The next morning after breakfast, Hannah perched on the side of her mother’s bed and stroked a silk rose embroidered on the coverlet. “Why did you ask Lady Loburn to add Viscount Wycliff to her guest list?”
Seraphina laughed and tapped her daughter’s hand. “I should have anticipated you would discover that piece of information. How to explain what must now seem like an unforgivable imposition upon Lady Loburn?” She closed the book on her lap and placed it to one side. “The war against Napoleon is over, but the battle with his mages continues. One of them used foul dark arts to create this curse. He must be found and brought to justice for his heinous crime.”
That Hannah could completely agree with. Those who used dark magic were frightening creatures who held themselves above the laws that governed societies. If mages could act without sanction, there would be no limit to how they could twist the world with magic. “But how does Viscount Wycliff’s presence at a ball aid in finding him?”
Seraphina waved her hands and a chessboard made of mist formed, to hover above the bed. Figures dropped onto the squares and at another wave of her hand, one advanced forward two places. “Magical battles are like games of chess. Pieces must be moved around the board in ways that sometimes don’t have an obvious purpose. I don’t know how the viscount will assist. I merely know he must be in play.”
Hannah wondered which piece he would prove to be—a disposable pawn, or a noble knight? “I do not know how I shall make it through the next few days.”
“You will endure because Lady Loburn has asked for your help and General Sir Manly Powers is relying on you to add a civilising touch to the proceedings. Not to mention the fact that you are more curious than ever about the brooding viscount.” Seraphina wiped her arm across the ghostly board and it transformed into puffs of cloud that drifted away.
Was it curiosity? The man was a walking foul mood, as though only anger and bitterness flowed through his veins. Hannah would admit to mild curiosity about whether he could smile or laugh. The war had been horrid, but she wondered what about the campaign that resulted in the deaths of his men made him turn his back on society and unable to find any joy in life.
“I rather think spending time in his company will be similar to being stuck in a cave with an angry bear blocking the only exit. He might just bite off my head.” Hannah would ensure the ladies on the list were offered a modicum of privacy and civility. Not just because the Ministry of Unnaturals requested it, but because it was what they deserved. But at what cost to herself?
Her mother picked up her hand and pressed it between her own. Beneath the cotton gloves her skin was cool. “If anyone knows how to handle a bear-headed man, it is you. You seem to manage your father when he’s in one of his moods.”
“I do not think you can liken the two men. Father’s moods arise when he is tired but in the pursuit of knowledge. Lord Wycliff seems angry at the world in general.”
A gentle huffing came from behind the veil as Seraphina laughed. “If anyone can ferret out the truth, it is you, my dear. But be careful. The discovery of secrets is often a reciprocal process.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mother squeezed her hand. “To learn another’s secret often means revealing one of your own.”
Hannah didn’t have many secrets and those she did hold would go with her to her grave. She wouldn’t be surrendering them to Lord Wycliff, and so her curiosity about him might have to go unsatisfied. She decided to try a different tack. “Did you know Lord Wycliff during the war?”
“No. We mages were cloistered most of the time. I did little socialising outside of your father’s friends, and when we ventured onto the battlefield, we were heavily guarded.” A wistful tone touched her mother’s voice.
Did Mother likewise suffer in her loneliness? Being born a mage had limited her social circle. She had held a high rank while alive, but many people were frightened by the concept of a female mage, as though she were the extremis of an Unnatural creature. But then a true love match had saved her mother from the ache of an empty heart. There was no such knight on the horizon for Hannah.
“But you will always have Father,” Hannah whispered.
“Oh, Hannah. If I could only summon sufficient power, I would turn back the hands of time and give you the introduction to society you deserve and the chance to find your own true love.” Her mother claimed no ability to read minds, but she often knew Hannah’s innermost thoughts. A gloved hand reached out and wiped away a single tear that escaped the corner of Hannah’s eye.
“I have so much, it is selfish of me to want more.” Hannah mustered a smile and willed herself to stop dwelling on what her life lacked, and to count her blessings instead. She had two parents who loved and indulged her. She had a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and books to expand her mind. What more could a young lady desire?
Companionship and a passionate love.
“I think you need a dog,” her mother announced.
“A dog?” Hannah blinked, wondering what detour in the conversation she had missed.
“Yes. Leave it to me. Now, you had better trot downstairs and wait in the parlour. I suspect the viscount will expect you to run out the door the moment his carriage stops outside the house.” Lady Miles rested her hands over the pages of her book.
“I shall tell you all that transpires upon my return.” Hannah kissed the muslin covering her mother’s face. “A dog?” she muttered as she left her mother’s room and headed down to the parlour.
Hannah didn’t have sufficient time to sit idle. She shrugged on a grey pelisse trimmed in navy that matched her dress. Next, a straw bonnet with navy ribbons tied under her chin. Then, just as the old grandfather clock in the hall began to strike ten, the carriage pulled up outside. Like a character in a fairy tale, she wondered if she needed to make it to the end of the path before the last chime sounded. Although if she were turned into a pumpkin, she hoped her mother could reverse such a spell.
With a tight grip on her reticule, she headed out the front door. On closer inspection, the carriage appeared rather shabby and covered in dust, and was devoid of any crest. A man in plain clothing hopped down from the box and held the door open for her.
The horses weren’t quite a matched pair, one being a dark bay and the other a brown. They passed the casual glance, but a second look highlighted the difference in their colour.
A hired conveyance, Hannah thought as she stepped inside.
The viscount didn’t even bother to get out and greet her. But then, he wasn’t courting her, only collecting an employee. Hannah cast herself in the role of secretary to the viscount’s inquisitor. Today his usual black was relieved by a waistcoat of a green so deep it was like the hidden depths of a dense forest.
“Good morning, Lord Wycliff,” Hannah said as she took the seat beside him but kept to the far edge. The viscount might lack basic civilities, but she would keep a courteous tongue.
“Miss Miles. At least you are prompt, unlike other members of your sex.” He nodded his head and rapped his cane on the carriage roof. “We shall visit the late Lady Albright first.”
An obvious target. Lady Albright had been one of only two veiled women in attendance at Lizzie’s party, and hers was a sad tale.
The passing of the Unnaturals Act in 1812 gave all Unnaturals the same rights as ordinary Englishmen. They were also subject to the same laws. Since the Afflicted had no pulse but refused to go quietly into their graves, Parliament had declared them to be dead and a type of Unnatural creature.
English law stated that the dead could not marry, inherit, or hold property. Set aside by her husband, the late Lady Albright now eked out an existence relying on the charity of friends and family. She and Lady Loburn were close friends and Lizzie considered her an aunt, hence her inclusion at the celebration.
“You think the late Lady Albright might have committed such a heinous murder?” Hannah couldn’t fit the description of murderer to the older woman, who retained a quiet dignity despite the cruel treatment meted out by her husband’s hand. She was rather fond of knitting and Hannah tried to imagine her brandishing knitting needles as fatal weapons. No, never on an innocent man. Although no one would be surprised if her husband were found with a knitting needle thrust into his jugular one day.
Wycliff’s gaze swept over Hannah and carried on to fix on something in the landscape outside. “A veil or mask could hide so much and I do not know what the Afflicted are capable of. They have already proven themselves able to commit such a crime.”
“A veil doesn’t conceal the true nature of a person, only the state of their exterior. Lady Albright has always been a kind and gentle woman. She has honour in her soul, unlike her husband.” Hannah bit her lip to stop herself from saying more. The viscount created an unusual reaction in her and she felt herself on the verge of an argument.
Wycliff grunted, but refused to turn his attention to the inside of the carriage. Hannah was used to being ignored, so she occupied herself by mentally reviewing the previous day’s autopsy results. Why had the unfortunate woman’s heart rotted? Sir Hugh had unlocked his safe, where he kept a portion of the face powder, to infect a new trio of mice. They would observe the creatures as the disease took hold and stilled their hearts, looking for signs that the passage of time affected the curse and likewise changed the effect on its victims.
Hannah was so engrossed in her internal observations that she failed to notice the carriage coming to a stop. A cough that sounded distinctly like a grumble came from beside her and she looked around and blinked, taking a moment to orient herself.
Wycliff arched a dark brow. “When you are ready. Although I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with vacuous chatter.”
Hannah opened her mouth to comment, then snapped it shut again. The man was insufferable, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rise to his bait. Instead, she clutched her reticule in one hand and placed the other on the side of the carriage as she stepped to the ground. Unassisted.
They were in a middle-class neighbourhood with a tidy row of modest brick town houses. Hannah had a vague recollection that the late Lady Albright now lived with a cousin.
Wycliff charged past her up the front path and rapped sharply with the cast-iron knocker. Hannah trailed behind and wondered whether the man would temper his blunt edges when dealing with the tragic resident.
A maid in a white cap answered the door, glanced at Wycliff, and then visibly retreated back into the house. Hannah let out a sigh. She should carry a bucket of water to extinguish the numerous fires the viscount would no doubt ignite.
Inside the cool interior, Hannah followed the tails of Wycliff’s coat, which flicked at a corner and disappeared into a side room. Voices came from beyond. By the time Hannah reached the door, two startled women were rising from their seats and the maid was hiding in a corner behind the tea table.
The late Lady Albright wore dark grey with her customary heavy black veil pinned to her cap. The veil dropped over her shoulders and came well below the high neck of her dress. Like Hannah’s mother, gloves covered her hands and were tucked under the long sleeves of her gown. The other woman wore a bright orange morning dress and looked to be in her mid-fifties. Both women stared at Wycliff as though a hound from Hell had just charged into their parlour.
“Lady Albright,” Hannah said and bobbed a curtsey, ignoring the viscount. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting your cousin?”
The veiled woman took a step closer and gestured to the Gerbera daisy at her side. “Miss Miles, may I introduce my cousin, Mrs Hamilton?”
Heads were nodded, and knees dipped.
“I’m sure you know Viscount Wycliff,” Hannah murmured.
On hearing his name, the man finally offered a scant bow. “I am here to discuss the murder that occurred at the Marquess of Loburn’s ball. I desire to know your whereabouts during the evening.”
Lady Albright put a hand to her chest and the veil fluttered closer to her face with her indrawn gasp. “Surely you do not suspect me?”
“I suspect all the Afflicted in attendance that night, until I have eliminated them as being responsible.” He clasped his hands behind his back, the move of a soldier making himself comfortable.
Hannah approached the older woman, offered an apologetic smile to her cousin, and then took Lady Albright’s gloved hands in hers. She drew the woman toward a chaise and urged her to sit.
“If I am not required for this interview, I have duties to attend to.” Mrs Hamilton gestured for the maid to follow her and departed.
“Take your time to answer,” Hannah said. She ignored the glare heating the middle of her back. The man could learn to wait. The footman was dead, and giving the Afflicted woman a chance to gather her thoughts wouldn’t bring him back.
“Did you see that Lord Albright was in attendance with the new Lady Albright? She recently gave him a second son and he is much enamoured of her.” The light tone of the late Lady Albright’s words was unable to mask the deeper heartache beneath.
Hannah had heard the twitter among the other women. They had hoped for a spectacle when the deceased wife met the living one. They were sadly disappointed when the late Lady Albright had not an unkind word to say about her replacement.
“Yes. I heard. It must be very difficult for you.” The Afflicted suffered in more ways than the original curse. Lady Miles had been rejected by society for her magical abilities; dying and being numbered among the Afflicted made little difference to her. Others felt the loss of their status and friends more keenly.
Wycliff tapped a toe. “Your movements, Lady Albright.”
She raised her head, only the barest facial details visible through the thick veil. “I do not dance, and therefore I was happy to chaperone the younger people while they chatted. I spent most of the evening to one side, by the entrance to the dining room. Numerous people saw me there. I am somewhat distinctive,” she said, one hand resting briefly on her veil. She then gave the names of several young courting couples she had supervised that night. Wycliff jotted the names in a small notebook.
“Did you see the butterflies that Mother created?” Hannah had looked for the older woman in the crowd but failed to find her.
“I left early and am sorry I missed the wonderful enchantment. I found I had no stamina for staying overlong.” The black veil bobbed with each syllable.
Poor thing, Hannah thought. It would be taxing to gaze upon a cruel husband and his beautiful wife while others waited for your façade to crack.
Wycliff fixed Lady Albright with a hard stare. “When did you last feed?”
Hannah was glad that his behaviour meant no one had rung for tea, or she might have choked on her drink.
Lady Albright rose on unsteady legs and her gloved hands went to her neck. She pulled forth a long silver chain with a small key at the end. She crossed the parlour and fitted the key into a cabinet that rested on the sideboard. She opened the door to reveal the contents.
Inside sat a jar, much like those used to preserve fruit. Slivers of what appeared to be some pale vegetable floated in a clear liquid.
“My husband may have cast me aside, but my friends have not. Lady Loburn ensures I have a monthly delivery. I am no starving monster, if that is what you seek.”
“Can anyone verify what time you left the ball?” Wycliff asked.
Lady Albright gestured to the open doorway. “You can ask my cousin’s maid. She opened the door to admit me when I returned.”
Wycliff grunted and made another note in the little book, after which he replaced it in a jacket pocket. “Come, Miss Miles, we have much to do.”
With that, he strode from the room.
Lady Albright shook her head as she closed and locked the cabinet. “I do not envy you, Miss Miles, if they expect you to keep him in check.”
“He is somewhat of a bolting horse.” Hannah sat for a moment, since her mind baulked at following him like an obedient puppy.
“Better hope he does not break a leg on uneven ground,” Lady Albright said.
Hannah rose and dipped her knees, the angle of her head concealing the slight smile that touched her lips. From her brief acquaintance with the viscount, he did have a tendency to rush in without checking the lay of the land first. Was that why Lady Loburn had insisted she attend the interviews with the viscount—in case he hurled one insult too many?
Hannah found the pavement devoid of the viscount, but the carriage door hung open. As she steeled herself for close quarters, she spied a familiar face—the young woman who had wept over her spoilt gown at the Loburn ball. The two of them glanced at each other and the woman stopped with a shy smile as recognition bloomed between them.
Bother. They had not been formally introduced and as such, they weren’t supposed to talk to one another. But they had already broken that rule over a ruined dress.
Hannah dropped a quick curtsey. “I am Miss Hannah Miles.”
Her new acquaintance mimicked her action. “Miss Emma Knightley.”
Oh dear. Hannah knew that name—it was on Lord Wycliff’s list. She hadn’t been able to conjure a face to go with the name when she had discussed the woman with Lizzie and Lady Loburn. Of the same age as Hannah, Miss Knightley’s fiancé had called off their engagement two years ago and she had not made any new connections.
Hannah glanced to the carriage. She could alert Lord Wycliff, but the footpath with so many people around was no place for a woman to be harangued by the man about her unnatural appetites. The woman deserved the privacy of her own parlour.
“Did you manage to remove the stain from your dress?” Hannah asked.
Emma glanced down at her gown, a sensible striped cotton much like the one Hannah wore. It appeared neither of them had the disposable income to stay abreast of fashion. “No, sadly. But I believe I shall be able to cover the mark with some embroidery.”
“Salvageable then, at least.” Hannah kept the smile on her face as she inspected her counterpart. The rise and fall of Miss Knightley’s chest was irregular and shallow, as though it were no instinct, but a deliberate exercise she had to remember. In the morning light, there was a slight grey pallor to her face under the layer of powder. The faint whiff of cloves confirmed it.
“Yes. If you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way. My parents are expecting me.”
They bobbed their goodbyes and Hannah watched the other woman thread her way through the pedestrians.
“Oh, dear. Another one,” she whispered.
Miss Knightley was one of the Afflicted and Hannah didn’t think the stain on her dress had been red wine. Perhaps Lord Wycliff would finally muster up a smile when she told him the news, right before he admonished her for not dragging him from the carriage to interrogate the poor woman.