Any Other Name (21 page)

Morgan opened the door for her and she found the Dame inspecting the ornaments on the mantelpiece. Her elegant midnight-blue dress was cut in the late Victorian style, though with fewer bows and frills than the mundane Victorians favoured at that time. Cathy wished the trim was in a slightly darker shade. A petite woman, the Dame’s waist was tiny and the bustle only accentuated it. Cathy would have guessed her to be in her mid-twenties if she hadn’t known the Dame of the Iris line was rumoured to be over a hundred and fifty years old. All Cathy knew about her was that she was Sir Iris’s second wife and nobody talked openly about what had happened to the first. She’d be happier to paint that secret, if she could discover it.

Dame Iris didn’t turn at the sound of her entering and Cathy didn’t know what to do as she lurked near the door. Whilst she was mistress of the house she was still mindful of the Dame’s status.

The Dame adjusted the alignment of an ornament with a gloved fingertip. Cathy wondered who’d presented her with gloves on her wedding day. Was she bound by the same curse, or was a woman trusted by the time she’d risen to be the matriarch of the entire family?

She finally turned towards Cathy. She was a very attractive woman, beneath the haughty contempt. She had a delicate nose with a slight upturn at the end, all the better for giving the impression she disapproved of everything she saw. Her eyes were a dark blue, her hair a pleasant brown and artfully arranged.

“Well, don’t just stand there, girl!” she said in a voice pitched at the perfect level to make Cathy jolt as if she’d been rapped on the knuckles with a ruler. “Invite me to sit and offer me tea, for goodness’ sake!”

“W-would you care to take a seat, Dame Iris?”

“Why, thank you,” she said and planted herself firmly in the middle of the most comfortable sofa, not once having to adjust her dress or bustle as Cathy always did when wearing that style.

“And would you like tea?”

“Please.” The Dame smiled, as if starting from the beginning again.

Morgan gave a nod of acknowledgement and closed the door, leaving Cathy to sit opposite the Dame.

“Now, I had hoped to visit several days ago, but events conspired to make that impossible. Firstly, I would like to welcome you personally into the family. I’m certain you are delighted to be brought into one of the most respected families in Albion and the Frankish Empire.”

“Thank you, Dame Iris.”

“It’s my responsibility as Dame to ensure you settle into the family well and execute your duties with perfection. The Iris way accepts nothing less, and I expect your total devotion to learning our family traditions and becoming an expert on our history.”

Cathy took a sudden interest in the rug beneath the table. She was captivated by the way the variations in the direction of the pile affected the colours.

“Over the next three months,” Dame Iris continued, “I will spend time with you to undo any poor habits you may have carried over from your previous life, and ensure you’re behaving correctly. For the six months after that I’ll see less of you but expect regular visits and twice-weekly letters detailing your movements and achievements. For the last three months of your first year, I will permit you to socialise independently and write to me fortnightly.”

There was a pause. Cathy looked up from the rug and saw an expectancy on the Dame’s face that made her squirm. “Oh,” she said, not sure of what she was supposed to be saying.

“Oh! Is that how you thank a matriarch of my stature for devoting valuable time and effort to you?”

“Sorry, I mean thank you.”

“Evidently you need a firm hand to lift you to our standards.” The Dame paused, examining Cathy’s face and dress. “Quite why you were chosen over your younger sister I have no idea, but one must make the best of what is given.”

Anger flickered in Cathy’s chest, the first time in days. “Lord Poppy and Lord Iris seemed to believe I was preferable,” she replied. “Do we not have to accept their better judgement?”

The Dame’s eyes widened until there was white all around the blue irises. She opened her mouth, presumably to chasten her, when Morgan knocked lightly and opened the door to bring in the tea.

Cathy smiled at him; her mouth was paper-dry and her stomach needed to be settled. The pouring of the tea was enough to weaken the Dame’s frustrated reprimand until it was simply an irritated sniff as Morgan left.

“I can see there is a lot of work to be done, so we will begin straightaway,” Dame Iris said after a few sips of tea. “Firstly, please explain to me why you are dressed as you are.”

Cathy looked down at her clothing to remind herself of what she’d been buttoned into that morning. It was a simple green day dress with a black trim, one of the more comfortable as it was in the Edwardian style, and didn’t require a huge bustle. “I…” She tried to fathom what the Dame meant. “I like green?” she said. And she really did, more than she ever had before.

“Do you? Why respond with a question? Regardless of the colour, why are you dressed so inappropriately?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The Dame tutted and set the cup and saucer down. “Really, child, you are astoundingly ignorant. Is that or is that not the same dress you breakfasted in this morning?”

“It is.”

“Then why in the Worlds did you think it was acceptable to come to me dressed so? What an insult!”

“I beg your pardon, Dame Iris, I had no idea you were planning to visit.” Had I known, I wouldn’t have wasted that potion, she thought.

The Dame sniffed. “That is irrelevant. After breakfast is over and the most pressing concerns regarding the staff have been addressed, you should be changed into your receiving gown.”

“My what?”

The Dame’s mouth drew into a tight pucker beneath her nose. “I find it difficult to believe that one of the most influential families of Aquae Sulis would live as savages. Back to basics it is then. A gown for breakfast, then a receiving gown, then in the afternoon, after 3pm, a tea gown should be worn and then the appropriate choice of gown for the evening event. And of course, should you choose to visit another household or promenade in St James’s Park, you will wear a suitable gown.”

“But that would waste hours!”

“Waste?” The Dame’s voice was getting shrill. “How on earth can it be considered a waste to ensure one is properly attired? Did your mother not change her gowns to suit her activities?”

Cathy tried to remember. “I’ve no idea,” she admitted.

The Dame was reduced to silence. She retrieved her tea and they both restored themselves. “What your mother chooses to wear is of no matter now,” the Dame said, calmer. “You will abide by my rules, and I will see to it personally that your wardrobe is filled appropriately. I assume your dressmaker will be seeing you this week?”

“Yes, Dame Iris. I’m seeing her quite regularly to ensure my evening gowns are the height of fashion.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. Have your butler note down the dressmaker’s appointment time for me before I leave. I will be here to ensure you order everything you need. Certainly nothing more in the Edwardian style, it’s so unbecoming. You need to wear something that draws the eye down, to your waist, not above your shoulders.”

Cathy slammed her cup down in the saucer as another burst of anger surfaced. “So I’ve been told in the past, Dame Iris.”

The Dame fixed her with a stare but said nothing until Cathy looked back at the rug. “Now, on to your daily activities. Show me your embroidery, please.”

“I don’t have any.” Cathy dreaded the response. “I don’t like sewing.”

“This won’t do at all,” the Dame said. “I require more tea.”

Cathy poured her another cup. “It’s not like I have time for it anyway,” she said. “What with redecorating the house and–”

“I’ve heard enough. Two mornings a week you will accompany me to tea at various houses in Londinium, and you will not speak unless asked a question. You will watch and listen and learn how to behave appropriately. One morning a week you will host a sewing circle, attended by young ladies of my choosing, and you will practise your craft.”

“My craft? But I–”

“Every Iris lady embroiders beautifully, and expresses her creativity, dedication and attention to detail in her work. There’s no better way to pass one’s time, aside from hosting dinner parties and soirées to further your husband’s opportunities in Society, but having met you I pray there have been none so far.”

Cathy’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Actually,” she managed to say, “we’ve already hosted one and it was a great success.”

“By whose standards?”

“My husband’s.” Cathy hoped that would silence her.

“My dear girl, your husband may be one of the new bright young things everyone is so hopeful about but I doubt he has enough experience to be an adequate judge.”

Cathy didn’t want to speak to this awful woman a moment longer. She had a sudden moment of clarity and saw herself perched on the edge of her seat, being insulted and verbally abused by this twisted relic of another time. The Dame was making her feel utterly worthless again when she thought the worst of that was over.

“You are forbidden to go into Mundanus, of course.”

“What!”

“How dare you raise your voice in my presence!” The Dame sharpened hers to its most imperious pitch. “Under no circumstances will I endorse frivolous trips into Mundanus. If you are too thick-headed to safeguard your youth then I must preserve it for you. You’re not a beauty, Catherine. Were you to lose your youth it would only make things more difficult for you.”

“That’s it.” Cathy stood up. “I don’t have to sit here and be spoken to like this in my own house! I’m doing perfectly fine already, thank you. The Tulipas like me and Will thinks I’m handling everything brilliantly.”

“Sit down and be quiet.” The Dame didn’t raise her voice, but Cathy sat back down again as if someone had pushed her. “Lord Iris warned me to keep a close eye on you and now I see why.”

Cathy felt like she was being pressed down and her jaw muscles strained as she tried to speak. Dame Iris had used a Charm, one so powerful she didn’t even see or hear her use it. Fear crept in at the edge of her anger.

“Yes.” The Dame stood. “That’s better, show some respect. I speak with Lord Iris on a regular basis and I’m sure you don’t want me to report your appalling behaviour to him. I have little regard for what the Tulipas think of you, all I care about is the way it has inflated your pride and given you a false sense of accomplishment. When one is successful, Catherine, one cares not for what others think, but only whether they do as one wishes. And, by the way, there’s nothing less attractive than a woman who thinks she’s intelligent and inflicts her opinion on others.” She adjusted her gloves, looked Catherine up and down with contempt and went to the door. “The butler will see me out. I suggest you reflect upon our conversation at length and obtain embroidery silks and canvas post haste. I expect to see a marked improvement in your behaviour by tomorrow morning, otherwise I will have to resort to similarly uncouth measures. It does not do to be an inconvenience to the Dame of your family. Good day.”

Cathy remained seated as the Dame went into the hallway, had a brief conversation with Morgan and left. As the bang of the front door echoed through the house Cathy felt light again and was back up on her feet, jumping slightly now she was unimpeded.

Working her jaw again, she picked up the nearest thing to hand, the fine china cup in front of her, and threw it against the wall. “Bitch!”

Feeling better, she sat down again. She was going to pick up her tech to resume her studies and then see the Arbiter to get that file on Miss Rainer. Damn the risk.

There was a gentle clearing of a throat at the doorway. “I think I need more tea, Morgan,” she said. “And the most inappropriate cake you can find.”

Perhaps Lucy was right. Surely other women in the Iris family felt that the Dame’s expectations were absurd? The thought was uncomfortable; if that were true, the argument for staying to fight was strengthened. She remembered her father’s anger at having been denied the opportunity to be brave in the First World War and wondered if she’d have felt the same in his position.

 

18

 

Will stretched out in the carriage and thought ahead to the meeting he was about to have with Bartholomew. There was no doubt Tulipa had invited him over to talk about the letter from the Marquis, the one that had made Will’s stomach sink. Two weeks was far too little time to make stable alliances with the various groups in Londinium, but Lord Iris would only care about the result, not the odds stacked against him. He feared it would come down to frenetic bribery and the vagaries of luck.

He needed to learn more about the Court than names and properties. No one wanted to organise a grand event so close to the fall of the Rosas, fearful it would be seen as bad taste, but it was what he needed to do; true power structures and patterns of alliances could be gleaned from just one evening at a ball. Could he depend on Catherine to support him well, though? She was hopeless at the larger events in Aquae Sulis and the last thing he wanted was for her to jeopardise his chances when he’d been making such progress with her. He smirked at himself. Yes, well done, he thought. Now you’re actually able to converse with your wife. What an achievement.

He’d never known anyone so changeable and so confusing. Cathy could evidently hold her own in a conversation at a dinner or an intimate soirée and had managed to win over the Tulipas, yet the very simplest of social situations seemed to fox her. She seemed incapable of seeing that she was making progress too. Every time he tried to point out a success she shot him down as if she refused to believe she could ever achieve anything on her own merit. No doubt her father’s violence was a factor in her lack of confidence but how had a family as respected and successful as the Aquae Sulis Rhoeas-Papavers created such a strange daughter?

A pressure was building behind his eyes. If only he’d been married to Amelia, it would be so much easier.

The carriage stopped and Will focused on the meeting again. This time he was escorted through Hampton Court Palace by a more direct route, having already been suitably impressed.

Bartholomew was waiting for him in a richly decorated drawing room, wearing a wine-coloured tailcoat, cream breeches and waistcoat. His cravat was perfectly tied and Will struggled to deal with a brief feeling of inferiority.

“William,” Bartholomew said warmly, shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming. Sherry?”

“Please.”

“I trust you’re well?”

“Yes, thank you. Catherine has asked me to pass on her regards.”

Bartholomew smiled as he handed him the glass. “I’m sure you know why I asked to see you.”

Will nodded. “A certain letter, I presume. Anything else and we would have met at Black’s.”

“Indeed. I won’t waste your time with small talk; I intend to stand for Duke, Will, and I’d like to have your support.”

Will took a sip of the sherry. It was the one conversation he didn’t want to have. “I believe you would make a fine Duke,” he said, weighing up what to say next. Lying and saying he would support him, only to step forward as a candidate on the night, was too despicable to contemplate. Simply telling Bartholomew he was unable to support him without explanation would imply he was planning to support another. Tempting as it was to leave the Tulipa to fret about who that might be, it hardly seemed the behaviour of a gentleman. Besides, with only two weeks to go, Will was going to have to make his intentions clear to those he wanted to win over, and it would be all over Londinium before the week was out. “However, I’m not free to offer my support, as much as I would like to.”

Bartholomew was surprised, just for a moment, but Will saw it flash across his eyes. “Have you decided another is more worthy?”

“Quite the contrary, I fear,” Will said with as charming a smile as he could muster. “I’m putting myself forward, you see.”

“You? But you’ve been resident for less than a month! I didn’t think you were so arrogant.”

“I’m not, sir, believe me. We’ve only known each other a very short period of time, but I’ve already come to have a great deal of respect for you. I’d like to speak frankly, if we can agree it goes no further than this room.”

“You have my word.”

Will didn’t believe him. He wanted to, but with so much at stake, he knew the Tulipa would use every piece of information at his disposal. But Will had to plan for the possibility – nay probability – that he was going to lose. Duke Tulipa would remember his honesty.

“Were I to have a choice in the matter I would support you wholeheartedly. However, my family have tasked me with standing for the Dukedom, and as a loyal son I must obey.”

“The Irises are interested in Londinium?” Bartholomew set his glass down on the mantelpiece. “It’s a compliment they put so much faith in you, Will.”

“Or perhaps their interest isn’t so serious,” Will replied. “If they really wanted Londinium, they have many more experienced sons to send. Perhaps they just wanted me out of Aquae Sulis.”

“Perhaps.”

Will was pleased he’d managed to muddy the water with a little self-deprecation. “So you see my hands are tied. I hope you take my being truthful with you as an indication of the high esteem I hold you in. When I’m forced to step forward on the night, you’ll know why and not see it as a personal rejection of your candidacy.”

“Is there no way we could persuade your family to release you from your obligation? I’d very much like to have you in my Court, in a high position. Standing against me is futile, and it seems such a waste to have your first Court appearance be a failure. Why not support me and avoid the embarrassment?”

“You’re certain you’ll win?”

“I’m certain there are no other serious candidates. Please don’t take offence. I’m established in the city and have the support of the most influential people here.”

“And you have many more years of experience than I,” Will added. “All this is true. But what can I do?”

“Indeed. It’s a shame, but I appreciate your candour. I do urge you to discuss this with your family. I’d be amenable to coming to an agreement.”

“I’ll put it to them. No doubt that would be far more beneficial than my humiliation.” Will smiled and shook hands with him, settling into the role of dutiful son with no hope. By the time Will left, Bartholomew was back to smiles and gentle humour, unaware that Will was more determined to win than before.

Will looked out on the mists of the Nether, planning the letters he’d write once home, considering his options now Bartholomew knew of his ambition. If Lord Iris himself hadn’t been behind this push for Londinium, he would have approached his father to discuss terms he could take to the Tulipa, knowing his chances of taking the ducal seat were next to nil. For the first time since they’d arrived, he permitted himself to consider failure and really look it in the face. What would Lord Iris do when Tulipa took the throne? Surely the family’s Patroon would defend him, make it clear how impossible a task it was? Would the Fae listen?

He had two weeks but even if he had two years it wouldn’t be enough time to win steadfast support from the Court. He was still learning their names, let alone their strengths and weaknesses. Cornelius was a great help, but acquiring dry information wasn’t the same as forming true alliances.

It had always been an impossibility. Perhaps he’d been right, perhaps his family did want him out of the way. No, that was ludicrous; they’d never wilfully put a son forward for guaranteed humiliation. Perfection and success in all endeavours were expected, and if they couldn’t be achieved, an attempt was not made. But then again the family hadn’t proposed this, Lord Iris had, and the Fae weren’t known for their realism.

There was only one option: Will had to play the game whether he wanted to or not and fair play would not bring a win. If he was going to sacrifice his principles to keep the favour of his patron and Patroon, how far was he willing to go?

He closed his eyes and rested his head, letting himself be rocked by the carriage. He heard a gentle pop and the scent of irises filled the air.

A faerie dressed in blue iris petals was hovering in front of him. It smiled and waved. “Hello.”

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said, holding out the palm of his right hand so it could alight. Practically weightless, it felt like two cold peas resting on his skin. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

It giggled, hiding its mouth behind its hands like the Japanese schoolgirls he’d waved to on the Grand Tour. “And you are too handsome to live anywhere but Exilium.”

“If I were to live amongst such beauty I would fade in your eyes and I would hate that to happen.” Will smiled, all the while preparing himself for the message she was about to deliver.

“You’re definitely the best of the crop. I’m sure if I asked my Lord–”

“But Lord Iris needs me to take Londinium, and who are we to go against his wishes?”

Its tiny pointed ears drooped slightly. “True. I have a message from him. He expects a son by the end of the first year of your marriage.”

“A son? My wife and I would be delighted to be so blessed, but these things are notoriously difficult to predict.”

“Without our help they are.” It smiled and fluttered up to his nose to kiss it lightly, making the tip tingle. “There, a little help from me, just between us, you understand. You still have to do your bit.” It giggled and smiled provocatively at him. “But when you do and your wife’s belly swells, you can be happy in the knowledge it will be a boy and a fine one too.”

“Thank you. I have no idea what I’ve done to be worthy of such kindness but I’m deeply touched by your generosity.”

“So there shouldn’t be any problem with satisfying my Lord now, should there?”

“No, thanks to you.”

It fluttered higher, until it was level with his eyes. “Really? Is she being a good wife?”

“Catherine is surpassing my hopes and expectations in every way,” he replied smoothly. “I’m sure our marriage will only get better and better.”

It clapped. “Oh, how exquisite. I’m quite envious of her. She doesn’t deserve you.”

He opted for silence. Why was Lord Iris paying so much attention to their marriage and, more specifically, its consummation? Why had he insisted they marry in the first place? Whilst it was normal for every Iris generation to hope for sons, it was rare for the Fae to actively intervene. Charms to influence gender were incredibly expensive and used only after two daughters had been born, not before the first had even been conceived.

The faerie waved and disappeared, the air rushing in with a pop to fill the space it had occupied. Would Lord Iris summon Cathy again soon? It had taken her days to recover from whatever ordeal he’d put her through and if she returned to Exilium as a virgin they could both be in serious trouble.

He rapped on the roof of the carriage with the tip of his cane and it slowed to a stop. He opened the window and called up to the driver who leaned over to listen.

“Take me to the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides,” he ordered, and the driver touched the brim of his hat.

Will settled back in his place as the carriage turned on the Nether road, hating the decision he had been forced to make.

Max sat on the chair in the Sorcerer’s ballroom waiting for the puppet to arrive, the mask resting on his lap. He remembered the lesson his mentor had given him in how to use it.

“Our mentor was one hell of an Arbiter,” the gargoyle said. It’d been so quiet in the corner Max had forgotten it was there.

Max nodded, remembering the sight of his dead body at the Cloister. Just an image, no grief and no anger.

The dry rasp of the gargoyle’s attempt to weep filled the space. “We need to stop fucking about at the edges of this,” it said. “Let’s just go into London and bash some heads together until we find out what’s going on.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Max replied. “I know you’re finding it frustrating, but the Sorcerers have their ways. We can’t force Ekstrand to hurry Dante into a meeting. Anything like that could precipitate a war. You know how twitchy they are about their sovereignty.”

“It just seems like a waste of time. And
we’re
finding it frustrating. You just get to sit there calm as a dead parrot whilst I’m feeling all of this.
I’m
the one who has to deal with it.”

“If you can’t handle this go and wait in the scullery.”

“Piss off,” the gargoyle growled. “I am handling it.”

“You’re still upset about her lying to us, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?”

Max had decided it could work to his advantage if the puppet saw the gargoyle was no longer on her side. It would put her on the back foot and he would exploit it.

The burning outline appeared, forming the Way, and in moments the puppet stepped through. She was wearing the same mundane clothes and long satin gloves as before, but now he knew why.

She opened her mouth to greet them as the Way closed behind her, but before the words emerged the gargoyle had covered the length of the room in only four bounds. It launched itself at her with a ferocity Max hadn’t anticipated. She was slammed against the wall and her arms were pinned by its stone claws. She looked utterly terrified.

“Why did you lie to us?” it snarled.

“What?” Her confusion seemed genuine, but Max knew puppets were masterful actors.

“Why didn’t you tell us your husband has two pet Rosas? You knew we needed to speak to a Rose, urgently, and you didn’t tell us?”

“I…” She was breathless. “You’re hurting me.”

“Do I look like I care?” The gargoyle’s stone teeth were an inch from her cheek. “You think we want to find the Rosas to have tea together? Have a nice little chat and a catch up? Every day we’re delayed by you pissing us about, people are at risk.
Innocents
, not the likes of you.”

“You think I could just ask my husband where they are? I don’t know where he keeps them, I’ve never wanted to know. She’s his mistress and I’m the wife – there’s no way to ask that kind of question without it being dodgy as hell.”