Page 65 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Do you have family, miss? Brothers or sisters?”
“A brother. I heard from him this morning.”
Tsumiko fumbled through her limited vocabulary, and Argent intervened. “He is staying with a friend from school during winter holiday.”
Mrs. Draper smiled and nodded, then poured more tea. The rest of the family had wandered off after their own pursuits, leaving their guest in the capable hands of their housekeeper.
“He would have been welcome,” she said.
“Thank you.” Tsumiko ran her finger along the edge of her teacup. “I would have enjoyed that.”
Argent supplied, “She misses him.”
While Yvette currently reigned as lady of the house by virtue of her marriage to Cedric’s younger son, Mrs. Draper remained the primary female influence over everyday affairs. A genteel hostess. And an unforeseen threat. Because all it took to dismantle their grand misconception was a spot of tea.
Violet Draper might be brisk, but she was gracious. And Tsumiko responded in kind, forgetting to play her part, betraying herself in a dozen small ways. Argent watched in frank dismay as the housekeeper’s confusion finally cleared.
She knew. Would she tell?
But the woman startled him. Meeting his gaze, she smiled faintly and tapped her own shoulder in a placating gesture. One common tohisrace.
With a roll of his wrist and fanning of fingers, he offered the expected response. And she understood. But how? Where had Mrs. Draper learned Amaranthine idiosyncrasies? Even with the Emergence nearing its first anniversary, the average citizen understood very little about their culture. Only reavers were familiar with such fleeting courtesies. And this woman had beenheresince she was in her teens.
He well remembered her initial wariness, when Percival and Eimi’s annual visits exposed her to a butler who wasn’t remotely human. She’d kept her distance, but she’d kept the secret of Argent’s existence. And as time passed, she’d grown accustomed to him. Violet and her husband had watched out for him in simple ways, so that Argent could count on a modicum of comfort during his stays—a quiet room, generous trays at mealtimes, and polite inquiries into his domestic needs.
When Mrs. Draper excused herself, Argent held the door for her. “Where did you learn such trivialities?”
“It’s not my place to say.”
He accepted that with a nod. Still, he couldn’t help asking, “Are you in any kind of … trouble?”
A smile creased her face. “No, Argent. But you’re kind to ask.”
“If you are certain,” he murmured.
“I’m not one to gossip.” Mrs. Draper glanced Tsumiko’s way and repeated, “It’s not my place to say, but you’ll understand by and by. When the master is ready.”
THIRTY SEVEN
Meanwhile
A sedate brush of power lit up the outermost wards, and Michael glanced at the clock ticking on his office mantle. They were early. But not entirely unexpected.
“Well, now,” he murmured. “This should be interesting.”
Strolling through the house, he checked the kitchen and nursery before finding his wife in the armory. “Sansa, we have company.”
“The regular courier?”
“I think not.”
She squared her shoulders. “How many?”
“Two have declared themselves, but there are at least two more.”
“You cannot tell?”
Michael chuckled. “The wards are vibrating so much, it’s difficult to say.”
