Chapter Two #2
For Vesper, the commute was not a long one; her parents had allowed her to move out of her childhood bedroom several years earlier, for the sake of their collective sanity, and into the flat in the mews behind the house, which had once held the stables and had since been converted to a garage for the family’s motorcars.
(Vesper’s mother, in particular, was fond of a spin around town or out to the Surrey Hills in her Bentley on fine days.) This meant that Vesper could leave it until approximately two minutes till six before making her way down the stairs, out into the cobblestoned mews, and in through the kitchen door and up the back staircase into the main house—which was precisely where she found herself, a week after her conversation with Freddie over tea and cake.
“There you are,” Cecily said, as soon as Vesper walked into the drawing room, where the rest of the family were already assembled. Vesper glanced at the clock above the mantel, confirmed that it was only thirty seconds after the hour, and then stuck her tongue out at her elder sister.
Cecily handed her a champagne coupe. “Lovely. I hope your face gets stuck that way one of these days.”
“I’m beginning to think Mummy was lying about that,” Vesper said with a sly glance at her mother, who was already making her way toward her, leaning down to drop a kiss on her cheek.
“Nonsense,” said Amelia. “I never lie.”
All three children raised a howl of protest at that; even mild-mannered Simon, sitting happily with a snifter of brandy, murmured quietly, “A bit of revisionist history, there.”
“Not you too, darling Simon,” Amelia said.
“I’m sorry, Amelia,” Simon said, looking genuinely disappointed to have caused any offense, and rededicated his attention to his drink.
Vesper flopped inelegantly down onto the chaise her father currently occupied. “Daddy.”
“Ve—hmm.” Her father tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Wait. Which one are you again? I seem to have forgotten your name, it’s been so long.”
“It’s been three days.”
Her father shrugged. “And it’s a very short walk from the mews to the breakfast room to join your humble parents for an occasional meal.”
“Humble” was not a word that anyone could use to describe Lucian Holloway.
He was tall and lithe, his hair once dark but now a handsome salt-and-pepper; his eyes were an arresting blue.
He’d been a horrible cad when he was younger, Vesper knew; her parents had never made an effort to hide any of the whispers from their children.
But he’d taken one look at her mother and fallen desperately in love; apparently, polite society had talked of nothing else for weeks.
It would all have been quite romantic, if they hadn’t been Vesper’s parents, and if she hadn’t been the one who risked walking in on them kissing in corners at inappropriate times of the day.
(Vesper considered kissing to be a strictly nocturnal activity; best not to do it during the daytime and give men any rosy-hued ideas.)
“If you and Mummy could keep your hands off each other for more than five seconds, I might find the invitation more tempting,” Vesper said, and her father flashed a lazy grin at her.
“Did you hear that, my love?” he called over his shoulder to his wife, who was busy opening a bottle of champagne. “Our youngest feels that we are too amorous.”
“Our youngest might see her way to being a bit less amorous herself,” Amelia called back, hands still busy with the cork. “Ainsley Sherwood, Vesper, really?”
“How do you know about that?” Vesper asked, then shot a look of betrayal at Freddie.
“It wasn’t me!”
“Have I taught you nothing?” Amelia asked, removing the cork and pouring herself a fresh glass of champagne.
“You should always keep an ear out for gossip.” She reached for the small silver bowl of spell powder that sat on the drinks tray and scooped a careful half spoonful into her glass, tilting her head to watch the shimmering powder slowly descend through the liquid and dissolve.
It was an appetite-enhancing powder—one of Amelia’s favorite indulgences before special meals, to ensure she enjoyed the food as much as possible.
Vesper took a moody sip of her own champagne. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be an orphan (a wealthy one with a doting but largely absent guardian).
“Now that we’re all here,” Cecily said, rising to her feet and resting a hand on Simon’s shoulder, “I think there’s something we should discuss.
” Cecily, unlike her siblings, favored her father, with dark hair and the same blue eyes; they were just as appealing on the daughter as they had been on the father at her age.
Cecily’s charms, however, had been reserved for Simon for nearly a decade; they’d met at a wartime hospital in France where Cecily had been a nurse.
Vesper shook her head. Again: so romantic. Why did her family insist on being this way?
Redirecting her attention to the matter at hand, she realized that Cecily’s keen gaze was fixed directly on her.
“Yes?” she asked, lowering the glass she’d been about to take a sip from.
“It’s about the business,” Cecily said.
“Last I checked, it hadn’t caught fire, and I was just there this afternoon, so…”
“Ha.” Cecily shook her head imperiously, the gesture a bit more impressive on her than it was on Vesper, since Cecily was allowing her hair to grow out and it now reached her shoulders. “Simon thinks that there is a real chance for his bill repealing Forbiddance to pass Parliament this session.”
There was a considerable uproar in the room at this announcement.
“Labour can be won over?” Lucian asked, his expression thoughtful.
Simon nodded. “That is the hope.” Simon was an MP for the Alliance Party—the party that had historically represented the interests of the magical families. “However, there is a fear that we’ll lose votes if MPs from other parties grow… spooked.”
Vesper frowned. “How so?”
Freddie, however, appeared to comprehend. “The cock-up at Plenus Venter?”
Simon nodded.
Vesper turned to her brother. “What’s this?”
Freddie ran a hand through his blond hair in a gesture that usually signaled some disquiet on his part. “Last weekend someone had some sort of potion that made them ill—they became horribly dizzy as soon as they drank it, and then fainted directly into the champagne fountain.”
Vesper gasped in genuine horror. “Ruining all that perfectly good champagne?”
“I don’t think that was the primary concern regarding the incident.”
“Surely whoever it was simply overindulged,” Vesper said.
Freddie shook his head. “I’ve heard from three separate people who were there that he’d only had the one potion, and nothing to drink before that.”
“Perhaps he has an allergy?” Vesper suggested. It wasn’t unheard of.
“He’d been to Plenus Venter loads of times and never had an issue.”
“Hmm.” Vesper leaned back in her seat, taking another sip of champagne.
“Mundane MPs—particularly those who aren’t terribly comfortable with magic to begin with, even if they feel Forbiddance has gone too far—won’t vote for the bill if rumors start spreading that the magic on offer at the clubs is dangerous,” Simon said; next to him, Cecily’s brow was wrinkled, her expression troubled.
“And Jacob Finlay is already trying to work the Tories up into a frenzy over this bill.” Everyone present grimaced at the name; Finlay, the son of landed gentry with an old, profitable estate in Oxfordshire, was one of the most fervent anti-magic MPs, and had been key to ensuring that Forbiddance had come into law after the war.
There was a vocal minority of the mundane population—particularly among the wealthy—who disliked the existence of an entirely different sort of privilege that was unattainable to them, especially after the aristocratic financial downturns of the past half century; Forbiddance was the result of this sentiment.
“You’re all very hysterical lately,” Vesper said, the previous week’s discussion with Freddie still fresh in her mind.
She turned to her parents; her father, in particular, could usually be relied upon to take his youngest daughter’s side in any argument.
“Daddy,” she said warmly, “you don’t think we actually need to be concerned, do you? ”
But her father, for once, was looking very serious too. “Hopefully not,” he said. “But it would behoove us all to behave sensibly, I think.”
“Easier for some of us than for others,” Cecily said.
“Have I not kept the club running and more or less scandal-free for the past four years?” Vesper asked, feeling a bit offended.
“You have,” Amelia confirmed. “But between this and the rumors Freddie’s heard about them looking to make an example of someone, it does become worrisome. Perhaps it would be good if someone else from the family was there with Vesper every night—”
“What!” Vesper sat up straight, nearly—horror of horrors—splashing champagne onto her lap, but righting her glass just in time.
It would never do to waste perfectly good champagne (or a perfectly good Lanvin dress).
Vesper didn’t like to think she was easily offended, but her family’s complete lack of faith in her was beginning to rub.
“I understand the situation, so I don’t think there’s any reason I need a nanny dogging my every step. ”
“The club is a considerable financial asset,” her father said, and Vesper narrowed her eyes at him. “If we get shut down by some overzealous civil servant, it will be extremely irritating.”
“Then I promise I’ll watch any potential civil servants who walk through our doors like a hawk.”