Chapter Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
Rain slicked the coach’s window as it barreled down Basalton’s roads.
Vesper followed each drop as it splattered against the glass, then tracked in a diagonal line all the way to the window’s edge.
Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, but the rhythmic sound of the coach’s wheels against the cobblestone outside was lulling.
Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she let her head rest against the tufted upholstery. She closed her eyes, and sighed.
“Are you hurt?”
At once, she was upright again. Across the coach, Maximilian was staring at her.
He hadn’t spoken or even looked at her since they’d gotten into it twenty minutes ago.
Now he was, and Vesper couldn’t read the expression on his face.
It was impossible to tell what color his eyes were in the dim light, but she knew they were dark.
His skin was the palest she’d ever seen it, and his dark hair had dripped so much onto his shirt that both of his shoulders were soaked.
“Well,” he said, “are you?” His voice sounded slightly strained.
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
He turned back to stare at the opposite window, and Vesper saw a muscle twitch near his jawline. Her gaze dropped to his hands. They were balled into fists. Was he angry? Had she done something to offend him?
The coach shifted slightly, and Vesper sensed that they were now on a slight incline, moving uphill. A few minutes later, it rolled to a stop, and the door opened.
“After you,” said Maximilian in that same strained voice. Vesper hesitated, then ducked out of the coach. The footman waiting outside was holding out a black umbrella, protecting her from the drizzle. She lifted her head, then blinked in surprise.
The sprawling stone manor that loomed before her reminded her of the castles her father had once described in the fairy tales he’d told her as a little girl. A few seconds passed before understanding dawned on her.
He lives here, she thought, this must be Maximilian’s home.
A flight of stone steps and a set of towering black double doors marked the entrance. The footman held the door open for her and Maximilian, but the sorcerer headed straight for the door without waiting for an umbrella.
“This way,” he said over his shoulder.
Vesper followed, but slower. She’d barely made it up the manor’s steps when one of the front doors opened and doused them in golden light and warmth.
She found herself at the edge of a foyer large enough to rival the Basalton Museum of Art.
The floor was covered in polished white marble veined in dark gold, and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling above.
Her breath caught as she took it all in.
Was this really what Maximilian came home to every day?
“Oh, Mr. Kite!”
Vesper turned in the direction of the new voice. It belonged to a short, stout, older-looking woman with brown skin and kinky black hair, shot through with gray. She stopped before them, looking alarmed.
“I’ve been worried sick!” she addressed Maximilian. “You told me to have dinner ready by seven, but when you didn’t show…”
“My apologies, Mrs. Cauble,” he said. “I was held up by some unexpected events. But if you’ll forgive me…” He turned and gestured to Vesper. “We have a guest.”
The woman called Mrs. Cauble turned too, then jumped. It seemed she hadn’t noticed Vesper.
“Oh,” she said much more quietly.
“Mrs. Cauble, please be introduced to Miss Evans,” Maximilian added.
“Evans?” Mrs. Cauble straightened. “Do you mean the Miss Evans? The one you’re—”
“As I said, we were held up by some unexpected events,” said Maximilian. “Miss Evans needs a change of clothes. After that, Bexley will take her home.”
“Apologies, sir, but that may not be possible.”
All three of them turned as a very drenched coachman stepped inside. He gave Vesper a small but polite bow, then addressed Maximilian again. “I’ve just received word that the city is now under a mandatory lockdown, due to the civil unrest on Pierce Street.”
“Unrest?” Mrs. Cauble placed a hand on her heart. “Good gracious.”
“It’s in effect until morning,” Bexley went on. “The police have closed down all the city’s major roads, and Pierce Street is completely inaccessible.”
Vesper started. If travel through the city was restricted, and she couldn’t get home …
“Very well, then,” said Maximilian. “Miss Evans will stay here for the night. Mrs. Cauble, please prepare one of the bedrooms.”
“Wait, what?” Vesper did her best to keep her voice even. “I can’t … I can’t stay here.”
Maximilian turned to her, one brow raised. For a moment, he looked like his normal self. “Even if you intended to walk home—which I wouldn’t recommend—you heard what Bexley just said. Pierce Street is shut down. They won’t let you back in there. So unless you have another idea…?”
“But what will people say?” Vesper’s voice cracked. “It’ll be a scandal.”
“It’ll only be a scandal if you tell anyone. I certainly don’t plan to.” He gestured around the foyer. “My household’s staff is loyal. They won’t say anything either. No one ever need know that you were here.”
Vesper faltered. “But…?”
“And if you’re worried about impropriety, you can take one of the bedrooms on the third floor. Mine is on the second, so we’ll be completely separated. Mrs. Cauble can even act as a chaperone if you prefer.” A hint of a smile touched his face. “See? All perfectly aboveboard.”
Vesper opened her mouth just as a violent shiver racked her body. She’d been running on adrenaline until this point; now a wave of fatigue hit her so suddenly she thought she might fall over. Mrs. Cauble seemed to read her mind, because she stepped closer and offered an arm of support.
“Come, dear,” she said kindly. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and into something warm and dry.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Good night, Mr. Kite.”
Vesper let the woman gently guide her out of the foyer and up the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Maximilian turn on his heel, head down another hallway, and vanish from sight.
Vesper had had real reservations about staying at Kite Manor.
But by the time Mrs. Cauble showed her to a bedroom where she could change out of her rain-soaked clothes and into a warm bathrobe with an embroidered letter K, a great deal of those reservations had abated.
She hadn’t seen a clock in hours, but she gathered that it was now well past ten.
Outside, the storm was still raging, but it was muted within the walls of Kite Manor.
“You’ll have to excuse my lapse in manners earlier, Miss Evans,” said Mrs. Cauble as they walked together down the hall. “Mr. Kite doesn’t usually bring guests here. But don’t you worry, we have everything prepared for you now. I took the liberty of drawing you a hot bath.”
“Thank you,” said Vesper. She paused, then: “How long have you worked for Mr. Kite?”
“Oh!” Mrs. Cauble looked thoughtful. She counted on several fingers before she answered. “Goodness, it’s been nearly twenty years, I think. I was hired when Mr. Kite was just a baby, and stayed on after his parents … well, I’m sure you know.”
“I don’t, actually,” said Vesper. “What happened to them?”
She gave Vesper an apologetic look. “I think it’s best if you hear it from Mr. Kite.”
Vesper didn’t ask any more questions, and a few minutes later, they reached their destination.
Mrs. Cauble pushed open a door, and Vesper found herself standing in a bathroom furnished with a freestanding claw-foot bathtub in its center; an entire wall was covered in a stained glass window illuminated by flickering white candles.
At the look on Vesper’s face, Mrs. Cauble chuckled.
“It is quite exquisite,” she conceded. “Mrs. Kite, Maximilian’s mother, designed it herself many years ago, so it has all the comforts a young woman might want.
” She pointed. “All the linens are over there, and there’s a selection of soaps, conditioners, and shampoos on that rack next to the tub.
I’m afraid we didn’t have much in the way of nightclothes for young women.
” Her cheeks pinked. “Mr. Kite suggested I lend you some of his.”
Vesper turned to her and nodded. “Thank you again, Mrs. Cauble.”
The woman bade her good night, and then Vesper found, for the first time in hours, that she was alone.
She’d thought that she’d relish having peace and quiet at last, but as she stood there, surrounded by the bathroom’s finery, she found that the growing silence unnerved her.
She shook her head, then slipped off her robe and approached the bathtub.
There was no running water at the Globe.
She had to carry it up the stairs and heat it over the woodstove before pouring it into a basin to wash.
She tipped a hand into this tub, then watched a line of steam coil around her wrist. She braced herself, then stepped into the tub and sank into the water.
Waves of pleasant heat washed over her instantly, and a small sigh escaped her unbidden.
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
Then the images began seeping into her mind.
The burning factory came first, the red-faced men shouting, and then burn victims being carried out by firefighters.
Scenes from the brawl on Pierce Street replayed in her head, growing more and more distorted with each iteration.
She heard the sinister crackle of burning wood, heard the flames’ roar, and the sharp crack of gunshots.
The smell of smoke made her tense, and in the back of her mind, she heard a terrible new voice.
Vesper?
Vesper clapped her hands over her ears. The voice wasn’t real, she knew that, but her sister’s voice sounded real enough in her head. She drew her knees up to her chest in the tub, screwed her eyes shut as she tried to block that voice out. Ethel’s voice found her anyway.
Vesper, why did you leave?