Chapter Thirty-One
Bastian’s heir did not offer to escort me from his quarters.
I left him seated on the landing, his eyes on the horizon and the pale splinter of another cigarette half raised to his lips.
His murmured goodbye had been feeble, like a limp handshake; his previous words seemed to have stolen all others from us, left me itchy and exhausted, as if I’d walked too long beneath the midday sun.
They, Miss Lovett, do not make enemies. They kill them.
My nerves were frayed by the time I made it back through his sitting room to the entry door. Still, I did not expect, when I opened it, to find a form lingering on the other side.
In the thin moment before shock overtook him, Eliot’s face was drawn, the rakish tumble of his curls partially obscuring his vexed glower.
He was dressed simply in sack trousers and a linen shirt, its collar unbuttoned and peeled back to expose his clavicle, and no jacket or waistcoat to speak of; there was a muddled, untidy air about him, as if he had just escaped from some natural disaster, plunging out a window before he’d had a chance to collect himself.
For a second, I assumed he had come for me—that Noé had told him we’d be dining here—but the thought crumpled as I registered his surprise, as he stepped back, pushing his hair from his forehead to better take me in.
His gaze darted from me to Noé’s quarters, shadowed behind me, before returning slowly to me once more.
He wet his lips, then parted them. “You were in his bedroom?”
The question was flatly spoken, informal and curt as if with disinterest. His eyes, though, betrayed him: burning quietly like a contained fire. My cheeks flared with heat, singed by his unspoken accusation.
“We were dining,” I responded tersely, pulling the door shut behind me. “Do you doubt your friend’s virtue?”
Eliot arched a brow skeptically. “Not his.”
Vividly, I recalled the coil of my loose hair, a dark petal in Noé’s palm, and indignation tightened within me like a turning screw.
“So this is how it is to be with us now?” I snapped.
Lowering my voice, I stepped forward so my chest was flush with his.
“I earned my place here, Eliot, and you know it. You told Noé to dismiss me earlier only to spite me.”
“If you’d earned it, you would not feel the need to convince me of the fact.” Eliot’s rebuttal was neat, instantaneous. “Unfortunately, Miss Lovett, there is a limit, even to what you cansteal.”
I laughed. “Is there?” Crossing my arms, I nodded to the doorway over my shoulder. “I have stolen your friend already. What else shall I take?”
His nose wrinkled, fury descending like a dark curtain over his expression. He opened his mouth to reply just as, from the room to my back, a muted cry resounded. “Lear? Is that you?”
Noé. I could hear the tread of his footsteps as he drew closer, like a warning shot. Eliot and I straightened in unison at his approach, staring at one another like a pair of children caught lingering in front of a broken vase.
Finally, Eliot spoke. “Will you move, or have you lost all sense of self-preservation?” he hissed. “ Go , before he sees you with me, lest we both face the consequences.”
His condemnation was the push I needed; with a final scowl, I shoved around him and started down the stairs. Only a few seconds later, the sound of Noé’s door creaking open made me stumble, Eliot’s voice bounding after it. “Brother. I’ve come to apologize…”
The rest of his words, I shut deliberately out, losing myself in the downward spiral of the tower steps.
The house was quiet when I arrived at the bottom; if my timing was accurate, the rest of the maidens would be gathering for their dinner just about now, leaving me with an hour or so of blessed freedom before they returned to scrutinize me and my whereabouts.
When I reached the maidens’ corridor, I paused about halfway down the hall, caught by a muffled hiccuping sound emitted from the bedroom a few doors before mine. Frowning, I edged closer. Had one of the other maidens stayed behind from their meal?
Cautiously, I took another step nearer, tilting my head to better listen.
My heart twisted as, before I could react, the door whipped open, revealing a glaring figure on the other side.
The silkwitch’s eyes were puffy and red behind her spectacles, her entire body quivering with an accusing fury like a weather vane swinging in my direction. Manon.
As she took me in, her rage faded, embarrassment deepening the crimson flush of her anger.
“Oh—excuse me, Miss Lovett,” Manon stammered.
Her caul clung loosely to her curls, as if she’d only just thrown it on.
“I heard someone in the hallway, and I thought…” She drifted off, her expression briefly darkening again. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I peered past her shoulder into her bedroom. Amongst the books strewn across her bed, I spotted several used handkerchiefs, like lacy butterflies spread on her sheets. “Are you all right?”
Manon’s blush spread to her neck. “Of course,” she said—then, as if unconvinced of herself, she repeated more sternly, “Of course. I was just about to head to supper, actually—the rest of the girls went earlier, but Miss Tremblay and I had a…disagreement.” She sniffed, her laugh catching weakly in her throat.
“It was nothing, really—a friendly quarrel.”
“Friendly,” I repeated skeptically. Brightening my voice, I asked, “What about?”
Manon blinked—taken aback, clearly, by my brazenness. I smiled winsomely at her.
“What?” she said. “Oh, nothing.” She glanced toward the ground, gnawing at her lip for a moment.
When her eyes lifted again, there was fire in them.
“Do you know, the whole time we’ve been here, she has been seeing Dorian Drake?
” Manon hissed. “We used to make fun of the girls who chased after him as children. I—” Breaking off, she shook her head as if remembering herself.
“Forgive me. That was incredibly inappropriate of me to share.”
I looked at her, her eyes welling with fresh tears behind her spectacles. So she’d found out, then. It should have pleased me, the notion of Anais’s alliance fracturing, but witnessing Manon’s dismay, I felt nothing but pity. “It is fine,” I said gently.
Glancing toward my doorway, I tensed in preparation to leave, only to turn back a moment later.
“Miss Blanc,” I said suddenly. The other maiden lifted her gaze back to me, and internally, I cursed myself.
What was I doing ? I’d gone the moral route and checked on her—nothing was stopping me now from retreating to my quarters.
And yet it was the same as in my conversation with Noé; despite my best efforts, I could not keep myself from continuing.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you—I believe the room I’ve been given is the same one Ophelia Lear occupied last year.
A few of her items seem to have been left behind, specifically, a book entitled Aristide the Culler by Mr.Matthieu Pender.
” I tilted my head, praying she didn’t see through my lie.
“Do you know what Ophelia’s interest was with it? ”
Manon rubbed at her glasses, sniffling. “Pender…I’ve heard of him, yes, though I can’t say I’m familiar,” she replied.
“Miss Lear and I didn’t converse much last year, I’m afraid.
She was around the rest of us so rarely—I could scent that she was hiding something, through my Wit, you know, but I never managed to discover what.
And then, of course, she passed—and now only a summer later, Miss Dabos, too…
” Her lip trembled, her speech wobbling. “It is awful, what’s happened to them.”
“It is,” I agreed sincerely. Then, before the quiet could settle: “Does your Wit tell you nothing about the hidden things you sense? Any…hints, as to their nature?”
Manon shrugged. “Different scents imply different secrets,” she said. “Some are harder to place than others. I always felt that Miss Lear’s smelled personal, though.” She swallowed. “Like an affair. I—I scented the same on Anais when she…”
Her eyes welled up again, and I took my leave before she could burst into another sob. “Thank you for your help,” I said. “I’ll leave you be.”
Departing, I left her door behind for my own. As I walked, a trio of maids bustled by me, giggling over their linen baskets. An idea striking me, I glanced over my shoulder to ensure Manon’s door was closed and then brushed the elbow of the nearest girl to me, bringing her to a halt.
“Excuse me,” I said, widening my eyes. “Is Mr.Dorian Drake not engaged?”
The maid blinked, her gaze flicking uncertainly toward her friends. “I—I believe he is, miss.”
I pouted my lips. “How strange,” I said, loud enough for all three girls to overhear. “For just the other night, I saw him with Miss Anais Tremblay, right in this very hallway, acting quite the bachelor indeed.”
I smirked as the maids’ faces lit up with scandal, withdrawing my hand.
“You may pass that along,” I said sweetly.
My debt to Manon repaid, I returned at last to my room. Inside my quarters, my trunk waited by the foot of my bed: shut tight, just as I’d left it earlier. Going to it, I knelt down and slid open the latch, lifting the trunk’s heavy lid with a grunt.
I always felt that Miss Lear’s smelled personal…like an affair.