Boy of Chaotic Making (Whimbrel House #3)

Chapter 10

March 2, 1847, London, England

Despite lack of sleep, Merritt found himself very awake at the breakfast table the following morning. The breakfasting room was, in size, at least, one of the more modest areas of the house, meant to serve just the family, sans guests, or so Lady Helen had told him. The furnishings, however, were still quite grand. The ceiling, trim, table, and chairs were all painted a brilliant white that seemed to reflect the east sky billowing in from the enormous window at Merritt’s back. The walls were papered a deep navy blue with white fleur-de-lis in neat, vertical rows. There were two entrances to the room, one to the north and one to the south, and the servants seemed to use only the former. Lady Helen apologized for the meager meal, which wasn’t meager in the slightest—Merritt had a boiled egg in a little egg cup with a genuine silver spoon the length of his pinky, a plate full of eggs, sausage, ham, cheese, and braised tomatoes. There was also bread, butter, and preserves and a tray of little tarts that hadn’t made its way to his end of the table yet, not that he could possibly spare room in his belly for it. The most excellent part of being a guest in a lavish home was the equally lavish food.

He focused on the food so as not to dwell on the fact that he would not be here to enjoy it if Lady Helen hadn’t determined to move his room closer to the family suites.

A chill coursed from elbows to shoulders at the thought. He’d taken a peek at the damage after the constable left this morning. Had he slept in that space, he would most definitely be dead.

God knew he was getting tired of people trying to kill him. But who could hold any animosity toward him here, of all places? It was a coincidence. It had to be. His sanity needed it to be.

“The incident last night does seem to be the working of magic,” Blightree said in a solemn tone, which made breakfast gurgle in Merritt’s gut. The necromancer appeared to have gotten less sleep than Merritt, judging by the heavy bags under his eyes. “It couldn’t have been natural causes, isolated as it was. The constable agrees with me.”

“A sound judgment,” Prince Friedrich said. He hadn’t touched his plate, while Lady Helen’s appetite seemed well. Lady Cora picked at hers sleepily. Owein sat in the corner—Lady Helen had tried to get him a feasible chair for sitting at the table, but it had proven more awkward than it was worth. Cora herself had set him up in his present position—a good sign. Owein had already finished and was sniffing around, only occasionally passing a thought to Merritt.

“Even if any of ours had the ability to break stone”—Lady Helen looked at Merritt specifically—“so much magic would have caused enormous side effects. We would have discovered the culprit straightaway.”

An assurance that his host wasn’t trying to murder him. And it did assure him, a little—he’d seen all of the family members shortly after the incident, and none had appeared to be experiencing the kickbacks associated with magic. Only Lady Helen had seemed discomfited, and that was from overuse of her spell of air movement to clear the hall. He wondered if anyone suspected himself or Owein, who did have spells that could cause such destruction, but again, their lack of magical symptoms marked them as innocent. That, and lack of motivation. Blightree had come late to the event, but he was a necromancer. None of his spells could have wreaked such havoc. But all that had already been discussed and recorded with the constable.

Merritt knit his fingers together and placed them beneath his chin, feigning surface-level calmness. “And none of the servants are gifted?”

Lady Helen shook her head.

“There’s Elizabeth,” Cora offered.

Lady Helen met her daughter with a patient smile. “Yes, but she is only a hysterian, darling, and barely one of note.” She met Merritt’s gaze. “Elizabeth works in the kitchen. She has a slip of joy in her from her grandfather.”

“Perhaps she made the house chuckle itself into breaking,” Merritt offered.

Lady Helen shook her head. “I don’t think ... Oh, but of course you jest.” Another patient smile.

Perhaps now was not the best time for jesting. But Merritt found he could best stomach the uncertainty—especially as it seemed to involve him directly—with a little mirth. He’d learned to cope with a lot of things with laughter, for better or for worse.

“Let us hope,” Prince Friedrich said, finally cracking into his egg, “that the police turn up something in their search and we can let it be done and over with.”

“Mr. Fernsby,” Blightree added, “I assure you that very few persons know you’re here, and for what purpose. I believe your involvement to be happenstance.”

“I prefer to think so,” Merritt agreed. And yet, logic dictated it must have something to do with him. It was no isolated earthquake or failure of construction; both Blightree and the constable had confirmed the damage appeared to be of magical make. Merritt prided himself on his imagination, but he could not begin to fathom a story that made sense of the situation.

Owein lifted his head. Someone is coming.

A moment later, the south door opened to a footman who bowed and announced, “Baron Ernst Freiherr von Gayl and Lady Briar Feodora of Leiningen.”

Cora leapt from her seat as a tall blond man with a shockingly wide mustache stepped through, followed by a demurer woman who appeared to be around twenty, with brown hair similar to Hulda’s, pinned up modestly, though her dress was certainly of expensive make.

“Briar!” Cora cried, instantly crossing the room to her. She embraced Lady Briar around the middle, and was embraced in return. If Merritt remembered last night’s conversation correctly, this was Friedrich and Helen’s eldest daughter.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” Briar said midembrace. “We meant to arrive earlier, but there was a problem with a horse.”

“Tossed a shoe?” Prince Friedrich asked.

The ... baron with the enormous name ... Ernst was the beginning of it, Merritt thought, took an empty seat. “No, just a fit.” He had a heavy German accent that put Prince Friedrich’s less pronounced one to shame. “Driver said it was newly broken and unused to the travel. We stayed at the Red Rabbit last night. The place has really gone downhill.”

“Red Rabbit?” Lady Helen frowned. “That’s only a few miles from here. You should have stayed the night.”

“It was more trouble than it was worth,” Briar said as she and Cora pulled apart. She gave her sister a genuine smile. “But I noticed damage on the west hall—was there a storm?”

Briar made no effort to sit at the table; meanwhile, Ernst was helping himself to every tray. Merritt watched them quietly.

Lady Helen threw down her napkin. “I’ll let William catch you up on all of it, because I’m tired of it all!” After steadying herself with a breath, she said, “Baron, Briar, this is Mr. Fernsby and Mr. Mansel, whom I wrote you about.”

Briar started, seeming to see Merritt for the first time. “My apologies.” She offered a mild curtsy. “I hope you are enjoying your stay. And ...” She searched the room, two fine lines forming between her brows.

Owein walked up beside Merritt so he could be seen.

“Oh. Oh, right.” Briar’s face notably fell. She plastered on a smile, but it affected only her mouth, leaving the rest of her expression tight. “How ... peculiar. I hope you, too, are finding everything well.”

We were almost crushed, Owein responded.

Merritt set a hand on the dog’s shoulder. “He is, thank you.”

Owein shot him a scorning look that was surprisingly human.

The sound of distant barking outside caught Merritt’s attention. Owein’s, too, by the way his ears rose.

“Don’t mind that,” Lady Helen said as Cora tiredly resumed her seat. She waved Briar over, but Briar replied with a subtle shake of her head, which made Merritt curious. “That’s just our kennel master readying the hounds.”

“I thought a fox hunt might be a splendid way to start the morning.” Prince Friedrich helped himself to a bite of ham. “Good thing to get our minds off it all, eh, Mr. Fernsby?”

Owein’s voice chimed in, Don’t leave.

Merritt kept his eyes forward. “I’ve never hunted a fox before.” And maybe I’ll be harder to randomly murder if I’m on horseback.

Those thoughts would not get him anywhere.

Baron von Gayl wiped his mouth and said, “But surely you ride, yes?”

Merritt managed a smile. “I know how to stay atop the saddle, at least.”

“You should join them,” Briar said to Baron von Gayl, still looming near the door. “You do love a good hunt.”

“Surely you both want to rest,” said Lady Helen.

“We’re quite rested,” Briar pressed. “Aren’t we, Ernst?”

Seems she’s not fond of her husband, Merritt said to Owein.

Owein tipped his head.

“Yes, yes, I think I shall.” The German nodded.

Don’t leave me behind, Owein repeated. A slight whine followed.

Merritt hesitated, unsure what decorum required of him. “Uh ...”

Lady Helen perked up. “Is he speaking?”

To Briar, Cora explained, “Mr. Fernsby is a communionist. He can tell us what Owein—I mean, Mr. Mansel—says.”

Owein glanced at her. She can call me Owein.

Clearing his throat, Merritt relayed the message. Cora seemed pleased.

“He’d also like to attend the hunt,” Merritt added.

Lady Helen paused. “Well ... I suppose that would work. He’s about the size of the hounds. He could keep up.”

Briar grimaced. None of the family seemed to notice. Merritt couldn’t entirely blame her for feeling distaste ... The situation was bizarre, at best.

Owein let out a soft woof of delight.

“Then it is settled.” Lady Helen clapped her hands. “Afterward we’ll have luncheon, and Cora will give you a tour of the grounds, if the weather permits. She’s become much more involved with them. Then we shall have afternoon tea—I have a violinist coming in to play for us, and Cora has been working on a wonderful song on the pianoforte. Briar is also an excellent player. Oh! You both should do that duet of yours, if you remember it. Then I thought we could all take part in a game of cards, and I’ve a soothsayer coming in to look at the match—just for fun, of course! I wish dear Victoria could join us, but of course she’s terribly busy running things, but she would be at the union itself, most certainly—”