Chapter 32 #2
It was mixed with her own anger and guilt that she had not realised the truth earlier.
She had so stupidly trusted the lieutenant.
And now, because of her idiocy, Robert was cuffed and frightened, somewhere in the far reaches of the castle.
She couldn’t even send Marigold to look for him, as the vampiri was currently fast asleep, probably in the cosy embrace of Miss Belfleur.
Never had Judith cursed the daylight more.
The tall windows along the northern corridor let in long slanting rectangles of light, showing the dust motes floating in the air.
She swished her skirts to stir them to greater eddies and stomped slowly along the wooden floorboards.
She had to enact this plan without any support and with a crucial piece missing: Robert’s Illusion.
It was doubtful that it would work, but for Robert’s sake, she had to try.
Dourly, she thought of Ghastagon and his goat-like keening. If only he could usefully project a suitable wail at an opportune moment to support her performance! But like all cats, he existed to bask in adoration, and not to be useful.
At least, she reflected as she trudged along, this diversion kept the search away from Dacian. That had been its original intention, after all.
Within minutes of her dreary promenade, just as predicted, Captain Drumpellier stormed into the far entrance, bursting through the archway like an avenging angel.
She started guiltily, without even having to pretend.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted, his sensitive brow creased into a thunderous frown.
“Nothing at all,” she said, without any conviction whatsoever.
His booted heels clicked loudly as he marched across the wooden floor. “I told you to stay in the tower room.”
“I was hungry for luncheon.” It was an obvious half-truth, for there was no food to be found in the northern corridor, only dust and shrouded rooms. “I am looking for my housekeeper or my butler,” she added with hauteur.
“You won’t find them here,” he retorted with suspicion.
She gave a small grimace, then let her shoulders droop. “If you must know, I am lost.”
“Oh, really?” His suspicion grew.
“I can never find my way around this cursed castle,” she confessed. “I thought I was heading towards the Blue Drawing Room, but now I’m here. It is most infuriating! I’ve spent the last three days wandering around in circles.”
The truth of this, and the real irritation in her voice, seemed to allay some of Drumpellier’s scepticism. “You shouldn’t be wandering around at all! I told you to stay put.”
“I tried to ring the bell for assistance,” she flung back. “My servants seem to have become deaf. Have you seen them?”
“I have restrained them until further notice,” he snapped.
“Your housekeeper seems to have aged a century since I saw her last: her notion of assistance has been to move as slowly as humanly possible. And your butler has become as clever as a cannonball left too long in the neck. So I’ve put them in the cellar. ”
This was bad news. Judith looked down her nose at him. “How dare you lock up my servants! You go too far, Captain!”
“Well, I will only release your servants once I have the duke in custody,” he said implacably. “And I would also like to know why the cellar is laid out in carpets, with paintings on the walls. It looks as if you intend to hold a royal reception there. A residence for a duke perhaps?”
Judith drew herself up. “Nonsense. That is the business of Castle Lanyon, and I am not bound to divulge it.”
They scowled at each other: the matron and the captain both exerting their authority. It seemed as if it would be a stalemate, but then Drumpellier seemed to notice the Dread Spell for the first time. His blazing anger had protected him initially, but now he twisted his head round, frowning deeply.
“What is that?”
His shoulders hunched slightly as he felt the full force of Mrs Ulrich’s worst. Judith sympathised. She quite felt like bursting into tears herself.
Instead, she tilted her head in polite enquiry. “To what do you refer, precisely?”
“You sense it too.” His eyes darted around the corridor. “That dreadful feeling. As if I’m about to die of misery. Are you doing it to me?”
“Ah no,” she replied blandly. “That would be the Lady. She haunts these corridors. You warned me about her, except you misdirected me to the cellars.”
His head snapped back to stare at her. “Oh, is that so?”
“You can feel it, can you not? I’ve heard her footsteps in the night, too, when I was wandering around.
The story goes that she was killed hundreds of years ago: her suitor, Lord Lanyon, threw a boulder and unfortunately it landed on her head.
You must be sensitive to her presence,” she added kindly.
“Most feel a simple brush of sorrow, or the faint shiver of grief.”
Drumpellier shuddered. The spell was currently more like an avalanche of despair. His face went pale above his red coat. Yet he squared his shoulders and, just as she suspected, he was not deterred. In fact, like her, he was suspicious of such an excessive display.
Resolutely, he turned to face the direction of the Dread Spell.
He took firm steps towards it, bracing against the onslaught.
Judith watched with some fellow feeling.
Mrs Ulrich could really lay it on thick.
Judith felt as if she might throw herself on the floor in a paroxysm of despair at any moment now, especially if she let her thoughts turn to Robert’s plight.
Yet Drumpellier marched on, grim and unflinching, towards the site of the charm.