Chapter 9
In which a letter is written
Beware the peril of an insubordinate housekeeper. It is essential that there is no ill-feeling between the two mistresses of any household.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
Judith was woken before dawn by Marigold tugging on her ear.
Blearily, she opened her eyes to see that Ghastagon had disappeared. Marigold was sitting stark naked in his place, with a disgruntled expression.
“Open the cupboard, please. The sun rises soon.”
Judith sat up and carried Marigold over, unlatching the cupboard door. “Did you see anything interesting on your gallivant?”
Marigold shrugged as she clambered onto the upper shelf.
“Cows, puffins, cottages, a dairy, a hundred rooms to this castle, and lots of locked doors impervious to my determined assault.” She brightened.
“But it does seem to me that there are some rooms without windows, which may be ideal for vampiri, away from sunlight.”
Judith reflected it might be a good thing they needn’t rely upon the cellars, if she couldn’t detach the Cork of Doom. She shuddered at the memory. “What about attics?”
“Also locked.” Wearily, Marigold crawled further into the cupboard.
“No sign of others like yourself?”
Marigold shook her head. “Not that I saw.”
Judith sighed, fetched a new linen handkerchief (courtesy of Trebellow), and tucked her in. “Sleep well, my dear. Don’t forget: tonight, you must fly halfway to Pendennis to meet Wooten for news.”
“I’m sure the duke is fine.” Marigold yawned. “Don’t fret too much. You still have two days to find your answer and bargain for his freedom.”
But with Marigold safely shut away, Judith found it difficult to fall asleep again.
Now she wasn’t preoccupied with investigating a haunted cellar, thoughts of Dacian’s plight plagued her.
Yet—she told herself—he was safe enough in his gaol.
Wooten was watching over him, and Yvette too.
Marigold was right, they had time. Two days should be enough for a Truth Discernor to discover a murderer.
It was frustrating that she didn’t already have the answer, but at least she had some news to report to Drumpellier about the ‘ghost’.
It seemed clear to her that the Cork of Doom had been infused with a Diplomacy enchantment, to keep people away from a secret meeting place.
Was it a smugglers’ lair? If that was the case, maybe Sgt Finlay had discovered it and been killed for his pains.
Judith frowned. That would make Mrs Ulrich the smuggler and the villain, for surely she was the one casting the Dread Spell, with her uniquely powerful Diplomacy.
Yet even if the housekeeper was mixed up with smuggling, it did not necessarily follow that she killed the soldier.
A chat with the Mrs Ulrich was imperative, and Judith’s Discerning ear could clarify the matter.
Then she could return triumphant to Fort Pendennis and demand Dacian’s release.
First, however, she must write a letter for Marigold to carry at nightfall. Trebellow had delivered foolscap and refreshed the gimbal-mounted inkwell as requested. Judith sat down at the captain’s table by the window, to compose a letter by lantern-light and the faint luminescence of dawn.
It took some thought to know where to start.
Dearest Dacian,
I have high hopes that you are slowly recovering your memory by now. In case you have not, I remind you that I am your dear friend, Judith. At least, I hope I am dear to you, for you are such to me.
She paused here and pressed her lips firmly together. It would be much better if she could say that in person, while winding her hands around his neck and pressing against him, breathing in his smell. She would have the chance to do so, she was determined.
But some history, in case you do not recall—I married your good friend, Nicholas Avely, when I was young. Suffice to say, I would have married you instead, but you turned me away with a lie, out of some sort of misguided sense of honour.
The anger that had once overtaken her when she had realised his duplicity now turned to sorrow. If only she had realised the lie at the time. If only…
Nicholas died twelve years ago. Perhaps I would have renewed our friendship then, but I did not know that you had lied, and I was angry that you had kept a secret of Nicholas’ from me.
Then you fled to the continent, after your fatal encounter with Lord Garvey, and stayed away for nine years without a word.
While we are on the vexed topic of Lord Garvey, please understand this: your Impact killed him, but only with the help of another.
And you were under the Illusion that Lord Garvey held me in his arms, so you were unfairly provoked.
I have explained this to Captain Drumpellier, but I will endeavour to make it heard at your trial.
In the meanwhile, it is imperative that you do not allow your captors to muddle your wits any further.
Play the fool, pretend to drink and eat what they give you, and let Wooten take it away.
And continue to act your forgetfulness, so they do not suspect.
I have a lowering suspicion that there is some other force at play.
I suspect there is someone eager to prevent your pardon, despite my testimony.
If that is the case, we will have to take other measures to gain your freedom.
I beg you to be on the lookout for any interventions I may have to stage.
Judith paused here, knowing that she should not write more than one page, for Marigold had to carry the weight of it a long distance.
What more could she say, regardless? She did not want her first words of love to him to be cold and black on a page, easily disbelieved, and perhaps meaningless.
Yet what if she should not have any other chance?
Beloved, I pray for your safety and your memory. I hope that we shall converse once again as dear friends, or something rather more.
Yours always,
Judith Avely
Marchioness of Lanyon
P.S. That last title is a new one to me, should you find it confusing. You first knew me as Miss Judith Horis, picking blackberries on your estate...
With that duty done—though unsatisfactorily—she sighed and blew the candle out.
She ought to sleep more, but as she tossed and turned on the huge, quilted bed, visions of the Crimson Lady flickered in her mind, along with an unnerving sense of lurking doom.
Damn Mrs Ulrich and her Diplomacy; it was all too effective.
She was woken hours later, the curtains glowing deep green with sunlight and muffling the sound of gulls crying outside. A tap came at the door, and when she called for entry, Trebellow appeared, holding a breakfast tray.
He set the tray down on her lap, presenting a pitiful breakfast: cold tea again, dry toast, and a spotted pear, brown and soft. There was not a chocolate molinet in sight.
Too hungry to confront the butler immediately with any of these crimes, Judith poured herself a cup of tea and swore to herself that she would sort out the chocolate situation as soon as she had sorted out the mystery of Sgt Finlay’s death.
If not sooner. She had to keep her strength up, after all, if she was to continue feeding Marigold.
Trebellow opened the curtains, allowing sunlight to pour into the room, brightening the wood-panelled walls and gleaming on the silver bell. “A lovely day, ma’am.”
“Indeed.” Judith nibbled on the browning pear. “A good day for a spring clean, don’t you think? Perhaps today we should clear out some of the dust and grime and prepare the castle for guests.”
“Guests, ma’am?”
“Yes, I am expecting… a young friend to join me soon, with my luggage. And the rest of my family will eventually arrive, too. I hope you don’t mind me remarking, but some of the windows could do with a clean.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, ma’am. I will inform Mrs Ulrich.”
“Don’t look so worried, Trebellow. Clean windows might cheer Mrs Ulrich’s spirits too.”
“Indeed, ma’am.” Trebellow coughed. “Mrs Ulrich’s blood is already mixed with spirits, if you take my meaning.”
“Oh?” Judith raised her brows.
The butler looked as if he regretted his lapse. “Shall we say—she finds comfort in brandy. But don’t we all, ma’am?”
“Ah.”
Brandy mixed with fruit and spices, no doubt.
Judith contemplated the remains of her pear.
Could this be why Mrs Ulrich guarded the lower cellar with her Dread Diplomacy, simply to protect a vice?
It would explain why the housekeeper had been so disagreeable.
Being mastered by brandy did not make for joyful days.
“Is there some reason that Mrs Ulrich turns to the drink, Trebellow? I find it is usually to escape an unpleasant reality.”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, ever since she lost her husband a few years back, ma’am. It wore away all her courtesies, I’m afraid. She is rather grim to be around now.”
Judith’s heart sank with pity. No wonder Mrs Ulrich’s Diplomacy had descended into dreariness. Was the Cork of Doom simply an outlet for her despair, stuffed down out of sight below the castle? She frowned. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Sgt Finlay, after all.
“Well, we must try to give Mrs Ulrich something other than brandy to enjoy,” she said firmly. “Send her into me, please, and I will discuss the matter with her.”
Doubt flitted across Trebellow’s face, but he bowed and withdrew. Judith set about finishing her cold toast and was pouring another cup of bitter tea when Mrs Ulrich herself came in.