Page 9 of The Falconer

The stitchers complete their task and return to the metal box. Once they are safely back inside, I remove the contraption from Lord Hepburn’s chest and check his pulse. It’s steady under my fingertips. Another encouraging sign.

I lift his torso and pull him up onto the bed. I doubt he will remember much when he wakes. If he does, I hope he has the sense not to speak of an invisible assailant.

I study myself in the mirror next to the clock and assess the damage. Heavens, I’m a walking fashion nightmare. Springy copper curls have loosened from my once-stylish chignon and the bodice of my dress and my corset are shredded, my skin visible underneath and daubed with blood. The revenant sliced me deep enough that I’ll have to stitch myself, too.

I glance at the clock on the far wall and swear silently. The assembly is almost over and there’s no time to stay and tend to my injuries; I’m sure everyone has noticed my absence by now. The best I can do is correct my hair and clothing, and perhaps cut one of the thick ribbons from the bottom of my dress to tie over the torn bodice before I return to the ballroom.

With a sigh, I step over the dead faery towards the door. No one will notice if I leave it here – faeries decay to nothing in about an hour. Even if someone discovers the slumbering Lord Hepburn before then, it’s not as if the faery’s corpse would be visible.

I nod at my sleeping host. ‘Apologies, my lord. I would tidy up, but I have other matters to attend to.’

When I return to the ballroom, the last waltz has begun. Catherine stands alone by the long-case clock near the fireplace, her hair shining in the light from the lamp floating directly over her head. She shifts on her feet, watching the door, as though she’d rather be somewhere else.

I make my way to the refreshment table. The levels in the punch dispensers indicate they’re all empty.

Humming the tune for the waltz, I settle next to Catherine, gathering my stole to hide any blood that might have seeped through the ribbon tied clumsily around my bodice. ‘The headache’s gone,’ I say.

Catherine looks visibly relieved as she passes me my reticule. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. People have been asking after you and Mother has been pestering me about leaving. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold everyone off.’

‘You gem. I appreciate your efforts to keep my reputation intact.’ I nod towards the couples. ‘Why aren’t you dancing?’

‘You know my mother thinks the waltz is indecent.’

I watch the couples dancing. They spin around the room, bodies pressed together. Close, intimate. The way dances should be.

‘Your mother would find the sight of a chair leg indecent,’ I tell her.

Catherine sputters a laugh, a satisfyingly unladylike sound. ‘Aileana!’

‘What? I do believe the waltz has been acceptable for many years now.’

‘Oh, do tellherthat,’ Catherine says drily. ‘I should dearly love to hear my mother lecture someone else about it.’

‘Where is the esteemed lady, anyway?’ I scan the room. ‘Using the opportunity to approach remaining gentlemen on your behalf?’

‘I’m afraid my introductions have already been made.’ Catherine nods to a place over my shoulder. ‘She’s, ahem, glaring atyou.’

I turn. Lady Cassilis is surrounded by her friends, the other matrons of Edinburgh whose daughters are yet to wed. They have no doubt been discussing their plans to ensnare the poor, foolish men of Edinburgh, but the viscountess doesn’t appear to be listening.

Heavens. She could scare off a revenant with that scowl. I survey my crooked bow. Perhaps I look worse than I thought. Lady Cassilis is probably wondering yet again why she let Catherine badger her into becoming responsible for me at formal events.

With a sweet smile, I wiggle my fingers at the viscountess. Lady Cassilis couldn’t look more appalled if I spat on her.

‘I take it she’s angry with me, then?’ I grin at Catherine.

‘You missed five dances! Ofcourseshe’s angry with you. I hope your headache was worth it.’

‘It was,’ I say.

Catherine studies my hair, my face, then the awkward state of my dress. ‘Forgive me for being so blunt, but you look ghastly.’

Unconcerned, I wave a hand between us. Hair arrangement is not a great talent of mine. Nor, apparently, is tying ribbon over my dress to hide my injuries.

‘That’s a horrible thing to say,’ I tell her. ‘What if I’d just escaped a perilous situation?’

Catherine examines me from head to toe again. ‘Barely, I assume.’

‘Your confidence in me is inspiring.’ I glance around. No one is paying us any attention. Some groups have begun to filter out through the doors, finished for the night. ‘See, no one else has even noticed I look different.’

---