cathy wrought? “Come in.”
Tom entered, looking grave, even for him. “Your Grace, apologies for the lateness of the hour, but I feel you should know about an investigation I’ve started, one involving seditious material being distributed throughout Albion.”
“Does it directly challenge my authority?”
“Not directly, your Grace, but it’s most—”
“I trust you to handle it, Tom.” As Marquis of Westminster, it was one of his primary tasks, after all.
“I’ve been unable to trace the source using magical means,” Tom said. “I need to extend the investigation into Mundanus. Would you be able to provide—”
“Whatever you need is at your disposal,” Will said. “If you need men, arrange it with the Head Yeoman. Just give me a report when it’s all done.”
Tom looked like he wanted to say more about it, but could sense Will’s desire to leave. He bowed. “Thank you, your Grace. Good night.”
After Tom left, Will informed the page of his departure, pulled the cloth off the cheval mirror that was positioned behind a screen in the corner, and whispered the appropriate Charm.
Stepping out into his study at home, he fought to keep his temper in check, Cathy’s letter to Digitalis crushed in his fist. He pulled the cord next to the fire, and Morgan arrived very quickly.
“I’m sorry the fire isn’t lit, your Grace, I didn’t—”
“Is Mrs Lutea-Digitalis currently a guest here?”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Would you be kind enough to find my wife and tell her to come to see me?”
“Yes, your Grace. Would you like me to light the fire?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Seconds after Morgan left there was a rather timid knock on the door. Had Cathy been waiting down the hallway for a sign of his return? “Come in.”
Elizabeth entered, all smiles. “Good evening, William.”
“Oh. This isn’t a good time, Elizabeth.”
Her pout was carefully constructed to convey disappointment without too much peevishness. “But there’s something very important I need to talk to you about.”
“It will have to wait until the morning. I have serious matters to attend to.”
“But this is a serious matter too.”
Will gave her a glare he’d learned from his father. “Tomorrow, Elizabeth. I bid you good night.”
Defeated, she gave a small curtsy and left.
He had enough time to unlock the tantalus and pour himself a brandy before there was a second knock. “Come in.”
Cathy entered and he could tell from the wary look on her face that she expected trouble. “You’re back.”
He held up the crumpled letter and her cheeks reddened. “I’ve just had a very confused and upset man in my study at the Tower come to ask me why my wife won’t let his return home.”
“Don’t get angry, Will, you don’t—”
“It’s a bit bloody late for that! Why do you keep doing this to me? I think everything is fine, and then I go out for the day and come back to discover you’ve stormed in somewhere and removed people from their homes and I’m left to deal with the consequences.”
“Oh, don’t be so stroppy! You’re making it sound like I’ve done that loads of times and it’s only been twice. I haven’t ‘stormed in’ anywhere and I haven’t removed people from their homes. I freed them from a dodgy asylum and gave sanctuary to a woman in need. Don’t make it sound like I’m some sort of firebrand that you have to—”
“You have written a letter to a man telling him his own wife cannot come home and implying—in a rather brutal manner—that he may be responsible for that! What possessed you?”
“He is responsible!”
Will tossed the letter onto his desk. “He has no idea why you’d say such a thing.”
“Bollocks!”
Will closed his eyes, pinching the skin above his nose to try and fend off the headache. “Do you have any appreciation of how far you have overstepped the mark?”
“What mark is that? The one arbitrarily drawn by the men of Society to stop us doing anything other than pleasing you?”
Will groaned. “Oh, God, Cathy. Don’t bring your opinions on the patriarchy into this.”
“Why the fuck not? This is exactly what the patriarchy does! You haven’t once asked me why I thought it necessary—you’re more worried about a letter upsetting some man-child than the woman I’m trying to protect. I didn’t go to their house for fun, Will! She asked for help and she showed me what he does to her.”
Will folded his arms, struggling to think of a reason why he shouldn’t just go and find the Digitalis wife and take her home, rather than fighting with Cathy. Then her final words seeped through the anger. “What does he do?”
“He beats her black and bl
ue. She’s terrified of him. Can you imagine how hard it was for her to show me? She wears a Charmed hairpin to hide it all. It’s…” Her voice cracked. “It’s awful.”
He saw the tears in her eyes and it all made sense. He recalled the soirée at the Peonias’ in Aquae Sulis and the moment he saw the bruising on her arms and shoulders. “So you rescued her.”
“I couldn’t leave her there! What would you want me to do—see that bruising and her black eye and just say, ‘Oh dear, well, that’s such bad luck. I can’t possibly do anything to help as it would upset your husband. See you at the Ladies’ Court’?!”
The sarcasm set Will’s teeth on edge. There was passionate and there was disrespectful. “You could have come to me. Made me aware of the problem, rather than being the bull in the proverbial china shop.”
Cathy’s hands were on her hips now, strands of hair fallen away from the neat arrangement pinned at the back of her head. “And what would you have done? Had a quiet word with him over billiards? ‘Gosh, I don’t want to overstep the mark, dear boy, but could you possibly stop beating the shit out of your wife? There’s a good fellow.’ Yeah, like that would have done anything.”
“There’s never any middle ground with you, is there, Cathy? No quiet way, no alternative solution that keeps everyone calm and—”
“And the men in control. No. I’ve lived most of my life in that middle ground, being beaten behind closed doors. No one said anything. No one stopped it happening. How can I be one of them? How can I have this supposed power as Duchess and do fuck all with it? What is the fucking point of us, Will?”
“Please don’t talk like that.”
“She’s been used as his punchbag for over a hundred years. His first wife died from a ‘fall down the stairs.’ Oh, come on, Will! Fuck what Society thinks should happen here! As far as the old boys’ club is concerned everything is fine as long as no one makes a fuss. But it’s only fine for them. There’s no one else to help her, no one to stop it from happening, no marriage to take her away. I did the only thing I could. I don’t give a fuck if Mr Digitalis is upset because his wife hasn’t come home. On what fucking planet is that more important than her being able to sleep tonight without being afraid?”