The Queen's Necklace (52 page)

“We would marry, of course, under assumed names. I suppose—I suppose we would have to lie about your age, which won't be so easy, but you can generally make people believe anything you wish, if you offer them money.”

All the time he was speaking, she was shaking her head. “But only imagine the consequences if they found us out!”

“Why should anyone find out? We have only to go where no one knows us. In Château-Rouge, in Tholia, why should anyone suspect that we are who we are?”

There was a clatter of high-heeled shoes on flagstones, and a murmur of approaching voices. Luke glanced quickly around him, searching for some private corner on the madhouse grounds, where they could go on speaking without being seen or overheard. Keeping his hold on both of her hands, he pulled Tremeur down an overgrown pathway, through a gap in a privet hedge, and into the shade of an ancient lime tree.

She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “You can't keep us forever on what you bring with us. You would be cutting yourself off from your family, your friends, whatever fortune you possess—”

“I could take a position—as a tutor, perhaps, or a gentleman's secretary.” But he felt a pang as he said the words. The prospect of
working was not a pleasant one, yet it was a hundred times better than the alternative. He forced a smile. “It might be amusing to earn my keep.”

His smile did not deceive her. “Would it be amusing—two years, three years, ten years in the future? Luke, it is too much. I could never allow you to make such a sacrifice. Besides, think what I am,” she said, as his grip on her hands tightened. “Think what I have been. A ruined woman, an adventuress whose name—”

“You would have a new name. A new name and a new life. No one would know anything about your past.”

“
You
would know.” She snatched her hands away, and held them behind her. “Can you honestly tell me it means nothing? And even if you are prepared to overlook it now—can you honestly say it would mean nothing in the future? Some day when it all came home to you, all you had sacrificed, all you had lost for my sake and my sake alone! Would you not hate me then—would I not hate myself? Can't you see that what you propose is impossible!”

“Very well,” he said, “you leave me no choice. There is but one course open to me.” He wheeled about, and headed toward the gate.

There was something so wild, so violent in the way he spoke that Tremeur cried out. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she ran after him, reached out and took hold of his arm in order to restrain him. “What do you mean? What are you going to do? Is it something dangerous?”

“I am going to challenge Lord Flinx to a duel. I am going to kill him; I have wanted to do so for long enough. And then you would be free of his pernicious influence.”

“No, no,” she said, continuing to hang on his brocade sleeve, but with both hands now. “You can't—you mustn't do that.”

“Can't?” he said, raising one dark eyebrow. “I admit I am not an experienced duellist, but neither is Lord Flinx, so far as I know.”

“But if you
did
kill him. Don't you understand what they would do to you?” She shook his arm as she spoke. “I don't doubt he would
meet you, his pride is so great. But you can't fight a duel with the Prime Minister, it's against the law. You would never escape hangings—never!”

Luke gave a reckless laugh, pretending to a confidence he did not feel. “That remains to be seen. I am willing to take my chances. It is true I would rather elope with you, but as you have refused me, what else can I do to keep you safe?”

Tears were coursing down her face. “Luke, I will do whatever you say. I will be your wife, or your mistress—or whatever you wish. Only say you won't do anything so foolish!”

He scanned her face, wondering if he could trust in a promise so reluctantly given. “Then be ready to leave at sunset this evening, when I will come to the gate in a post chaise. It should take me that long to make the arrangements—to concoct some story for Perys and the rest.” He thought for a moment. “I will say I am off to Herndyke to continue my researches, that I plan to be gone for at least a fortnight. If I pack up my things and drive out of the city openly, no one will think anything amiss. Then I will double back. But for you—I am afraid it won't be possible for you to bring much with you. No matter. I will buy you new things, when we are safely out of Rijxland.”

She nodded her head, blinking back tears. “What I absolutely need, I will carry with me. But Luke, you haven't promised yet, that you won't do anything foolish when it comes to my uncle.”

Lucius gently detached himself from her desperate clasp. “I promise not to challenge him while we are here in Rijxland. But if he has the poor judgement to pursue us elsewhere, to places where his position as Prime Minister gains him no special privileges—I won't be responsible for what happens then!”

Luke paid a flying visit to the bank where he had first presented letters of credit on reaching Luden. There was some
chance that word of this visit would soon get out, but that was a risk he would have to take. By tomorrow or the next day, it might not be possible to make use of his credit again. Fortunately, the banker seemed to think nothing of handing over a very large sum, in banknotes and gold, to a gentleman with such impeccable credentials.

Then it was back to his lodgings to pack up some bags and a trunk—to take any less would scandalize Perys and arouse his suspicions. As it was, Luke had considerable difficulty convincing his valet to stay behind: “To keep an eye on the others, and the household running smoothly.”

“That's all very well,” said Perys. “But Master Luke, if you change your mind and decide to stay in Herndyke for more than a week or two—you
will
send for me?”

“Of course,” lied Luke, a lump rising in his throat as he spoke. He was just beginning to realize that he would never see Perys again—no small matter, since the man had been with him since his sixteenth birthday. It would be difficult, he supposed, but not impossible, to survive without a man-servant—but what was going to become of Perys himself, abandoned by his master in a foreign land?

Luke took out a crumpled banknote, smoothed it out, and pressed it into the valet's reluctant hand. “If anything should happen to me while I am gone, this will buy you a passage back home. Go to Jarred or to Doctor Purcell; I know they will find you an excellent position.”

“Master Luke, don't say such things,” said Perys, visibly distressed. “Oh sir, it doesn't bear thinking about.”

Half an hour later, the post chaise was at the door, and Lucius was dressed for travel in top-boots and riding coat. Perys and the footman were carrying out the last two bags, when a most unwelcome visitor arrived. Luke came to a sudden stop at the foot of the
stairs, as the trim, gentlemanly figure of Lord Flinx appeared in the doorway.

Luke bowed stiffly, and the Prime Minister did the same. “So it is true the rumor I heard, that you are leaving Luden.”

“For a fortnight only,” Luke answered coldly. “Had you any particular business with me in the meantime?”

“Only this,” said Lord Flinx, with his gentle smile. “That you might wish to consider not returning so soon. Indeed, you might be wise to extend your visit to Herndyke—indefinitely.”

Luke felt a sudden rush of relief. Lord Flinx had not guessed his reasons for going; knowing that matters were soon to reach a crisis between Tremeur and the king, he simply wanted Lucius out of the way. And it would not be wise, Luke decided, to seem to yield to his wishes too easily. “I thank you, Lord Flinx, for your concern. But for all that, I intend to come back again. I am leaving so much behind me, you see.”

The Prime Minister shrugged, pretending to misunderstand him. “But it is not too late to order your servants to pack up your things and follow after you. Really, Mr. Guilian, I would advise it. If you return to Luden, I will very probably have you arrested.”

Lucius blinked at him. Of all the things that Lord Flinx might have said, he had never remotely expected anything like this. “Arrested? On what possible charge?”

“For debauching my niece, who is not yet of age.” Lord Flinx appeared quite unaware of the irony. “I hardly know what may be permissible in Winterscar, but there are laws in Rijxland protecting young girls.”

“Debauching your niece!” Luke gave a short, incredulous laugh. “When she has been living openly with King Izaiah for over a year? You must be jesting!”

“On the contrary. Just how serious I am, you will learn to your cost, if you do not give Luden and Mademoiselle a very wide berth.”

His blood boiling, Luke stripped off his gloves, actually had one gripped in his hand, ready to administer the deadly insult from which there could be no going back—when he remembered his promise to Tremeur.

With an effort, he swallowed his wrath. “As you can see, Lord Flinx, I am just on my way out,” he said coolly. “When I return to Luden, I will do myself the honor of calling on you, and we can discuss the matter then.”

“You will find me at home,” said the Prime Minister, with a sneer and a nod of his head. “Though perhaps in the meantime you will grow wiser.” Turning on his heel he left the house without another word.

But Luke stood looking after him for several minutes. “It's possible I
will
grow wiser,” he said under his breath. He generally did think better of these impulsive actions. Though by the time he had the leisure to think about this one, he would be in far too deep to consider turning back.

F
ermouline on the River Ousel: she was a town of mazes, of courts within courts, alleys behind alleys, a town where every turn, every byway, every stair, every gate, seemed to lead deeper and deeper into the heart of confusion
.

Where Hawkesbridge had been building up for more than a thousand years, the residents of this city in Chêneboix had been digging down, burrowing under, adding on, subdividing, building in back-yards, on commons, sometimes even encroaching on the already narrow lanes and byways, in an effort to utilize every square foot of space available. Laws had been passed over the centuries Forbidding this practice, but like many such laws, they failed of their intent. All they accomplished was to render title to the shops, stalls, and houses extremely questionable, which in turn led to careless building, the use of cheap materials. Why would a man waste money constructing a house that would last for decades, when he might be required to raze it at any moment? So the buildings were shoddy. As they aged, half-hearted attempts were made to shore them up: with beams, crimps, bars, and the like, bearing walls added on at odd angles, and a hundred other shifts and expedients that only made the town uglier, crazier, more crowded than she had been before
.

This was especially true down by the river, near the saw-mill, the brewery, the sugar-baking houses, and other manufactories, where the workers
lived crowded—sometimes five or six families to a house—inside a great warren of shacks, tenements, and subterranean hovels
.

Even in the better parts of the town, where the streets were clean, the houses well-built, the parlors sunny, there was not much elbow-room. If there were lanes too narrow to admit a carriage—no matter, it only made work for the chair-men. Gardens were practically unknown—but a flower in a pot was as good any day (said the doughty citizens) as an entire plot. They had adjusted to their crowded conditions, and even seemed to thrive on them. It was said that when a resident of Fermouline had to go elsewhere, the wide open spaces oppressed them. It was certain, anyway, that visits to the surrounding countryside were extremely rare. What had begun as expedience had become a necessity. Noise, smells, the constant press of humanity, had become as vital to her people as the unwholesome air that they breathed
.

Fermouline, Chêneboix

—9 Floréal, 6538

N
one of the clocks in the town kept the right time. That was one of the first things that Will noticed when he rode into Fermouline on the big buckskin gelding he had purchased in Fernbrake. Pausing in a square fronted by no less than three churches—each with its own dial prominently displayed—Wilrowan reached into a pocket of his long coat, pulled out his own timepiece, and flipped open the cover. His watch said noon, the church dials read
one, two
, and
half past three
, respectively. Judging by the position of the sun directly overhead, his watch was as accurate as ever.

Weaving a path through the complex pattern of streets, stopping every now and again to ask for directions, Will came at last to the Cinque d'Or, a rambling triple-galleried structure with a slate roof and a half-dozen chimneys, built on a stretch of rising ground about a mile from the Ousel. Entering the innyard through a sooty brick archway, Will dismounted, turned over the gelding to one of the hostlers, and asked for the landlord.