Chapter 9
A search of the house eventually discovered Leaf in the great hall talking with Lady Lisbeth. Despite his desire to discuss Gillingham’s death, Nic would have left them to it had Leaf not beckoned to him, a hint of relief in her expression.
“But, Leaf, you must help me,” Lady Lisbeth was saying as Nic approached. “I don’t wish to ask Lord Charborough; it would look too particular.”
“As though Papa would even notice, Lizzy,” Leaf said, adding, “Good morning, Lord Monterris.”
“Lord Monterris,” Lady Lisbeth echoed, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, for she went on, “I just need to find out whether he is of good family or not. Leaf, perhaps you could—?”
“Oh, just ask Nic, Lizzy; he will know.”
Nic tensed at finding Lady Lisbeth’s penetrating gaze suddenly upon him. “What will I know?”
“Lizzy wishes to be assured that Master sa Vare comes of good family. A beautiful face offsets only so many ills, after all.”
“Leaf!” Lady Lisbeth cried. “Gosh, my lord, what you must think of me. My apologies, it was merely idle curiosity and I will not trouble—”
“It’s no trouble,” Nic said, though the smile he forced felt like a rictus.
“Master sa Vare is the third son of Sir Jasper Vare, a baronet from Sussex. He kept his eldest two sons but sasined Dashiell at birth so he could take on a profession. I’ve never met Sir Jasper, but from all I’ve heard, he is a superior man and the family is well respected. ”
Lady Lisbeth’s pretty round face took on a thoughtful look. “A baronet? And Master sa Vare is very highly regarded in the guild, isn’t he?”
“As the youngest master vowsmith in three generations, I should think great things are expected of his career, yes.”
The lady smiled. “Thank you, Lord Monterris, though I don’t doubt you think me very odd for asking.”
“Not at all.”
Lady Lisbeth seemed on the brink of asking more questions, but Leaf tucked her hand into Nic’s arm and said, “Lord Monterris and I are going for a walk, Lizzy. I’ll be back for luncheon. Probably.”
Not giving Lady Lisbeth a chance to protest, Leaf steered Nic away across the hall. “I’m sorry,” she said as they reached the safety of the gallery. “I shouldn’t have thrown her question at you like that, given… you know, you and Master sa Vare.”
“Despite what I said last night, Dash—Master sa Vare and I are nothing to one another.”
Leaf fixed her gaze on him. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. If I change my mind and decide I’m madly in love with you, I’ll let you know. Until then, feel free to pine over whoever you like.”
“I don’t pine.”
Leaf lifted one arm horizontally like a tabletop and set her other elbow on it, pretending to prop up her chin while gazing at him in the most pathetic manner. “Oh, don’t you?”
“I do not look like that.”
She raised a brow and strode on, triumphant.
“Leaf! I don’t, do I?”
The laugh she threw over her shoulder was full of mischief, but she relented, saying, “All right, maybe not quite that bad, but clearly he’s the one you should be marrying, not me. He looks at you almost as pathetically.”
“Now that I don’t believe. I might not be able to see my own face, but I can see his and it doesn’t pine.”
“Hmmm, no, not pine, I suppose. He has more of a stare, that one.”
“Which, true or not, does not change whom I’m being contracted to.”
Leaf stopped, laugh fading from her eyes. With a wry grimace, she touched his arm. “I know. I’m sorry.”
The sudden softening of her manner pierced his defences as her teasing had not, and Nic found himself unable to immediately reply for the lump in his throat.
“It’s fine,” he said, trying to believe it wasn’t a lie.
“But I didn’t come find you to talk about this.
Tell me, what would your Mary Mallowan think about what happened last night? ”
Leaf gripped his arm. “You don’t think he killed himself either.”
“I don’t know yet, but it doesn’t feel right. He wasn’t exactly a morose young man, and your uncle showed no sign of letting him go. Besides, even if he wanted to kill himself, why go to all the trouble of doing so there of all places?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. It was a very showy place. Although if he was murdered, we could ask the same question—why go to the trouble of doing it there? It would have been a lot more work than just murdering him in his room, for example.”
“Or pushing him down the stairs.”
“Yes. And so we’re left with the same problem. Your valet could have tripped down the stairs, but he might also have been murdered. And Gillingham could have killed himself, or he was murdered and hung from a chandelier. I suppose it looks less like murder if you hang someone from a chandelier.”
Nic winced. “Can you stop saying that?”
“Saying what? Chandelier? I think they call it a lustre in France, but—”
“No, that’s what the dangly bits are called.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“What did you think they were called? Dangly bits?”
Leaf shrugged. “I’d honestly never thought about it, but I don’t see why you want me to stop saying chan—the c word.”
Laughing, he gripped her shoulders. “Leaf, stop talking and take a deep breath. I wasn’t trying to stop you saying chandelier.
Look, see? I said it. Chandelier. We have a lot of them in this house; I’d be in trouble if I didn’t like the word.
Chan-de-lier.” With a flick of his fingers, he conjured a small ring of light that hovered in the air beside them, its minuscule candles flickering.
“Oh, that’s so pretty. You’re really good at that.”
“Mere showiness, I assure you.”
Leaf stared at his conjured chandelier as it twinkled and faded into the dust motes. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that we need to know for sure whether Gillingham was murdered. Else every other question is pointless.”
“You see, that was the word I wanted you to stop saying.”
Leaf looked entirely baffled. “Which word?”
“Murder. And murdered. And murderer. And—”
“What would you rather I called it? Premeditated life extinguishing?”
“You know what? Forget I said anything.”
“I can do that, but will it give me my five minutes back?”
On those words, she set off along the hallway, leaving Nic to follow.
“Cruel, my lady, very cruel. I may or may not get… get murdered during this lock-in, but I certainly shall never survive more than a week of your barbed tongue once we’re married.”
“There, see? It wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t.” He caught up as she mounted the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“To find Dr. Fanshaw and ask him about Gillingham’s body.”
Falling in beside her, he said, “And to think your father suggested I take you walking in the gardens.”
“That is just the sort of thing he would say. I cried on him last night and begged him to call it all off because I was afraid, but it didn’t work. He told me I was being a silly little puss and promised me five thousand pounds.”
“Five thou—!” Nic snapped his mouth shut, glancing around the empty stairway. “Is he buying your cooperation?”
Leaf beamed. “Oh, always. Papa hates confrontation, or even deep conversation—especially if emotions are involved. He would rather throw money at things until they go away. Anything a jovial laugh cannot fix, money surely can.”
“That’s quite sad.”
“Isn’t it, though. Don’t worry, I have zero illusions about him. I’ve been saving all the little bits he gives me so I can fund that school I want to open, but he’s never given me quite so much in one go. I’d be pleased, but likely it means he’s far more worried than he’s letting on.”
“You’re serious about this school.”
“Oh yes. It’s still at the early planning stage, but I’m determined. I thought I would open it in London, but lately I’ve been thinking Bath might be better. There’s something soberly dull about Bath that might lend it an edge of respectability in case people kick up a fuss.”
“There are plenty of schools for young women though, surely.”
“Yes, but they only teach sigil poetry and charmspinning and maybe a few old household magicks if they’re lucky. I want to teach women how to be vowsmiths. How to be artificers. Fascinators. Apothecaries. Whatever aspect of the Brilliance they want to learn.”
It sounded sensible to Nic, but he could imagine his father’s scowl.
“And what will you call it?”
“I don’t know, maybe Lady Leaf’s Brilliant School for Young Ladies. What do you think?”
“It would sound fancier in French. Lady Leaf’s l’école extraordinaire pour jeunes femmes.”
“You know, I’ve always liked the way Brilliance sounds in French. Extraordinaire sounds so much more like they could take on the world.”
They found Dr. Fanshaw on the terrace enjoying the weak morning sunshine, a copy of the London Gazette across his knees.
“Dr. Fanshaw.” Leaf strode out with purpose, the triple flounce of her muslin dress bouncing with her quick steps.
“Lady Leaf!” The doctor almost threw the newspaper down, so quickly did he rise. “Good after—I mean, good morning.” He bowed. “Lord Monterris. I was just enjoying some sunshine, as I am told it never lasts in Northumberland.”
“That is very true,” Nic agreed. “If the sun is out, it’s best to grab your umbrella.”
Dr. Fanshaw adjusted his spectacles and smiled at Leaf. “As well that you interrupted me then, my lady. Was there… is there something I can do for you? You are perhaps not feeling quite the thing?”
“Oh, you know me, unlike my mama, I’m always well.” Leaf waved a dismissive hand. “No, we want to ask you about Mr. Gillingham.”
The doctor’s eyes widened and his gaze shied in Nic’s direction. “Mr. Gillingham? I am not sure I follow—”
“Were you there when he was taken down from the chandelier?”
“Uh, yes? But it is hardly an edifying topic for—”
Leaf sighed and turned to Nic. “Then Lord Monterris will ask about it. Nic, why don’t you ask the good doctor his opinion on the state of the body since I am too delicate.”