A Little Knowledge (8 page)

Tom pulled off his cravat and tossed it onto the arm of the sofa, loosening his collar further. After what had been said, it didn’t seem so important to be perfectly attired. A painful throb was building behind his eyes and he just wanted everything to be simple again. Even hunting Cat in Mundanus had been easier to bear than this life of politics and the ground shifting beneath his feet every five minutes.

Lucy moved from her chair to sit next to him. “I’m sorry that was hard to hear. But it isn’t just me that feels this way, and not just your sister either.”

“It’s my fault she’s the way she is,” Tom said, letting himself sink back into the cushions. He didn’t have the energy to hold himself rigidly straight anymore. “Father used to beat her. Terribly. I should have…” A tightness in his throat threatened the steadiness of his voice, so he took a breath and waited until it passed. “I should have intervened, when I was old enough. But I never did. If she’d felt safe at home, she never would have run away and been corrupted by Mundanus.”

“Oh, Tom,” Lucy took his hand and kissed it. “Cathy wanted to find her own way, more than she wanted to get away from home, I’m sure of it. Don’t blame yourself. Your father can be pretty scary—sorry—quite scary.” She stared at him so intently that he was drawn to look back at her. He saw nothing but compassion in her pale brown eyes. “It must have been so hard for you, trying to be a good son and a good brother when your father was like that. And then having to find her and bring her back….I know you wanted to see so much on your Grand Tour. You’ve never talked to me about it. It might—”

Tom stood and grabbed his cravat. “It’s all in the past,” he said. “No point dredging it all back up again.” He looked at the booklet in his other hand, uncertain of how to proceed. He considered confiscating it, but he couldn’t risk it being found in the house and he couldn’t be seen to condone such material. He went to the fireplace and threw it into the embers. By the time Lucy had dashed over to his side the paper had caught alight, rejuvenating the dying fire.

“Tom!”

“I’ll forget I saw that, for your sake. But if I find another, or if one of the residents brings it to my attention, I will investigate and haul whoever is responsible in front of their Patroon. I’m going to change for dinner, and we’ll never speak of this again.”

“You can be better than this,” Lucy said as he headed towards the door. “Just let me talk it over with you. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not what you think, either,” he said. “This isn’t some romantic intellectual movement. It’s an attempt to disturb the order of things and cause chaos. Otherwise known as sedition!”

“That’s—”

“And you can be better than this too,” he added. “You can set an example and make it clear you disapprove. You’re the wife of the Marquis of Westminster; don’t forget it.”

He left the room and shut the door behind him, his stomach cramping and headache worsening. As he climbed the stairs he told himself he was doing the right thing. If that was the case, why did he feel so wretched about it?

• • •

By the time Cathy got home after the Court, she felt terrible. Even though Will was clearly so afraid of what Sir Iris was going to say to him, she’d just scored points off him, without any consideration of how he was feeling. With her blood up, she’d felt invulnerable, filled with satisfaction with how shocked the men of the court had looked when she put that stupid Peonia in his place. Not even Bertrand Viola had been able to cow her.

That triumphant feeling and her irritation that Will was clearly not on her side had pushed away any compassion about the summons. Cathy didn’t regret any of what she’d said in the Court, but did regret not giving a second thought to how worried Will was about Sir Iris, and wanted to apologise. She waited up for a couple of hours, and then received word from the Tower that Will was sleeping there that night.

Now that she was dressed and ready to tackle the day despite a sleepless night, Cathy found herself both hoping for and dreading his return. Navigating a path between her near-constant frustration at Society and her love for Will was harder than she’d imagined it would be. Now she understood why the few romantic films she’d seen in Mundanus ended at the part where the couple got together. Even Doc Brown and Clara’s story had the tricky middle bit skipped out. There was the getting together, then the kids, not the time where they learned how to be a couple. Cathy shuddered. She didn’t want to get to the kids part.

Cathy went to her study, trying to draw comfort from the fact that even though Will wasn’t as keen for change as she was, he wasn’t a monster like his brother or Bertrand Viola.
It could be worse
, she thought.
We’ll figure this out.
On the way, she checked in with Carter about her movements for the day and reassured the bodyguard that she still didn’t need him to stand outside of her study whilst she was dealing with correspondence.

She sat at her desk and whispered the Key Charm with her hand over it to unlock all of the drawers. She pulled out a pen and her notepad.

To-Do List

1. Burn down the patriarchy
   
2. Apologise to Will and work out a way forward
   
3. Write to Eleanor
   
4. Check on how the escapees are doing in Mundanus
   
5. Get Coll to buy me Plants vs. Zombies 2 for the iPad
   
6. Research batteries for TV and DVD player
   

At the knock on the door she invited in the butler, Morgan. They’d settled into a routine and, as expected, he entered with a stack of envelopes on a silver tray.

“Did all of that arrive today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thanks.”

The letter on top of the pile was from Margritte, and the wax seal on the back had been stamped with the single feather motif that the four of them used to indicate the need for the reader to be alone when reading the enclosed letter. It also meant that after she’d read it the ink would turn into dust, so she moved the waste-paper basket closer, ready for afterwards.

Dear Cathy,

I regret the way our meeting ended yesterday. It was clear you are not happy with the idea of a Ladies’ Court. I should have told you that William and I discussed it but it simply slipped my mind. As you know, he visits regularly with the Charms required to keep me hidden, and inevitably we talk about what occupies our thoughts. He does want to help but both he and I feel you wish to achieve far more than Society could accommodate as quickly as you wish. It is so frustrating being unable to help you publicly, and I fear you may have felt William and I colluded behind your back. I can only assure you that this is not so. We all have the same end goal, and a desire to see each of us safe and happy as we achieve it. There is a long and difficult road ahead of us and I hope our friendship will endure.

With love,

M

Cathy watched the words turn to dust, folded the paper inwards to collect it all, and tossed it on the fire. Secrecy Charms were all well and good—and critical for her secret cabal—but she missed being able to read the words over a few times to digest them. She had been angry that they’d discussed the idea of a Ladies’ Court behind her back, but half of that anger was the needy, ugly fear that Will preferred the company of the stately and refined Margritte over her own. She had to make sure that fear didn’t make her into an arsehole about his friendship with Margritte. Of course Will doted on Margritte; he was responsible for the awful situation she was in now. Cathy sighed. What a bloody mess. She added
Write nice letter to M
to the list.

Flipping through the rest of the envelopes, Cathy saw that there were none from her fellow conspirators and, happily, nothing from Dame Iris either. Cathy hadn’t seen her since the last time she visited. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of her fainting when Eleanor had appeared at the doorway. The moment when Dame Iris realised she no longer had any power over her was one Cathy would never forget.

One envelope towards the bottom of the pile caught her eye, as the handwriting was unlike that of Society ladies. It was all in uppercase, the letters spaced too far apart to look right.

There was no wax seal on the back. Cathy opened it, finding a single sheet of paper inside with the words all written in uppercase letters again.

SPEAK LESS AND SMILE MORE. STUPID WHORES LIKE YOU SHOULD STAY OUT OF

A knock on the door made her jump and stuff the paper back into the envelope before she finished reading it. “Yes?” Her heart thumped uncomfortably as Morgan entered with his silver tray again.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, you have visitors.”

Cathy looked at the clock. At this time? She picked up the calling card offered to her on the tray, noting the folded top left corner informing her that the individual was there in person.

Mrs Charles Rhoeas-Papaver

Aquae Sulis

“Oh shit.” What was her mother doing in Londinium? She picked up the second card with its own folded corner.

Miss Elizabeth Rhoeas-Papaver

Aquae Sulis

Cathy noted how Elizabeth’s had a beautifully painted poppy flower in the lower right corner. Did their father know about that embellishment? “Bollocks. Not her too. This is all I need.”

Morgan, no longer disturbed by her language, simply pulled the tray back to rest in place in front of his chest. The sound of her sister cooing at the entrance hall floated down the hallway. “Shall I inform them that you are not receiving visitors?”

“If you’d met my mother, Morgan, you’d know that would make no difference whatsoever. Show them in.”

When Morgan left Cathy realised she was still holding the horrible letter. She stuffed it into the top drawer and locked the desk with the Key Charm as the sound of her sister’s excited gabble grew steadily louder. She had time to stand and check her hair in the mirror—and get annoyed at herself because inevitably she’d still be a disappointment—before Morgan knocked again.

As he announced them Cathy smoothed her dress and tried her best to fix a smile on her face. Perhaps if she hid how much she didn’t want to see them, things would go more smoothly and they’d go away sooner.

Her mother swept into the room as if she owned it, dressed in a dark red dress with a dramatic black hat and gloves, and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t pretend to look pleased to see us, that fake smile is too tedious for words. Apologies for the hour and unexpected visit. I would have written and arranged it, had I known we were coming.”

“Mother and Auntie Lavandula had the most appalling row last night,” Elizabeth said as she entered. She was wearing an emerald-green dress and looked as perfect and beautiful as ever. Cathy immediately felt the familiar sense of being ugly, plump, and ungainly next to her. “Catherine, you are positively wicked for not telling us how divine this house is. Why did you not invite us as soon as you moved here? I would have wanted to show it off to everybody.”

“I…had other things on my mind,” Cathy said, and endured another kiss on the cheek, this time from her sister.

A row? They’d always been thick as thieves. Cathy didn’t appreciate being reminded of her aunt, the Censor of Aquae Sulis, a ruthless, cruel-hearted woman. She’d never told her mother how the Censor had picked her up to take her out for tea, only to throw her out of the carriage into Mundanus to be picked up by an Arbiter. At least her uncle was better disposed towards her.

“The house is splendid, Catherine,” Mother said as she sat down. “Did you choose the decor?”

“Yes,” Cathy said after a slight pause, not wanting to admit that the only room she’d really chosen anything for was her library. The rest was mostly suggested by Will and the interior designer sent by the Agency, back when she still had dealings with them.

“Mmm.” Her mother didn’t need words to convey her disapproval.

“So…” Cathy moved towards one of the chairs around the fireplace, gesturing for them to join her there. “What brings you to Londinium?”

“Auntie Lavandula has been beastly,” Elizabeth said, cheeks flushed with excitement. “It’s all your fault, Catherine.”

“Oh, well there’s a surprise,” Cathy said. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it? Even when I live in another city.”

“It’s you who—”

Her mother cut off Elizabeth’s words with a glare. “I have brought Elizabeth here for the season.”

“It doesn’t start for another month!”

“I know it’s early. I want your dressmaker to make her new gowns in the latest Londinium fashion.”

Cathy felt like her mother was on a fast-moving carousel and was trying to pull her onto it too. She didn’t want any part of this fun-fair. “Can we go back a minute? Why are you bringing her to me?”

“Because I want you to secure a good match for her.”

Cathy half laughed, half choked. “Me? Isn’t Father supposed to sell her off to the highest bidder?”

“Catherine!” Elizabeth was genuinely affronted. “Oh, Mother, don’t leave me with her. She’s so horrid to me.”

Her mother looked tired and Cathy noticed how pale she was. “Elizabeth, go and take a turn about the gardens; I’ve heard they are beautiful.”

“But I don’t want to see the—”

“I want to speak to your sister in private.”

Bottom lip protruding, Elizabeth flounced out of the room in the most dramatic way she could get away with, narrowly avoiding a collision with Morgan, who was about to bring in tea and cake.

When the refreshments had been left and the door closed, her mother took off her hat, tossed it onto Elizabeth’s chair, and leaned back. “I barely slept last night. Elizabeth knows enough to feel like there’s some drama that makes her special, but not all of it.”

“She thinks she knows enough to blame me. Was that just her usual rubbish?”

“Partly. Catherine, you know that news of your exploits here has not been well received in Aquae Sulis.”

Surely one of the few benefits of being Duchess was not having to endure this rubbish from her mother anymore? “Exploits? You make it sound like I’ve been robbing banks.”