Page 34 of Enchanted Net
The Captain nodded once. “Magistra Remmerton reported her absence to us and mentioned that the staff had the day off, and that you both would be the best for any of the locational charms. A close friend of the Council Member, I gather?”
Mama nodded once, then one of the junior Guards came over holding a clay disc the size of her palm. Mama removed her glove with precise little movements, then turned her palm up for the prick of magic. Thessaly held still, not sure what to do here. Once that was done, Captain Farrow led the way up the hill to the front of the house. “The layout, Magistra?”
“The house here, with a garden on two sides. A road runs around to the back, but it’s used rarely, just for access to a hut up the hill a few times a year. The grove is there, tucked in the curve of the hill.”
Captain Farrow nodded. “And you are both able to open the warding, Magistra, Mistress?”
Mama nodded. “Thessaly spends a fair bit of time here, and I am Metaia’s next of kin. She didn’t marry.” It was a fairly ordinary sort of arrangement.
“May I ask when you each last saw Council Member Powell, and when each of you were last in this house?” Captain Farrow had pulled out a small notebook as he walked, but he waited at the door. Thessaly took a breath and placed her hand on the warding stone, the panel at shoulder height, and then opened the door once she felt the magic recognise her. As she turned back, she saw one of the Guards murmur something in his ear, and he nodded once without explaining.
Mama nodded. “We were at the Council rites last night, of course. My sister left before we did, not long after midnight, when there were a number of people still there. We left after one, perhaps one-thirty.” She hesitated, a little at a loss.
Thessaly picked up immediately. “I was the last one here. I joined my aunt as we dressed. I was here from three in the afternoon until we went to the Council Keep at six.” She considered what she knew of the magical implications. “We were in the library, a brief stop in her workroom, and mostly in her rooms on the first floor.”
“So you would know if anything looked out of order? Or where the staff might be?” The Captain nodded. “Please. It will take us a minute or two for the charmwork, given the ambient magic here. Perhaps we might speak further in the library or the parlour, whichever room you think best.” He was glancing around the space. Thessaly was sure he was not only taking in the house, but if anything might be a clue of some sort. “And please speak up if something is out of order or not as you’d expect. That might be important information.”
Neither Mama nor Thessaly deigned to reply to that. They certainly knew their fundamental magical principles of sympathy and contagion. Instead, Thessaly led the way to the library, where it looked out on the garden. “The staff have the day off. She always gives them Solstice night and the next day for the Faire. It is not a large staff. Evangeline Collins is the housekeeper and acts as lady’s maid. There’s a cook, one maid and one footman and a stableman. Along with gardeners who come in for the day and so on.” She gestured. “The cook and housemaid have rooms in the attached cottage. The housekeeper has rooms over the carriage house. Aunt Metaia likes her privacy. The footman sleeps in rooms over the stable with the stable hand.”
Captain Farrow made several notes. “And the other rooms here?”
Thessaly glanced at her mother, but Mama just nodded once. “A dining room, workroom, and study on this floor, as well as a kitchen and the servants’ hall. Aunt Metaia has rooms upstairs, a sitting room and bedroom and a bathing room. There are three guest bedrooms, one for me, one for Mama and Papa if they stay, and one for my sister Hermia or another guest. She didn’t invite people to stay often, outside of family, but I am here overnight at least once a month, often more frequently.”
That got her a long, steady look, as if Captain Farrow were weighing several pieces of information. His questions turned to the night before, if Aunt Metaia had been in any particular mood or had any concerns. “Just so. Might I ask you, Mistress Lytton-Powell, if you would walk through the house with one of my Guards? I would like you to see if there is anything out of place or that seems odd? Or, of course, if you find any sign of your aunt. Though,” he paused, “we do not think her to be in the house proper. Guard Ellingsworth, if you would, take notes, as we discussed.” The Guardswoman was a bit older than Thessaly. She’d have to be. The Guard had a long apprenticeship. She had dark brown hair in a pinned up braid and looked very official and efficient in her uniform.
“Of course.” As the Guardswoman escorted her out to go through the rooms, she heard Mama summarise the previous evening. Not all the specifics, of course, but a general sense of the night. Thessaly was thorough in her exploration of the house, opening doors, going in, looking around, but there were no unusual signs of anything. Upstairs in the bedroom, Thessaly considered. “That’s the gown that she wore last night.” It was hung on the wall by the dressing screen, so it wouldn’t crease. She considered the other clothing. “I would have expected her nightgown to be here, but her wrapper is missing, too. That’s a teal silk with silver embroidery.”
Before she could say anything else, there was a sound. “Please come down.” It was Captain Farrow, calling up the stairs. Thessaly turned, coming straight down, the Guardswoman behind her. Captain Farrow set off through the garden, toward the back gate, then he stopped a little short. “Please wait here.”
There was a sudden and painful pit in Thessaly’s stomach, because being asked to wait seemed a bad thing. To call them out and have them wait, especially. She couldn’t hear anything from beyond the gate - the warding was very good here, for privacy - but then Captain Farrow came back.
He took his hat off, and Thessaly knew, even before Mama grabbed at her arm, fingers digging in. “Magistra, Mistress, I am very sorry to inform you that Metaia Powell is dead. May we escort you back to the house until we have begun to learn more? And may I send someone for your husband, Magistra?”
“May I see her first?” Mama’s voice was as sharp as Thessaly had ever heard it. “May we see her? We will not approach or interfere. Just.” She swallowed hard. “She is my sister. My younger sister.”
Captain Farrow looked uncertain for a moment. “If you stay well back, and if you are certain you wish to.” He coughed. “She is not, pardon.” He tried again. “She is not visibly injured, if that eases you any.”
“Please.” Mama made to go forward, and Captain Farrow moved ahead of her, carefully opening the gate with a handkerchief, and from the lower bar, so as not to disturb any evidence, presumably. Mama and Thessaly moved behind him, then he guided them in a broad circle around on the road.
Aunt Metaia lay there, on her back, hands folded on her stomach and her eyes closed, though she looked like she’d been startled by something. She was wearing her wrapper and Thessaly could see the nightgown under it, no corset. It was what she’d have changed into, once she was home and here for the night, and it meant she’d been lying here for hours, hours and hours. Before she could say anything, Mama’s grip tightened. “Thank you, Captain. We will be in the library.”
Thessaly could not argue with that. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. Part of her wanted to stay, wanted to keep whatever vigil she could, because that vigil was at least something she could be doing. But Mama’s fingers were relentless, and there was nothing for it. The only thing she managed to say was, “Council Head Rowan will want to know immediately.” Every Guard’s head shifted to look at her, and Thessaly had to swallow hard against her body rebelling. “They are. They were friends. Close friends. And she can offer whatever resources you might need.”
Then Mama was tugging her away, and Thessaly went. There were no staff in the house. No one had said if they might put on the kettle. Aunt Metaia kept one in her study. So she and Mama just sat, in the library, silent. It left Thessaly entirely too much time to think about the conversation before they left yesterday. And worse, to think about the glance or two Cousin Owain had given Aunt Metaia, and what it might have meant.
Chapter26
JUNE 21ST AT THE MIDSUMMER FAIRE
Vitus had drifted through his morning, honestly. He’d come to bed around two, and he’d dreamt of the dancing, of the patterns made by dancers on the floor under the charmlights. There had been loops and patterns in his dreams of how the shadows and light played against each other. And he’d dreamt of the way Thessaly had felt in the dance, the silk of her gloves against his skin, the strength of her hand against his.
He’d woken around dawn, to stare at the ceiling and wonder about the scope of her worry. It was not something he could do much about, not something he could help with, other than seeing her back to her aunt. He knew that. She was far beyond his help, for all sorts of reasons, starting with Father’s reliance on the goodwill of the Fortiers.
It would probably be better business practice if he could bring himself to figure out how to ask if she might consider commissioning a talismanic piece. Or if her aunt might. Instead, his thoughts kept coming back to her, as a person who laughed and smiled and chose to spend a little time with him, when she had a world full of other choices.
He wasn’t infatuated. Or, no, he was. But it wasn’t - automatically - a bad thing. Probably not. As long as he kept his head, as long as he didn’t let his heart get away from him for too long. He needed to marry in due course. He could not marry her. It would be unkind to whoever he married, whenever he did, to have Vitus pining after someone else. Courtly love was all well and good in a story or a tale of ancient romance, but he had always thought it terribly unfair to a living wife.
Vitus had managed to get his antecedents tangled, even given the fact that one of them was entirely hypothetical yet. But she had said herself that her agreements with Childeric Fortier and his family had space for a conversation. She’d demonstrated that, twice, and that they also permitted a dance. He could, like a sensible adult, actually ask her what was specifically permitted in her agreements, and then bide by that. Or rather, bide by whatever she chose, given that, because there was no reason to assume that she wanted more than conversation and perhaps a dance with him.
