Page 33 of Court of Shadows
“Good. What do you think of it?”
“Sorry?” His head was still low over the pages, eyes scanning quickly.
With a grin, Mr. Morningside flicked his head to the left and back, and I realized with some trepidation that he meant the painting. “The art. You seemed quite taken with it a moment ago.”
I blushed, hating that he had caught me snooping. “Who are they? I recognize the shepherd, but who are the others?”
“Relics, all of them,” he said flatly. “Remnants of a bygone era.”
For a moment I stared at him, trying to pierce through that breezy smile to the man behind it. “The faceless one is you, isn’t it?”
At last he looked up from the pages, and I almost wished he had not. I recognized it for what it was—a predator reassessing its prey, as if the doe had fought back and charged the hunter.
“What an interesting opinion,” he purred.
“It isn’t an opinion. The portraits outside your office... those are all you, aren’t they? You appear differently to everyone. You’re an old man to Poppy and something else to Mrs. Haylam, though I don’t know what,” I replied, sticking out my chin. I turned and pointed at the painting. “That’s you and that’s the shepherd. Who are the other two?”
Mr. Morningside appraised me closely for another moment and then shuffled the papers in his hands, putting them in a neat stack on the desk. With the air of a teacher bored to death of his student, he crossed to the painting and lifted the dust cover off it.
“They were mentors, of a sort,” he explained. He, too, seemed drawn to the painting, staring at it as I had earlier. “I never knew them well, not like the shepherd knew them. Back then I was very young, hardly more than an idea made manifest.” He put back the cover rather roughly and strode toward me, taking up the translations and glaring at me down the length of hisnose. “It doesn’t matter, Louisa; they’re gone.”
“Gone? Do you mean they’re dead?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You cannot kill a god, girl, only convince it that continuing to exist is folly.”
I wanted to know more, so much more, and I tried to choose my next question thoughtfully, for I knew he would do everything he could to dance around a direct answer. Before I could say another word, Mr. Morningside winced, gathering up the papers and holding them close to his chest as if he were suffering a sudden pang. His face became tinged with green, like a man on the verge of sickness.
“Blast it all, he’s here,” he muttered, drawing in a deep breath through his teeth.
“Who?” I asked, following him to the door.
“Shepherd,” Mr. Morningside growled. He looked at me with pity then, or perhaps sorrow. With his eyes softened that way, he almost appeared sympathetic. It was hard to imagine anything ruffling the Devil, but clearly—clearly—I saw fear in his gaze. “I suppose we must hurry, Louisa; my trial is about to begin.”
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as we reached the landing, Chijioke burst in through the front door of the house. The chaos left behind by Amelia’s disappearance lingered, though now there was even greater cause for action. In the kitchen, I heard Mrs. Haylam shouting orders to Poppy, and Bartholomew barked out his frustrations with the noise. Chijioke had lost his coat somewhere, charging toward us in his shirtsleeves, sweat glistening on his forehead. Through the open doors outside, I spied the cart and horses still waiting in the drive.
“Sir,” he said, breathless. “They’re here, the—”
“Yes, Chijioke, I am aware.” Mr. Morningside gave him a mild smile and a pat on the shoulder, then gave each of us a look in turn. “Now, both of you, please let Mrs. Haylam know that I will be along shortly. We must all remain calm, as this is little more than a formality, thanks to Louisa.”
Chijioke turned toward me, giving a soft “huh.”
Was it really that surprising that I could make myself useful?
“I don’t expect it will take long. Chijioke, if you would be so kind, please encourage Miss Canny’s acquaintances to take the carriage to Derridon. There have been sightings of her there and of course they will want to investigate those claims.”
Nodding, Chijioke bounded up the stairs. Above us, I could hear the men arguing, and judging from the proximity, theywere doing so in Amelia’s rooms.
“What if they don’t come back?” I asked.
Mr. Morningside laughed and laughed, then shook his head at me as if I were a child speaking out of turn. “They always come back.” Then he swatted me lightly on the nose with the papers in his hand, sweeping back toward the green door that led to his office. “I will need to look over these translations and change into something more suitable. Tell Mrs. Haylam to prepare light refreshment on the lawn for the shepherd and his retinue. I will do my best not to keep them waiting.”
I gave a quick curtsy out of habit and rushed toward the kitchens, nearly colliding with Poppy as she bounced back and forth between the range and the large table in the center of the room. My message seemed awfully redundant, considering that same table was already heaped high with a dazzling array of tea cakes, tiny sandwiches, and bowls of fruit. There was even a luxurious pineapple there, decorated to look like a peacock, with cloves for eyes and fresh flowers for the feathery tail.
“Don’t just stand there gawking, girl, help! Mary is still recovering, so we will be short a pair of useful hands.” Mrs. Haylam, surprisingly, looked flustered, perhaps for the first time in her life. She bustled as nervously as Poppy, loading up trays with mincemeat pies and sparkling teacups.
“Mr. Morningside said to provide light refreshment in the yard,” I said, not knowing where to put myself in the midst of so much chaos.
