Chapter 37
In which a hat is symbolic
Patience is a virtue, until it is not.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
The sound rang out so loudly that she had to cover her ears, reverberating through the room and into the rest of the castle. Soon pounding footsteps announced the presence of Trebellow, who looked in anxiously.
“Ma’am, you rang?”
“Yes, thank you, Trebellow.” Judith drew a breath, tucking her grey shawl closer. “I find myself somewhat displeased about a certain matter.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Trebellow looked anxious. “Which matter would that be?”
“The irksome Captain Drumpellier,” she replied darkly.
“My memories have returned, and I now recall that he incarcerated the duke, bound him, and attempted to sacrifice his life in some foolhardy plan. And yet I understand that the captain continues to treat this castle as if he is a welcome guest?”
“Indeed, ma’am.” Trebellow added, “He has been working together with his grace. They appear to have reached some understanding.”
Judith grimaced. “I suppose Dacian thinks that the French plot must supersede his grievances.” She knew that Dacian also felt some guilt about his own past, and he might have some sympathy with Drumpellier’s motives, if not his means.
“Yet I am reluctant to let the matter slide. The Custos cannot be allowed to treat people in such a fashion, even as they pursue their mandate of justice.”
Trebellow nodded. “I quite agree, ma’am. It was shocking how they treated his grace. Quite shocking.”
“I want you to send Baron Quarles to talk with me.”
Trebellow stared. “Baron Quarles, ma’am?”
“I have reason to believe that he is also ranked within the Custos. I want to discuss the matter with him.”
“Certainly, ma’am.” Trebellow withdrew, eyes wide.
Twenty minutes later, a soft tap on the door heralded the entry of the baron. His tall form sidled in, and he made a low bow.
“Lady Avely,” he murmured. “I am glad to hear that you have recovered. Do you wish to borrow my telescope again?”
Judith ignore this parry and eyed him. “Tell me, are you higher or lower than Drumpellier in your Custos rank?”
The baron looked momentarily taken aback. Then he smiled wryly. “Lower, I am afraid.”
“Please sit.” She gestured to the windowsill settee, and the baron sat, crossing his thin ankles. Judith leaned forward. “So you do not have any power to immediately discipline the captain?”
“No, but I assure you that I am making a thorough report.” The baron paused delicately. “As you appear to have guessed, I am what you might call an internal affairs officer. I’ve been tasked by the highest rank in the Custos to keep an eye on the lower orders.”
“Did they suspect that Drumpellier was taking liberties?” Judith demanded.
The baron shook his head. “No. We knew that he was running an intelligence operation out of Castle Lanyon, and I was sent to check on it. I did not inform him of our investigation, especially after Sgt Finlay died. And thanks to you, I have now discovered how much leeway the captain has been taking in the execution of his duties.”
“Thank the Lord there is some oversight,” said Judith bitterly. “I suppose you are Gifted in Memory, to assist your reports?”
“Indeed.” The baron tipped his head. “May I enquire how you guessed my secret?”
“You are a friend of the king’s,” replied Judith.
“You knew of the Musing: I could tell that you lied when I first met you in the drawing room, though I was a bit Bemused at the time. I knew you must have your own Gift, and Memors are often drawn to astronomy, with its complex charts and changes. Yet Drumpellier did not seem to realise your Gift or your interest in the castle. And I knew you were questioning all my servants, and Miss Onslow.”
The baron bowed again. “Not much slips past a Truth Discernor. I will be grateful to hear your full account of the recent events.”
Judith nodded and rang the hand bell for tea. “We might be here for a while.”
Two hours later, she dismissed him to her satisfaction.
At least some steps were being taken to hold Drumpellier to account, even if Dacian wanted to simply slap him on the back and move on.
There were some things that were unforgivable, and that included leaving a man in wristbreakers and no memory.
She shuddered. Glancing to the window, she saw that the sun had set, streaking the sky with gold.
Right on time, a commotion came from her cupboard.
Yesterday evening, the same rattle had given her a fright, but now she turned with gladness to see Marigold emerge, recognisable as her own dear companion.
Her curly head peeped out next to the smooth dark one of Miss Yvette Belfleur.
“Judith!” Marigold peered down at her. “Do you remember me yet?”
“I do.” Judith smiled. “I remember everything now, and I’m quite put to the blush by our adventures. I must thank you again for flying all the way out to Perry. We couldn’t have managed any of it without you. And you too, Miss Belfleur, for taking care of the duke and dear Wooten.”
She crossed to the cupboard and put up both her hands, one for each vampiri, and carried them over to the massive bed. They were both wearing capes, and Marigold informed her that they planned to investigate the broken-down tower as a suitable residence for Yvette.
“You don’t want to join the roost in the cellar?” enquired Judith. “They might welcome one more to their ranks.”
“I’d prefer to have my own quarters,” replied Yvette politely. “Marigold is sufficient company for me.”
Marigold blushed a little, and Judith asked what she had been doing for sustenance the last two nights.
“I shared a cow with Yvette.” She waved an airy hand. “The Lanyon breed are quite tasty, though quite beset now, with the roost also requiring nourishment.”
“Yes,” said Judith, “and I’d be honoured if you would continue as my companion, dear Marigold, if you will have me.” She paused diffidently. “I know this was always intended to be a temporary arrangement, and you may leave now, if you wish it.”
Marigold’s eyes widened. “Pfft! You need my sobering influence. If it wasn’t for me, you might have blown up Fort Pendennis!”
Yvette picked up Marigold’s hand and kissed it affectionately. “We are in trouble if you are the sobering influence, my dear.”
“Well, you must admit I did better than Wooten,” said Marigold. “Strutting about without his clothes on! That’s twice now!”
“How is Wooten?” Judith asked, gratefully removing her grey shawl and offering her wrist to Marigold, who leapt onto her lap. “He was quite the hero too.”
“Fully recovered, unfortunately,” said Marigold, baring her fangs.
“He keeps telling me to put on my clothes, even though he has no wing to fly with anymore. And he is continually making pointed remarks about the duke’s cravat.
Dacian calls him a flittermouse in retaliation, though he seems to be quite fond of the little fop.
But Judith, you must tell me your account of what happened while we were asleep.
All we know is Perry’s version, and he seemed to think he was the hero of the piece. ”
“He was, indeed,” said Judith, and she recounted the tale, forced to pause on the encounter with the Crimson Lady, for Marigold withdrew her head from the vein to remark that she had also met the ghost of Castle Lanyon, the night before in the northern corridor.
“Strolling around as if she owns the place,” said Marigold, “but she was friendly enough, and winked at me.”
“She was quite helpful,” agreed Judith, “almost as if she knew exactly what we required.”
Marigold almost choked at Judith’s wry description of the ‘theatrical’ that unfolded in the Tea Tower Room, and Yvette tutted at Robert’s excessive deployment of a yew hedge.
Once Marigold was fed, Judith carried the vampiri over to the windowsill and watched them squabble fondly about how Marigold’s cape should be arranged. Then she unlatched the window, letting in the fresh ocean breeze, and they flew off into the night.
Sighing, Judith shut the window again, and stoked the fire into a blaze. Then once more she gave the silver bell a hefty tug. The sound boomed out, and Trebellow soon appeared, puffing, at her door.
“Trebellow, please ask the duke to join me.” She paused. “And then we are not to be disturbed, even if the castle is set on fire by the French.”
“Indeed, ma’am.” A small twinkle showed in his eye as he retreated.
She stood and paced slowly along the windows as she waited, looking out over the glimmering sea.
What should she say to him now, after all that had passed?
Her heart beat with anticipation and it suddenly felt as if champagne ran in her veins.
How dearly she loved him, and it seemed—if her memories were to be trusted—that he loved her in return.
Yet unaccountably, she felt nervous, like a girl meeting a suitor for the first time.
She was past forty, for goodness’s sake!
Age had not dulled the exhilaration of love; if anything, it felt richer and sweeter for it.
She straightened her rose-coloured skirts, leaving the grey shawl where she had flung it, and sat down on the bed, leaning against the pillows.
She was wise enough, now, to know how to seduce a man.
And Dacian knew exactly what to do with a widow.
Yet this was more than a dalliance. It was her whole heart and being that she was to lay before him.
Finally, she heard his firm tread on the stairs. The door opened, and Dacian stepped inside. He was wearing a fitted blue waistcoat over a white linen shirt, though without a cravat. His black hair was damp and curling, as if he had also recently had a bath.