Chapter 12 In which Marigold is a carrier pigeon
In which Marigold is a carrier pigeon
Marigold
For once, Marigold was glad to wake to a tightly closed cupboard door. If it had been open, she feared that the monstrous feline might somehow manage to leap up to the top shelf and eat her while she slept.
She rolled over in the linen handkerchief and stretched lazily, listening to see if Judith was in the room. Ah yes, she could hear footsteps—but they did not sound quite like Judith’s.
Marigold sat up swiftly, ears pricked. The steps were lighter, stealthier. They were not the heavy tread of the butler, so perhaps a footman? But why would a footman skulk around Judith’s room?
She listened for several long moments, tracking the movement.
It sounded as if the intruder was looking for something, opening the multitude of drawers in the panelling and cabinets, and even lifting the blankets off the bed, of all things.
Did they think Judith was hiding something?
Marigold stiffened, for she well knew that the cupboard would be next.
Hastily, she shuffled back to the deepest corner, clutching the kerchief around her. Would the searcher bother to look under a handkerchief? She feared so, and pressed up against the wood, fluffing the cloth around her. Then she felt something dig into the back of her ribs.
It was a wooden protrusion from the wall, almost like a doorknob. Marigold stared at it, then gingerly twisted it.
A panel opened in the back of the cupboard.
Eyes wide, she peered in. There was a whole other compartment behind the panel and it was furnished for a vampiri, with a soft rug, a small bed, and a chair. Without further hesitation, she hustled in and quietly shut the panel behind her.
Mere moments later, she heard the main cupboard door open. Keeping utterly still, she waited, seeing the faint glow of light as someone peered in. Would the searcher know about the secret compartment?
It seemed not. After an unbearably long pause, the door shut again, taking the light with it. Marigold slumped on the floor with relief. Then she heard the bedroom door click softly, as the intruder left.
She looked around. The private cupboard room was really quite pleasant, with a delicate pattern carved into the ceiling.
There was even a small rod across the far side, with room underneath for a bat to hang.
The air smelled dusty, however, and the bed was bare of any blankets.
Marigold flounced over to it with her handkerchief and waited.
At least a quarter of an hour passed before Judith returned. Hearing the familiar tread, Marigold let herself out of the vampiri compartment and banged on the front door.
Judith opened it at once. Marigold stepped onto her hands, rapidly explaining what had happened.
“Goodness,” said Judith, astonished. “Who could it have been?”
“Someone with light feet, and maybe light fingers.”
“But I don’t have anything to steal.” Judith had arrived at Castle Lanyon with nothing, except for the clothes she wore, and the topaz ring of the duke’s, which she kept in her pocket. Then Marigold saw that a valise rested on the sea-chest at the bottom of the bed, still locked.
“How did that arrive?” Marigold pointed. “Is Robert here already?”
“Yes!” said Judith, examining the trussed valise. “It seems untouched.”
“I would have heard them tussling with it, had they tried to open it.”
Suddenly, Judith stiffened. “My letter!”
Tipping Marigold onto the bed, she hurried over to the captain’s desk and fumbled in the drawer. She pulled out a small roll of foolscap, tied with string, staring at it.
“I can’t tell if it has been tampered with.”
“I think we must assume it was. What does it say?”
“It is addressed to Dacian, reminding him of our past, and instructing him…I mention the Custos, I think, and the Lethe. Surely no one here has any interest in such matters?” Her tone was doubtful.
Marigold folded her arms. “If they killed Sgt Finlay with magick, they might.”
Judith slumped back down on the bed. “Curse it. This matter is more obscure than I hoped. It can’t have been Kade who was tiptoeing around in here, as I was just speaking to him in the dairy.
But perhaps it was his brother? I thought he was in the cellars with Mrs Ulrich.
” She sighed. “I had hoped Sgt Finlay’s death was simply a matter of jealous rivalry, but there doesn’t seem to be a strong enough case for that.
The footman Kade seems confident in his courtship, not threatened.
However, they both appeared to be hiding something, and Miss Isla seemed afraid, somehow. ”
Marigold frowned. “Who is Miss Isla again?”
Judith reported her encounters from the day, while Marigold fed from her wrist. “So, it seems clear that Mrs Ulrich is our primary suspect now,” she finished.
“The Dread Spell was to protect the smugglers’ den, and the housekeeper must have killed Sgt Finlay when he discovered it.
” Her voice sounded dubious, however. “It doesn’t explain, however, why Kade disguises himself as his brother, or why someone went through my room. ”
Marigold pulled away from the vein. “Well, at least you have something to report to the captain.” She eyed the letter warily. “Do you want me to fly that to the duke tonight?”
“Would you?” begged Judith. “I want to send my own words, to reiterate what Wooten has told him.”
“I’m not a carrier pigeon!”
“Certainly not. You are a military runner, essential in our campaign.”
Grudgingly, Marigold became a bat in order for Judith to tie the letter to her leg, so that she would not drop it in the sea.
Once the missive was safely attached, Judith bent to place a kiss upon her head. “Fly safe, my dear. Remember, only to Penrose Hill, and gather the news from Wooten, then return.”
Marigold nodded. Judith opened the paned window, and a gust of fresh sea air flowed in.
Marigold flapped out into the night.
It was a long way to Penrose Hill, even as the bat flies.
Marigold soon left Lanyon Bay behind, but kept close to the coast, cutting over the headlands and tracking a straight path towards the dim glow of Falmouth.
Fortunately, the wind was behind her, pushing her along, but she wasn’t looking forward to the return journey.
Still, it was lovely to be buffeted by the cool breeze, and stretch her wings against the wide, dark sky. The waning moon was rising, light gleaming upon the waves.
She had arranged to meet Wooten an hour before midnight, so she stopped to rest in a pine tree, the letter awkwardly hanging by her side.
She was not wearing any cape, which would no doubt cause Wooten a mild heart seizure.
Marigold pushed away a passing thought that it might be Yvette who would meet her instead.
The scheming hussy should know to stay well away.
Why was she meddling in Judith’s concerns?
With any luck, the conniving creature had left Pendennis by now and flown back to France.
Marigold repressed a pang of disappointment at the thought. It was simply that she enjoyed bantering with another female vampiri who wasn’t as prudish as Wooten.
Following Judith’s instructions, Marigold flew to Falmouth, then turned up the Porthleven inlet as far as she could, then headed directly east until she saw Penrose Hill.
Nearing the crest, she saw an old house set back from the road.
That would do. Becoming human, she landed on the slate roof at its highest point, nudging the letter out of her way as she balanced on the peak.
She took in the mottled pattern of moss on the tiles, sleepy fields beyond, and the sea in the distance. Then, reminiscent of their first meeting, Yvette stepped out from behind a chimney.
Yvette was wearing a cape, the midnight blue one she had worn at Garvey House.
It was held tightly in front, but when she saw that Marigold had no such assistance to modesty, she let the cloth part.
Marigold saw a narrow prism of pale, womanly flesh, including the tantalising dip between Yvette’s breasts.
Marigold huffed, folding her arms across her less impressive bosom. “You again!” Then her gaze narrowed, taking in Yvette’s sombre expression. “Where’s Wooten? What’s wrong?”
“Wooten has forgot himself.” Yvette walked forward, cape swishing. “He drank the potion intended for the duke.”
“What?” Marigold stared in horror.
A dose of Lethe intended for a hefty man like the duke would be enough to wipe Wooten’s little brain off the face of the earth. Suddenly, Marigold was aware of a strangling fondness for the uptight fop. The stupid bat! If he hadn’t killed himself, she might well do it for him.
“Not all of it,” Yvette hastened to add. “I saw what happened.”
She told the story, carefully and without much inflection.
Apparently, the duke had started to remember himself, and with it, his temper.
Wooten kept removing any food or drink left in the prison, carrying it out the tower and dumping it far away.
So his grace (Yvette said) was no doubt hungry, as well as worried, and furious at his captivity.
He tried to hide his returning knowledge, but his worsening mood had made his captors suspicious.
In the evening, Captain Drumpellier had come in with a drink of wine and offered the duke a glass and a cigar.
That, of course, was a difficult moment. If Dacian refused to drink it, he showed his awareness of what they were doing, and he risked them forcing it down his throat again. Yet if he drank it, he would lose his memory again, already patchy.
He left the glass standing on the table, biding for time, smoking the cigar and talking to Drumpellier, and demanding to know more about the war and Napoleon.
“Napoleon?” interrupted Marigold. “Why would he mention that? It would reveal that he recalled something!”
Yvette shook her head. “Drumpellier has been telling him all the latest news from the front.”