A Little Knowledge (26 page)

Elizabeth finished her latest letter of complaint to her mother—not that it seemed to do anything—and sent it off with a Letterboxer Charm, rather than handing it to one of the staff to send. They all seemed to like her sister far too much to be reliable. It was utterly baffling why they looked at her with such fondness. Perhaps it was Lord Poppy’s doing.

She called the lady’s maid and told her to arrange her hair in a different style because she was so bored of the current one she could cry. The maid did a passable job with a few touches that impressed Elizabeth. Not that she gave any of that away; it was best to keep the staff on their toes by expressing mild dissatisfaction so they tried harder the next time.

Another half an hour was idled away by penning a letter to Cecilia Peonia, whom she missed dreadfully, ending with a promise to ask the Duke of Londinium if Cecilia could come to stay with her. Elizabeth beamed at herself in the dressing table mirror. A stroke of genius. If no one else was willing to spend time with her, they couldn’t refuse her a visit from her best friend.

Elizabeth practised her smiles in the mirror and her coquettish glances over her fan. She couldn’t let her skills diminish during this social famine. Satisfied that she could easily out-charm practically every single woman in Albion, she decided to hunt her sister down. Perhaps if she tormented her enough, Catherine would relent and hold a ball, just for some peace and quiet. It always worked with Daddy.

When Elizabeth emerged from her bedroom, she could hear the clomping of her sister’s feet coming up the stairs. She sounded like an elephant. How William could bear her, Elizabeth had no idea. No wonder he was never at home.

Planning to pounce on her as she headed down the hallway, Elizabeth waited tucked around the corner. Surprise was always preferable. Catherine couldn’t think very quickly when she was caught off guard and might agree to something if she was flustered.

But then the footsteps went the other way. Elizabeth peered round the corner to see Catherine heading towards the other wing, the one containing her bedroom. Perhaps she had a headache and was going to lie down. Elizabeth grinned. Even better.

Elizabeth followed, her dainty feet—the smallest and prettiest in Aquae Sulis—making no sound at all. Catherine went past her bedroom and headed towards the green baize door at the end of the corridor, the one leading to the nursery wing. Whatever for?

Once Catherine had gone through, Elizabeth picked up her skirts and scurried over to it as fast as she could. She opened the door, heard nothing in the Nether wing, and then closed it again. Catherine must have gone into Mundanus.

Elizabeth bit her lip, wondering whether a few minutes of ageing would be worth finding out whatever Catherine was up to. She tried to imagine her sister sitting in a newly decorated nursery, stroking the crib, wishing for a baby. Elizabeth was sure that was what took up at least half of the time for most new brides. But it just didn’t fit with Catherine. She covered her mouth as a new possibility occurred to her. Perhaps Catherine was planning to run away again! Elizabeth rested her hand over her heart as she imagined the thrill of catching her sister doing something despicable. She could tell William, and he’d be so grateful he’d find her the most wonderful husband. He would punish Catherine, too. Nothing but good could come of it. Elizabeth whispered the usual Charm and stepped through.

It was colder and fresher on the other side, and Elizabeth immediately regretted going through. If she didn’t find Catherine packing a bag within thirty seconds she’d go back to the Nether.

Elizabeth could hear those clomping feet pacing a room to the left. It was labelled “The school room,” and the door was still open. She tiptoed closer, managing to catch a glimpse of brightly coloured letters pinned to the wall. They’d already had the room decorated? Was Catherine pregnant or just planning a long way ahead? Neither seemed plausible.

“Ah, Max, great,” Catherine said, and Elizabeth shrank against the wall, holding her breath. She didn’t realise someone else was there.

Her heart began to pound. Max? Catherine was having an affair! She clamped her palm over her mouth to stop the delighted squeal erupting from it.

“How are you? Yeah. Petra gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind me calling.”

Calling? Was she on a telephone? Elizabeth had seen the butler using one in the mundane wing at home whilst she was growing up. Using a telephone was strictly forbidden. At least, it had been in their home when they were children. Her excitement ebbed. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as her sister sneaking off for a lovers’ tryst, but she still listened in, just to be sure it was a lover on the other end of the line.

“Listen, I wanted to ask you about the Agency. I’m not their favourite person in the world, and I’m going to make it worse soon. I thought Ekstrand was in charge of it—I think that’s what you said when we went to Green Dale—but Petra said he was dead and…”

A pause. Who was Ekstrand? Why was she talking about the Agency and not declaring her forbidden love? Urgh, Catherine couldn’t do anything right.

“No, don’t worry, I’m not going to tell a soul. Why would I do that?”

Elizabeth perked up. A secret, then.

“I know he’s my uncle, but I’m not a complete arsehole, Max. I know what they’d do if they knew. It’d be bloody chaos. Will there be a replacement? I don’t know how the whole Sorcerer inheritance thing works.”

A Sorcerer had died? That was Ekstrand? And why would their uncle be mentioned? He was Master of Ceremonies, he had nothing to do with—oh! She remembered the ball the night the Rosas fell. How her uncle had been returned by the terrifying Sorcerer. Was that Ekstrand? No wonder her uncle would want to know if he had died.

“That’s good. No, I won’t say anything to a soul. And has this new one taken over the Agency? He doesn’t? Oh, right. Okay. I only ask because I want to know if you have any sway with the Agency, now Ekstrand isn’t in charge of it. Shit. I’ll have to think of something else, then. How’s the gargoyle?”

Gargoyle? Was Catherine referring to a particularly ugly mutual friend, or a project of some sort?

“Cool. Well, take care of yourself, okay? And good luck in Bath. I hope your new boss isn’t as much of a dick as Ekstrand was. I will. Bye.”

There was a strange beep, and then it sounded like Catherine was heading out of the schoolroom. Elizabeth made it to the green baize door in three balletic leaps and dashed through it, not pausing once until she was back in her bedroom.

Elizabeth flapped her hands with excitement. A Sorcerer had died and this meant that no one was looking after the Agency. What was the Agency? Were those the people who managed the staff? Elizabeth knew she had stumbled upon an important secret, even if she didn’t fully understand all the implications.

She had to make the first important choice that all good secrets gave: whether to use it to do the most harm as possible, or to achieve the most gain.

Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, a terrible secret could do both. That had only happened for her the once, a few years ago, when she discovered that their governess, Miss Rainer, had been secretly giving Catherine books she shouldn’t read. Elizabeth had held onto that secret for weeks, trying to work out the best way to use it. Should she blackmail the governess? Her sister? Should she steal the books and give them to someone else who would want them and give her better things in return?

In the end, the most perfect use of the secret had revealed itself. Miss Rainer had been particularly mean to her that week—Catherine was always her favourite—and said that if she didn’t learn how to conjugate all the verbs in her French book, she wouldn’t be able to sing at a recital for all of the Aquae Sulis children. Elizabeth knew there was no way she’d remember all the silly endings to those words and had blazed with the injustice of it. She knew that her beautiful voice would impress everyone and make her the darling of the show and to have that stuffy, boring woman who taught them about the stuffiest, most boring things deny her the opportunity was simply unthinkable. So Elizabeth had waited for the perfect moment over dinner, just when her father was particularly sour-tempered and irritated with Catherine, and let the secret fall from her lips.

Elizabeth smiled at the memory of her father’s face. Catherine had kicked her repeatedly under the table, but she didn’t stop. After talking about the books in the most innocent way she could, Elizabeth described the lessons they’d had, mentioning things that had excited Catherine the most, like “Peterloo,” as she was certain those were the lessons that would make her father angry since he and Catherine were the exact opposites of each other. She’d watched with glee as her father went to Catherine’s room and used a Charm to reveal all the hidden books. She did feel the slightest pang of guilt when Catherine sobbed to see them being burnt on the fire, and when Father started to beat her until she screamed the nursery wing down. But she brought it on herself—and besides, when Elizabeth heard that the awful governess was going to be replaced right away and that her recital appearance was no longer under threat, there was no room for anything but joy.

This secret about the dead Sorcerer was trickier to exploit, being slightly confusing, so she decided to work out who would like to know about it the most and how useful that could be to her. The only people she could think of were her uncle, who was most definitely not her favourite person in the world, and William. Surely he would want to know that his wife was talking to a gentleman on a telephone without his knowledge? And William had been tangled up in the Rosa downfall, so he would probably be very interested to hear anything about that scary Sorcerer. But what he was probably most interested in was the fact that Catherine was planning to do something that would upset the Agency. He would be so grateful for the warning. Grateful enough to find her a wonderful, rich husband.

Yes, Elizabeth thought, going to the window to look down on the gardens. Her mean sister would get into the most appalling trouble whilst she gained favour with the Duke of Londinium. That would do nicely.

Stopping off at the Tower instead of going straight home had been a mistake, Will thought. So many people wanted to talk to him, most of them men who were concerned about the Ladies’ Court. Most of the conversations boiled down to clumsy fact-finding attempts, of varying subtlety, to discover how they’d be looked upon if they kept their wives at home that night.

Will had done his best to allay their fears, knowing that if Cathy had heard only a fraction of what they’d said she’d be threatening to burn down the entire city. While he wasn’t as old-fashioned as many of them, he could understand their fears. They were probably terrified that their wives would attend one Ladies’ Court and come back home speaking like Cathy, challenging their authority. By the time Mr Lutea-Digitalis came through his door, he was hungry, tired, and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

“I need to talk to you about a matter of some delicacy,” Digitalis had begun, and Will had sighed inwardly.

“You have my ear, Mr Digitalis.”

“I don’t quite know how to say this, your Grace, but…but it seems that your wife has decided to steal mine.”

Will half laughed, he was so surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“I went home this afternoon after visiting a friend and was told that the Duchess took my wife back to Lancaster House after a visit. I was delighted. There was talk of lawn tennis or something or other. The hours passed, I ate dinner alone, somewhat disappointed that my wife had failed to send a message of apology, and then it grew late.”

Will glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was half past ten. “And your wife has still not returned home?” Thoughts of highwaymen made his stomach clench. If a woman travelling alone had been attacked, it would be—

“She’s still at Lancaster House, your Grace. I received a message from the Duchess stating that my wife was going to stay the night. When I enquired whether she was unwell—I could think of no other explanation––I received this message.” He handed a piece of letter paper to Will, recognisably from the Duchess’s desk.

Mrs Lutea-Digitalis will be staying with me at Lancaster House for the foreseeable future, sir. I suggest you consider why I might believe that to be a necessity.

Catherine Reticulata-Iris

Duchess of Londinium

“Forgive me, your Grace, but I have no idea why the Duchess would say this. I didn’t know what to do, other than seek your counsel.”

Will folded the piece of paper and kept hold of it. “I have not been at home today,” he said, struggling to manage his anger and embarrassment. “I shall make enquiries upon my return and send word to you in the morning. I’m sure it’s a simple misunderstanding that will be easily resolved.”

Digitalis made a rather pathetic attempt at a smile after realising his Duke had no intention of returning the evidence of the Duchess’s interference. “Thank you, your Grace. I shall not mention this to anyone else, of course.”

“And you can trust my discretion,” Will said, coming round his desk to shake the poor man’s hand. “Don’t worry, all will be well.”

Will kept up the reassuring smile until he was alone again. He was just about to tell the page outside his door that he was returning home for the night when there was another knock.

He sighed. What more chaos had Cathy wrought? “Come in.”

Tom entered, looking grave, even for him. “Your Grace, apologies for the lateness of the hour, but I feel you should know about an investigation I’ve started, one involving seditious material being distributed throughout Albion.”

“Does it directly challenge my authority?”

“Not directly, your Grace, but it’s most—”

“I trust you to handle it, Tom.” As Marquis of Westminster, it was one of his primary tasks, after all.

“I’ve been unable to trace the source using magical means,” Tom said. “I need to extend the investigation into Mundanus. Would you be able to provide—”