Goblin Moon (19 page)

“The door by which I entered was locked—but to that
one also I have the key,” said Skelbrooke. “And no,” he said, as he
pocketed the key, “I need not go back and lock it again, for I have
already done so.”

The purer air in the corridor did much to restore
Sera’s mental equilibrium. She realized that she could not easily
find her way back to the dining hall unless she accepted his
lordship’s offer to escort her. Yet she still felt angry and
obscurely insulted and would not take his arm, insisting on making
the journey unsupported.

“You do not seem to appreciate the seriousness of
your own situation,” said Skelbrooke reprovingly, as she followed
him down the corridor. “Indeed, if Marella knew that you had been
in that chamber, she might be very angry. If you wish to avoid an
uncomfortable scene, you will not mention to anyone that you were
in the museum, or that you and I met anywhere in the vicinity.
“

Sera had heard rumors before this that Francis
Skelbrooke and the Duchess were lovers. That he actually had access
to chambers in the ducal mansion where nobody else was allowed to
go—that he even carried the keys about with him—only served to
confirm those rumors.
Though I am sure I don’t
know why I should care, when the Duke himself always countenances
these affairs of hers. How splendid it must be to be a Duchess and
able to flout convention!

Nevertheless, Sera was deeply uncomfortable
contemplating his intimacy with the Duchess. Was that what made her
feel so keenly resentful, or merely his mountebank’s trick with the
mask?

Whatever the reason, she was mightily vexed—so
disturbed, indeed, that hours would pass before she began to wonder
why on Earth Lord Skelbrooke should have gone looking for her in a
suite of rooms which he had every reason to suppose would be locked
and inaccessible.

Chapter
15

In which the Reader makes the Acquaintance of two
new characters.

It was the afternoon of the last day of the season of
Flowers. At Master Ule’s bottle factory, Polydore Figg and his
three young clerks were all bent over their desks, hard at
work.

Tomorrow was the Festival of the Harvest and an
intercalary day, when all the shops and businesses in Thornburg
closed their doors and the Guildsmen paraded through the streets in
their splendid ceremonial robes flaunting medals and orders with
mysterious-sounding names like “The Order of the Western Horizon”
and “Master of the Temple of the Star.” Plays, processions, feasts,
balls, and other entertainments would be the order of the day.
Moreover, the moon had been shrinking for four days now, and the
combination of a holiday on the morrow and a so-called safe night
meant that festivities would begin before dusk this evening and
outdoor revelry would continue well past midnight.

In the glasshouse, Master Ule and his men abandoned
their trade for the day, to prepare for the official events of the
morrow. They were building a great wicker effigy in one of the
storerooms and adorning it with gaily colored ribbons and dried
flowers. They intended to carry it down to the river and tip it
into the water, shortly after daybreak.

But in the counting-house, work continued on as
usual—perhaps a little more industriously than usual—for to the
scribes and clerks of the town, the advent of a new triad of
seasons meant more than an opportunity for celebration. As on the
last day of any season, there were accounts to be rendered, bills
to be paid, wages to be calculated—more than enough to keep
Polydore and the other two dwarves in a fever of activity all
morning long and well into the afternoon. Meanwhile, Jedidiah sat
at a makeshift desk in a corner of the room, attending to the more
usual correspondence of the firm.

Copying letters was careful, painstaking work. If Jed
made a mistake, he had to take a clean sheet of paper and begin all
over again, because blots and smears reflected unfavorably on his
employer. But it was a sight more interesting than doing ledgers,
which were all just names and figures, and Jed felt proud that
Polydore had entrusted him with such a meticulous task.

To Messers Willibald, Wibblingen,
and Wolfenbuttel,
Jed wrote, in the firm, clear, old-fashioned
hand that Jenk the bookseller had taken such pains to teach him,
the knack of which Jed was slowly regaining, along with the
rudiments of grammar old Jenk had dinned into him.
In answer to your letter of the twenty-first
. .
.

There was a great deal more, all very formal and
correct—for all that Willibald, Wibblingen, and Wolfenbuttel were
half a year behind in paying for a consignment of black
bottles—right down to the punctilious:
Yours
respectfully, I remain &c.,
which Jed finished off with a
dramatic flourish and took to Polydore Figg to be signed.

The other clerks were already clearing their desks.
But Polydore stopped long enough to sign his name, sand the letter
to set the ink, and hand it back to Jed. “Don’t trouble the boy—you
can deliver this yourself, on your way to dinner.”

“Sir?” said Jed, under the impression he had missed
something.

Figg readjusted the spectacles on the end of his
nose. In most ways, he was a younger, rounder version of Master
Ule, but he was somewhat short-sighted and he lacked the older
dwarf’s penetrating gaze. “You were not told? You are to dine with
my uncle at two. It is half past one now, so you may as well tidy
your desk and fetch your hat.”

Jed went back to his desk and slipped the letter into
an envelope. Then he closed his inkpot, cleaned his pen, rearranged
the papers on his desk, and put on his shiny new tricorn. By that
time, Polydore and the other clerks had departed, leaving the
street door unlocked behind them. Jed picked up the key. He was
half way across the room when the door opened and an elderly dwarf,
a tall young man dressed in black like a doctor or a clergyman, and
a dandified gentleman in grey velvet walked into the
counting-house.

“Beg your pardon, we’re closed for the day,” said
Jed.

“We are here to see Master Ule on a personal matter,
and we are expected,” said the dwarf, with an amiable nod of his
head. He wore a purple coat and a full-bottomed wig—suitable to a
dwarf of his years and dignity—and he carried a hat with a round
brim under one arm. “Perhaps you would be good enough to fetch
him?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jed. “What name shall I say?”

“Mr. Christopher Owlfeather, Mr. Hermes Budge, and a
gentleman they wish to present,” replied the dwarf, with another
half bow. “And you, if I am not mistaken, will be Jedidiah
Braun.”

“Yes, sir,” Jed answered, wondering why this
distinguished dwarf should know his name.

He went off in search of Master Ule and found him in
the other storeroom putting a few last-minute touches on the wicker
man. “Mr. Owlfeather and Mr. Budge is here, sir.”

“Very good,” said Master Ule, removing his leather
apron and reaching for his coat and hat.

The walk to Master Ule’s took longer than any of them
had anticipated, for the streets were already crowded with early
revelers: morris dancers in flower-bedecked hats and strings of
chiming bells, gnomes with their horns and their claws painted gold
for the holiday, dwarf children and human children in masks and
fancy dress—all jostling about with the usual peddlers and street
vendors.

The bird girls were selling cabbages now, cabbages
and braided onions, and crickets in little straw houses. And the
foreigners hawked sweetmeats and silver horns. On some streets it
became impossible to move at all; the crowd formed so effective a
barrier that Master Ule and his party had to take a circuitous
route. This gave Jed ample time to become acquainted with Master
Ule’s friends. He was a bit dazzled to find himself in such
distinguished company.

Christopher Owlfeather was a prosperous and highly
respected merchant—an honest businessman as well as a shrewd
one—and he was related to all the better dwarf families. Mr. Hermes
Budge was the tall man—not a doctor or a clergyman as he appeared,
but tutor to the Owlfeather children. And the dandy in
mouse-colored velvet and exquisite point lace was Francis Love
Skelbrooke.

“Lord Skelbrooke, I should say,” Mr. Budge amended
himself, as he presented his friend to Jed and Master Ule. “Francis
and I attended the University of Lundy together, but he was not so
exalted in those days, and I have some difficulty remembering his
present consequence.”

“If my consequence was less, yet I was a better man
in those days,” Skelbrooke replied. “For I had then, as I recall,
an idea that I might yet be of some real use in the world. Whereas
now, I am as you see me: a mere ornament to Society.

“But I am very much obliged to meet you, Master Ule,
Mr. Braun,” he added, with a bow. “You look to be an honest fellow,
Mr. Braun, and you have, moreover, the air of a man of great
practical utility.”

“I hope that Master Ule finds me so,” Jed replied,
bowing in return. “But I believe I know you from somewheres, my
lord, though it don’t—
doesn’t
seem likely
we’ve met.”

“I think not,” said Lord Skelbrooke. “For I have an
excellent memory for faces and I am certain that I have never seen
yours.”

Finding the way blocked on one street, they turned
down another. Master Ule fell into step beside Lord Skelbrooke. “I
believe, sir, that you are a member of our lodge.”

His lordship inclined his head. “I have that
honor.”

“Lord Skelbrooke is too modest to acknowledge his
services to our Brotherhood,” said Mr. Owlfeather. “It was he who
brought a certain document to my attention, a document which caused
no little excitement when I presented it to the Council. If I were
to tell you how—and from whom—Lord Skelbrooke obtained it, I
believe you would be favorably impressed by his enterprise and
daring.”

“You do me too much honor,” said Skelbrooke, with a
suggestion of a smile. “The circumstances surrounding my
acquisition of the document were not so much dangerous as they were
awkward. In short: I was forced to disappoint a lady.”

Mr. Owlfeather laughed heartily. “A noble sacrifice
on your part, I do not doubt. Let us hope it’s one you are not
forced to make again.”

“I hope not indeed,” said Skelbrooke. “For I have
formed a strong impression that the Gracious Lady in question might
prove to be a formidable enemy. Particularly if she imagined that I
was more interested in her . . . epistolary talents . . . than in
her considerable personal attractions.”

Mr. Budge nodded solemnly. “I have heard a rumor of
fairy blood, in particular, a connection with the Fees. I would
tread carefully, in your place, Francis, and not give any offense
if I could help it. They say that the Fees are constitutionally
incapable of forgiving an insult, and their revenge can be
terrible.”

Jed had ceased to pay close attention to the
conversation some while back. “The Duchess of Zar-Wildungen,’” he
interjected suddenly, and wondered what he had done to cause such a
sensation. Skelbrooke gave a visible start and the others all
turned to stare at Jed as if he had uttered something particularly
disconcerting. He hoped that he had not inadvertently offended one
of them.

“When you said ‘Gracious Lady,’ milord, that put me
in mind of the little Duchess, and I finally remembered where it
was I seen—I
saw
you before. It was on a
Sunday after church, walking in Solingen Park with the Duchess of
Zar-Wildungen and the Misses Elsie and Sera Vorder.”

The others cheerfully accepted this
explanation—though Skelbrooke, who had been pale a moment before,
now turned faintly pink. “You are acquainted, Mr. Braun, with the
Misses Vorder?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jed. “That is, not well acquainted
with Miss Elsie, but I grew up with Sera in a manner of speaking,
and she don’t—
doesn’t
forget old
friends.”

“Indeed, you do not surprise me,” said his lordship.
“For my judgement of Miss Sera Vorder is that she is a lady likely
to prove steadfast in her affections. But speaking for yourself,
Mr. Braun, does Miss Vorder inspire a similar loyalty on your
part?”

“I guess so!” replied Jed. “As dear to me as my own
sisters, meaning no disrespect to a lady of her position. There
isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Sera, milord, supposing she was
inclined to ask.”

“Why then,” said Lord Skelbrooke, “I am more obliged
than ever, and I think, Mr. Braun, that you and I would both do
well to further our acquaintance.”

Chapter
16

Wherein the Duchess learns Something to her
Advantage.

At that very moment, Sera was climbing the steps to
the Vorder residence, after a morning call on her grandfather. A
footman in blue and gold livery admitted her into the lower hall,
where she removed her hat and her gloves and inquired whether the
other ladies of the household were planning to dine at home.

“They was dressed to go out at noon, but Miss Elsie,
she took another bad turn, and they decided to stay in. “

Sera felt a clutch of fear at her heart. “Elsie
suffered another attack? But how is she now? Where can I find
her?”

A light, aristocratic voice answered her: “She is
nearly recovered and she is resting in her mother’s sitting room,”
and Sera looked up to see the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen standing at
the top of the long oak staircase to the second floor.

“I ought to have been with her—oh, I wish that I had
been!” Sera dropped her hat and gloves on an octagonal table by the
door and started up the steps.

“There was nothing you might have done either to
prevent or to alleviate poor Elsie’s fit,” the Duchess replied
soothingly. “Fortunately, Clothilde had the good sense to send for
Jarl Skogsrå immediately. Elsie began to improve as soon as he
arrived.”