Chapter 16 #2
There were more questions from there, about the artifact, its recovery, Mr. Stoke and myself.
We took our leave of the body and briefly retired to the detective’s office, where I answered his queries as best I could without admitting to any crimes, namely smuggling the artifact into Harrow, and tried to quell the storm of questions in the back of my own mind.
At length, Supford said, “I believe we are finished, Miss Rushforth. However, I should warn you. I have notified the Guild of your arrest. I had no choice. Not only is it procedure, but it was only a matter of time until they learned the truth. Your landlady did not strike me as the kind to keep quiet, nor shy away from listening at a keyhole.”
“No,” I agreed. I should have felt more fear, I supposed, more desperation, but I had begun to numb. “Is the Guild sending someone to retrieve me?”
“They may try. But I will not relinquish you easily. If you are a suspect in a murder, you are mine and will not leave this station.” Supford, to my surprise, spoke the words with surprising gentleness.
I met his eyes, wary of a trap. I knew, in theory, that not every power in this city despised my kind as much as Baffin, and Supford had been an acquaintance of the moderate Mr. Stoke. But what were the chances that he was truly sympathetic to my plight?
There was sincerity in his eyes, however, just awkward enough to lend it legitimacy.
I gave a small, grateful nod.
Mr. Wake, at least, could not reach me in a cell.
* * *
I paced my cell as darkness fell, sending twilight creeping through my window to awaken my threads. I unbuttoned my collar and trailed my fingers over my skin, feeling the threads like gilding.
My hand stilled as footsteps approached and a key turned in the lock.
A woman entered my cell, her masses of blonde curls pinned up around a square face. She wore no hat and her fine, waist-length jacket partially concealed the intricately embroidered bodice of what could only be an opera gown. Her throat was bare, as was a fair portion of her chest.
“Ottilie,” she said.
“Madge,” I replied. I caught sight of a man behind her in the hallway; the same one who had been on her arm by the river.
His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly parted and his eyes, though aloof, were not as cold as Madge’s.
“Is this your husband? I assumed he would be younger, given the sum of your progeny. Perhaps what he lacks in vigor he makes up for in industry?”
The man was half-concealed by the shadows, but I still saw his posture shift and his jaw flex. Good. My barb had landed.
Madge’s icy-blue eyes travelled across my frame. “He is my second husband, Everard Moran.”
“The first had served his purpose?”
“He was assigned to another woman.” However Madge felt about that, she did not let it show. It was entirely possible, given the icy condition of her heart, that she truly did not care.
“Why?”
“Your sister has proven herself too valuable for the likes of him,” Madge’s husband replied.
His voice was surprisingly warm, rumbling in a pleasant, masculine way.
His gaze, now firmly upon me, was intent.
I felt knowledge in that gaze. It was a familiar thing, the way so many elder, elevated Entwined considered the young.
Knowledge of me. Knowledge of my past. Certainty of my future.
It stoked a fire of resentment in my chest.
“Margaret, may we proceed?” he asked my sister.
Madge nodded and swivelled her midwinter gaze back to me. “We are securing your release. The constabulary is protesting, but they will be overruled.”
“I see. Shall I prepare myself for a Glass Coffin?”
Madge’s chin rose slightly, her gaze becoming even more imperious. “No sister of mine will die beneath the glass.”
“Emeline did.”
“She was not my sister.”
“She might as well have been.”
“Margaret,” the older man, Moran, spoke up again. “I will make the arrangements, unless you require me?”
“I have matters in hand,” Madge said dismissively.
The man turned on his heel and left without another word. With his every step, my dread compounded. Supford had promised to keep the Guild from taking me, but neither Madge nor her new husband seemed even slightly concerned.
Madge waited until the gate at the end of the hall clanged before she turned back on me. “What were you thinking?”
“Pardon? You will have to be more specific.”
“Associating with Pretoria,” she hissed. Only that drop in her voice and the barest hunch of her shoulders hinted at any emotion. “She’s been seen in the city, Ottilie. I know you to be malleable, but I never thought you would be so foolish as to continue associating with her.”
The need to defend myself stirred. As entrenched as Madge was in the Guild, as different as we were, she was still my eldest sister.
“I am neither malleable nor foolish, and I am not associating with Pretoria,” I stated. “Despite her efforts. She came to attempt to persuade me to her cause, as you are right now.”
“Her cause? The cause of theft and villainy?”
I shut my mouth, but my expression was likely answer enough.
Madge raised her chin. “Ottilie. The Grand General is manipulating the Zealots, and is intent on destroying the Entwined, even if he must tear this city apart to do it. He will turn everyone, from grandmothers to schoolchildren, against us.”
Harden had said the same thing. My skin prickled, gooseflesh brushing across my upper arms.
“You know it for a fact?” I asked. “You have evidence?”
Madge nodded grimly. “You are in danger, Ottilie, and too valuable to lose to this wretched city. Come to the Guild willingly, and you will want for nothing. You may have your choice of husbands. I know you care for Lewis and he has waited for your return, but there are better men.”
“A gilded cage is still a cage,” I said quietly.
“You know nothing of cages,” my sister replied, the impassiveness of her tone more chilling than any malice. “We will take you back to Golden House tonight, regardless of what you desire. So let me help you. You know what will happen if you continue to resist the Guild.”
Golden House. The Guild’s headquarters within Harrow.
I said through gritted teeth, “Forced pregnancy, stolen children, a Glass Coffin. Yes, I am aware. But I am unclear what your help is worth. When have you ever tried to help me, truly?”
“That is Pretoria talking, not you.” Madge stepped closer, the fine beadwork on her gown glittering, white and cream backed by the palest, powdery violet.
She was a winter dawn, still cast in shadows of night.
“After seeing what the Zealots are doing to this city, can you not understand why the Guild matters? How being a Guild mage would benefit you? I offer you a life free of fear. A life where you will need never hide your face, your threads, or your name. You can be Ottilie Rushforth; you can step into a position of power.”
“What Entwined can kill,” I asked, voice still low, “with the touch of a hand?”
Madge’s eyes flashed, caged and perplexed, but before she could reply, the gate clanged and several sets of footsteps came towards us.
The constable I had met earlier, Hopgood, looked at me with grim, apologetic eyes as he unlocked the door and stepped aside.
Madge and her husband stood side by side in the passage now. The door of my cell was open, but my only path forward was into my sister’s pale, cold, outstretched hand.
“Come, dear sister,” Madge said. “You are safe, now.”