Page 55 of Apt to be Suspicious
“You tell me.” Circe shrugged, as best she could. “You seem to have put a lot of it together.”
“I’d rather you set it out. You know I’ll know if you’re lying, two ways round.” Edmund leaned back a little.
“Tell me how you’re not under my charms.” Circe did not quite spit it out but made it a challenge.
“A little alchemical preparation does wonders. Mercury bears many gifts, moly among them.” Pen knew that reference, about how Odysseus had won free of the original Circe’s enchantments with a sacred plant named moly. And the fact he’d used the Roman name, not the Greek, Mercury rather than Hermes, that was also telling, if not in a way Miss Styles might pay attention to right now. Edmund’s voice was crisp again. “Now, Circe.”
Pen wanted to draw back. Something in his tone was utterly implacable. Circe took a breath, then said. “Mum was Father’s mistress. A maid on the estate originally. He treated us well, all of us. Set up Mum to do piecework sewing, taught her charms so she had her own income. He made sure we had a solid education, alongside the legitimate cousins. We had a cottage on the main estate, far enough from the house that it wasn’t visible.”
“We.” Edmund raised an eyebrow. “You, your mother. Others?”
“Four sisters.” Circe said that slowly. “I am the oldest. I’d do anything to keep them safe. I have—” She looked away toward the fireplace. “That’s what I’ve done.”
“Tell me a little about your sisters. The ages. Then what you were trying to do, why you’ve been going by Cecily Styles.” Edmund was pressing, but Pen was taken by how gentle he was about it. These were demands, she knew that, but he was not angry. Pen would have been angry in his place.
“Our mother died last spring. A year ago, now.” Circe’s voice dropped, almost into a whisper. “I’m the oldest, just turned twenty-three. Helen is eighteen, Leda is twelve, Thetis is ten. And Iris is three.”
“So you feel responsible for them.” Now, Edmund was quiet. “I have sisters, too. I’d do anything for them. What’s changed for you this autumn?”
Circe sucked in a breath. “You know enough how the Williams are as a family. It’s certainly been in all the gossip papers over the years. Intensely private. Father married when Helen was two.” Pen thought it at least partially explained the gap in ages. “His wife cannot have children. Or so Mum thought. Not something he’d talk about with her. When Mum died, he kept up the cottage, he came to visit to check on us. Helen’s kept the household things going. She’s very, well. She is beautiful, but steady. Helen in Menelaus’s home, in the Odyssey. It’s a favourite set of tales at home, for the obvious reasons.”
“In charge of a smoothly running household. But also quite willing to apply a bit of a potion to keep it that way,” Edmund said, and now he sounded almost amused. “I can see how that would be a family specialty. The sort of things you can do without a proper alchemy lab, though?”
“Oh, we had access to the lab when we needed it. When I turned eighteen, I begged to go do something, anywhere. Not in Albion, I had known all my life that would raise too many questions. I had made the Pact, of course, but it was witnessed by my grandfather, Father’s father.”
“Private,” Edmund agreed. “And?”
“I was in London, working at a canteen, one of the ATS girls. It was, it wasn’t the sort of work I really wanted to do. They were trying to find somewhere else for me. But there were new people there, men, women, all ages. That was everything I’d wanted, a breath of the world beyond the estate. I got to be friendly with another girl, Cecily Styles. We’d tease about the names, the monograph, how close they were. And we looked quite a lot alike, especially in a photo.” Again she stopped, and swallowed. “There was a bomb, the building collapsed. She was killed. Bricks fell on her head.”
Pen realised suddenly that Circe had seen her friend die, had seen her dead. No one had to say that, spell that out. That was a war Pen hadn’t seen. All of the deaths she’d known about had been at a distance. Now, she cleared her throat to murmur, “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Circe focused on her suddenly, making Pen feel very much as if she’d caught the attention of some great predatory cat. A cat and not a wolf, wolves came in groups, and this was a solitary hunt. Then she took a little half-breath. “Thank you.” Before anyone could say anything else, she went on.
“I could get at her papers, shove my fake ones into her jacket. I turned myself into her. It wasn’t hard. Cecily didn’t have family, just a great-aunt in charge of a trust for her. Not much money but enough to cover her expenses at university. The aunt didn’t see her often. Cecily had said how she was increasingly blind and hard of hearing. I could figure out who I was.”
She sucked in a breath, let it out, then went on. As if now that she’d started, nothing was going to stop her. “Of course, there was the war. I got moved into other duties, nothing— nothing complicated, but it mattered. Cecily had earned a place at Oxford, and so I came up. We’d had enough overlap of languages, and I could claim I’d picked up more talking to people in the ATS. No one asked a lot of questions. They were far more concerned about making sure there were enough rooms for people.”
“And the men?” Edmund nodded along with all of that.
“The men.” Circe’s chin came up. “My father’s wife.” That was said as if it were a curse. As if she wouldn’t speak the name, just the role, with a sudden bitterness that had been absent from the conversation so far. “She wishes to adopt Iris. Only Iris. Raise her as her own child, no contact with the rest of us.”
Pen shivered at it before venturing. “I can see why you wouldn’t want that. And there’s nothing that would help?”
“The only way to stop it is for me to marry well, quickly, and give my sisters a home. Independence. Not with my new husband, necessarily. But enough money for a cottage or a flat or whatever. Helen can keep things going. But somewhere— somewhere that woman can’t do anything.”
Edmund had leaned forward. “I can see the logic. But they’d be able to find you, surely. Blood location charms.”
Circe shrugged. “I had some ideas for that. It’s not like they can draw on Father’s blood at this point, either. And of course, we’d protect Iris most of all.” Then she waved her fingers. “Where could I have gone for help? Uncle Reynold and Aunt Margot can’t help. Grandfather died. Father’s dead. There’s no one to speak for us within the family, no one who cares even so much as to raise a concern. Certainly no one is asking us what we want.”
“And so you— the things with the men.” Pen stumbled over her words, but Edmund nodded at her. “That was all about trying to find someone.”
“Non-magical, the charms work better there, more reliably.” Circe snorted. “Also, they’ve no protection against them. The honey-wine makes people agreeable in a particular way. Not threatening. If we married, I’d do something different.” She added, “I didn’t particularly wish to hurt them, but they will not be able to hurt me. Or my sisters. They have plenty of money. I need it. They won’t miss it.”
Edmund nodded slowly. “And what would you do with your life? You also stole some jewels, yes?”
“I did.” Circe grimaced. “I haven’t been able to sell them. I understand there are such things as fences, but it’s not as if any of them will speak to someone like me, someone who is— whose person is like me.”
“Lay out the range of your skills for me, would you?” Edmund leaned forward, tapping his fingers together. “I am beginning to have an idea.”
