Page 21 of Court of Shadows
That at least made him smirk, but only briefly, for soon he was glowering again. “Adjudicators come in threes, Louisa, so keep your wits about you.”
“Threes?” I frowned and watched as Finch slowed his steps toward us. “Sparrow might think I’m hopelessly stupid, but Icancount. Where is the third one?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue,” he said. “Which is why this makes me nervous.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stab him, then?”
“Stand behind me,” Chijioke added, edging out in front of me. “If he tries anything, he’ll get a walloping.”
“He hardly looks like trouble....”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “Oh aye, and that’s because you have never witnessed a Judgment.”
“A what?”
Chijioke didn’t answer. Whatever Finch had seen on or near us had made him change his mind. He stopped abruptly, face falling, before he turned on his heel and returned to his lawn bowls. I felt his presence a moment later at my side and my unease appeared with him. Mr. Morningside had found us, and he loomed tall and narrow next to me.
He nodded politely to Chijioke and then gave us both a brilliant white smile. The sun was almost completely gone behind the horizon, and Amelia whined as they decided to end the game in time for a wash-up and supper. Dimly, I heard MasonBreen congratulate Finch and Sparrow on their win, but I was deaf to whatever they said afterward.
“A game of bowls among friends,” Mr. Morningside crowed, leaning back and adjusting his fine silk cravat. The diminishing light turned his black hair to glossy raven’s wings as he took in a deep, loud breath through his nose. “A crisp evening. The splendor of nature. The fading luster of spring...” He extended his hand, sweeping it in front of him. “What a satisfactory sight.”
But he was not looking at the horizon or the trees, or the game of bowls, or even my face. I swallowed, feeling cornered even in the open air. Mr. Morningside had seen the parchment rolled under my arm, and all of his appreciable attention was bent toward it.
Chapter Fourteen
The dining gallery glowed softly with candles, the twinkling melody of cutlery on plates and crystal glassware floating lightly beneath the conversation. It had been months since I had last served at a formal supper, and I struggled to maintain the proper attention to detail and regimen. Lee, Mrs. Haylam, and I stood to the side near the serving board, waiting for just the right moment to dash in with more wine or to retrieve a fallen handkerchief.
The pace of it made me itch. Lee did not seem any better off, fidgeting at my side. We watched Miss Canny, her betrothed, and his father and business associate dine on white soup and roast loin of pork studded with cloves, the smells so rich and tempting that my stomach growled in protest. Our meal, by contrast, had been a cup of stew made days ago, filling but not nearly as decadent as the spread being served now.
Amelia wore dazzling pins in her hair to match her scarlet gown. I couldn’t help but stare at her and wonder what it was like to own so many frocks that a new one could be donned for each part of the day. Mason Breen and his side of the family dressed far more soberly, in simple grays and browns, though the cut of their suits and the quality of the fabric hinted at their wealth. Mason Breen’s father, Mr. Barrow Breen, had the look of a sailor, with very tanned and weathered flesh, and gnarledknuckles. Such men were commonplace where I had grown up, which led me to believe he might be one of the newly rich, perhaps a man who had made his fortune in exports. The two men shared a strong familial resemblance, both with bright shocks of blond hair and pale gray eyes. Mason was quite handsome, angular and austere, and his father simply looked like an aged, tired version of his son.
Their business partner, Samuel Potts, had a swarthier appearance, also sun-dappled and leathery, with shaggy, thinning gray hair and a monstrous beard. His suit, while fine, fit on him strangely, as if he were a bear wrestled into a waistcoat.
“I do find that young Mr. Finch very agreeable,” Amelia was saying. She had managed the bulk of the conversation at the table, which did not seem to upset any of the men. They listened dutifully and drank just as intently. A dark rosy stain was spreading across Mason’s cheeks.
“His sister is far less... Well, she is rather opinionated, is she not?”
Samuel Potts grunted into his wine, ruffling his mustache.
“Where did they say they were from again?” Mason Breen asked, helping himself to more pork.
“London,” Mrs. Haylam said suddenly, startling us all. The room fell silent at her single, barked word. She gave a mild, faked smile and added, “By way of Calcutta. Merely passing through, I’m afraid.”
Amelia recovered from the shock of Mrs. Haylam’sinterruption with a giggle. “Now that is a shame. It is excellent to make new friends, they could even attend the wedding—”
“Out of the question,” Mr. Barrow Breen grumbled. “The very idea!”
“Oh, it was only a silly suggestion,” Amelia replied, but she hid her face, concentrating on her dinner plate. “I cannot see the harm in—”
“Girl, I know what you see; you see whatever it is you want to waste my money on next,” he thundered. The hall rang with the boom of his voice, and Lee and I both flinched, then shared a look. He raised both tawny eyebrows and then rolled his eyes slowly toward the table. I tried not to laugh.
“At least we won’t have to put up with it for long,” I whispered, and I saw him smile.
“I won’t have you speaking to my betrothed that way!” Mason had finally spoken up, jumping to his feet and rattling the table. The wineglass perched on the edge near Samuel Potts upended, and he roared in surprise, shooting up out of his seat and grabbing for something to wipe at his soiled shirt.
“Quickly now,” Mrs. Haylam directed, snapping into action. “Help Mr. Potts, Louisa.”
I turned to the board behind us and took a clean napkin from the folded pile and dabbed it in a glass of water, rushing to the bushy man’s side. He snatched the napkin out of my hand and shooed me away, rubbing furiously at his clothes.
