Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence) Read online

  Lord Pecus brushed crumbs from his shirt for a long thoughtful moment, gazing at my now pink skirts, and then said: “I did. You may or may not be aware of this, Lady Farrah, but I put a monitoring spell on you some days ago.”

  I allowed my very real anger to show through. “Lord Pecus, you come very close to what is unacceptable!”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” he said shortly. “Half an hour ago there was a spike in your heart rate that corresponded with two murders at the Pig’s Squeal. Can you explain the spike?”

  Again, my anger prompted me to action. I had sunk my chin on the palm of my hand, the better to look narrowly at Lord Pecus, and now I traced a finger lightly across my lips, gazing into middle distance with a lilting smile.

  “I met an acquaintance,” I said, a little dreamily. I didn’t dare overplay it with his eyes on me, so I had to trust Lord Pecus’ very finely tuned intuition to catch the inference. I would much rather he thought I was stealing a kiss with a sweetheart than that I was at the centre of his crime scene.

  The handle of Lord Pecus’ teacup snapped with a tiny tinkle, and I felt a jolt of pleasure. How wonderful! He had caught it.

  I held out my hand across the table and said evenly: “Take the spell off.”

  Lord Pecus looked at me without expression, but took my hand and ran one huge, rough finger across the back of it. Something fizzed gently and then died away.

  “It’s gone.”

  I tried to pull my hand back, but Lord Pecus tightened his grip. “Lady Farrah, I won’t allow you to run constantly into danger.”

  “If I were running into danger it would be entirely my own business, thank you very much!” I said, with something of a snap. It would have been undignified and less than useful to try and tug my hand away, so I contented myself with glaring at him. “However, as I have already informed you that I was otherwise engaged, my lord, I fail to see any point to your remarks!”

  “Let me make it clearer. If you continue to involve yourself in my investigation, I will do something about it.”

  With an effort, I subdued my anger and smiled brilliantly at him. “Now, now, Lord Pecus, I’m sure you’re not threatening me! Diplomatic relations are good for something, after all.”

  Lord Pecus smiled briefly. “No threats, lady; but I will keep you safe by whatever means necessary. Despite what you seem to think, I find it very much my business.”

  He really was rather sweet. I rested my chin on my free hand and regarded him thoughtfully.

  “You and I are friends, Lord Pecus: don’t let’s quarrel. I’ve tried to stay out of your way, and I shall endeavour to do so still.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, lady,” he said ruefully, loosening his grip on my fingers at last. “I’m beginning to think that you’re safer when you’re in my sight.”

  I could have pulled away then, but an impulse made me press the huge hand instead. It was a comfortingly warm, rough hand; and besides, he looked a little forlorn. “You shouldn’t worry about me, my lord. I’ve come through worse peril unscathed.”

  I took my hand away gently, and Lord Pecus sat back with folded arms, regarding me with a curious smile.

  “Do you always recover your temper so quickly, Lady Farrah?”

  “Anger benefits no one, least of all oneself,” I said dismissively. “You must do as you must do; just as I must do what I must do. I might as well be angry with the tide for shifting itself from dawn to dusk.”

  “I wish I knew why you feel you have to involve yourself in my investigation.”

  The words were contentious, but he was still smiling and it wouldn’t have been useful to take offence.

  “I want to be involved in catching Raoul’s murderer,” I told him candidly. “But I would be lying if I said that was my only reason. I enjoy the thrill of the chase.”

  Lord Pecus gave a soft snort of laughter. “Of course you do. What am I to do with you, Lady Farrah?”

  “Well, you can walk me home, if you wish,” I said agreeably, rising and delicately shaking a few crumbs from my skirts. “That is, if your crime scene can do without you for so long.”

  “I think the Lieutenant can manage for a little while longer,” Lord Pecus said.

  I dismissed Vadim from accompanying me with a small gold coin and an adjuration to buy herself something nice.

  She scowled up at Lord Pecus with touching dislike, and said in a deliberately loud aside: “Will you be comfortable without me, lady?”

  Lord Pecus grinned widely, but I merely said: “I would not have told you to go otherwise, Vadim. Don’t hurry to return: Keenan will fetch my dinner.”

  She departed with a last scowl at Lord Pecus, and he and I walked on together in the darkening evening. It was a comfortable walk, for I took it upon myself to question him delicately about the crime scene, and I do believe that by the time we reached the ambassadorial quarters he was more or less convinced that I had not been present. My task was made easier by the circumstance that I had not, in fact, seen the crime scene: both Claude and Chi had died out of sight in the next room. I do not love to lie; and since it may be said that telling the exact truth in order to deceive is, at the heart of it, lying, I took care to confine myself to questions and didn’t offer any unnecessary information.

  Lord Pecus took his leave of me at the front stairs with a cold, porcelain kiss to my hand, and a quiet remark that he would see me tomorrow night. I agreed sunnily, pleased to find the day ending so well, and made my way upstairs in a more buoyant frame of mind than I had left it early that afternoon. Lord Pecus’ ball, I thought, sucking in a deep, thoughtful breath, was sure to be interesting.

  Chapter Ten

  Father was already in the breakfast room when I went down the next morning. I dropped a kiss on the bald patch that was just beginning to show, and said: “’Morning, Papa.”

  He looked up from his paper and smiled absently. “Good morning, kitten. Where have you been?”

  “Busy, Papa,” I told him, sitting down and reaching for the fruitbowl. Glause, unlike Civet, does not present fruit whole and unpeeled; it presents a glorious medley of tropical fruits chopped into bite-sized pieces, tossed as a kind of salad. “Have you missed me?”

  “Very much,” he said; and added with an uncharacteristic interest: “What mischief have you been making?”

  “I’ve been about Raoul’s affairs.”

  It was not necessary to mind my tongue with father; he had a touching faith in my ability to manage, and rarely remonstrated with me.

  “I think he may not have been killed for a few papers. Oh! I meant to ask you: what was that paper?”

  Father put his newspaper down and said mildly: “I don’t think Melchior wants it discussed with you.”

  “I daresay he doesn’t, Papa,” I agreed, looking at him beneath my lashes. “But we needn’t let that worry us, need we?”

  “Well, you know better than to do anything that would cause an international incident.” Father polished his glasses and leaned his elbows on the newspaper. “The document was different from the others we found missing.”

  “Different in which way?”

  “It’s an early draft for a speculative air assault in war scenarios.”

  I pondered this. “Useless?”

  “Absolutely useless. The plans are about four years old, and they’ve changed times out of mind: Melchior told me that the only reason they were kept was for our records.”

  “Then it’s not out of the question that Raoul might not have been a traitor?”

  “Not out of the question,” Father said, cautious as usual. “He may not have known which papers were significant, however.”

  “Papa, you’re a wonder!” I said warmly. “You might look like a tubby, absentminded little gentleman, and you’re forever wearing mismatching stockings, but it’s only because your mind is occupied with greater things.”

  He didn’t smile this time. “Kitten, I know I don’t always notic
e, but tell your old Papa what you’ve been up to.”

  I gave him a brief summation, beginning from my morning with poor Daubney to the whirl of excitement yesterday. He frowned when I lightly touched on my encounter with the murderer, but didn’t speak, bless him; and when I finished, he sat in silence for a few minutes.

  Then he asked: “Would you stop all this if I told you to?”

  “Of course, Papa.” I leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You know you don’t have to ask. I do hope you won’t, however, because I should hate to give it up; especially now that things are getting so interesting.”

  Father laughed suddenly, creasing his face with the laugh lines that were always a surprise though I knew them so well.

  “You were always the same. You and Annabel, dashing into danger with poor Melchior running frantically behind to keep you safe.”

  “And didn’t I always come back to you?”

  “Well, yes,” he admitted. “Bruised knees and torn petticoats, if I remember rightly. Do what you must, Kitten, but be careful.”

  “Very well, Papa.” I finished my fruit and twinkled at him. “No torn petticoats, and no bruised knees. I promise.”

  *

  Keenan had emerged from under his bed by the time I began to prepare for the ball. If the dust caked on the front of his shirt and trousers was any indicator, he had spent the night there as well as the balance of the previous day. He sat down on my bed, scattering dust and cobwebs on my linen, and followed Vadim’s ministrations with a concentrated scowl as she buttoned me into my gown.

  I watched him in the mirror with an amused eye. “Keenan, are you unwell, or do you disapprove?”

  There was a moment’s frowning silence before he offered: “Hair’s wrong.”

  Vadim looked offended. “There’s nothing wrong with her hair, you snotty little boy! I did it myself!”

  I stood up from the vanity chair, fluttering gauzy red and gold ribbons.

  “Well, then, Keenan? How shall I wear my hair tonight?”

  “Oh, no, lady, you’re never going to listen to him!” said Vadim in despair.

  “Certainly I am!” I said calmly. “It is always sensible to consider the male opinion. Go ahead, Keenan.”

  Keenan chose to take the invitation literally, and darted up on the vanity chair. Ignoring Vadim’s protests, he pulled out every last pin with gleeful abandon, tumbling my hair down my back.

  I inspected myself in the mirror. “A novel approach. Vadim, do you think you can pin some of the ribbons in?”

  She swatted Keenan off the chair, and in a moment the ribbons were fixed among the huge curls that remained in my hair from its recent coiffing.

  “I think that might do,” I observed thoughtfully. “Well done, my children.”

  I was applying the gold-dust lip rouge when there was a knock at the door: heralding, if I were not much mistaken, Delysia’s arrival. I spared her a glance, and noted with amusement the elegant twirl she turned through the doorway.

  “Isabella, you’re an inveterate flirt!” she said, presenting an armful of flowers. “This one is from a Lieutenant Trophimus Holt, very nice; and this one is from Curran; and this one-”

  “Enough, enough!” I protested, laughing. “Vadim, put them with the others. Well, Delysia, and how do you like your gown?”

  “Absolutely delicious! It’s missing just one thing, dear Isabella!”

  “You may have whichever of the flowers you choose, Delysia. Just be sure to leave the single red rose.”

  Delysia’s blue eyes opened very wide. “Oooh, whose are you wearing?”

  “Lord Topher’s,” I sighed. “I half promised. Besides, it’s the only one that will go with my dress.”

  “Well, if you will wear gold, Bella!” Delysia sorted through the flowers critically, and turned with a dancing smile. “There are two red ones, you know. Which do you want? I shall take the other.”

  I gave them a brief glance, but there was nothing to choose between them, so I said: “Ask Keenan. He’s our male authority.”

  Delysia giggled and held them out to the boy. “Choose one for me, there’s a dear. May one enquire why your pageboy is a cloud of dust, Isabella?”

  “Certainly one may. Keenan, why are you dusty?”

  Keenan, who was scowling as darkly at the roses as he had scowled at my hair, said: “Been under the bed. You ’ave that one, lady.”

  Delysia giggled again, and curtseyed to him. “Thank you kind sir!”

  “Which brings us to the question of why you were under the bed,” I prompted Keenan, accepting the other rose. The deep crimson would never work in close conjunction with my hair, but it would be charming pinned to my dress. The gold dress and lip rouge had done something to my hair: tonight it seemed red-gold instead of plain red, and the flame-like flares in the skirt were swirling just as I had envisioned them. All in all, I was excessively pleased with it.

  “Been makin’ stuff,” Keenan said gruffly. “You’ll see.”

  “I am breathless with anticipation,” I told him. “Vadim, where did I put my mask?”

  She brought it over with care: it was spangled gold, and the spangles had a distressing habit of floating away and adhering to anything and everything. No doubt I would be covered with them before the night was out.

  I allowed myself one last peek in the mirror once my mask was on, and found myself pleased. “Well, Delysia, how are the men progressing?”

  “When I looked down on them, Harroll was just beginning to pace,” Delysia said, with wifely affection. “Poor dear! I shall wait until he starts fiddling with his watch before I put my mask on.”

  Poor Harroll indeed!

  “There’s no need to wait on my account, Delysia: I’m perfectly ready.”

  “Oh yes, but if we wait a little longer he’ll start clutching at his hair, and he’s so adorable when he does that!”

  “I warned him not to marry you, you know,” I said severely. “See how right I was! Plagued by a wife who finds it necessary to arrive fashionably late, he’ll no doubt fall into an early decline.”

  Delysia pouted. “Oh, very well! But you can’t ride in our carriage, Isabella; I shall have to rumple his hair myself, and Harroll won’t let me if we’re not alone.”

  I laughed. “I did wonder how Harroll’s hair always managed to be so elegantly ruffled.”

  “If I left Harroll to his own devices, he would be neatly boring!” Delysia said tartly. “Isabella, men are nothing but trouble!”

  “So I’ve heard,” I murmured, pushing her gently but firmly to the door. “Let us go down before he pulls his hair out. Vadim, you need not stay up for me.”

  There was a determined gleam to Vadim’s eyes, suggesting that she intended to stay up and make herself a martyr to duty, but she only nodded.

  Keenan, sidling closer to me in a furtive manner, peered around the door to make sure Delysia had gone, and said loudly: “I ain’t tired!”

  Since he chose that moment to try and sneak his hand into my hidden pocket, I was not deceived.

  “Keenan, I allow you to be dusty and very possibly flearidden because it doesn’t concern me. If, however, you insist upon inflicting your dirt upon my best clothing, I shall have you bathed in the horse trough.”

  I withdrew the item he had tried to deposit in my pocket and observed it in distaste. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was: I could pick out a tangle of string, three twigs and a thimble, but the rest of the bulk was made up of what appeared to be an amalgamation of cobwebs, dust, and possibly even hair.

  Keenan’s sharp eyes gleamed: he looked, if it were creditable, proud of himself.

  “Made it meself!” he said complacently. “’S’protection.”

  “Protection against what, pray?”

  Keenan thought about it. “Stuff.”

  “How very useful. It must needs have been made out of dust and cobwebs, I suppose?”

  “’S’the only way I know,” he said sulkily.

  I s
ighed, but found myself unable to disappoint him. After all, it was quite small, and wouldn’t make a bulge in the smooth lines of my skirt.

  “I’m sure it will be very useful. Good night, my children: don’t forget to take precautions with the doors and windows.”

  I made my way downstairs, hoping that I wouldn’t come home to find the doors boarded up. One never knew with a child like Keenan. I turned the spiral of the grand stairway, sweeping into view of the gentlemen, and noticed with some amusement that Delysia was too late: Harroll’s hair was already rumpled.

  Melchior whistled. “Carrots! You scrub up quite well!”

  “Good heavens, Melchior! What are you?”

  “Winter,” he said solemnly. He was dressed all in white, almost blindingly so. “Or perhaps a ghost. I haven’t decided. What are you, Flame in the Wind?”

  “I was going to call myself Fire, but Flame in the Wind is much better!” I said approvingly. “Thank you, Melchior! See if you can guess what Delysia is.”

  Harroll, looking distinctly ruffled, asked: “Is she coming down, Lady Farrah?”

  “When I saw her last she was about to fetch her mask,” I said soothingly. “Look! Here she is!”

  Melchior whistled again, and Delysia fluttered her eyelashes at us all. “What do you think, Harroll?”

  Lord Quorn, for once not at all diplomatic, said: “I think we’re late. The carriages are waiting.”

  The masquerade was in full swing when I strolled in on Father’s arm. He had declined to dress a part but had ceded to the occasion by wearing a plain mask, and was looking very decently understated.

  “Now, Papa,” I said severely, with dancing eyes: “You’re not to flirt with all the beautiful women just because you’re masked. It will never do: people will talk.”

  Father chuckled. “Off you go, Kitten. If you find Georges, send him my way.”

  “Certainly, Papa.” I kissed his cheek and danced away through the crowd. I found my eyes flitting from side to side in hopes of a sight of Lord Pecus and decided that it would not do: I must find something productive to do.