Ella
Work. Play. Slay.
Millicent deMage clung to her secrets. Day by day we worked to dig them up but found only a snippet here or an oblique reference there. Despite what I had imagined, her diaries weren't full of witches’ hexes, gory details of people she had ruined, or an outline of how to release an undead plague on the world. Each page was crammed with the boring description of daily life in Elizabethan England. Of interest to a historian, but I struggled to keep my eyes open.
While merely conjuring her image still made me shudder, she was an enemy we needed to understand. The more I learned of her through her words, the less I feared her. At night, all the disjointed threads we chased spun through my mind. Like silvery strands from a spider's web, they seemed unrelated until you stood back and saw them woven together. Now I only needed to decipher what the pattern said.
I closed the last diary and tossed it on a teetering stack. Seth was occupied on the telephone talking to the War Office and trying to convince them we needed to know more about Aleister Crowley. From the one side I overheard, they thought him stark raving mad.
Lieutenant Bain walked through the door, fresh from his time at the manse, and I waved him over.
"How is Charlotte?" My first reaction on hearing she had been scratched by a vermin was to rush to her side. Then the lieutenant pointed out that the village slayer turning up clutching a sword would only increase her anxiety, not alleviate it.
"Her body expels the poison and the wound has started to heal. She appears fit and well with no signs of fever." Every day he reported his observations as we waited to see if Charlotte would Turn.
I hated treating her like a clinical test subject to be impartially studied, but needs must. After what we observed in the catacombs, we theorised the original survivors had some level of immunity. But despite our subsequent investigation, we hadn't found anyone who suffered a bite or scratch. Except for Charlotte.
I let out the sigh building in my chest. What would it mean if she were indeed unaffected? While I celebrated inside, we had to figure out how this could assist everyone battling around the world. If scientists wanted to study her blood for a potential vaccine, I would make sure they didn't think of throwing her in with Louise.
A clang from the end of the room caught my attention. Seth slammed down the telephone and then ran a hand through his dark hair. He leaned back in his chair and rapped short nails on the desk blotter as I approached.
We were in the middle of a war, but I fought my own battle with my desire to be with Seth again. Like a shaken champagne bottle, pressure built inside and I feared I would soon explode. I’d assumed we would repeat what happened, except he hadn't mentioned it. What if I did it wrong and he never wanted to see me naked again? I really needed to learn how to concentrate on one problem at a time.
"Any progress with the War Office?" I perched on the corner of his desk.
"Somewhat." He picked up my hand and drew lazy circles on my palm. The small action rippled through my body. "They admitted they hold information on Crowley, but it is classified and they won't release it."
"Well that's no use at all." I screwed up my face. What a bother. Every instinct in my mind screamed that Crowley was involved somehow. All I needed was a way to connect him to Millicent. Admittedly the idea seemed crazy, but with the dead walking the countryside, crazy was a distinct possibility these days.
The circle moved from my palm to the base of my wrist. "They have relented and said I can have access to the files in London."
"Oh." Another trip to London. He might be gone for days and we still hadn't had a chance to be together, alone, again. A wave of despair crashed through me.
Seth raised my knuckles to his lips and kissed my skin. "I was rather hoping you would accompany me. You are closer to this problem and see things others overlook."
A trip to London with the man I loved to try and find a satanic origin to the undead plague? He knew how to turn my head and make my pulse race.
"How scandalous, your grace, for the two of us to be alone and without a chaperone," I murmured while mentally I tried to decide on the best underwear to pack.
"If you married me we wouldn't have these concerns." He waggled his eyebrows.
"Give all this up to judge floral arrangements? No thank you." I stuck my tongue out at him.
He made the little humpf deep in his throat that meant he was thinking and he looked concerned. "Yes, floral arrangements would be too subdued for you. Perhaps we could have an annual flame thrower accuracy competition instead?"
"Flame throwers," I whispered the words with the same sort of longing most girls used for the name of fashion designers. Imagine the village fête if men had to compete to char grill vegetables with incendiary devices. "Sweet talker. You will simply have to live with the fact you fell in love with a career girl who has no intentions of staying home and fluffing pillows."
He smiled and I loved him a little more. "I thought Alice could accompany us as both secretary and chaperone. It would be good experience for her to see how a large government department runs."
I snorted. As a matchmaker, his machinations were obvious. "And let me guess, Frank will be driving?"
His frown deepened but I caught the twinkle in his eye. "Of course. And it will be an overnight trip. I will reserve us a suite at the Ritz."
I had to snap a tight lid on my reactions lest I throw myself at him like Louise. This trip couldn't get any better. Already my toes curled in my boots at the idea of pressing my naked skin to his again. "When do we leave?"
Seth gathered up several papers on his desk and dropped them into his out tray. "First light tomorrow morning. We should make London late morning and have most of the day to read dusty files. Tonight, I have a most important dinner engagement."
"Anyone I know?" Probably some stuffy local peer who wanted to discuss the rights of the undead to vote.
He looked up and captured my gaze, a steel glint in his eyes. "Your father."
"What?" Surely Seth must be mistaken. My father wasn't up to hosting dinner parties.
"Colonel Jeffrey wrote and invited me to dinner. I accepted, of course." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper.
I scanned the few lines; the hand was Henry's. My father had a collaborator in this matter. I stared at the sheet and wondered what had prompted the invitation. Crikey. Did my father overhear us the other night? Would he greet Seth with a shotgun?
He laid his hand over the top of mine. "Don't worry. Given how I monopolise your time and your work here, he has every right to ask to see me."
We couldn't offer the duke grand company. We had a humble home and Father's speech was still slurred. "You know he is not back to full strength yet. He makes progress every day but still needs the bath chair, and some words he finds difficult—"
"I'll not overtax your father. You are quite a protective mother hen." Seth reached out and stroked my cheek, the contact silencing my concerns.
I still fretted all afternoon and finally excused myself early to prepare for dinner. I grabbed Alice from the office next door and bustled her through the corridors and into the sunlight.
"What ever is the hurry?" she asked, a frown pulling at the ivory skin of her forehead.
"Father invited Seth for dinner tonight." Out in the courtyard, I waved to the soldier in charge of the horses. Cossimo would need to come in from the field. Alice refused to ride in the motorbike's sidecar, so we had to rely on the much slower cob.
Her eyes widened and her mouth made an 'O' shape. Then mischief danced in her hazel gaze. "How noisy were you two the other night?"
I glared at my friend. There were some conversations you didn't want to have. Alice had heard all the intimate detail I was prepared to surrender, and I certainly would not be asking Father if he overheard me giving myself to Seth. Time for a change of topic. "How are things with Frank?"
She glared at me but fell silent while Cossimo was hitched to the cart. Then we set off at a trot.
At home I found a new girl helping Magda prepare dinner. "Ella, this is Lucy. She'll take over from Alice."
"Hello, Lucy." The poor mite looked much younger than the fifteen Magda said she was, and Lucy's eyes widened on seeing me carrying the sword. I hung it by the back door. "I assume you know we have company tonight?"
Magda nodded as her finger ran down a recipe in the book propped open on the table. "Yes, your father told me this morning."
"Why am I the last to know?" I muttered. Henry must have written the letter a day or two ago, since Seth had already replied.
"Because you would fret that it would be too much for Sir Jeffrey and you would try to talk him out of it. We all thought it best not to mention it." Magda waved the wooden spoon at me.
Me fretting was only half of the problem. It bothered me what Seth would think of Father. His recovery progressed, but he wasn't the man I remembered or the man who led the local men into war. All while I washed and changed, I worried.
Father sat in an armchair in the parlour, his face freshly shaved and a large smile on his face. He also had a mug of beer, which I'm sure wasn't allowed by his doctor.
"About time we did this," he managed to say on seeing me.
"I fear the crew has turned mutinous," I muttered as I kissed his cheek. Before I could chastise him there was a sharp rap at the front door and Alice raced to admit a uniform-clad Seth.
"Ella." Seth kissed my cheek, then his attention turned to my father. I will admit I held my breath. Would he see the strong character within, or the invalid shell?
Seth raised his hand in a sharp salute. "Colonel Jeffrey, this is an honour. I'm thrilled to hear your recovery progresses."
As it transpired, I needn't have worried about putting the two men in my life together. Seth treated Father with respect and patience, and I fell in love with him anew over dinner.
It was an oddly formal meal with just the three of us. The others refused to sit at the table with the duke, saying it wouldn't be right. It was nothing against him as a person, who most people liked, but respect for his position. Those below stairs didn't mingle with those above. Except for me, straddling both worlds.
Tonight, Father headed up the table. Seth sat to his left and I to his right. Vacant settings stretched the length of the table to the spot directly opposite Father, where mother once sat. Henry took up his position as Father's aide and hovered at his shoulder.
The men swapped stories of the Great War through pre-dinner drinks and the entrée. I never knew that Seth and Father encountered each other often on the front, but both were responsible for the leadership of the Somerset lads, and they had campaigned side by side at times. Seth never rushed Father, but let him speak in the few words he could manage, filling in the blank spots from his own knowledge of the front.
As Magda served the next course, conversation turned from war to love.
"Your intentions?" Father asked, pointing a fork at Seth's head.
The duke winked at me before answering. "Entirely honourable, sir. I have asked Ella to marry me, but she declined my proposal."
Father huffed a quiet laugh. "Stubborn."
"Quite," Seth agreed perhaps a little too readily.
I stared at my trout, caught by Henry earlier in the day. I contemplated whether I had enough potatoes to build a fort to hide myself. Probably not. I looked up to find Father fixed on me. His gaze hovered along the line between warm and stern.
"Didn't ask me," he drew out over several breaths.
Seth laid down his cutlery and gave Father his full attention. "No, I did not. And I do hope you forgive the breach of etiquette. I was rather caught up in the moment when I asked."
Father raised an eyebrow and looked from me to Seth and back again.
"We were fighting." Seth explained. "Katana against claymore. Having found a woman who could wield a sword and so ably defend her people, I told myself I simply couldn't let her slip through my fingers."
Father let out a sigh and his eyes misted. He reached for my hand and squeezed my fingers. I loved that sword and remembered the solemn day when he left for war after placing it in my hands. Learning how to use it was a small way I kept his memory alive all the years he was absent.
He swallowed a large lump and winked at me. "That's my girl. Pretty too."
My heart swelled. The last few weeks had caused us all pain as we caught Father up on events. He had no memory of step-mother trying to kill him, and we told him that she and Louise succumbed to the virus. A white lie that I hoped he forgave if he ever learned the horrible truth.
Seth dabbed at his lips with his crisp napkin. "Well, her beauty is rather a bonus, but not what attracted me to her. And of course, she did say no."
Next the fork waved at me. "Why not?"
I let out a big sigh. While glad to have Father's mind return to us, I was less happy about the probing into my love life. "I love Seth, but I'm not ready to take up the mantle of duchess. I am too young, Father, and we are fighting a battle against an undead enemy. I want to do my part in the war, not fuss over seating arrangements at parties."
He nodded, his expression solemn and unreadable. Duty and doing your bit something understood all too well in our family.
"Your mother would be proud." The one sentence took Father nearly a whole minute to form and it brought tears to my eyes. He understood my need to work and not be an ornament.
Seth spoke as I dabbed at my eyes with the napkin.
"I rather suspect Ella would redefine what it means to be Duchess of Leithfield. I imagine her running classes teaching young women hand to hand combat and sword play, rather than embroidery and deportment."
That caught my attention. Seth didn't expect me to be the same sort of duchess as his mother and all the women before? Could I truly mould the role to suit the true me, rather than having to become a stuffy matron? That gave me something to consider. I might not make him wait until I turned forty after all.
The rest of dinner passed in conversation about current events and the Grim War. Seth told Father of our mission to London to read the secret documents and he gave his approval, so long as Alice stayed by my side. Then he said his goodnights and Henry wheeled him from the room.
I took Seth's hand and led him to the front door. He donned his overcoat and hat. On the front step, the evening wrapped around us like a thick blanket.
"Until morning," he whispered before kissing me.
As he drove away in the motorcar I realised I had forgotten to ask one important question—had he booked one room at the Ritz for us, or two?