CHAPTER SEVEN
Julia sat bolt upright, heart pounding.
Male voices. The distinct sound of male voices, raised loud enough to rattle Harding Hall to the rooftops. Angry or simply selfishly loud, they were too distant to tell.
How many nights had she been shaken awake in Seven Dials by the sound of male rage beneath her?
The image of the dark fairy in Annabelle's book flooded her mind. She could only assume that, whoever the interloper was, he had forced entry to the house itself.
Julia seized the candlestick and padded slowly from her room.
One step into the shadowy corridor and she began to wish she'd lit the candle first. Feeling her way with her feet, she made her way towards the sounds that floated up from below.
Why was the household not awake? Why did she hear no footmen running towards the intruders? The shouting was distorted by the winding corridors, but the danger in it was clear enough.
Julia rounded a corner and finally made out the words the men were chanting. She froze in place, horrified. She knew exactly what they were saying.
Two men, somewhere in the depths of Harding Hall, were blundering through the lyrics of an old drinking song. The sort of thing she'd heard often in the taverns and back alleys of Seven Dials. Julia tightened her grip on the candlestick, forcing all thoughts of her first home from her mind. So, a pair of footmen had drunk too much with their dinner and were making merry in tones fit to raise the whole house? Had they entirely forgotten that there were women at Harding Hall? They'd suffer in the morning, sure enough, but Julia intended to give them such a scare they wouldn't dare rouse her with their racket again.
She made her way down the staircase one tip-toe at a time and followed the unabated noise to the left. She was in the grandest part of the Hall now, and in the morning she was certain that the high ceilings and marble busts would not be nearly so frightening. For now, she simply made her way past as quickly as possible, refusing to look left or right for fear of the shadowed ghouls her imagination might show her.
The voices grew louder, clearer now. Julia approached a door which had not featured in Annabelle's breakneck tour of the Hall. She fastened one hand on the handle, gripped the candlestick with the other, and took a deep breath before she shoved it open.
"Ah-ha!" she cried, brandishing her candlestick. "You ruffians! You –"
Julia froze, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water, as she took in the sight of the Marquess lounging open-shirted and deeply drunk in front of a roaring fire. His back was flat on the floor and his boots were cocked up on a chaise longue with no care for the fine upholstery. An empty decanter stood by his head, together with a glass whose contents lay in a puddle soaking into his dark hair.
Behind him stood another gentlemen, someone Julia had never seen before – but a gentleman he certainly was, by bearing as well as his fashionable tight pantaloons and his spotless starched cravat. There was a cruelty to the set of his mouth which only increased as he tugged one corner up into a smile. He raised his glass to Julia.
"Charles, we have a guest. Welcome, pretty lady."
Julia lowered her candlestick. The Marquess raised an eyebrow coolly, as though his position on the floor were of no consequence whatsoever.
"Ah, Miss Mallory. Do let me introduce my friend Lord Kit."
Lord Kit made her an elaborate, mocking bow. "Miss Mallory? A friend of yours, Charles?"
His eyes raked up and down Julia's linen nightshift. She suddenly became extremely aware that she was not even wearing a dressing gown, and folded her arms across her chest.
"The new governess," said Charles, pushing himself up onto his elbow. "For Annabelle."
"Well, old man, I hardly thought she was here for you." Lord Kit raised an eyebrow. "Won't you join us for a drink, Miss Mallory? With your permission, Charles. I hardly like to go around interfering with another man's staff."
The way his lips pulled sardonically at the word staff made Julia hate him, and for the first time, feel ashamed of her new position.
"I don't know that I like your tone, Kit," Charles drawled, his voice deepening to a dangerous growl. "Miss Mallory is to be treated as one of the family."
Kit's eyes sparkled. "Then the lovely Miss Mallory must certainly accept a glass of brandy."
"I will certainly not be joining you," she snapped, and bent down to help Charles back to his feet. "It seems to me you've had quite enough."
Lord Kit snorted. "Can't a man drink himself to death in the peace and comfort of his own home?"
"Nobody will be drinking themselves to death on my watch!" snapped Julia. She thrust an arm around the Marquess's shoulders and gave him a heave. There was a surprising weight to him, for such a slender man. Beneath that stained white shirt he was nothing but muscle and power.
Power which was not being used to help Julia get him to his feet. She wriggled her arm underneath him and levered him up to a sitting position. Perhaps she ought to call for help?
One look at the Marquess's face told her that he would not want the servants to see him this way. His handsome face had twisted into a gargoyle's mask of self-loathing. He pushed Julia away somewhat roughly and lifted himself unsteadily to standing.
"Women!" he said, throwing the words vaguely in Kit's direction. "Can't stand 'em."
"Oh, they have their uses, old man." Kit tipped his glass suggestively in Julia's direction. She tried to ignore him. "Not that you're doing nearly enough to discover them for yourself."
Julia offered the Marquess her arm. "Let me help you to bed, my lord. You're tired."
"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not at all tired," Charles confessed, leaning on her heavily. "I'm drunk."
"You mustn't be too hard on him, Miss Governess," smirked Kit. "It's my fault entirely. Why, Charlie here has barely a sinful bone in his body. I'm sure the household has more than enough stories of my debauchery to make it clear that I'm no fit company for a respectable father and widower like our good Marquess."
"I wouldn't like to say," said Julia stiffly. She steered Charles gently in the direction of the doorway. "Goodnight, Lord Kit. I assume you can show yourself out? Or do I need to ring for the butler?"
Kit was making his way back to the drinks cabinet. "Don't fret, Miss, I'm more than at home here at Harding Hall."
Charles's head lolled against Julia's shoulder as she half-carried him out into the hallway.
"You'll have to tell me the way to your chambers, my lord," she said, trying not to grunt under his weight – though goodness only knew why she was at all concerned with seeming ladylike at a moment like this.
"Made a fool of myself," Charles slurred. He sounded so bitter, so full of self-recrimination, that Julia almost pitied him.
"I've seen much worse, my lord," she said. That was the truth. Her brother was not known for his restraint when it came to celebrating his business successes.
"Not Kit's fault," said Charles. "All my own. Ought to know better. But I felt..."
They reached the hallway. Charles pointed vaguely up the main staircase. "This way."
Julia braced her shoulder under his as they made their wobbly way upstairs.
"After London," Charles continued, "I just... I needed to... forget."
"What happened in London?" Julia asked. It was more to make conversation than anything else. Whatever haunted the Marquess was really none of her business.
Charles surprised her by unleashing a cold burst of laughter. "Nearly got married, Miss Mallory. Can you imagine? Lucky escape there."
"The lady refused you?" Julia wondered what sort of woman would possibly refuse a handsome Marquess with as much money as her employer was rumoured to have.
A woman who had an inkling of his nocturnal activities, she thought uncharitably. Perhaps Lord Kit had also been in London.
"She was in love," said Charles. "Not with me. Smart girl... but not smart enough to keep away from marriage. Bad business. Miss Mallory?" He stopped walking with an abruptness that made Julia stagger. Charles caught her face in his hands and turned it towards him with a deadly serious expression.
"My lord!"
"Never marry," he told her, solemn despite his wine-slurred tones. "It's a fool's game, marriage. Snapdragon's better." He meant the game young men played with flaming brandy at Christmastime. "Less chance of a burn."
"Who burnt you?" Julia asked, searching his face for a clue. Charles's eyes flashed darkly.
"I was not born for happiness, Miss Mallory."
"You have time for happiness yet, my lord." She knew it was only the drink talking, but she felt a great desire to comfort him all the same.
"No." Charles shook his head. "I had my chance. I had my chance and I squandered it."
"My lord!" A deep voice called down the corridor. Julia turned to see a man in Chiltern livery hurrying towards them. "My lord, are you alright?"
Julia gratefully handed the care of the Marquess's unsteady form to the newcomer. The man looked at her curiously.
"I am Peter Kildare, his lordship's valet," he said eventually. Julia felt all the ridiculousness of the situation descend on her at once, and stifled a nervous giggle.
"Julia Mallory. Lady Annabelle's new governess."
Peter nodded as politely as though it were completely normal to make someone's acquaintance in the dark of night in the middle of an ancient mansion, while staggering under the weight of a drunken Marquess. "Thank you, Miss Mallory. I take it Lord Christopher came to visit?"
"I heard voices," said Julia, embarrassed now by her frightened imaginings of burglars and intruders, "and I thought..."
"They do make an awful racket together," said Peter. Charles grunted in protest. "I'm sorry, my lord, but it's the truth. You have roused Miss Mallory from her bed."
"The very place I should be getting back to," said Julia. "If you can manage alone?"
"Oh, I'm no stranger to his lordship's...moods," said Peter easily. "Goodnight, Miss Mallory. Thank you for your help. Oh... and I'd be grateful if you kept this to yourself in the morning."
"Naturally," Julia agreed. She didn't know much about running a household of this size and importance, but she was sure it would do no good for the servants' morale if they knew the state their master had drunk himself into. "Goodnight, Mr Kildare."
She hurried off up the rickety staircase that led to her own rooms. Only when she sat on her bed, and thought to read a little to calm herself before attempting sleep again, did she realise that she'd left the candlestick on the floor in the Marquess's library.
The thought of Lord Kit waiting for her with his cruel smile and his glittering eyes was enough to make Julia resolve to appreciate the darkness. She lay down and listened to the slowing thump of her heart until sleep took her once more.