Tea time at Grayson House was a boisterous affair that afternoon. The weather was lovely – crisp and sunny as it often was just before autumn began in earnest – so we’d left the kitchen door propped open. Reesy, Hannah, and Oliver were in and out with the dogs, popping into the cheery kitchen for bites of treacle tart and sips of tea before running back out to play in the garden.
I caught Charlie’s hand in mine across the table and squeezed it. She had the same expression I knew was on my face – one that said how did this become our life and isn’t it wonderful?
I had finished recounting my version of the afternoon – I was not one to let capable children win races just because they were smaller than I – and now it was Jess’s turn.
“Delilah ‘as a brain in ‘er ‘ead, and a good ‘eart. She says ‘er mistress is generous and kind, once ye get past the snooty tone and manner.”
I nodded. That fit with my own impression of Lady Morcar, and I was glad to see that her employee shared my view.
“Delilah came to work for the countess when Miss Cusack went to care for ‘er grandmother. Miss Cusack came to visit with Lady Morcar once a week – on Sundays – for those six weeks, and Delilah said she was always very kind to the countess. When Miss Cusack came back to work, Delilah ‘ad a couple of days to know ‘er, and she admired ‘er very much. She thought it right odd then, the night before the carbuncle was returned, to ‘ear Miss Cusack in ‘er room crying. She knocked to see what she could do for ‘er, but the lady pretended nothing was wrong and sent ‘er away. But Delilah saw that ‘er bag was packed, and Miss Cusack left the next day.”
“That was after we’d spoken to Ryder and threatened him with Scotland Yard. He must have gone straight to Catherine and told her the jig was up,” I said.
Charlie spoke up. “It doesn’t sound as though Miss Cusack wanted to leave her position. Returning to visit the countess every week, despite a leave of absence would seem to indicate that the regard between the women was mutual.”
“We know Catherine came to Westfield House with a niece of the countess, so that’s a place to begin,” I said.
Charlie considered me thoughtfully. “Westfield House is the town house of the current Duke of Westfield. When Queen Victoria visited the place a few years ago, she was said to have told the Duchess, “I’ve just left my home to come to your palace.” The house is considered the finest private home in all of London. One doesn’t just accompany someone to Westfield House uninvited.” She surprised me with her knowledge of the London social set, as it wasn’t something in which we had ever participated.
I exhaled. “All right. So, she’s someone with enough of a family name to get herself on a guest list at Westfield House. Perhaps the grandmother, if she exists, is another place to attempt a search?”
“She’s got two names that we know of, right?” Jess interjected. “Catherine Cusack and Mrs. MacFarlane. Ye know a Scottish MacFarlane that’s a Monger mix, so perhaps MacFarlane is ‘er real name and Cusack is an alias?”
“The College of Arms doesn’t have Scottish noble records – those are kept at the Court of Lord Lyon in Edinburgh – so we can’t look for MacFarlane there.”
Jess shook her head. “No, she’s not usin’ MacFarlane when she’s out and about with the posh folk. She used it to let the office and at the bank gettin’ the money to buy the necklace at the pawnshop – things she needed proper papers to do. She’s usin’ Cusack for ‘er society life, so that’s the name to search at the College of Arms. It may not be ‘er real name, but it’s someone’s.”
I raised my coffee mug to her in a toast. “Well-reasoned, Jess. I’m impressed.”
“Cusack is an Irish name,” said Charlie. “It’s one of the names on the family tree my mother showed me when I was small.”
“An Irish Clocker name?” I asked. Charlie’s mother had come from a family of time-travelers, and though Charlie herself wasn’t skilled as such, she could act as a conduit to amplify the abilities of a Clocker with whom she traveled.
“I don’t know. But as a general rule, most of the Irish I’ve ever met have a bit of other blood in them. And if she’s a Monger MacFarlane too, she could have quite the variety of skills.” Charlie stood and began clearing dishes from the table. Jess jumped up to help her while I put away the leftover stew and vegetables.
The dogs came tearing through the kitchen door and barked their way to the front hall just as the gong could be heard from the doorbell. I caught Charlie’s eye. “Expecting someone?”
She shook her head. “It’s probably Oscar looking for news of today’s adventures.” She kissed me quickly. “Go answer it before the dogs frighten him away.”
I smirked. “Oscar doesn’t frighten easily. You could probably scare him, but our dogs definitely do not.” I kissed her back before I left the kitchen, wiping my wet hands on a dishtowel as I went to the door.
I made the dogs sit at attention in the hall before I opened the door – a good thing, as it wasn’t Oscar Wilde standing there at all.
A gentleman, richly dressed in a charcoal gray bespoke suit and bright white silk cravat stood on my doorstep. His carriage, bearing the identifiably opulent Westfield arms, was parked on the street, and his driver waited beside the horses. There was an envelope of Barings Bank stationary in his pocket, the contents of which had worried him, according to the worn crease, and he had recently begun drinking rather heavily, if the puffiness of his face and his bloodshot eyes in an otherwise fit countenance could be believed. He also intended to be here awhile, and so I expected I would have to invite the man into my home.
“Your Grace,” I said to the Duke of Westfield. “How may I be of service?”
He had the same haughty tone that Lady Morcar used to such great effect, as though it were an unconscious element of their upbringing, and he indicated no surprise that I knew his identity. “You are Devereux?” he said with a slight sneer.
“I am. Would you do me the honor?” I stepped back from the door and gestured for him to enter. Mercifully, the dogs didn’t move from their sphinxlike poses.
He sniffed, probably unconsciously, but the effect was to convey disdain. The man was about my size and somewhere in his forties, but his demeanor made it seem as though he thought himself infinitely more venerable and worthy of respect.
I rolled down my shirt sleeves and directed him to the study, which was the most masculine room in the house, primarily because I hadn’t changed anything from the previous occupant. Reesy came careening around the corner and stopped short at the sight of the duke’s top hat and formal coat. “Go ask Charlie to bring tea to the study,” I half-whispered to him. I hoped he would have the sense to mention the appearance of the nobleman in our foyer.
The Duke of Westfield stood by a window overlooking the street, and he didn’t turn when I closed the door. “I understand you are looking for my cousin’s companion.”
“If your cousin is Lady Morcar, then yes, indeed I am.”
“I would like to be informed when you locate her,” he said, as though that was all he needed to say.
Why? It was the obvious thing to ask, but instead, I said nothing. I knew that people became uncomfortable with a silence that was allowed to stand – and what they said to fill the silence was often most interesting. When my silence had stretched for a full minute, the duke finally turned to face me.
“You will inform me when you find Catherine Cusack?”
Ah, finally a question rather than a command. I leaned back against the desk and crossed my arms in front of my chest. And still I waited. I kept a pleasant expression on my face, and even raised my eyebrows enough to indicate that I expected an explanation. Clearly, the duke was unused to having to provide one, because his discomfort seemed to rise exponentially the longer I didn’t speak.
Finally, he burst out in frustration. “She has something of mine.”
“Then I expect you will have gone to Scotland Yard,” I said calmly. There was a tap at the door, and Charlie came in with a tea tray. I had just had coffee and actually had to use the lavatory, but manners dictated that I offer my guest a refreshment. Fortunately, my wife was much more adept at the manners business than I ever would be.
She smiled prettily as she poured him a cup of tea. “How do you do, Your Grace? I am Charlotte Devereux. Do you take milk or sugar with your tea?”
She’d startled him into answering. “Sugar if you please, two.” He took the cup she offered and smiled his thanks. It was a nice change from the scowl he’d worn when she walked in. “Thank you, Mrs. Devereux.”
“You’re welcome.” She touched my hand lightly on her way out, her back to the duke. “Other,” she mouthed, so that only I could see. “Please let me know if you’d like some sandwiches, won’t you?” she said, to cover the silent word.
Fascinating. The Duke of Westfield was an other of some variety. Until I had a chance to speak privately with Charlie, I would have no idea if he was a hero or a villain, or, like most of us, something in between. In any case, I had to trust that since she’d left me alone with him and hadn’t brought the dogs in, she must not think him too dangerous.
“Catherine has letters,” he said as soon as the door closed behind Charlie.
“Letters you sent her?”
His scowl had returned. “Yes.”
My feelings about that were fairly simple. Don’t put anything in writing you wouldn’t want the world to read when you’re dead. So I let my silence, once again, fill the void.
“I’m to be re-married,” he said in a tone somewhere between misery and anger. I couldn’t tell whether the tone was because of Catherine Cusack or because of his impending marriage. I decided it was prudent not to ask, and was amusing myself with everything I didn’t say.
“Your Grace, if you were my brother—” he looked appalled at the effrontery, but I smiled benignly and continued. “I would advise you to tell your fiancée that you once harbored an attraction for another woman, but as soon as you met your fiancée, all thoughts of any other woman left you entirely. And then I would suggest you pretend the letters don’t exist, and if they ever do come to light, you can smile and say to your wife, ‘But darling, I told you about her before we were married. You know she meant nothing to me once I met you.’ You are a man. Men are forgiven for indiscretions – God knows why, but we are. Women, on the other hand, are ruined by them, which is why I don’t believe the letters will ever surface – Miss Cusack has everything to lose while you have very little, except perhaps a bit of dignity.”
The duke’s scowl deepened and became something fierce and decidedly ignoble. I wondered if perhaps I had poked the wrong sort of other with my unwelcome attempt at brotherly advice.
“A loss of dignity is most unacceptable. I need those letters, Devereux, and either you can get them for me, or I’ll send someone else after them – someone who will not care in whose way he gets or how he achieves his aim.”
I managed to keep my expression neutral, though my eyes narrowed at him as I spoke. “I do not respond to threats, Your Grace. If, in the course of my search for Catherine Cusack, I happen upon letters you’ve written to her, I may return them to you. If you send someone after her, she will run. She is a person of interest to Scotland Yard, and if she feels threatened in any way, you can be sure she will lash out. It is in your best interest, therefore, to allow me to find her quickly and quietly, before the Metropolitan Police and their detectives do. To that end, any information you may have on Miss Cusack’s possible whereabouts would be very helpful.”
He glared at me for a long moment, and I didn’t relax my stance. If someone had entered the study just then, they would have seen two seething granite statues of men trying not to swing at each other. Finally, he nodded and held out a card. On it was a handwritten address in Belgravia.
“She keeps a flat there,” he snarled.
“And what of your own attempts to reclaim the letters?”
“She has barred the door to me since I—well, it was one time, and she won’t see me alone since then.”
“You struck her.” I was angrier than I’d been since the duke arrived, and the dogs must have sensed it because one of them barked. I went to the study door and opened it. “Good day, Your Grace.”
“My letters—”
“I will contact you if I retrieve them.” I looked him in the eyes when he passed by me, and he was first to look away. It was a simple dominance maneuver, but I had won and he knew it.
The dogs were still seated where I had left them in the foyer, much to my complete shock, and they watched the duke warily until he had opened the front door and let himself out. The minute he was gone, they bounded over to me and bumped my legs for the attention they deserved for being so well-mannered.
I slid down the door frame to sit on the floor with them. Gryf threw himself across my lap while Huff tried to wiggle under my arm for a belly rub. Charlie found us like that several minutes later.
“He comes from an old line of Etanian druin,” she said quietly.
“Druin rather than druid? I’ve never heard that word.”
“Most people haven’t. They’re very proud, and the males behave like wolves when they feel threatened,” she explained.
I laughed without humor. “Well then, I just won a dominance round that won’t sit well with him. I suppose I should watch my back now.”
Charlie rubbed my shoulder, and I leaned into her hand just like the dogs were doing to me. “It’s probably not wise to make an enemy of a duke,” I sighed.
She shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I took her hand and kissed her palm. “My generator could explode and blow up the house.”
Charlie’s laugh made me happy to my soul. “See, a duke has nothing on the mayhem you could conjure all by yourself.”
“That’s not comforting,” I grumbled.
She sat herself on the floor next to me, arranging the long skirts she wore so they didn’t get crushed by dogs. “You have hounds for comfort, and you have me to love you no matter what you do, who you anger, or how you feel.”
I leaned my head back against the wall. “Jess and I ran back from the Langham today, and she took a tumble off a rather high brick wall that was a challenging climb for me. She rolled and popped right up, and I was incredibly proud of her. But for the space of a heartbeat, I was frightened she’d been hurt, and half a heartbeat later, angry that I’d been afraid for her. I managed to grit my teeth and say nothing, but for a moment I thought that must be what it’s like to be a parent, with pride and fear and anger all jumbled together into a messy bundle of something that makes your stomach hurt and your heart burst.”
She traced my fingers with hers. “You make me fall in love with you a little more each day I know you, and I’ve been all the way in love for a long time.”
“Thank you for opening your heart to me, and our home to those irregular misfits we seem to have taken in,” I said softly.
“The more there is to love, the more love there is, and those misfits are in need of a bath and a story.” She stood and pulled me to my feet, then wrapped her arms around my waist. “I love you,” she whispered into my chest.
I held her tightly, and felt our heartbeats pound together as one.