Manners and Monsters, #1

by Tilly Wallace

  Hannah would ask her mother to explain her reason the next time they were alone. Had some premonition compelled her to interject the viscount into the proceedings? Hannah struggled to imagine how her mother thought that could be beneficial. If the man had been absent, the whole murder would have been dealt with quietly and not shouted about in the middle of the ballroom.

  The women returned to discussing each name on the list and by early evening, Hannah was satisfied with the notations made. She said her goodbyes and returned home, where she and her father dined early. Her mother was ensconced in the tower and did not wish to be disturbed. Perhaps she didn’t want to explain her actions to her daughter. Hannah would wait and would not be dissuaded from learning the truth.

  Sir Hugh rose from the table to return to his laboratory. “Do you want me to stay, my dear, or can you handle the viscount on your own?”

  Her father was fascinated by the rotten heart. He wanted to dissect it and try to force it to reveal the secret it held. Hannah folded her napkin. Propriety demanded a chaperone be present when a gentleman caller came to visit, but did the rules apply in such a situation? This was no suitor, nor was Hannah of any import to society. This was more akin to a business arrangement.

  “We are discussing the guest list from last night. I do not believe we will require your supervision and the heart will not wait.” The sad, neglected organ had been falling apart before they even removed it from the woman’s chest. It would be unusable in another day and even alcohol would fail to preserve it.

  Could her own heart break down in a similar fashion inside her body from lack of use?

  Hannah adjourned to the front parlour and tried to settle with a book, but her mind had no intention of being stilled. It ranged over steep hills and climbed boulders as she chased random thoughts. Hannah might have been sitting for minutes or hours, when Mary coughed discreetly behind her hand.

  “Lord Wycliff, miss.” The maid beat a hasty retreat, relinquishing her position at the parlour door to the unstoppable force beyond.

  Wycliff swept in the room like a storm cloud about to unleash lightning. “You have the list?”

  The impertinent man hadn’t even removed his hat. Hannah set the book aside and rose. She bobbed a brief curtsey, even if he had forgotten his manners. Did that make up for earlier in the day, when she had been the one who was remiss?

  He snorted and gave the scantest bow, his gaze never leaving her face. How could his eyes be so black? Were they the deepest brown, or midnight blue like the waistcoat he’d worn the other night? And where had such a fanciful thought come from?

  Remembering the true nature of his visit, she pulled herself straight. “Yes. Lord and Lady Loburn were most insistent that I attend the interviews to protect the ladies’ reputations and their sensibilities. I believe you also mentioned that my presence was required by your superior at the Ministry of Unnaturals?”

  He scowled and his eyes narrowed, but after a long moment he seemed to realise this was one battle he wouldn’t win. “Very well, if you are sure, but it will likely bore you.”

  “On the contrary, I have never found the pursuit of truth boring. I have spent the afternoon with Lady Loburn and Lady Elizabeth to narrow down the number of women whose privacy will be so rudely invaded.” For how else could she describe the coming inquisition other than rude? Wycliff intended to demand whether blood pumped through their veins or not. A woman should never have to reveal the state of her heart to a strange man—and certainly not one who oozed such disapproval.

  Had he been an equally rude child, or had adulthood brought such a change about? Father had said it was the war and that Lord Wycliff’s entire regiment had been slaughtered, but how had he survived? Hannah’s curiosity, once aroused, was a monstrous beast to placate. It would demand to be fed information, but one look at Lord Wycliff dried up the questions upon her tongue. Perhaps she could nibble at him, like a little fish biting off small pieces that she could then put together to reveal the solved puzzle.

  He removed his hat and tortured it for a moment in his hands. “That would be convenient. May I see the names?”

  She removed the page from her pocket and held it for a moment before extending her arm. He took it with his fingertips, careful not to accidentally touch her. Hannah waited while he unfolded the sheet and scanned the neat script. “My father and I have hypothesised, given the known rate of infection among the ton, that there might have been between four and six Afflicted ladies present at the ball.”

  “That narrows the potential suspects, assuming we can identify them. What do your notations mean?” Dark brows drew together and he threw his question out without looking up from the list.

  She laced her hands to still the nervous tremor—fielding his queries was like being asked algebra questions by a quarrelsome tutor. “Since they are deceased, legally the Afflicted cannot marry or inherit property. Nor, given their state, are they able to become enceinte. As such, we have noted those women who became engaged, married, inherited, or have borne children in the two years since the outbreak. We have also indicated those women who suffer any notable sickness that requires a beating heart.”

  He grunted. Was that approval…or a remnant of dinner lodged in his throat?

  In the absence of any cues from him, Hannah continued, “There are a handful of ladies who are known to be Afflicted due to their advanced state of decay. Those unfortunates are identified.”

  “What of the others whom you know to be Afflicted but who conceal their state from society?” Now he did raise his gaze, drilling through her as he demanded that she betray her sex.

  Wycliff asked too much. “I will not reveal what has been entrusted to me in confidence. Nor will I break the confidence of those who have sought a consultation with my father.” There were some who moved in the highest circles, brushing shoulders with royalty, and none except those closest to them had any idea of their curse.

  His fingers tightened on the list, curling the edges. “You would obstruct my investigation by withholding pertinent information?”

  “While my father is at the forefront in researching the Afflicted curse, he is not the only physician in London. There may be many who have bought the silence of their doctors. I am not omnipotent, to know every such woman. I’m sure you consider yourself an astute man and you can deduce who is, and who is not, cursed among the remaining names.” That was the most she could offer—her observations and knowledge learned at her father’s side—but no one would be betrayed by loose words falling from her lips.

  He stared at her and remained silent. Hannah was unused to conversation with gentlemen, especially when the scent of murder hung in the room. Should she offer him some tea while he appeared to think dark thoughts that brought storm clouds to hover over his head?

  He ground his teeth and tucked the paper in a jacket pocket. “There would be no need for you to attend if you revealed the full extent of the information I require.”

  That riled. Quite apart from keeping secrets that were not hers to reveal, she had given an undertaking to Lord and Lady Loburn. “Your superior and Lady Loburn would disagree. I have promised that I will attend. That should suffice as a reason for my presence. As I have already stated, I have certain knowledge about the Unnatural affliction, gained at my father’s side.”

  He made the noise deep in the back of his throat again. He really was quite rude. If Hannah could manage a conversation, surely he should be able to muster up something?

  “Very well. We begin tomorrow morning. I cannot delay any longer. I will collect you at ten o’clock.”

  “I thought you might like to begin now. With me.” She placed her hands behind her back to stop the urge to fidget that sprang up under his scrutiny.

  “You?” That gaze swept her form and catalogued all her faults.

  “My name is on your list, for I attended last night. I am not married, nor have I ever known the joy of motherhood.” Nor will I, the tiny voice reminded her. At twen
ty-two years of age, she was on the shelf. Her future consisted of caring for her parents, and then when the time came, taking up residence with Lizzie as her companion.

  He made that noise again, a cross between a cough and a short bark. Perhaps he thought other people didn’t deserve proper articulation of words and so he resorted to grunts, barks, and scoffing. “I will remove your name. I saw you in the ballroom and afterwards, when the body was discovered.”

  “Are you so easily convinced I am no Afflicted? No murderer?”

  “You wore a pale yellow silk gown last evening. If you had cracked open the man’s skull and devoured his brain in a frenzied attack, there would have been some trace of the crime upon your clothing. I saw none. To commit the crime, you would have needed a change of dress and an opportunity to wash. Nor do you show any signs of decay, and there is a flush to your cheeks that would indicate blood circulation. All of which leads me to conclude you are not one of the Afflicted.”

  Hannah swallowed. He had noticed the colour of her dress and the state of her cheeks? “Then we begin tomorrow morning, my lord.”

  He nodded and strode out without the scantest regard for civility.

  Hannah sighed. “I suspect tomorrow will be a rather long day.”

  7

  The next morning after breakfast, Hannah perched on the side of her mother’s bed and stroked a silk rose embroidered on the coverlet. “Why did you ask Lady Loburn to add Viscount Wycliff to her guest list?”

  Seraphina laughed and tapped her daughter’s hand. “I should have anticipated you would discover that piece of information. How to explain what must now seem like an unforgivable imposition upon Lady Loburn?” She closed the book on her lap and placed it to one side. “The war against Napoleon is over, but the battle with his mages continues. One of them used foul dark arts to create this curse. He must be found and brought to justice for his heinous crime.”

  That Hannah could completely agree with. Those who used dark magic were frightening creatures who held themselves above the laws that governed societies. If mages could act without sanction, there would be no limit to how they could twist the world with magic. “But how does Viscount Wycliff’s presence at a ball aid in finding him?”

  Seraphina waved her hands and a chessboard made of mist formed, to hover above the bed. Figures dropped onto the squares and at another wave of her hand, one advanced forward two places. “Magical battles are like games of chess. Pieces must be moved around the board in ways that sometimes don’t have an obvious purpose. I don’t know how the viscount will assist. I merely know he must be in play.”

  Hannah wondered which piece he would prove to be—a disposable pawn, or a noble knight? “I do not know how I shall make it through the next few days.”

  “You will endure because Lady Loburn has asked for your help and General Sir Manly Powers is relying on you to add a civilising touch to the proceedings. Not to mention the fact that you are more curious than ever about the brooding viscount.” Seraphina wiped her arm across the ghostly board and it transformed into puffs of cloud that drifted away.

  Was it curiosity? The man was a walking foul mood, as though only anger and bitterness flowed through his veins. Hannah would admit to mild curiosity about whether he could smile or laugh. The war had been horrid, but she wondered what about the campaign that resulted in the deaths of his men made him turn his back on society and unable to find any joy in life.

  “I rather think spending time in his company will be similar to being stuck in a cave with an angry bear blocking the only exit. He might just bite off my head.” Hannah would ensure the ladies on the list were offered a modicum of privacy and civility. Not just because the Ministry of Unnaturals requested it, but because it was what they deserved. But at what cost to herself?

  Her mother picked up her hand and pressed it between her own. Beneath the cotton gloves her skin was cool. “If anyone knows how to handle a bear-headed man, it is you. You seem to manage your father when he’s in one of his moods.”

  “I do not think you can liken the two men. Father’s moods arise when he is tired but in the pursuit of knowledge. Lord Wycliff seems angry at the world in general.”

  A gentle huffing came from behind the veil as Seraphina laughed. “If anyone can ferret out the truth, it is you, my dear. But be careful. The discovery of secrets is often a reciprocal process.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her mother squeezed her hand. “To learn another’s secret often means revealing one of your own.”

  Hannah didn’t have many secrets and those she did hold would go with her to her grave. She wouldn’t be surrendering them to Lord Wycliff, and so her curiosity about him might have to go unsatisfied. She decided to try a different tack. “Did you know Lord Wycliff during the war?”

  “No. We mages were cloistered most of the time. I did little socialising outside of your father’s friends, and when we ventured onto the battlefield, we were heavily guarded.” A wistful tone touched her mother’s voice.

  Did Mother likewise suffer in her loneliness? Being born a mage had limited her social circle. She had held a high rank while alive, but many people were frightened by the concept of a female mage, as though she were the extremis of an Unnatural creature. But then a true love match had saved her mother from the ache of an empty heart. There was no such knight on the horizon for Hannah.

  “But you will always have Father,” Hannah whispered.

  “Oh, Hannah. If I could only summon sufficient power, I would turn back the hands of time and give you the introduction to society you deserve and the chance to find your own true love.” Her mother claimed no ability to read minds, but she often knew Hannah’s innermost thoughts. A gloved hand reached out and wiped away a single tear that escaped the corner of Hannah’s eye.

  “I have so much, it is selfish of me to want more.” Hannah mustered a smile and willed herself to stop dwelling on what her life lacked, and to count her blessings instead. She had two parents who loved and indulged her. She had a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and books to expand her mind. What more could a young lady desire?

  Companionship and a passionate love.

  “I think you need a dog,” her mother announced.

  “A dog?” Hannah blinked, wondering what detour in the conversation she had missed.

  “Yes. Leave it to me. Now, you had better trot downstairs and wait in the parlour. I suspect the viscount will expect you to run out the door the moment his carriage stops outside the house.” Lady Miles rested her hands over the pages of her book.

  “I shall tell you all that transpires upon my return.” Hannah kissed the muslin covering her mother’s face. “A dog?” she muttered as she left her mother’s room and headed down to the parlour.

  Hannah didn’t have sufficient time to sit idle. She shrugged on a grey pelisse trimmed in navy that matched her dress. Next, a straw bonnet with navy ribbons tied under her chin. Then, just as the old grandfather clock in the hall began to strike ten, the carriage pulled up outside. Like a character in a fairy tale, she wondered if she needed to make it to the end of the path before the last chime sounded. Although if she were turned into a pumpkin, she hoped her mother could reverse such a spell.

  With a tight grip on her reticule, she headed out the front door. On closer inspection, the carriage appeared rather shabby and covered in dust, and was devoid of any crest. A man in plain clothing hopped down from the box and held the door open for her.

  The horses weren’t quite a matched pair, one being a dark bay and the other a brown. They passed the casual glance, but a second look highlighted the difference in their colour.

  A hired conveyance, Hannah thought as she stepped inside.

  The viscount didn’t even bother to get out and greet her. But then, he wasn’t courting her, only collecting an employee. Hannah cast herself in the role of secretary to the viscount’s inquisitor. Today his usual black was relieved by a waistcoat of a green so deep it was like th
e hidden depths of a dense forest.

  “Good morning, Lord Wycliff,” Hannah said as she took the seat beside him but kept to the far edge. The viscount might lack basic civilities, but she would keep a courteous tongue.

  “Miss Miles. At least you are prompt, unlike other members of your sex.” He nodded his head and rapped his cane on the carriage roof. “We shall visit the late Lady Albright first.”

  An obvious target. Lady Albright had been one of only two veiled women in attendance at Lizzie’s party, and hers was a sad tale.

  The passing of the Unnaturals Act in 1812 gave all Unnaturals the same rights as ordinary Englishmen. They were also subject to the same laws. Since the Afflicted had no pulse but refused to go quietly into their graves, Parliament had declared them to be dead and a type of Unnatural creature.

  English law stated that the dead could not marry, inherit, or hold property. Set aside by her husband, the late Lady Albright now eked out an existence relying on the charity of friends and family. She and Lady Loburn were close friends and Lizzie considered her an aunt, hence her inclusion at the celebration.

  “You think the late Lady Albright might have committed such a heinous murder?” Hannah couldn’t fit the description of murderer to the older woman, who retained a quiet dignity despite the cruel treatment meted out by her husband’s hand. She was rather fond of knitting and Hannah tried to imagine her brandishing knitting needles as fatal weapons. No, never on an innocent man. Although no one would be surprised if her husband were found with a knitting needle thrust into his jugular one day.

  Wycliff’s gaze swept over Hannah and carried on to fix on something in the landscape outside. “A veil or mask could hide so much and I do not know what the Afflicted are capable of. They have already proven themselves able to commit such a crime.”

  “A veil doesn’t conceal the true nature of a person, only the state of their exterior. Lady Albright has always been a kind and gentle woman. She has honour in her soul, unlike her husband.” Hannah bit her lip to stop herself from saying more. The viscount created an unusual reaction in her and she felt herself on the verge of an argument.