All is Fair (43 page)

Then she imagined donning a silver cloak and escaping into the Nether, as Queen Matilda had donned a cloak the colour of snow and escaped across the frozen river almost a thousand years before. She held the image in her mind as she closed her eyes, arms tight around her legs and head on her knees, the silver cloak blurring into the white queen as she drifted towards sleep.

A noise made her stir. She thought the outline burning into the stone was a dream, so she closed her eyes again. When something touched her arm she jolted, banging her head against the stone as she saw a man’s silhouette against a bright rectangle of light.

“Margritte, come with me.”

“William?” She didn’t trust herself. It couldn’t be him.

“Yes,” he replied, helping her to stand. “Come on.”

She let herself be guided through the Way, out of the cell. She found herself in a large bedroom, with a metal bath full of steaming, sweet-smelling water, by a roaring fire. Fresh clothes were on the bed and tea was on a table alongside a box filled with bandages and dressings. She glanced back at the dank cell before the Way closed.

“Welcome to my home,” William said, guiding her on unsteady legs to a chair beside a dressing table. “There’s a maid ready to help you bathe, but let me see to that cut first.”

“I… don’t understand.” She couldn’t stop shaking.

“I told you that I’d do everything I could to put things right,” he said, bringing a box over with a small bowl of water. “I wasn’t prepared for what Nathaniel did and I couldn’t say anything against him there. I didn’t want him to take the city like that and do what he did to you, but to speak against him whilst he wore the Patroon’s sword would have been treason.”

“But isn’t rescuing me just that?”

William smiled as he soaked a ball of cotton wool in the water. “Nathaniel would never guess his own brother did it. His arrogance makes him complacent. Besides, I couldn’t trust him to treat you well. It seems I was right. He didn’t… hurt you any more than this, did he?”

She shook her head and winced as he cleaned the wound.

“Your son is at Hampton Court and safe also. He doesn’t know you’re here. Of course, you’ll have to hide until certain arrangements are in place.” William dabbed at the cut with a piece of dry linen. “But you’ll be safe here.”

“Does anyone else know you’ve done this?”

“Cathy, of course. She’s desperate to speak to you once you’ve refreshed yourself. And there are two others who know – they’re waiting with her. But I’m under strict instructions to leave their identities as a surprise.”

“Does she know what I did to you?”

“Yes. Especially the part where you untied me and got me away from the Sorcerer.”

“She was right about you,” Margritte whispered. “You are a good man.”

Something flickered across his face, making him look away and rummage in the box. “Here we are. These aren’t the prettiest accessories, but they’ll keep the wound closed.” He waved a strip of paper with what looked like tiny butterfly shapes glued to it. He peeled one off and placed it gently over the cut, then added a second. “There. You’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“Do you remember that first time we met? Cathy stuck a fork into Freddy and we had to send him home early.”

William nodded. “Yes, I remember that.”

“We sat up late into the night talking about you and Cathy. Bartholomew was so excited. We had plans, you see, and–”

“Please,” his face crumpled. “I don’t want to–”

“He knew the two of you could help us to change Londinium,” Margritte pressed on. “I’ve come to realise, these last few days, that he was a very wise man. He saw the best in people. Had I held more of him closer to my heart in my grief, I wouldn’t have destroyed everything my family had left. What I wanted to say, William, is that I don’t blame you any more. You were used by your Patron and I want something good to come of all this.”

William cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling rose. “Cathy and I feel the same. We’re making dangerous plans, Margritte. Cathy thinks that you’ll be a great help to her, if you’re willing.”

She smiled. “I am.”

“I’ll fetch the maid,” he said, closing the box and tucking it under his arm. “Once you’re ready, she’ll take you to Cathy. Then we can all rest.”

“Thank you.” She gave a gentle curtsy as he bowed, and watched him leave.

She bathed away the grime of the prison cell and ate for the first time that day. The tea eased a headache that had been steadily worsening. The dress she’d been given was a passable fit in a dark enough green to be acceptable for mourning in the unusual circumstances. A black shawl was given to her, for which she was grateful, and she followed the maid downstairs. The house was full of people; she could hear laughter and crying in rooms she passed and the staff were busy despite the late hour.

“Mrs Margritte Semper-Augustus Tulipa,” the maid announced at the door and she was shown into a beautiful library.

“Margritte, I’m so glad you’re here.” Cathy came to her and gave her a swift, fierce embrace before she could see the other two people sitting by the fire. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you…”

She stepped aside as the two women stood. On the left was Charlotte Persificola-Viola and on the right was the one she and Bartholomew had searched for and lost hope of finding.

“Natasha Rainer!” she cried and rushed forwards. “Charlotte!”

The three of them embraced and laughed and wept and then laughed again. Margritte pulled back and extended a hand to Cathy, drawing her into the circle. They stood, arms about each other’s shoulders, taking in the sight of each other.

“In case you were wondering,” Charlotte said. “My husband is still a troll of a man.”

“The curse is gone!” Margritte cheered.

“I can say what I please again, thanks to a rather dashing friend of Cathy’s. But I’ll take more care than I did before.”

“This is all desperately exciting and wonderful,” Natasha said, “but we can’t weep all night. It’s already 3 o’clock in the morning and we don’t have all of the proposed changes for the Court drafted yet.”

“You haven’t changed either,” Margritte said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Before we get to work,” Cathy said, going to the teapot, “a toast. Ladies, I will charge your cups.” When they each had a cup of tea, Cathy held hers high and said “To…”

“Freedom of Speech,” said Charlotte.

“The brave women – and men – who went before us,” said Natasha.

“Absent friends and loved ones,” said Margritte.

“The future,” said Cathy, chinking cups. “And all who sail in her!”

Sam pushed the keycard into the slot and adjusted the package under his arm as the door beeped and clicked open. He switched on the light, put the package to one side and took a brief look down the corridor before closing the door behind him.

The boxes were as he’d left them, along with her letters. He unwrapped the package and propped the photo of him and Leanne laughing in the field against a box, having reclaimed it earlier from the storage facility his house contents had been moved into.

He sat where he had before and read the last five letters Leanne had left him. He looked at the photo of her, letting the memory play out. He thought he would cry, having struggled to hold it in when he got it back in Exilium, but instead he felt calm.

He pulled out a notepad and pen from his rucksack and leaned back. He looked at Leanne’s long hair, the way her head was tipped back and how the laughter had seized her totally.

Dear Leanne,
 

I suppose it’s a bit weird, writing to you when you’re dead, but seeing as you wrote letters to me that could only be read once you’d died it kind of fits.
 

I didn’t speak very well at your funeral. I was all fucked up and angry and I think I was mostly angry at you. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to tear Neugent a new one, but I felt like I had to speak about someone else in front of all of those people from your work life. I felt like you’d left me behind. I suppose you did, in a way, but not because I wasn’t good enough and that makes all the difference to me.
 

Knowing what you were doing makes all the difference too. When I think about you now I feel proud. I was married to someone brave who wanted to kick a giant in the ass and that’s cool. It beats the hell out of grieving for someone I thought was a shallow corporate sell-out, I can tell you that! Or, I would, if you were here.
 

You were brave, Lee. And I love you more for that now than I did when we were messing it all up between us. But I can look back at that and think, “She had a lot on her mind” and I can look back at who I was back then and think, “He didn’t have a fucking clue” and then it’s neither of our faults. See? Much better.
 

Now I’m crying. It’s OK, no one can see me. I’m sitting with all your boxes and, before I go, I’m going to pick one out at random and I’m going to fix the first problem I find inside. I can do that now. I wish you could see it. I don’t believe you’re watching from a cloud. I think you’re just dust now. Do you remember that thing on Facebook I showed you? Probably not, you were stressed out at the time. It was by that Carl Sagan bloke, I think. Something about us all being starstuff. The bits that you were made of are now off doing new things like making tree molecules and rainwater and I don’t know. Snow. Hopefully snow. You used to love that.
 

I love you, Lee. I’m going to try and fix all this shit you worked your ass off to find out. I might take a while, but I will.
 

Yours,
 

Sam
 

Mr Ferran
 

Lord Iron
 

Prince Fuckwit
 

He folded it over and kissed it and laid it on top of her letters. He let himself sit and cry a while. It was supposed to be healthy or something. It mostly felt like shit but when it was over he felt like he’d done something important.

The first file he pulled out of the nearest box detailed the terrible conditions endured by inhabitants of a village in India located on top of a massive coal deposit. Leanne had painstakingly uncovered a series of secret payments from a subsidiary of CoFerrum Inc to incentivise the mining company to use open-cast techniques to up their production. In addition, she’d detailed overheard conversations about encouraging the company to leave underground fires burning in an effort to drive the villagers away.

It wasn’t working; the people didn’t have the financial means to move and were offered no help to do so. People were suffering from dozens of pollution-related illnesses and the average lifespan was over ten years lower than the national one. At first he couldn’t see why Ferran was interested in the place, but then realised the cheap coal was used nearby in iron ore production.

Sam memorised the name of the village, the companies involved and the names mentioned in her report, then slid it back into place. He put his rucksack back on, kissed his fingers and pressed them to her lips in the photo and then left, locking his letter in with her legacy.

30

Cathy didn’t dare sit down. If she did, she’d fall asleep. They’d brainstormed ideas, welcoming Will into the discussion after he’d snatched a couple of hours’ sleep and agreeing on what should be announced at the Court that day. Occasionally she’d had to sit back and take a moment to realise it was actually happening. Miss Rainer was restored, Charlotte was free of the curse her husband had placed upon her, and Margritte and Will were working together. She felt exhausted and elated, excited and terrified all at once.

She looked at the clock. It was five to ten in the morning and Dame Iris would be arriving any moment. “Carter, could you check that Morgan has everything ready for the Dame’s visit?”

He left and she began to pace. When she heard the sound of horses’ hooves she went to the window and saw the Dame’s carriage entering the driveway. Cathy smoothed down her dress, feeling sick. It wasn’t one the Dame had commissioned on her behalf and it was bound to be the first thing she commented on, but being able to breathe easily was worth it.

“Everything is ready, your Grace,” Carter said. “The Dame won’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary.”

Managing a nervous smile, Cathy peeped from behind the curtain as the carriage stopped and the footman helped the Dame to step down. She still hadn’t decided how she was going to start the conversation. As the clock struck ten the doorbell rang and Cathy fiddled nervously with her gloves as she heard Morgan escorting the Dame down the hallway.

“I won’t let her do anything to you,” Carter whispered.

There was a single knock on the door and Morgan entered. “Dame Iris,” he announced and she entered in her usual haughty manner.

“Dame Iris,” Cathy said and curtsied.

“Good morning, Catherine. I was heartened to receive your invitation, despite the inconvenience of the hour. It’s quite refreshing to be invited rather than–” She stopped and frowned at Cathy’s gown. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, child, I thought we’d progressed past my having to select your outfits for the day. Do you intend to wear that to Court?”

“Yes, I do. Would you like tea?”

The Dame sniffed. “It is the height of laziness to receive a guest for morning tea in the same gown one intends to wear to Court. As you can see, I have taken the trouble to dress appropriately and will have the inconvenience of returning home to change before going to the Tower.” When Cathy didn’t reply, the Dame pursed her lips and said, “Well, inappropriate attire or no, to business.” She reached into her reticule as Cathy watched, realising the Dame was going to drive the conversation whatever she said. She didn’t seem to have noticed that Carter had remained inside the room and was standing by the door. Perhaps she had, and was simply demonstrating how expert she was at ignoring the servants.

“I understand Nathaniel is the Chancellor of Oxenford now.”

“Yes.” Dame Iris smiled as she pulled out a small pair of opera glasses. “He’ll bring that archaic city into line in no time. I trust William is settled?”