Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence) Read online

  I regarded the ceiling thoughtfully. “I shall think of something, have no doubt. Goodnight, my children.”

  Part Two

  Chapter One

  I woke up in a strange bed as the night began to lighten into morning and the first sun of the triad peeked over the horizon. I gazed up at the four massive posts of the bed thoughtfully, sifting through last night’s memories, and wriggled my shoulders uncomfortably. Keenan had burrowed under the mound of pillows, pushing them up under my right side and making further sleep impossible, so I climbed out of bed and curled up in the windowseat instead. Vadim, charming child, had packed my inkless scroll-and-pen with my night things, and since dawn arrived in Civet a little before Glause, it was not inconceivable that Annabel would be up.

  Accordingly, I put pen to scroll, and wrote.

  Annabel, are you up?

  After a few minutes, one word inked into being. Unfortunately.

  I laughed softly. Morning sickness?

  No: Melchior. Belle, what have you been up to?

  The Glausian Watch thinks my little Papa murdered three people, I wrote. I’m collateral. Annabel, I refuse to be held prisoner by a man who dips biscuits in his tea! Get me out of here!

  You know I can’t. Besides, Melchior thinks it might be for the best.

  I sighed, but I wasn’t really surprised. I know you can’t. As for what Melchior thinks is best, all I can say is that Delysia is possibly the only one who doesn’t understand his ‘veiled’ references. You’re sniggering, aren’t you?

  Yes, Belle. Yes I am. Don’t let it get you down; I’m sure it won’t be long before Lord Pecus clears your father. Then you’ll be free as a bird.

  Unless Lord Pecus decides to suppress a little evidence in order to keep me out of the way, I scribbled glumly. I wouldn’t put it past him. Annabel, this is war!

  Well, that’s what we’re trying to avoid, isn’t it? wrote Annabel practically. Be a big girl and manage. I know you can.

  Oh, I’ll manage very well, I wrote vengefully. Lord Pecus will just see. I’ll not let my little Papa be suspected any longer than I must.

  Just don’t get arrested for treason yourself, Belle. I’ll go into premature labour, and it will be all your fault.

  Very premature, I told her dryly, chuckling. You’ve another seven months, by my count.

  And I fully expect you to be home again by that time. I have to go, Belle; Jenny is beating up James. When you’re back you’ll have to teach her how to negotiate.

  Keenan stirred and muttered as I laughed aloud. Very well. My love to the children.

  I rolled the scroll up with a sigh, tucking the quill into the roll. Golden light was beginning to spill into the garden below me, glinting on dew-soaked lawn and lush greenery, and it was not long before I heard the clatter of a coal scuttle.

  The maid who entered was masked, and I found myself surprised, though it was hard to say why. After all, my information had suggested as much, and every servant at the ball last night had been masked. It was perhaps, I thought amusedly, that one didn’t expect a chambermaid to be masked. She didn’t see me huddled in the window seat, and set about her business with a brisk efficiency, whisking dust and stone chips away from the hearth and setting wood in order. It was evident that this fireplace had not been used in months, perhaps years: unsurprising in the warm, muggy Glausian climate. Nevertheless, this early in the day there was a distinct coolness rising from the massive flagstones that formed the floor, and my clothes no doubt would be grateful for the prospect of airing out. Certainly the damp would do them no good at all, and good clothes should always be pampered.

  I was eyeing the huge wooden wardrobe somewhat thoughtfully, debating internally upon its possible dampness, when the chambermaid turned to pick up a few fallen scraps of wood, and saw me. She gave a muted exclamation, scrambled to her feet, and curtseyed in a flustered manner.

  Her mask was a very pretty one, the perfect brows of which were at the moment arched in dismay.

  “My lady! Oh dear, the master’s going to be cross that I woke you!”

  “Well, you didn’t wake me, so you’ve no need to worry,” I told her soothingly. Her voice pronounced her to be younger than I had thought, perhaps only just in her twenties, and I tucked away for later consideration the thought that the masks in the Pecus household could prove to be deceiving if I wasn’t careful.

  “Keenan woke me, as a matter of fact. I’ll acquaint him with Lord Pecus’ displeasure when he crawls out from beneath the pillows.”

  The maid eyed my bed in fascination. “Are they- are they your servants, my lady?”

  “At times I find myself wondering, but by and large, I believe so. Who are you?”

  “Damson, my lady.”

  “And you’re a chambermaid?”

  “Yes and no, lady. There aren’t enough occupied chambers to tend to at Pecus Manor, so I help out in the scullery after I’m done with the fires.”

  “And then on to making the beds, I suppose?”

  She nodded.

  “Your life must be one round of festivities after another, Damson.”

  A small, ladylike grin appeared for a moment. “Yes, my lady. There’s poached peaches and porridge for breakfast this morning, you know. Imported all the way from Civet!”

  “Dear me!” I murmured. I wondered if Lord Pecus was trying to make me feel at home, or if he usually ate on a sumptuous scale. Either way, for the first time in very many years, I found myself without the slightest desire to eat. “It sounds luxurious to the extreme, but I find myself without an appetite. You need not send up a tray.”

  Damson curtseyed with a lowered head, but I thought I saw a brief flash of sympathy in her brown eyes.

  “I’ll tell cook,” she said, smiling shyly. “Can I bring you anything, my lady?”

  “No, Damson; thank you.”

  She curtseyed again, then took herself and her scuttle away, pausing only to say around the door: “The gardens are beautiful of a morning, my lady.” She gave me another shy smile, and disappeared.

  I cast a thoughtful look out the window at the gardens, where the first sun was flowing warmly through the manicured trees, and rose to dress myself. Vadim could sleep a little longer today.

  My sateen slippers were soaked in the heavy dew before I had taken more than three steps through the lush grass, but the early sunshine had warmed the air sufficiently to make catching a chill a negligible danger, and I quite cheerfully gave the slippers up as a loss. Damson had been entirely right; the gardens were beautiful, though I found myself rather unnerved by the blank masks of the gardeners that turned to watch me as I walked. Evidently I was not the only one up early this morning.

  It was interesting to note that none of the gardeners had felt it necessary to display a mask with more humanity than a basic nose and chin structure: if it were not for the different body shapes, I would have assumed them to be one man in many places. The baffling anonymity of the men only added to my feeling of unsettled balance, and I quickened my step until I had passed through the gardeners and into another section of the garden that was wilder and charmingly tangled. There were fruit trees here, with broad, low-hanging branches that were easy and comfortable to sit on, and provided a bewildering array of tropical fruits. I settled myself on one of them, enjoying the cool of the shade that seemed to vanish all too soon in Glause, and absentmindedly picked some of the dark red prickly fruits that hung nearby. The skin was tough but only paper-thin, and my fingernail was enough to puncture it, revealing to my fascinated gaze plump, translucently white flesh. I took a cautious bite and let it rest for a moment on my tongue, since in Glause fruit is not always safe to eat; but the flesh was sweet and juicy, and I let it slip down without further hesitation.

  I had eaten a great many more, dropping the smooth almond-shaped seeds beside me on the ground, before I heard the sound of a hullabaloo approaching through the garden at speed. I wiped my sticky hands in the dewy grass and waited for events to
unfold; for if I were not very much mistaken, it was Keenan’s voice that I could hear whooping along the lanes.

  Keenan was in full cry when he tore around the corner, just inches ahead of three large, angry gardeners. When he saw me he changed course with a gleeful laugh, leaped the branch I was seated on, and from this position of safety made faces at the stymied gardeners, who had come to an abrupt halt before me.

  “Well, Keenan?”

  He gurgled wickedly. “Got yer some flowers, lady.”

  A handful of decidedly windblown roses was thrust under my nose, causing me to blink a little, and I saw one of the gardeners clench a fist in my peripheral.

  “An’ they tried to make me wear one o’them masks, but I was too quick!”

  “I daresay you were,” I said mildly. “But that is no excuse to go about butchering Lord Pecus’ gardens. I don’t suppose it was any one of these gentlemen who were trying to make you wear a mask?”

  “No, my lady,” said one of the gardeners. “That would be the footmen. They’re very particular.”

  “They’ve got Vadim trapped in the courtyard,” reported Keenan, with the beginnings of a scowl. “I got away, said I’d bring you back.”

  “Then I suppose you had better do so,” I told him, rising leisurely to my feet. I smiled in what I hoped was a melting manner at the gardeners, and said: “I apologise for Keenan, he lacks artistic temperament. Would you mind very much if I kept the roses for my room?”

  The gardener who had already spoken bowed. “You’re very welcome to them, my lady. I can send some up fresh every morning if you’d like.”

  I gave them a very real smile in passing. “Thank you, yes! Now, Keenan, where are these footmen who are holding Vadim hostage?”

  The gardeners watched us go with blank masks, but I thought I heard one of them chuckle. I ignored it in my best ladylike fashion and followed Keenan back along the garden lanes until the grass met with neatly paved flagstones and the hedge gave way to a stone wall. There was a babble rising in the early morning air, suggesting that Vadim was not being co-operative; and as Keenan and I entered the courtyard, I had the felicity of seeing her seize one of the footmen by the ear, and twist scientifically. The footman yelped and staggered to his knees as Keenan winced in vicarious pain beside me, so I thought it best to come to the rescue without more ado. It was not quite clear whom I was rescuing by that time: the footmen were more in number than Vadim and Keenan, but Vadim seemed to hold the balance of power presently.

  “What is the meaning of this fuss?” I asked briskly, motioning Vadim to release the footman. She did so with a venomous look, and he clapped a hand over his glowing ear as he rose, backing away hastily. The other footmen as hastily bowed and murmured the necessary respectful ‘my lady’, but they did not look pleased by any stretch of the imagination.

  Vadim said, panting a little: “I was just teaching this silly little footman a lesson.”

  She was still glaring at the footman, who, now that his ear was no longer in imminent danger of being twisted off, was looking back at her in distinct admiration.

  “So I see,” I said pleasantly. I gazed for a thoughtful moment at their astonishingly pretty masks, allowing them to fidget uncomfortably while I pondered whether or not they were so beautiful beneath the masks, and then asked, as pleasantly as before: “I wonder why I find it necessary to come to the rescue of my maid while staying as a guest at Lord Pecus’ Manor? Can anyone enlighten me?”

  The footman whose ear Vadim had twisted, said beneath his breath: “She didn’t need any rescuing.”

  I let my eyes rest on him, but the glint in his eye was one of humour, not of disrespect, so I remarked fairmindedly: “That is quite true, I suppose. However, I believe that I would still like to know what the fuss is about.”

  “She wouldn’t put on one of the masks,” said another of the footmen, with an undercurrent of belligerence to his voice. “It’s Lord Pecus’ order that any servant in the house shall wear a mask.”

  “I doubt, however, that he intended for you to hunt down the servants of his guests and tie masks on them by force,” I told them, with a tinge of cold anger. “My servants will not wear masks. No doubt his lordship will mention the matter to me if it is as important as you seem to believe.”

  There was really nothing left for them to say, so they did the only thing they could: each man bowed respectfully, murmured another ‘m’lady’, and took themselves back into the Manor. Vadim’s footman lingered a little behind the others, but she was still stiff with anger and before long he gave up and followed the others. I waited until we were quite alone, then wiped the charming rustic bench dry with my handkerchief, and sat down.

  “Now,” I said gently, swinging one foot and looking in turn from Vadim to Keenan; “I would like to know why it is that two of my household are involved in a brawl the very first day I spend away from home.”

  Vadim flushed, and even Keenan looked momentarily subdued. “Sorry, lady.”

  Interesting. I gazed at them with a sense of quiet fondness, absentmindedly rearranging the somewhat battered roses in my lap. No excuses, and no protests: just a ‘sorry, lady’. They were both still young enough, however, to have that look of swelling injustice.

  I found my lips twitching.

  “Tell me what happened, children.”

  “I came down to fetch water for you to wash with, lady.”

  “You wasted your time, then, Vadim: Lord Pecus has indoor plumbing, and our suite is very well equipped.”

  “That’s what I found out when I got downstairs. The footmen were sitting around the table eating breakfast, but they stopped when we got there. They all stared at us and one of them said to cover up because we were ugly.”

  “I told ‘em to get stuffed!” proclaimed Keenan, with the air of one proud of his efforts.

  Vadim glared at him, but he didn’t look abashed, and she continued, ignoring him: “I told them that we didn’t want masks and they said that we had to, or else.”

  “Then she told ’em ‘or else what?’” Keenan said gleefully. “And the skinny one said ‘Or else we’ll make you’, and got up.”

  “Cook said not to have a smash-up in the kitchen and threw us out,” Vadim said. Her brow darkened stormily, turning her eyes an even darker blue. “The skinny one tried to grab me in the courtyard, so I kicked him and sent Keenan away; but he tried again, just when you came in.”

  “The ear,” I nodded. “Very well. I would naturally prefer to begin my sojourn at Lord Pecus’ residence in a more peaceful manner, but the issue does seem to have been forced somewhat. Who taught you how to twist an ear, Vadim?”

  She tried, unsuccessfully, not to grin. “Mum, lady. No one could twist an ear like she could.”

  “Judging from your young footman’s reaction, I believe he would beg to differ,” I said dryly. I could imagine the energy that must have gone into the reprimand: Vadim was not beautiful, but she was quite pretty, and it would have rankled to be jeered at as ugly.

  “Have you eaten yet, children?”

  They shook their heads gloomily, and I heard the rumble of Keenan’s stomach as he patted it disconsolately.

  “In that case, back to the kitchen with you!” I said, shoving them onward. “Return to our suite when you’re finished.”

  “Will you be all right by yourself?”

  Vadim’s tone of doubtful anxiety brought a smile to my lips. “Certainly I shall, child; do you think I’m made of glass? Off with you both!”

  I left them to the mercies of Cook, and leisurely made my way back to the suite, abandoning my dew-soaked slippers on the little terrace that had led me into the garden. The triad had begun to work on me, and I was feeling warm and a little sleepy, but the flagstones were invigoratingly cool when I stepped on them with my stockinged feet, waking me enough to wonder where Lord Pecus was. No doubt pursuing his investigation while I was becalmed, horrible man. I wondered if he had released the Earl of Horn yet, now that my poor
Papa was prime suspect, and found myself doubting it. With a furrowed brow, I retired once more to the windowseat, this time with the Book of Interesting Excerpts under my arm. I was perusing it with some interest when Damson returned to the room, bearing an enormous tray laden with breakfast.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, in some amusement. “I’m not hungry, Damson; do take it away!”

  She set her tray on the chubby little table that squatted beside the wardrobe, and twisted her apron between nervous hands.

  “Please, lady; Lord Pecus says you’re to have a tray anyway.”

  “Does he so? What a very particular man he is!”

  “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him,” Damson said, with an encouraging smile. “He’s a good master, lady.”

  “I daresay he is,” I agreed mildly. I wondered how much the servants knew. Certainly Damson was not under the impression that I had been attacked: she undoubtedly knew that I was a prisoner of the political type. Servants have a way of knowing everything that goes on in the household.

  I wondered if the Earl of Horn was here also, but there seemed to be no way of finding that out from Damson without Lord Pecus finding out that I had asked. It would perhaps be judicious to explore the manor a little before asking too many questions.

  The first visitor to break the monotony of my incarceration was Father. He brought with him my trunks – all five of them – and sat rather absentmindedly on the edge of my bed to watch as Vadim and I unpacked them.

  “Now, Papa!” I began, shaking out a silken scarf that billowed in the early afternoon breeze: “What has been happening in the outside world today?”

  “Not a great deal. Discussions are still going on about the military exchange that Annabel wanted.”

  “Oh, have they agreed to it?” I asked, willing to be distracted from the investigation of Raoul’s murder for a few moments.

  “Yes, with reservations. They feel that a turnaround of seven years is too long, even if the soldiers are spending the greater part of the time in their own army.”