A Little Knowledge (7 page)

A woman was sitting at the desk that was pointed out to him, her back to him as she typed on her computer. A long black braid ran down her back and her skin was dark brown. When she turned to look at a notepad resting beside her, he saw small white balls tucked into her ears with thin white cables leading from them. It took him a moment to place them as something to do with listening to music. He’d had a briefing about it at the Chapter, not long before it was destroyed.

He went over and tapped her on the shoulder, making her yelp and tear the wires from her ears. She swivelled her chair to face him and he was met with the usual mild shock and revulsion that was rapidly replaced with a professional smile. She stood and held out her hand. “Max?”

“Yes.”

“Hi.” She pulled an empty chair on wheels over from a nearby cubicle and put it near to hers. “Sit down, Max. How can I help you?”

“I’d like to ask you some questions about the article you wrote about the trade unionists.” When she looked at him blankly, he added, “The ones who disappeared over the last century. It’s the first in a series about people going missing from Bath and surrounds.”

She leaned back in the chair, frowning. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Perhaps you got the wrong newspaper?”

“This is the
Herald
?”

“Yes.”

“And you are Nita Singh: [email protected]?”

“I am. But I didn’t write an article about any trade unionists. I’m afraid there’s been some sort of mistake.”

Max pulled the newspaper from where it was tucked under his arm and showed her the page, pointing out her name and email address. Her frown deepened.

“I don’t understand. This is this week’s edition. It must be some sort of error….Could you just wait here a moment? I need to speak to my editor.”

She took his copy with her, striding off to a corner of the room with glass walls partitioning it off from the larger space.

Max pulled the Sniffer from his pocket, palming it until he was sure that no one was watching. It didn’t look anything like the old one, which resembled a small clockwork gramophone. Rupert’s device was a rectangular stick of plastic, about the size of a packet of chewing gum, and seemed too light to be of any use. Keeping his hands tucked in his lap and remaining as still as possible, he touched the two small nubbins on either side of the small rectangle. It started to vibrate, but if it made any noise, it was lost in the room’s hubbub. A tiny orange light flashed in the corner of one of the larger rectangular surfaces. When it turned a solid green, Rupert had told him, it was done. It worked on the same principle as Ekstrand’s device did, sucking in air to detect any residue of Fae magic, but without any need for winding up. He supposed batteries were involved. As long as it did the job, he didn’t care.

Nita soon returned, the frown even more pronounced and her steps hurried. She sat at her desk without saying a word and began typing on the computer. “I don’t understand,” she muttered.

Something new appeared on the screen. Max read it over her shoulder, committing it to memory. It was a list of photographs and what they featured—including the one of his father and the others in the article—a summary of a conversation, and the name and address of someone listed as the source.

Nita swivelled round to face him and he looked away before she noticed he’d been staring at the screen. “I’m so sorry, Mr…Max. I have no recollection of writing this piece but the notes and source details are in the database. We have to keep this in case anything is challenged or there’s legal action. The entry says I entered all the details last week and my editor says she had a conversation with me about it but…but I can’t remember any of it.”

She handed the newspaper back to him.

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me more about one of the photographs. Did you get it from a local historian? Someone I could speak to instead?”

She turned back to the screen and scrolled down. “According to the entry in the database they’ve asked to remain anonymous. I’m afraid I can’t pass on any details. Perhaps the library could help?”

He noticed her hands were shaking. The Sniffer stopped vibrating but he merely dropped it back into his pocket as he stood up. “I’ll try there, thank you, Ms Singh.”

He left her sitting at her desk, head in her hands. Once he was in the lift he pulled the Sniffer back out, noting the solid green light on the top. He flipped the rectangle over to the small pale grey display on the other side. In dark grey typeface, a single word confirmed his suspicion.

IRIS
.

Tom gave the butler his cape and hat, surprised by the silence of the house. Usually Lucy played the piano in the evening and as far as he knew she had no other engagements. “Is my wife at home?”

“Yes, sir,” Grayson replied. “She’s in the drawing room.”

Usually he would go upstairs, wash, and have his valet furnish him with a smoking jacket, all to try and distance himself from his role as Marquis of Westminster. Just as it was important to put on his cape and hat when he left every morning to get into role, he needed to get out of the uniform just as much. But this time, concerned that Lucy’s routine was broken, he went straight to the drawing room.

He opened the door and found the room cooler than she normally preferred. A fire was burning low in the grate and he could see the back of her head where she was seated on the sofa, her blonde hair arranged neatly enough but with a few more strands hanging loose at the sides than he was used to seeing.

“Lucy?” he asked, closing the door behind him. “Are you well?”

She started, as if she’d been concentrating on something, but by the time he had rounded the sofa she was standing and didn’t seem to have any embroidery or score sheets that could have absorbed her so.

“Thomas, oh, hi—hello. Dear.” She bobbed up onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. She could only reach it if he bent down. Not for the first time, he wished she were taller. “I had no idea it had got so late.” She tucked the wayward strands behind her ears and smoothed down her dress, clearly unprepared for his arrival.

“You seemed distracted.”

“Oh…just thinking.” Her smile was forced. When he frowned, she looked away. “I confess I was feeling a little homesick.”

“Rather homesick,” Tom corrected. “‘Homesick’ is a state of mind, not a small animal.”

“Yes.” She tried to smile again. “Of course. How was your day?”

“Tedious.” He sighed. “Thanks to my sister’s latest antics, I spent all afternoon pandering to Bertrand Viola’s petty requests instead of the things I should have been dealing with, just to make sure he doesn’t have any other reasons to complain.” Cat had no inkling of how much trouble she caused. Whether it was in Londinium or Mundanus, she always found a way to make life as difficult as possible.

“Shall I get you a brandy?” Lucy asked.

He nodded, feeling tired. “Every time I go to Black’s, someone corners me and complains about something she’s said or done. Cat always maintains she hasn’t done anything, but she doesn’t appreciate how all of this nonsense about the need for change is making the men of the Court thoroughly bad-tempered. That can hardly be good for their wives, but Cat is incapable of understanding that.”

Lucy was suspiciously quiet as she poured his drink. She was petite and not unpleasant to look at. She wore her dresses well and was an accomplished pianist. But as he let his eyes roam over her waist and the bustle of her dress, he felt nothing more than a sense of duty to care for her, as he’d promised in front of the Oak. They’d been married almost a year and the feelings he’d hoped would blossom still hadn’t even formed buds. Would it never happen for them? She seemed to be fond of him. Why? She barely knew him. Her affection only made him feel more distant from her.

He sat heavily on the sofa, his starched shirt collar making him feel choked. He winkled a finger into the knot of his cravat and loosened it so he could undo the top button. He should have changed first. The brandy tasted good enough to take his mind off it, and he took a moment to savour the warmth it spread through his chest. Lucy perched on the armchair nearest the fire and he noted that she looked pale. Then he realised that she probably prepared herself before his return home each evening, but for whatever reason had not done so this time. Had she worn makeup all those times before? He only noticed now that there was an absence of it.

Tom leaned back and a crinkling noise came from the cushion he rested against. Lucy shot out of her chair and, faster than he could twist round and investigate, she had stuffed her hand behind it and pulled something out, something now hidden behind her back.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just a score. I’ll take it to the music room.”

She was lying. Tom put his glass down, mindful of his temper rising. He took a deep breath, keeping it in check, always careful to not succumb to the same rages his father had. He stood and put himself between her and the door. Just his height alone made him imposing enough to make her shrink back. “Please show it to me, Lucy.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Was it a letter from a lover? No, he didn’t believe that; Lucy was a devoted wife, always doing all she could to make his life easier.

“Because…because it hasn’t been written for men to read.”

Now he was just confused. “Lucy,” he said again, stern enough for her to bite her lip and hold it out towards him.

It was a printed booklet, not unlike many he’d collected in Mundanus during the years he had spent hunting for Catherine, written by local historians about some obscure slice of history that no publisher would be interested in. It was printed on A4 paper with a grey cover, folded in half and stapled.
Recipes for Happiness and Fulfilment
was written on the front in a no-nonsense copperplate. A recipe book? He wouldn’t have given it a second glance had Lucy not behaved so nervously around it.

He flipped it open at a random page.
Know Thyself
was written at the top. Had he not seen the diagram beneath, he might have been forgiven for thinking it was a rather twee effort to explore some sort of feminine philosophy.

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut as his widened and his mouth fell open. It was a picture of female anatomy in cross-section with unspeakable things such as
ovaries
and
fallopian tubes
labelled neatly. Beneath it was a brief explanation of the functions of each part. Incensed and embarrassed in equal measure, he flipped the page to find questions in bold with answers written below them. The first he saw,
What is an orgasm?
, made him slap the pages shut before he could accidentally scan the text below it.

“Like I said, it wasn’t written for you,” Lucy said, taking a step back. “Oh, Tom, there’s no need to look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve just swallowed a bee.”

“Where did you get this?”

Lucy folded her arms. “None of your business. It was written for women.”

“Written by whom?” He held up a hand. “Oh for the love of…it’s Cat, isn’t it?”

“I’ve no idea,” Lucy said, but he didn’t believe her. “Besides, even if it was, it’s nothing to do with you.”

Tom waved the booklet in the air. “This is filth!”

“It’s education.”

“It’s exactly the sort of thing that corrupts women.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, Tom! Will you just be quiet and sit down?”

Stunned into silence, Tom found himself sitting and staring at the tiny woman sitting herself down. She’d never raised her voice before, let alone barked an order like that.

Lucy composed herself faster than he did. She smiled at him, just as if they were seated across from each other at dinner. “Thomas…I would like it very much if you could listen to what I have to say.”

“Is this how wives speak to their husbands in the colonies?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Since I moved here and married you I have done everything that has been expected of me, have I not?”

Tom nodded.

“I even speak like you do now, and believe me, that isn’t easy. So, seeing as I have done everything a good wife possibly could, please will you listen to me and not speak until I’m ready?”

Tom took another breath to protest. Something about the way she was talking to him seemed disrespectful in the extreme, but when he thought about it, she hadn’t asked for anything too unreasonable. With another nod, he acquiesced.

“Every woman in Albion should know this stuff, and they should learn it from their parents and governesses.”

When Tom opened his mouth to protest she held up a hand and gave him a stern look. Who was this woman? Had that booklet done this?

“Now, it might be a shock for you to learn that I already know everything in this booklet. I was taught all I needed to know about my body, about sex, and about how it all works before I left California.”

All Tom could do was blink at her. Not even he knew all of the intricacies of female anatomy and he considered himself well educated.

“And that’s the way it should be,” Lucy continued. “Now, I’ve been in Albion for nearly a year, long enough to see that something here is really screwed up, and I figure that you’re just as oblivious as the rest of them.”

“Now look here—”

“I haven’t finished,” Lucy said, raising her voice enough to shock him into silence again. Was he cursed with having to care for difficult women? “Something is rotten in Albion. You guys send young men into Mundanus for the Grand Tour and yet even though they spend four years living in the modern world, nothing changes here. In America both the young women and the men travel in Mundanus, and both bring back knowledge of progress. My mother has just as much influence over the way our family is run as my father, and I’m talking about financial decisions, not just who wears what and how their damn houses look! Why do only the men have any real power in Albion?”

“Because it’s the natural—”

“Goddamn it, Tom, I haven’t finished! Albion is stuck, and it needs people like your sister to change it. I suggest you stop being angry about something as stupid as women here being given the education they should have and start being angry about the way they’re having to find it out from a secret pamphlet.”