Faebourne, page 15
Understanding began to resolve in Davies’ mind. “Only after my father died were you willing to forgive her, is that right?”
“That man left you with nothing!” Montcliffe insisted. To Odette he said, “You could have come home, maybe found a proper match. Raised your boy in his family home. What took you so long to come back?”
“We heard you were ill,” said Odette. “We did not want to next hear you’d passed on without having made peace.”
Montcliffe eyed her for a long moment. “I see,” he finally said, his tone having gone from plaintive to cold. “All too well, in fact. You came to claim your inheritance, eh? Before I could hand it down to my nephew. He’s been visiting during my ‘illness’ as so many insist on calling it. The ingratiating little brat.” This last came out as a mutter. “It’s more than I can say for you.” He turned his hawkish gaze on Davies. “Either of you.”
“To be fair, Davies here didn’t know he was related to you until a couple days ago,” said George.
Montcliffe drew back and studied Davies a moment longer. Then he turned back to Odette. “Is this true? You never told him?”
To her credit, she appeared suitably chastised. “I did not. I didn’t want him thinking about what he didn’t have, or might have had… I didn’t want him to hate me for the choices I’d made.”
Davies swallowed a lump that had unexpectedly formed in his throat. Had that possibly been the reason his mother never said anything? His grandfather had sent letters, and she never once mentioned them or him.
“I don’t want it, anyway,” he said. “This house or your title. I wouldn’t know what to do with any of it.”
“Good,” Montcliffe said, and Davies blinked at him with surprise. He couldn’t decide whether he felt relieved that Montcliffe would not press him on the issue, or offended that his grandfather didn’t try harder to change his mind. But then Montcliffe went on, “The only people who should have titles and wealth are those who don’t want it. Makes you a damn sight better choice than Nash.
“I’ll have Mrs. Talbot make up your rooms,” he went on, turning toward the door at the far end of the gallery. It was the one the butler had showed them through, the one that led to the stairs, and the walk seemed impossibly long for the old man.
To prevent him going to the trouble, Davies said, “We can’t stay.”
Montcliffe rounded, frowning, brows lowered.
“We are staying with friends. They will be waiting for us,” Davies explained. “We will be back…” He gave an uncertain grimace in Odette’s direction. “I will be back.”
Montcliffe hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, well, don’t make it too long. We have much catching up to do and I’m running out of years.”
“Are you…” George began, and Davies was surprised by the gentleness of his tone. “Are you truly ill?”
“If age is an illness, then I’ve got a terminal case,” Montcliffe said. “Nash keeps telling the town I’m on my deathbed. Does it so the people of Birchmere will bow and scrape at him.” He coughed a laugh. “He’s never been my heir, you know. He made an assumption, and I did not correct him.” He looked to Odette. “When you sent me word that I had a grandson, I made sure he would inherit. Not his fault I’m a fool.” He turned back to Davies. “Let’s hope that bit isn’t in the bloodlines.
“Now,” he continued, “As this is the most excitement I’ve had in years, I’d best go rest.” He began to make his slow way back toward his bedroom, paused and said again, “Don’t wait too long to come back.”
Odette flashed a conspiratorial smile at Davies then hurried to Montcliffe’s side. “Let me help you, Papa.”
Montcliffe gave a dismissive wave but did not protest when Odette took his arm.
Davies and George watched their progress, and once they were inside the chamber with the door closed, George said, “I wonder what she’s planning.”
“Maybe she’s just being kind,” Davies suggested, though the sense of foreboding he’d experienced before concerning Odette continued to flow through him.
“It’s a put on,” said George.
Stunned by George’s corroboration of his own feelings, Davies asked, “How can you tell?”
“Known enough schemers in my day.” He flashed a smile. “Been one myself a time or two.”
“Is that a confession?”
“Haven’t anything to confess at the moment.”
“Keep it that way,” said Davies, and though he meant it lightly, George’s expression—just for a second—appeared hurt. But it disappeared so quickly Davies could not be certain he saw it at all.
The bedroom door opened again, and Odette slipped out, an uncharacteristic grin on her face. Which was to say, Lady Georgiana’s face. Mother never smiled like that, Davies thought. Not like someone who’d just pulled a prank. Because his mother would never have done such a thing. At least, not as he’d known her. Who knew what she’d been like before? The visit to Montcliffe had given Davies an idea of the unplumbed depths of his late mother’s character. He’d always thought he knew her best, but now it seemed he’d never truly know her completely.
“I got it,” Odette said as she hurried up to them.
“Got what?” asked Davies.
“The blood.”
He and George stared. Finally, George said, “You bled him? Just now?”
She nodded, still grinning, pleased as someone who’d won a wager.
Davies and George exchanged glances. “Is he all right?” Davies asked.
“He’ll be fine,” Odette assured them. “But we should probably go.”
“Is he likely to raise a hue and cry?” asked George.
“He’s asleep,” said Odette. “And unlikely to remember anything once he wakes. But still and all…”
“Yes,” Davies said. “Sooner gone, sooner done with Faebourne and all this.”
“Not all this,” George countered, his open palm sweeping to encompass the gallery. “But I daresay Duncan will need a new valet.”
Davies did not respond, merely turned and made for the far door before pausing and looking back. “You,” he said to Odette, “had best change back into Wynn.”
“Think of him,” she said.
Davies closed his eyes and conjured the image. A minute later he opened his eyes to find Wynn standing beside a scowling George.
“Who is Wynn, exactly?” George asked.
“No one important,” said Davies. “Come, let’s get back to Faebourne and see this whole mess ended.”
Chapter 31
George froze when Davies climbed up beside him on the carriage seat. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t ride back with her,” said Davies. “You said yourself she can’t be trusted.”
“Trust me, then, do you?” George asked.
“Given the choices.”
“Rather a snug ride for two.”
“Good thing we’re both thin,” Davies observed.
George made a noncommittal noise and set Thunder and Storm to motion. Now and then Davies swayed against him, their shoulders brushing. Davies didn’t appear to notice. George tried to ignore it by making small talk.
“Does this mean you’re a viscount now?” he asked.
“What?” Davies had evidently been woolgathering. “I don’t know. I don’t want it.”
“Want it or not, it’s yours,” George told him. “Hm. Montcliffe’s other titles… Henry would know.”
As they cut through Birchmere, the few people out and about stopped to watch them pass. “I should have ridden inside after all,” said Davies. He closed his eyes briefly.
“What are you doing?” George asked.
“Concentrating. Don’t you hear the music?”
George tried to listen, but the horses required too much of his attention. “No,” he finally admitted.
“We just need to make sure she doesn’t disappear before we get through town,” Davies told him. “She very nearly did the first time we passed through.”
George took that as an instruction to speed up, at least until the church fell behind them. Once he felt it was safe to slow down, he asked, “What will you tell Duncan?”
“I don’t know,” Davies admitted. “First things first. We must do this ritual and get Mr. Oliver home.”
“No use in you going back to London, though, is there?” The idea set a gloom over George. Not seeing Davies… Not that he’d have any reason to see him even if they were both in London. One didn’t spend time with their friends’ valets. “Never worry. I’ll see him home safe.”
“Maybe you’ll get an invitation to Dove Hill,” Davies remarked.
George lifted a brow. “Do you think so?”
“Well, you’re certainly welcome to visit Montcliffe.”
Their gazes snagged. George quickly unfastened his to focus on the horses again.
They said nothing else for a long while.
“Does it seem like the sun is coming up?”
Davies’ voice after so long a silence startled George. Truth be told, he’d been in too deep a study to notice, but now Davies mentioned it… “It was afternoon when we left Montcliffe.”
“Yes,” Davies confirmed. “It should be getting darker now, not lighter.”
Yet the farther they drove, the earlier it appeared to be, so that by the time they arrived at Faebourne, the sun hung directly overhead.
“Time really is strange here,” said George wonderingly.
“The whole place is strange,” said Davies. “I think the less time we spend here, the better.”
“Agreed.” The carriage rolled to a stop and a groom appeared from seemingly nowhere, his face a blank as George tossed him the reins. An equally vacant-looking footman unfolded the step for Odette as George and Davies climbed down.
“Staff doesn’t seem quite right, either,” George murmured to Davies as they made their way up to the house. “Haven’t seen a butler or housekeeper…”
Even as he said it, the front door swung open to reveal not a butler or other servant but a fox. Aloysius looked up at them and almost appeared to smile. Then he looked past them and put his ears back.
George turned. The groom had disappeared with the carriage and the footman with him, but Odette remained standing in the drive.
“Aren’t you coming?” George asked.
She—still in the guise of Davies’ mysterious friend Wynn—smiled ruefully. “I cannot without the shoes.”
“Shoes?” George echoed.
“I believe she means the grass slippers,” said Davies. “I will go see if Duncan has returned.” He slipped past Aloysius and disappeared into the house.
George met the fox’s gaze. “You don’t like her either?”
Aloysius’ attention returned to the stranded song as Davies re-emerged with the slippers. They looked, in George’s opinion, rather the worse for wear. “He’s back, then, I take it,” George said.
“Only just,” said Davies as he walked by to place the shoes before Odette. “He was freshening up for luncheon. We should consider doing the same.”
A streak of orange flew past George then. It grabbed one of the shoes in its teeth and darted away.
“What—?” Davies stammered.
“Why, that little…” said George, though with a quantity of admiration in his tone.
Neither man moved to pursue the fox. Davies turned to Odette and said, “I’m not sure what’s gotten into him.”
“No matter,” she said. “If you will simply allow me to place my hands on your shoulders?”
George watched narrowly as Davies, clearly too gentlemanly to decline the request, gave a small nod of permission. Odette took off one of her shoes and slipped the foot into the remaining grass slipper. Then, holding to Davies’ shoulders, she hopped on one foot from the drive onto the front path.
“There,” she said, “hardly any trouble at all.” Showing no sign of releasing his shoulders, she looked Davies in the eye. George didn’t much like her expression, something sinister and knowing, as though they shared a dark secret. He couldn’t see Davies’ face to judge the valet’s response to this, but it took a fair amount of effort on George’s part not to go force the two of them apart.
He made a mental note to ask Henry about anyone named Wynn.
Davies stepped back, out from under Odette’s grasp, and bent to retrieve her discarded shoe. “Hardly,” he agreed, handing it to her.
Adelia came hurrying out of the house just then, a partially shredded grass slipper in her hand. “Oh! I’ve just wrested this from Aloysius!” she panted.
“It’s all right,” George told her. “We made do with the one.” He nodded toward where Odette was exchanging the borrowed shoe for her proper one.
“I can’t think what came over him,” sighed Adelia.
“Only feeling lively, I’m sure,” said George, though he suspected otherwise. Aloysius had the same misgivings about Odette as he and Davies. Yet the fox had been the only one willing to take action. Damn our good manners. Serve us right if they end up doing us in.
“No harm done,” Odette said as she and Davies came up the walk. George eyed Davies, trying to determine whether her words were accurate. Davies rewarded him with a half smile that failed to belie his discomfort. Whoever Wynn was, his presence—even in false form—appeared to distress Davies. And Odette seemed to know and enjoy it.
Only one thing to do. George aimed his gaze at Odette’s shoulder blades and thought, clearly and with all his might, of Thomas Gulliver. Gully was a short but muscular Irishman with oily ginger hair and a large moustache who only just got by on the side of respectability due to having a number of wealthy men in debt to him. In his mind, George heard the rise and fall of a cheerful jig.
Odette must have sensed his intention, for she turned to look over her shoulder, even as that shoulder fell several inches into her compact new frame. George smirked back. “Sorry,” he said, with no true hint of apology in his voice, “just remembered someone I’d promised to visit. Guess it will have to wait.”
Without comment, Odette turned around again and marched into the house. Davies blinked after her, his expression clearing like a man whose worries have lifted.
“Let’s go wash up, shall we?” George suggested, falling into step beside the valet as they entered the house. “I could do with some lunch.”
Chapter 32
Duncan ticked the items off on his fingers. “Cauldron, song, mirror, blood…” This last came with a small frown in Odette’s direction. She once again had the long, reddish-gold hair and feminine form of who he assumed to be the late Mrs. Milne, but he also detected the faint leavings of a ginger moustache over her lip.
“We only need the knife,” said Adelia from his other side.
They sat at the table, the remains of bread, cheese, and fresh fruit littering their plates. Only Odette’s dish remained full; she idly nudged a gooseberry across it with a fingertip.
“Do you know where it is?” Duncan asked. The thought of yet another walk in the woods exhausted him.
“Mummy kept it,” said Edward, his eyes on Odette.
“Oh!” Duncan said. “Well, that saves us some trouble.”
“Not really,” said Richard. “We don’t know where she kept it.”
“It’s a family heirloom,” Adelia explained. “She wouldn’t have thrown it out, but she didn’t want us to use it, either.”
“So she hid it,” George deduced.
They stared at one another until, at length, Edward said, “I suppose we’ll just have to look for it.”
“What does it look like?” Davies asked.
“It’s silver,” said Adelia.
“One solid piece of silver,” Richard clarified, “handle to blade.”
“And the handle is carved,” Edward added, “rather like the mirror you found.”
Odette’s head swung up at that. “Mirror?”
Clearly pleased to have won her attention, Edward smiled broadly and said, “Found it in a tree of all things.”
“I did say mirror,” Duncan said. “When I was listing everything. I’m sure I did.”
“I’m sorry,” Odette told him. “I wasn’t attending.”
“Is it very large?” George asked.
Duncan looked down the table at him. “The mirror?”
“The knife.”
“Ah.” Duncan turned to Adelia, brows lifted as though to re-communicate the question.
“We haven’t seen it in years,” she said. “Not since we were young. It looked frightfully big to me then.”
“It’s not, really,” said Richard. He held each of his index fingers some seven or eight inches apart in the air to indicate the size.
“Mummy used to say it was made from the moon,” Edward said with a grin that invited Odette to share his amusement. She stared blankly at him.
“Moonlight,” Richard corrected.
“Where did you last see it?” asked Duncan.
The Milne siblings exchanged a flurry of glances. “Her sitting room?” Adelia replied, though she didn’t sound certain.
Richard shook his head. “That would be too simple.”
“I saw it once in the library,” said Edward.
“There’s a library?” Duncan asked, momentarily distracted by the fact that a room existed that he had yet to see. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised; Faebourne was large, and he’d not seen nearly all of it. Though he had seen every room on the ground level, which, in his experience, was where a library would most usually be found.
“Upstairs,” said Richard, as though answering Duncan’s thought. “Mother said the light was better for reading there.”
Upon reflection, Duncan was inclined to agree. The trees crowding the downstairs windows would make a library situated there too dim to be useful. Unless one wished to waste candles or oil.
“Well then,” said George, pushing back from the table, “we should split up and begin searching.”
Edward continued to beam at Odette. “Will you help me look?” he asked her.
