Chapter 8
Idid not struggle. Brant would like that. He wanted me to fight against him and perhaps expected it. So I simply stood there and waited for him to make the next move. When he let me go, I'd do whatever I could to escape. If he wanted me for his next victim, he was going to have to render me unconscious or kill me first.
"You're shaking," he said and chuckled again. "You ain't so brave now that you're at my mercy." He rubbed his nose along the back of my ear and breathed deeply. The arm wrapped around my waist momentarily tightened before relaxing. Not enough for me to free myself, however. "I know what you're thinking, Josie, but that ain't why I'm here. I don't want that prick's used goods. I want to talk to you, that's all. Can I let you go and we talk without you screaming? Or do we have to stay like this? Either way, it don't matter to me. So can I?"
I had a better chance of escape if he let me go so I nodded. He slowly released me only to push me in the back.
"Kitchen," he ordered. "You're going to be a good girl and feed me."
I folded my arms across my stomach. "I don't have much in the larder."
"You got ale and bread. I already checked." He shoved me again and I led the way to the kitchen.
He stood by the door, his hand resting on his sword hilt, and watched as I poured ale into a cup and set out the bread on a board. "And one for yourself," he said, taking the cup.
I poured myself a small amount of ale. He waited until I sipped before he drank too. I don't know why he thought I'd poison my own ale.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He pulled out a chair from the table and indicated the other. "Sit. Let's have a discussion like civilized people."
"You're not a civilized person, Brant."
He smirked. "Careful. That tongue of yours will get you into trouble. There's only so much I'll put up with from you."
I bit the inside of my cheek.
"Now, sit down. Please."
I sat but not too close to the table. He finally sat too. He slowly sipped his ale, watching me over the rim of the cup, until he finished it all and set the cup down. He broke off a corner of cheese and ate it without taking his gaze off me. The silence stretched to snapping point. I dug my nails into my palms and waited.
"This is pleasant," he said. "Two people sitting over food and drink, talking."
"What do you want, Brant?"
"I want to know why you were at the palace today."
I held his gaze steady. "To visit my friends."
He snorted. "You think Hammer is you friend? He doesn't have friends. He's using you. You're his link to the outside world, the world beyond the palace. He needs you to do his dirty work in the village."
"A nice theory except he hasn't asked me to do anything for him. No spying, no searching for evidence, nothing. There's nothing more to our relationship than simple friendship. But it's not only him I went to the palace to see. I wanted to see Max and Quentin, Theodore, and Lady Miranda too."
He checked his cup. Seeing it empty, he rapped it on the table as if it were a tavern and I the serving wench.
"Would you like some more?" I asked.
He grunted.
"I'll take that as a yes." I filled his cup and gave it back.
Instead of drinking, he cradled the cup in his hands. "I know Hammer confides in you."
"He told me about the memory loss, but you already knew that. So?"
"So what else has he told you?"
"Nothing. Is there more to tell?"
"You know there is," he spat. "Don't pretend. You know about the cabinet."
"Cabinet?"
"I said, don't pretend!" His nostrils flared and the knuckles around the cup whitened. "The cabinet in Laylana's room. There was something in it. What was it?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell me."
He thumped his fist on the table. "He must have!"
I swallowed and dared shake my head. "No, he didn't. Not specifically, anyway. He just said it contained something valuable belonging to the king. I assumed jewelry or gold."
He scoffed. "You're not this stupid, Josie. You ain't no fool. There was something in that cabinet. Something…alive."
I frowned. "Alive?"
He nodded, all the anger dissolved. He looked unsure, confused, exactly how I expected a man without a memory to look. A small part of me felt sorry for him. The rest of me was revolted.
"Like it had a heartbeat," he went on.
"Go on," I urged.
He shrugged. "I felt it when I held that cabinet. When I let it go, I couldn't feel it no more."
"I didn't hold it," I told him. "And the captain didn't mention a heartbeat to me, or feeling anything odd about the cabinet."
"He wouldn't, would he?" he said, his voice rising again. "He doesn't want anyone else to know about it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's keeping secrets."
I put up my hands to calm him down again. "That may be, but I can assure you, he's not confiding those secrets in me. To him, I am an outsider," I said, studying the table surface. "If he has something to hide, I'm the last person he'll confide in." I looked up again. "But I don't think he's hiding anything. Not from any of you, that is. You're all in this predicament together, and I do know him well enough to know he's not so cruel as to keep important information about your memories from you."
"You think that, eh?" He slouched into the chair, taking his cup with him. He cradled it against his chest between both hands. "I think he's lying. I think he knows the reason we lost our memories. I think he and the king both know and they're in it together."
"That's absurd. Why would you say that?"
"Because everyone from the village says magic was used to build the palace, and now the servants do too. The palace must be linked with our memory loss. It must be. And who benefits from this magic? The king, that's who."
"If you're blaming the king, then why include the captain?"
"Because he's close to the king. Maybe Theo and Balthazar are involved too." He suddenly leaned forward and stabbed his finger at me. "Don't say a word of this to anyone."
"I won't, but you should be careful. Don't spread those rumors or the wrong person might overhear you. If you're suggesting the king gained the palace and throne through magic, that's treason."
"I didn't say the throne. You did." He sniffed and drank down his second cup of ale. With a belch, he set the cup down. "I will find that cabinet. I've searched part of the palace already, so seems I'll just keep going, room by room."
When did he find the time to search the palace? He was either on duty with a partner or in the garrison or training yard. I doubted he snuck around at night. Sleeping servants would wake if he went into their rooms, and he was at risk of being caught by the guards on night duty if he entered the salons. He must do it during the day, and the best time for him to do that without Dane or Max noticing him gone was when he was supposed to be on duty. His partner must be lying for him.
And if his partner was lying, that meant Brant's whereabouts at the time of Ruth's rape could not be reliably accounted for.
I swallowed the bile burning up my throat and covered my mouth with my hand.
"You see it now, don't you?" he sneered. "You see how Hammer is in on it."
"Pardon?" I managed.
"Hammer, and maybe Theo and Bal. Definitely the king. You can't trust the captain, Josie. You understand me? He's been lying to you, just like he's been lying to the rest of us."
I shook my head. "I—I don't think he has answers about your memory loss, Brant."
He slammed his fist on the table, making me jump. "Are you blind? You think because he's handsome and charming that he cares about you? You stupid women are all the same. You think the ugly men are the ones you got to be careful of. Well sometimes the handsome ones are just as mean, maybe meaner. Hammer ain't always the fine fellow he pretends to be with you. I've seen him almost kill someone with his bare hands."
"The prisoner in the cells?"
"Does it matter who? The point is, he can be all nice one minute and violent the next. He can turn like that." He snapped his fingers. My nerves jangled. "You be careful, Josie. Girls like you fall easy for men like him, then it’s too late when their true nature comes out."
"And men like you are innocent and sweet?"
"I never claimed to be innocent. I never tried to be your friend or be something I ain't. I'm just passing on some advice from someone who knows Hammer better than you. Choose your friends carefully." He stood slowly, picked up the cup then slammed it down on the table. I could only guess that it was done to highlight his point. "Thanks for the ale."
I followed him to the door and locked it behind him when he left. I slumped against it. My nerves still felt fragile, and my hands shook. No matter what Brant said, I would never trust him over Dane.
It wasn't until I returned to the kitchen and tidied up that I wondered how he'd got in. I'd unlocked the front door when I arrived home, and the back door was still locked firmly. Somehow he'd got in and re-locked one of them. No kind-hearted soul worried about my welfare would do that.
I slept fitfully. The smallest sound woke me, from the drunken singing in the distance to the creak of the rafters settling after a warm day. My sleeplessness meant I was awake at dawn when someone knocked. Compared to the other sounds, it was loud.
I threw a shawl around my shoulders and called out through the door. "Who is it?"
"Gill Swinson. Josie, you have to come with me. Something's happened."
I unlocked the door and invited Gill in but he shook his head. He clutched his hat, screwing it tightly in his fists. He looked pale in the early morning sunlight. Too pale.
"What's happened?" I asked.
"It's Ingrid. She…she needs you."
I'd known the fisherman and his family my entire life, although I'd never been particularly close with Ingrid, his daughter, four years my senior. I hoped he would understand. "I can't," I told him. "I'm not allowed to—"
"I don't care!" He thumped his fist into the wall then spread his fingers wide, as if reaching for some patience. "I'm sorry, Josie, but you have to come. There's no one else. It's women's business anyway."
"Pregnancy?"
He leveled his gaze with mine. I'd never seen such worry in this jovial man before, or such anger. "Just come. Please."
"I'll fetch my bag." I dressed quickly and grabbed my pack from the kitchen larder, making sure it contained enough mother's milk, hollyroot and mildwood. I didn't know which one I'd need, or whether all three would be necessary.
I locked the house and trotted alongside Gill, struggling to keep up with his swift pace. We didn't speak. We didn't have to. I was quite sure I knew what was wrong with Ingrid. It was the only explanation for Gill's anger and worry.
The Swinsons lived close to the dock, not far from the bustling hive of activity that had already begun in earnest. Dockers, sailors, crane operators, and customs officers passed the Swinson house on their way to work, while many fishermen were probably already on their boats. Not Gill, however.
His son wasn't at home, so perhaps he'd gone out alone today. Gill's wife, Faye, looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen and her hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She still wore her nightgown.
"In there," she said, nodding at a closed door. She touched my arm as I passed her and whispered, "She's been…forced."
I let myself into the room. I'd expected Ingrid to be lying on the bed, not pacing. She looked like a caged animal with her blonde hair rippling with each purposeful stride. Unlike her mother, her eyes were not swollen. She looked tired but not upset.
"So he did fetch you," she said, finally stopping. "I told him not to."
"Your parents are concerned about you."
"There's nothing for you to do here, Josie."
"You don't want me to take a look at you? Give you something?"
"I'm not in any pain." She grunted. "His dick wouldn't leave a shadow at full mast. I've got a few bruises on my thighs and hips, but that's all." I must have looked mystified because she added, "I'm fine, Josie. I have experience with men." Ingrid had been married for five years and widowed for one. She'd moved back with her parents after her husband's death and helped Faye sell the fish caught by Gill and their son. Ingrid had a powerful voice, perfect for a fishwife. Her character was just as strong, but even so, I'd not expected this defiance.
"I know, but…" I wasn't sure what to say. I felt woefully inadequate for such a task. Ruth had not been physically hurt either, but she had cried in my arms and I think that had helped us both. Ingrid didn't look like she wanted to cry. She looked like she wanted to hack off her attacker's genitals with a blunt axe.
"Sometimes it's not about the physical hurt, it's about the violation," I said. It had been something I'd noticed with Ruth, and it made sense that Ingrid might feel the same way.
"Violated." She began pacing again. "That's exactly it. I feel violated, like he took something from me without asking first. He made me feel weak, and I am not weak."
"You certainly aren't. You're one of the strongest women I know, Ingrid. What happened to you last night doesn't change that."
She gave a curt nod of thanks. "When I get my hands on him, I'm going to make him regret touching me. I'm going to make him feel like I feel now."
"Did you see him?"
"No. He came at me from behind."
Behind? Hailia. I felt sick. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"
"He wasn't a big man. I was taller than him, but he was stronger than me. Damn it." She turned away and stared at the wall. I thought I heard her sniff but I didn't offer sympathy. She didn't seem like she wanted it. "He smelled clean."
"Clean?"
"Not sweaty or like fish. Like he'd just washed but not with scented water."
"Where did it happen?"
"Just around the corner from here. It was early evening last night, just gone dark. I think he'd been following me for some time, but I can't be sure." She slammed her fist into the wall, just as her father had done outside my house.
Her mother opened the door. "Ingrid?"
"It's all right, Mama," Ingrid bit off. "I'm fine. Stop fussing."
I nodded at Faye and she closed the door again.
"She's going to worry about me all the time now," Ingrid said.
I could have told her she was lucky to have someone worry about her, but I did not. No matter how brave Ingrid appeared, she wasn't all right. She was angry at her attacker and she was suffering, in her own way. She just had a different way of expressing that suffering to Ruth.
"If you need a woman other than your mother to talk to, come and see me," I told her. "Also, if you become pregnant, you must definitely come to see me."
"Damn it," she muttered. "Damn that fucking little weasel's prick. If I ever find out who he is…" She made a wringing motion with her hands.
I left the room and handed Faye a bag of mildwood leaves. "Steep this in some tea," I told her. "It might calm her a little." I wasn't sure mildwood would be enough to dampen Ingrid's rage, however—or her father's. Gill looked like he wanted to snap someone's head off too.
"It's one of them newcomers," he growled. "It's got to be."
"You don't know that," Faye said.
"I do know it! It wouldn't be a Mullian. We've known this whole village all our lives. Our friends wouldn't do…that." He began pacing the floor, just as his daughter had. "They shouldn't be allowed to come here. There's too many of them, and when they don't follow our rules, we suffer. They think they can take our jobs, our livelihoods, and our women. It ain't right."
"You can't judge them all by one bad apple, Gill," Faye said.
"One is one too many!"
I let myself out. I hadn't been paid but I didn't expect it for doing nothing. I clutched my bag tighter and didn't stop on the way home. The sky was lighter now, the sun having chased away dawn's shadows, yet Mull felt different. The stone buildings didn't seem as warm, the gutters not as clean, the air not as fresh. Perhaps it was just my own perception, knowing what had happened last night.
The faces of the people I passed belonged mostly to strangers. Many of them looked desperate, hungry. They would be hoping to find work today after finding none the day before, or the day before that. Desperation to find honest work didn't make a man a rapist. If Ingrid's attacker was the same as Ruth's, then none of the suspects were newcomers to the village. At least we had more to go on with now. Dane only needed to learn which of the suspects had been in the village last night.
I stopped mid-stride. Brant had been in the village in the early evening. He may not have immediately returned to the palace after leaving my house.
I adjusted my grip on my pack and hurried home. I got as far as the end of my street before stopping again. Ivor Morgrain walked toward me, head bowed against the breeze. Like an animal scenting its prey on the wind, he suddenly looked up. He seemed as unhappy to see me as I was to see him. Not his prey then, but perhaps his tormentor. Or his conscience.
Unless one of us turned around, we had to pass each another. I hesitated. It might be daytime, but the street was empty except for the two of us and I no longer trusted Ivor. I couldn't rely on even the nosiest neighbor looking out their window this early in the morning.
Mistress Grinsten emerged from her house, however, a basket over her arm, her two children dawdling behind. She waved at me and I waved back. One of the children tripped over his shoelace and burst into tears. His mother bent to pick him up and her delay gave me some courage.
"Ivor," I said, approaching him. "I wish to ask you a question."
He smiled tentatively. Where before he looked like he wanted to pass me by without so much as a greeting, now he looked keen to talk. "I've always got time for you, Josie. The other day…forget that. I was having a bad day." He drew closer and the smile became more confident. "Want to go somewhere quieter?"
"This is quiet enough. Where were you last night in the early evening?"
The smiled slipped. "Why?"
"I, er, heard you were…you know." Merdu, I wasn't very good at thinking on the spot.
"With Tammara?" His lips curved into a sleek smile. "Aye, I was."
"Tammara Lowe?"
"We've been getting along lately. She heard that you and me weren't together no more—"
"We were never together. What have you been telling people about us?"
He crossed his arms. "If we weren't together, then you got to learn not to tease a man. All your flirting meant something, Josie. At least to me," he finished in a mutter.
"I'm sorry if that's what you thought I was doing. I wasn't flirting, I was just…" I shrugged. "…being myself."
He scoffed. "I was with Tammara last night. Ask her if you don't believe me. Why do you want to know anyway?"
"I was curious about what you get up to these days." I pushed past him and hurried home. For a long time, I could feel his gaze boring into my back but I did not turn around. He would have to stay confused about my question because I had no intention of telling him the truth. I had no intention of speaking to him ever again.
I deposited my pack on my father's desk and left the house again immediately. I wanted to catch Tammara before she went out. Like most unwed girls our age, she did the marketing for her mother and helped around the family home. Very few had jobs outside the home, and if they did, it was usually working in their fathers’ shops or workshops. Tammara's father was a boat builder and her brothers assisted him. She would be at home with her mother now or heading out to the market.
She lived not far away and I intercepted her as she left her house, a basket over her arm. I expected her to be annoyed if she considered me a rival for Ivor's affections, but she simply looked bemused by my visit.
"I haven't seen you in some time, Josie," she said. "I'm sorry about your father."
"Thanks."
"Are you just passing?"
"I came to see you." Before I asked my question, I would dispel a myth first. "I've just seen Ivor Morgrain," I said, being as direct as possible. "He tells me you think he and I were a couple. It's not true. We weren't."
Tammara's dark brow arched. Unlike most Glancians, she had brown hair and eyes, an echo of her grandfather's Dreen heritage. She wasn't as slender as a Glancian either, and was more curvaceous in the places men liked. It meant she was rarely short of suitors, but to my knowledge, she'd encouraged very few. Ivor was fortunate. I wondered what she saw in him.
"He never outright said it," she told me. "I assumed. We all did. He was always talking about you and saying how he was going to marry you one day." A smile twisted her lips. "Not that I care anymore."
"You don't?"
"We're not together. We courted a week or so ago. It didn't last long." She tapped her chest. "I ended it with him, not the other way around." She seemed glad to be rid of him. We had that in common! "I don't doubt it," I said. "I was surprised when he told me about the two of you. He doesn't seem like your type."
"Nor yours," she said. "I don't know why I assumed you two were ever a couple."
"Does that mean he wasn't with you last night?" I asked.
"He was not. Is that what he's saying now?" She fisted her hand on her hip. "The lying little prick. Wait 'til I get my hands on him."
"Don't do that. Don't tell him I came to see you. He'll think I'm jealous and that'll only make him think he has a hope with me when he doesn't."
"Fine. I prefer not to see him anyway, but if I hear he's been spreading more lies, I'm going to have to set him straight."
"Do you think he lied just to make me jealous?" I asked.
"Probably. He's still keen on you. He's so jealous of that captain." She smiled slyly. "So he should be. The captain's far better looking than Ivor. I wouldn't mind entertaining him for an evening."
I laughed along with her despite the odd sensation in my chest that I recognized as jealousy. "Where do you think Ivor was last night then? At home? Or does he drink at one of the taverns regularly?" It had been some time since I'd enjoyed an ale with friends at a tavern. Once the newcomers began to arrive in Mull in alarming numbers, my father forbade it. He wasn't the only parent. Few of my female friends had been allowed to continue to drink in taverns these last few months, or walk in the village in the evenings.
"I think he goes to The Anchor," she said.
The Anchor was the more reputable of Mull's two taverns. It still had a village feel to it, with mostly locals frequenting it, while The Mermaid's Tail attracted the newcomers since it had accommodation upstairs and out back. It had also gained a reputation for fighting and drunkenness thanks to a few bad apples, as Mistress Swinson called them.
"He's changed, you know," she went on. "Ivor's not like he used to be."
"How do you mean?"
"I used to like him. I used to be jealous of your hold on him, Josie." She smiled wistfully. "That's why I allowed him to court me when he came to me. I suppose I still saw the man he used to be. But I quickly realized he wasn't the same. He's angry, now. He's filled with hate, and I don't like it. He scares me."
I gave her a grim smile. "He scares me too, nowadays. I saw him at the docks and he became so angry at a migrant whose only crime was to bump me. I thought he'd attack the man. It was awful, and I couldn't get away from him fast enough. He's like a lot of people in the village though."
"Not all," she said. "Not even that many, I believe. There are certainly a few who hate all newcomers, and they've become very vocal about it. When I learned Ivor was drinking with that group at The Anchor, I wanted to distance myself from him. It's likely he was with them last night, complaining about the state Mull is in. That's all they ever do."
"Then why didn't he just tell me that?" I asked. "Why lie?"
She shrugged. "You could check with them. Start with Ned Perkin. Ivor idolizes him. He follows him around like a puppy."
I thanked her and headed home. I would indeed speak with Ned Perkin and find out if Ivor had been with him last night. If he hadn't, then Ivor was looking more and more like Ingrid's attacker.
Like Gill Swinson, Ned was a fisherman and wouldn't be in the village during the day. I'd go in search of him later at The Anchor.
First, I had a message to write to Dane. I had much to tell him, too much to put into a note. I simply wrote: "I need to speak with you. Come when you're free."
He sent a note back to tell me he would call on me later in the afternoon. I'd just finished reading it when a brisk rap on the door announced a visitor.
"Miranda!" I said, accepting her peck on my cheek. "What are you doing here?"
"Sneaking away. We both are." She indicated the carriage waiting on the street. The duchess of Gladstow waved at me through the window. "My parents and her husband don't know we're here," Miranda said. "They think we're out riding."
I spotted Meg emerging from her house opposite. She took one look at the carriage with the Gladstow ducal crest painted on the door and returned inside with a determined look on her face. It was most curious.
"Josie," the duchess called out. "Come down here and talk to me."
"Why don't you come out, Kitty?" Miranda called back with a wink for me.
The duchess screwed her nose up at the street below. "I'm not wearing the right footwear."
Miranda leaned closer to me. "She doesn't like the mud."
"It's not too muddy," I said. "Last night's rain wasn't heavy."
"Even a little mud is too much for a duchess, apparently." Miranda grinned. "This could be fun." She took my hand and led me to the carriage window. "You must come out, Kitty, or Josie will think you're snubbing her."
"Oh, no," I said, "I don't think that."
The duchess's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm not snubbing her! You're wicked for saying so, Miranda. I like Josie very much. It's just that my shoes are covered in the prettiest shade of yellow silk. Yellow, Miranda!"
"Why did you decide to wear yellow silk for a visit to the village?"
"I didn't think we were getting out of the carriage. You told me we were going for a drive, you said nothing about traipsing through mud. It's nothing against you, Josie. I would love to experience your country hospitality. You villagers are famous for hearty cakes and the like."
Not this villager, and certainly not at the moment with the larder so bare. Thank Hailia for a little mud.
"What a shame," I said in my sincerest voice. "I would be honored by your visit, Your Grace."
"Do call me Kitty since we're friends now."
"Kitty," I repeated dully, not quite sure if I wanted to be on informal terms with a duchess. It didn't seem right.
"You'll have to stay in here, Kitty," Miranda said with an elaborate sigh. "While I enjoy Josie's company inside."
Kitty pouted. "You're going to gossip, aren't you?"
"Of course."
Kitty pouted more.
I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.
The duchess's face suddenly brightened. "I know! The coachman can carry me to the door." Before Miranda and I could say a word, she poked her head through the window. "You there! Driver! Step down and assist me."
The coachman dutifully did as ordered, leaving the well behaved horses unattended. At Kitty's instruction, he carried her the three paces over the street and gutter and deposited her on the threshold. She smoothed her hand over the full yellow and cream silk skirt and beamed at us.
"There. Problem solved." She studied her surroundings and I was glad I'd cleaned recently. "What a charming cottage. It's so rustic and full of character. I can't wait to see the reception rooms."
She'd be disappointed when she learned the house had no reception rooms, only a kitchen. She'd be even more disappointed when I told her I could offer nothing to eat.
"Josie," Meg hissed from behind the carriage. When had she snuck up? And why was she wearing a cloak in warm weather?
"What is it?" I whispered, joining her.
She opened her cloak to reveal something wrapped in a cloth. "It's a cake," she said. "Mama baked it this morning. Take it."
"I can't take it. It's for your family."
"She'll make another, and she owes you for seeing my sister at short notice."
"That was nothing," I said. "It certainly doesn't warrant an entire cake as payment."
She pushed the bundle at me, but seeing that I wore no cloak to hide it under, lifted my skirts.
"Meg!" I swatted her hand away.
"Take it, Josie, or my mother will fret. She hates the idea of you being unable to feed those palace ladies. Who are they anyway, and what do they want?"
"Miranda was the one who was poisoned a few weeks ago. We've become friends. The other is a duchess."
"Duchess!" Her huge eyes peered past me. "So that's what a duchess looks like. She's very grand. Her gown is exquisite. Look at the luster! And it's so full. How does she fit through doorways?"
"It looks neither practical nor comfortable."
"Who cares for practicality and comfort when you can look beautiful? Here, take this." She shoved the cake up my skirt then directed my hands to hold it in place. I doubted I could fool anyone but Meg didn't seem to care. She turned me around and gave me a little push.
"Join us," I told her.
"Hailia, no. Cake with duchesses sounds horrible."
"Only one is a duchess. Miranda is lovely and funny. You two would get along."
She shook her head and shooed me away.
I sighed and gave up. I knew a lost cause when I saw one. "Thank your mother for me. I'll visit your sister later to see how she is."
I waddled awkwardly back to Kitty and Miranda, waiting just inside the door. Miranda eyed the lump under my skirt with suspicion but Kitty was too busy lifting her own skirts high off the floor to notice.
"I cleaned only yesterday," I told her as I passed. "So the mice won't disturb us."
"Mice?" Kitty squeaked. "Is she joking?" she whispered to Miranda. "She is, isn't she?"
"I don't know," Miranda whispered hoarsely back, "but if you spot a mouse, scream and run to the carriage. Don't worry about the mud. I hear mice detest mud as much as duchesses so they won't follow you."
I smiled at her over my shoulder. Kitty scowled at us both. "You two are made for one another," she said, following me into the kitchen.
"Please sit," I said, indicating the kitchen table. "I'll fetch something from the larder."
"It's all right," Kitty said. "We'll wait for you to show us through to the salon."
With my back to the kitchen, I removed the cake from beneath my skirt and placed it on a plate in the larder. "This is the salon," I called out. "It's also the kitchen and medicine room."
"Medicine room?"
"Where I make up the medicines, ointments, unguents and the like," I said, rejoining them.
"Delightful," she muttered through a tight smile.
"Sit down, Kitty," Miranda said as she sat. "A cake? Wonderful. I love cake."
"What kind is it?" Kitty asked.
I looked at the cake as I set plates down in front of them. I wished I'd smelled it beforehand but it was too late now. "It's an old family favorite," I said. No need to tell her it wasn't my family's recipe.
I cut up the cake then made the tea. Despite her initial reluctance to set foot in my house, the duchess seemed to forget where she was once the gossip began. There was no shortage of it and they delighted in passing on the details even though I didn't know the people they talked about. From what I could gather, certain noble families wouldn't talk to one another, while others couldn't even be in the same room. They told me about the baroness who was so desperate to seem more important than she was that she told everyone she was a countess, and the case where a viscount accused the daughter of a marquis of stealing.
"I must tell you the gossip about Lady Grenlee," Kitty added with a gleam in her eyes.
"That's not proven," Miranda chided. "We shouldn't repeat it."
"Oh pooh. It's only to Josie, anyway." Kitty leaned forward and lowered her voice. "It's said that Lady Grenlee's three children are not her husband's."
"Who's their father?" I asked, unable to help myself. I didn't know Lady Grenlee, but I suddenly wanted to know about her illicit affairs.
"Some say it's one of their gardeners."
"Kitty!" Miranda cried. "Who says that?"
Kitty shrugged. "People. And Josie, have you heard about Lord Juke?"
"No, what about him?" I asked, leaning forward too.
"Apparently he's more interested in his valet than his new young wife."
I gasped. "Do the authorities know?"
"Perhaps, but what does it matter? There are benefits to being a nobleman, and one of those is that a count can have liaisons with his valet and the authorities will turn a blind eye." Kitty crumbled cake between her fingers. She'd eaten half a slice and declared herself too full to eat any more but had proceeded to pick it apart instead. "Josie, perhaps you know the answer to something I've been wondering about ever since hearing that story. You are an expert on the human body and its functions. How do two men…you know?"
Miranda groaned. "Not this again."
"Well, you wouldn't tell me. You're such a prude. Josie isn't, though."
"I'm a prude too," I assured her. "Very much so. Speaking of scandals, has Lady Morgrave become the king's favorite?"
"She has," Miranda said, eager to move the discussion away from Lord Juke and his valet. "They spend a lot of time in one another's company. Kitty thinks they're sleeping together."
Kitty nodded wisely. "I can tell by the look on their faces when I saw them yesterday. It was quite obvious they'd been for a tumble."
"What does her husband think?" I asked.
"Lord Morgrave pretends not to notice," Miranda said. "Some people think he's going to ask for compensation from the king." She made him sound like a common whoremaster.
"Money?"
Kitty looked appalled. "Merdu, no. He'll ask for a higher title or the rights to collect taxes at a toll bridge or something like that. Perhaps even an ambassadorial role."
"How is that different to money?" I asked.
"Well…" Kitty looked to Miranda but Miranda merely shrugged. "It just is."
"And what about her mother?"
"Lady Deerhorn is prancing around the palace with her nose in the air. You'd think she was the king's favorite. Lord Xavier has become even more arrogant, if you can believe it."
"We try to avoid the Deerhorns," Miranda told me. "Particularly Lord Xavier. I don't want his attention."
"There is someone else paying Miranda extra attention lately, too," Kitty said with a smug smile. "A certain Vytill representative with only one arm."
"Lord Barborough?" I blurted out. When they both looked at me, I added, "I've heard about him."
"So you'll know he has two arms," Miranda said pointedly.
"One doesn't work," Kitty shot back. "But I suppose only one is necessary in his line of work. Anyway, he has been very attentive to our mutual friend, Josie. Very friendly indeed."
I picked up my teacup and took my time sipping. I wanted to warn them about Lord Barborough, but it would only lead to questions I couldn't answer. I'd promised Ruth not to tell anyone what had happened to her, and I'd promised Dane and the others not to mention the memory loss and magic.
"Be careful," I simply said. "Make sure you know him thoroughly before being alone with him."
Miranda cocked her head to the side, frowning. "Why?"
I lifted a shoulder. "I am not convinced his arm is useless. It may be an affectation."
Miranda's frown deepened. She suspected there was more.
"Why would someone lie about that?" Kitty asked, rising. "Of course it doesn't work. Nobody would pretend to have only one arm."
"He has two arms, Kitty," Miranda said again.
"We ought to get back, Miranda. Your mother will worry."
"As will your husband," Miranda said, following her out.
"Hardly." Kitty paused at the front door and, with a deep breath, lifted her skirts. "This is a day for new adventures," she declared and stepped onto the street. Her shoes squelched in the shallow mud.
"I don't envy her maid having to clean those shoes," Miranda said, laughing.
She kissed my cheek and promised to come visit me again, alone next time. "I'll let you know if we discover Lord Barborough's arm works after all."
I bit the inside of my cheek and waved them off, wishing I hadn't given them reason to spy on the Vytill representative when I didn't know how dangerous he could be.