All Good Things

by Emma Newman

  “There is more to life than bearing children for a man you did not choose to marry. There is more to life than being someone’s property and devoting yourself to supporting your husband’s ambition.”

  One of the Wisteria women fainted and one of the Buttercups swayed unsteadily too, but Lucy didn’t believe the woman was doing anything else than trying to mask her delight, having seen the grin that had been on her face just beforehand. Cecilia Peonia and a couple of her friends clustered together, giggling behind their fans as someone else dropped their glass. As if jolted out of her shock, the Censor lurched forwards, striding towards to the door. Lord Poppy caught up with her in a few steps and put a hand on her shoulder. “No, Lady Censor,” he said. “I would very much like to listen to what he has to say.”

  “You are being kept in ignorance by the men who control Society and the women who support them,” Edwin read. “We are taught how to dance, how to play instruments, how to speak dead languages, how to run a household and how to keep oiling the cruel wheels of this Society in which we are trapped for the benefit of men. We are not taught about how our own bodies function, nor that we can control when we conceive a child, nor the changes that have taken place for women in Mundanus.

  “You have the right to know more.

  “You have the right to be more.”

  Edwin flipped the page, his eyes widened at the diagram of female reproductive organs, and then he flipped past that to start reading from the next. “Life is very different in Mundanus—but the gentlemen of Nether Society don’t want us to know how different it is! In Mundanus, women have more choices about how to live their life than you might imagine.

  “Women are no longer the property of their husbands, have the right to inherit property, other assets and money, rather than it being passed straight to the husband. Women have the right to own property and to an education equal to that given to men.”

  Lucy watched the women of the room starting to really listen, instead of focusing on how they should be seen to react, as more rights were read.

  “Women have the right to enjoy sexual intercourse for the sake of pleasure, without fearing pregnancy.”

  Another Wisteria fainted at the sound of the words “sexual intercourse” while Oliver Peonia’s cheeks looked hot enough to fry eggs upon them. All the while, the Censor stood, Lord Poppy’s hand on her shoulder, forced to listen to the sentiments she so clearly disagreed with.

  “As a lady of Nether Society YOU HAVE NONE OF THESE RIGHTS!” Edwin boomed across the ballroom. “Furthermore, in Mundanus, men are not permitted to beat their wives, nor have sexual intercourse without the consent of their wives. They are not permitted to imprison their wives, nor restrict her freedom of movement in any way. If a woman wishes to divorce, she can.” Edwin lowered the pamphlet, looking down on the shocked guests. “Why do you not have the same rights, ladies of Albion?”

  In the silence, Lucy looked over at Tom, who looked shocked, but not angry. As if he could feel her gaze, his eyes dropped to her, the slightest questioning frown on his face. He didn’t seem like a man incensed by what was happening. To think, only weeks before, he’d burnt a copy of those words in their house. Perhaps he really had changed.

  Edwin gave an elaborate bow, and seeing his performance was over, everyone looked expectantly at the Censor. Lord Poppy was whispering something in her ear, then came back towards Lucy, grinning merrily. The Censor gave a false laugh. “Oh! Our colonial cousins are so witty! How amusing!” She clapped her hands at the musicians. “Play something for us to dance to!” she snapped at them as Edwin left the gallery.

  Lord Poppy scooped up Lucy’s hand and kissed it. “I enjoyed that. It reminded me of my favourite. And it made the Censor tremble. The head of the Californicas will answer to me directly. The Patroon is very boring, after all. And I will speak to the rest of the Court. Perhaps the Colonies are more interesting than we’ve been led to believe…” When Lady Lavender approached, Poppy released Lucy’s hand to skip over to her. “Lady Lavender! I’ve decided that Colonies are so very unfashionable. Independence is where the excitement lies. After all, my favourite has shed her awful husband and struck out without him. Why can’t our pets do the same further afield?”

  Lucy left Poppy to his conversation, choosing instead to rescue Edwin from the Censor. “I’ll take him home straight away, Lady Censor,” she said, stifling a laugh as Edwin stood there at the bottom of the stairs in the absurd gown. “Too much punch, perhaps.”

  The Censor gave them both a hard stare and then went back into the ballroom. Lucy threw her arms around Edwin. “We did it! It worked! We’re free of the Patroon and I’m not a tiepin!”

  Edwin picked her up and spun her around. “Awesome! Mission accomplished, cuz! Now all you need to do is decide whether you want to come home.”

  “Lucy?” Tom was at the doorway to the ballroom.

  Edwin put her down and straightened his dress. “I’ll get back to you on that,” Lucy whispered to him. “Are you angry, Tom?”

  He shook his head. “No, but the Censor is. Time to go, I think. That’s quite enough drama for one evening.” He looked at Edwin. “The red suits you, sir,” he said, po-faced, and Edwin’s laugh echoed up the gallery’s stairwell.

  “And progressive thinking suits you, sir,” Edwin said. “Let’s go find something decent to drink.”

  21

  Once the initial shock had passed, Will felt a clarity he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. Not since his Grand Tour, in fact, when decisions were narrowed down to where he and Oli were going to eat that evening or which town they would visit next. Now the constant, nebulous stress of being Duke had gone, and with it the ache in his back and the tension in his stomach that he hadn’t realised had become permanent. Now that everything had been taken from him, his options were so narrow, so limited, he felt almost euphoric.

  Leaving his family behind in the Nether, he’d stepped through to mundane Bath to find it was a bitterly cold January evening. The pavements glistened with newly fallen rain and he realised he’d left his cape and top hat at the Guildhall cloakroom. He’d look a fool in them here, though—the white tie and tail coat were bad enough.

  “Gettin’ married, mate?” some lout yelled on the way into a pub. Will ignored him, but it brought home the precarious state of affairs. If he didn’t act swiftly his newfound freedom could rapidly become starvation.

  Using an emergency Charm he’d kept on his person since the day Rupert caught him and put him in that box, he used a nearby doorway to disguise a Way that opened directly to his study in Londinium. He needed money, Charms, as much as he could grab before the news from Aquae Sulis filtered to his household. It was a wonder the Collectors hadn’t been called on his family, and the thought made him pause. His father’s crime was not dissimilar to that of the Rosas—it could be considered worse, in fact. So why the leniency? Did the Arbiter not feel the local Sorcerer should be involved, whoever that was now?

  But it wasn’t the time to speculate about such things. He grabbed a large briefcase from the cupboard in the corner, pulled out the extraneous dividers inside, and emptied the contents of his desk drawers into it. He opened the safe and removed all of the cash, gold, and the details of the various mundane bank accounts in which he had mercifully squirrelled away money earned from his diverse business interests. All of those were established on his Grand Tour and he was thankful he’d had the wherewithal to think of such things while Oli chastised him for being dull.

  He wouldn’t need his white tie anymore, so, keeping the case with him should he need to flee, he left the study and ran up the stairs, hoping the staff wouldn’t realise he’d come home. He didn’t count on his valet being in his dressing room, packing away newly starched shirts.

  “Oh! Forgive me, your Grace, I thought you’d still be at the ball.”

  “Change of plan,” Will said. “Bring me two suitcases, would you? Where are my mundane clothes from the honeymoon?”

>   “Packed away in the chest in the corner, sir. I hadn’t anticipated your needing them.”

  Will freed himself of his bowtie. “I do now. Pull out a pair of jeans and a shirt and jumper for me, will you, then get the cases.”

  His valet went over to the chest. “Are you planning a trip to Mundanus, sir?” At Will’s nod, he said, “May I suggest packing the stout walking boots, the wellingtons and the cashmere coat, sir? It’s rather cold there at the moment.”

  “Yes, pack them all, please.”

  While his man was busy, Will changed as quickly as he could, keeping an eye on the briefcase all the while. He needed to eat, and while things still seemed normal, he’d chance his arm at one last meal in this house before…

  It suddenly hit him, like a knee to his stomach, and he sat down heavily. This house, the library he had made to make Cathy smile, was no longer his. There would be no more visits to the Tower, no sense of pride as he entered, everyone bowing before him. It was all over. The nursery wing would never be filled with Sophia’s laughter again and would never shelter his own children. Everything he’d strived for, everything he’d done despicable things to gain and to keep, was for nought.

  A knock on the door distracted him from the lump in his throat. “Yes?” he said without thinking, and then wondered if he should just open a Way and bolt right now.

  Morgan entered. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I understand you are taking a trip into Mundanus?” When Will confirmed it, Morgan paused as if searching for the correct words. “Your Grace, I wouldn’t normally concern you with domestic matters, but the steward and I are at a loss. It’s regarding the Agency. They haven’t responded to several requests we’ve made over the past few days. I made discreet enquiries at other households with whom I am acquainted and it’s the same for them. I don’t suppose anyone has contacted you, or…”

  “No, they haven’t,” Will said. Had the Agency been taken from him too? No, surely not; no one knew he controlled it. There was a time when he would have followed it up instantly, but now he couldn’t care less about what was going on. None of it mattered any more. He had the briefest thought about whether he could withdraw to the Agency and try and exploit the information there to somehow claw back his status—but without the support of his patron, it was futile. He wasn’t even an Iris anymore.

  All that mattered was getting Sophia back and the only way he could do that now would be to find Lord Iris’s lost love in the hope he would return Sophia as a reward. Will rested his elbows on his knees, considering what the Princess had told him. She was still alive, but she must have been taken a long time ago, because according to his father, Lord Iris had been as cold and difficult to please for as long as he and his father could remember. That meant she had to be hidden in the Nether. The princess had said this mystery woman was with one of Lord Iris’s mortal enemies. The Nether aspect ruled out Lord Iron, and if it had been one of the Fae, he was certain that someone as calculating and ruthless as Iris would have found her by now.

  That left the Sorcerers, enemies of the Fae and resident in the Nether too. Or perhaps an Arbiter. No, the Prince of the Fae wouldn’t hide someone with a mere Arbiter. A Sorcerer, then. But which one?

  “Your Grace?”

  Will jolted, having forgotten Morgan was still there. Shouldn’t he tell him what had happened? After all, they were all unemployed, strictly speaking. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, though, stoppered up as they were behind a thick plug of shame. “I’ll send a letter on my return. It’s not urgent, is it?”

  “Not yet, your Grace. How long will you be away?”

  “A few weeks, most likely,” Will lied.

  “And…forgive me, your Grace, I know it’s a sensitive matter, but will the Duchess be returning in the foreseeable future?”

  Will sighed. “I think not, Morgan. Tell the staff they can take a short holiday, if they wish. Yourself included.”

  “Thank you, sir. I hope you have an enjoyable trip. Will you require the carriage?”

  After a shake of the head, Will was left alone once more. Why would a Sorcerer keep someone beloved by the Fae? Stupid question. The Sorcerer in question must hate Lord Iris, and would have leapt at the chance to torment a Fae. But which one was it?

  Then Will remembered the comment his father had made about the time when the Sorcerer of Wessex had had a falling out with Lord Iris and how the family’s position in the city had become precarious as a result. The Lavandulas had protected them. Could that have been part of an ongoing feud between that Sorcerer and his patron? His heart sank. Former patron.

  He’d return to Bath; an Arbiter was definitely in the city, as Tom had mentioned one being involved in the earlier catastrophe. The Lavandulas had banned Irises from Aquae Sulis, not the mundane reflection—and besides, he was no longer of the family. He could go where he liked. Finding the Arbiter would lead him to the Sorcerer, and with any luck, to the woman hidden from Lord Iris all these years.

  By the time Will got back to Bath and checked into the Gainsborough Hotel, he had a plan. What better way to find an Arbiter than to lay a trap in Mundanus? Once he had broken a luck egg over his head, showered, and ensured that his most valuable belongings were in the safe, he went out to reacquaint himself with the mundane city. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the feel of fresh air and the bustle of city life.

  He made his way down the street between Jacob’s Coffee House and the Pump Rooms, heading for a crowd gathered to watch a fire-eater. Strange to think the ball was still happening in the reflection of the Guildhall a mere street away. He put that from his mind as he unstoppered the bottle he’d brought with him and surreptitiously shook the contents onto people he passed a few drops at a time. Then he dropped the bottle into a nearby bin, including the handkerchief he’d wrapped around it to protect his glove, then stepped into the nearby coffee house.

  “We’re closing in half an hour,” said the young man behind the counter. “But you’re still welcome to order.”

  Will sat by the window of the first-floor room with a hot chocolate, watching the crowd below as the magic took effect. It was a mixture of two separate Charms that as far as he knew wouldn’t last more than an hour and would be relatively harmless. The first was a very mild curse to have a bout of hiccups. He’d procured it from Tate, having discovered from an Agency file that one of the Buttercups had a horror of them and he wanted something at hand just in case he became a problem at Court. The other he’d bought for Sophia but hadn’t had a chance to give her. Now its effect unfolded below.

  Dozens of sparkling butterflies, nothing but glamoured puffs of breath, were popping out of people’s mouths with each hiccup. He chuckled at the sight of children trying to catch them, just as he’d hoped Sophia would. There was a mixture of confusion, awe, and delight amongst the rest of the mundanes, with some looking quite frightened.

  Will shifted his attention to the edge of the crowd as others arrived, drawn by the commotion. Most of the new arrivals watched as if they were observing a piece of street theatre, a few even applauding and fishing coins from purses, looking for somewhere to drop them. One enterprising fellow took off his hat and began collecting the money, passing it off as his work. Will couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking.

  Then he saw a man approaching who, even from the warmth and safety of the coffee shop, made a shiver travel down Will’s back. He was wearing a hat and coat like everyone else, but the way he was observing the crowd, with a deadpan expression on his ugly face, made him leap out to Will.

  The Arbiter was holding a mobile phone and moving around the edge of the crowd, heading straight for the bin in which Will had disposed of the bottle. Will watched him pause beside it, then switch the phone for a torch, which he shone inside. He pulled out the bottle and handkerchief and moved a little way away. Will couldn’t see what the Arbiter pulled out of his pocket, but he held it against the bottle for a few moments and then seemed to read something
off it.

  Will watched the Arbiter patrol around the crowd, no doubt looking for the perpetrator. He didn’t intervene. Did he know how harmless it was? Did he just care about finding the one responsible? Either way, the man did nothing to engage with the people affected.

  Now was his chance. The plan was simple: follow the Arbiter until he went back to his headquarters and, hopefully, where the Sorcerer lived. He had a memory of being told the Sorcerer had changed, but it was of no matter. He could only hope Iris’s lost love would still be there, if he’d guessed the right jailer. Better to act, rather than worry, even when it was the flimsiest of plans.

  “We’re closing now, sorry,” said the man from downstairs. Will put his coat back on, turned the collar up, and stepped outside.

  It was easy to move closer to the Arbiter unnoticed. All Will had to do was pretend to be watching the spectacle. The Arbiter loitered for another half an hour or so, then left just as a TV news camera crew were arriving. Will took just as much care not to be noticed by them either.

  Following the Arbiter without being seen was fairly easy; the man didn’t seem to be concerned about anyone tailing him. Will was still cautious, and feared that to a casual onlooker it would be obvious. There was no way for him to hide it, so he just kept vigilant for any sign the Arbiter was about to turn around.

  Will was most concerned that he’d get in a car and drive off, but he kept limping along with his walking stick, right across the centre until he reached a hotel. It was one Will had almost gone to stay in himself.

  Why a mundane hotel? Perhaps this was the anchor property for the Sorcerer’s house, or the place the Arbiters lived. Then another possibility popped into his mind. Could Cathy be staying there? It could be the same Arbiter with whom she’d left Lancaster House. He’d assumed she was still with Lord Iron, but if she’d learned of her father’s death, she could have come to Bath to help Tom with the funeral arrangements, and to grieve with him. That he could have stumbled across a hotel in which she was staying was a long shot, but she wouldn’t have felt safe in any property reflected into the Nether or associated with her birth family. Where else could she stay in Bath?