When we arrived at church the following morning, the priest was waiting patiently beside the confessional, dozing on the bench that ran around most of the wall. I’d been pleased to hear that the Duke always confessed on Sundays before Mass, since it was high time I went.
“Father Francis,” said Alban, “I’d like to introduce my daughter, Serapia.”
The priest showed no surprise; apparently rumor, on its swift wings, had already reached him. He smiled and greeted me graciously. Though stooped with age, he was taller and less gaunt than Father Mahoney, but his kind smile and aura of holiness reminded me of him rather a lot.
“Shall I go first, child?” the Duke asked me.
I understood the meaning behind his question and nodded unhesitatingly. My father could explain the peculiar circumstances of my appearance and so save me trouble and awkwardness. Alban followed the priest into the confessional, and I crossed the nave’s open expanse of flagstones, worn smooth by the standing feet of—centuries?—of prayerful (or restive!) Mass-goers but just now empty of people, and went into a side chapel to pray. I soon found myself distracted by the lovely, unfamiliar old church, and thoughts about my new life, and even the attention of that wonderful presence at the back of my neck could not entirely keep my attention from wandering.
When I went in, I suggested that I should give the priest the same confession I had given my father. “Though I’ve been absolved of it all,” I hastened to add. “But I thought it might be useful for you.”
“I have to admit, it would make it easier to look after your soul,” the old man agreed.
So I went through it again. It was much easier this time round, to a priest, not my father. Then I made my latest confession. I hadn’t got to confession very often as an urchin, so there was a backlog of little things, but it didn’t take too long.
All the same, when I came out, I found the church almost full for Mass, and I joined my father immediately in his place near the front. I just had time to say my penance before Mass began, but I would have to do my thanksgiving later.
When the Mass ended, I followed my father to the rear doors, distributing coins carefully but liberally to the crowd of hopeful poor at the back. It felt rather surreal to be doing the bestowing, when so recently I would have been amongst the ragged press myself.
The better off of the parish stood around outside the porch, exchanging a word or two before going home for their Sunday dinner. I allowed the Duke to steer me to and fro with a hand on my shoulder, introducing me to those he received. It did not entirely seem to have any relation to their wealth or social standing, I noticed with pleasure, as he shepherded me from an Earl to a country gentlemen who really had ‘farmer’ written all over him.
Eventually I became aware of eyes on me and looked about for the watcher. He was a plain sort of man, but he was staring at me as I stood beside my father. I didn’t remember seeing him in church. When I met his gaze and refused to look away he turned to speak to someone, but I felt sure they were talking about me.
“Who is that man?” I asked the Duke, as he finished his latest conversation.
Alban directed a hard look at the man indicated, then gave a negating jerk of his head. “No idea,” he said, and hustled me off to meet the next acquaintance.
I looked around again for the man, but he was gone. I tried to push it from my mind. It was the most natural thing in the world. He’d seen me with my father and thought he knew that the Duke had no children so had stopped to ask someone about it. It was that simple. I just really hadn’t liked that man, with his cold, staring eyes. He made the back of my neck feel odd.
~+~
When everyone had dispersed I explained that I needed to go back into church for a while, but my father seemed wholly unconcerned by the delay. In fact, when I got chatting with Father Francis again, he went on ahead, retreating to the side chapel to pray. He seemed rather better at it than me, in that he didn’t seem to notice when I peeped in.
Rather than disturb him, I knelt at the main altar rail, and spoke briefly to God about my now relieved sense of guilt over my various misdeeds. The last few years had not exactly developed my eloquence, so it didn’t take all that long, and I went to sit on the wall bench and wait for my father to finish.
The priest came out of the sacristy, back in his normal robes. He glanced at me, then went to the side chapel and looked in. “Oh dear.’ He came back over to me. “He looks well settled into it. He could be hours, and I mean that quite literally. Did any of the servants come to church?”
“Most of them, but they’ve all gone back to the house.”
“Oh. Do you think you’d feel happy walking back on your own?”
I laughed outright at that, before realizing that I was laughing at a venerable old priest and choking it off quickly.
Before I could frame an apology, the priest, with a wry expression, said, “Ah. Yes, I don’t suppose it does bother you. Well, you may as well go, I think.”
~+~
I ate luncheon in the Day Room with the Housekeeper and the Butler. It wasn’t very proper; the Day Room was for those two upper servants’ use only, and eating with the servants...well, definitely not proper. But my father wasn’t back yet, and I couldn’t see the point sitting alone in the big dining room. I spent an enjoyable afternoon playing with Raven for some hours, marbles and naughts and crosses and so on, and then wandering around the stables, looking at the horses and wondering which ones I could persuade my father to let me get astride.
By the time I’d dreamed around the kennels for a while, Raven began to get bored, so I went back to the house and enjoyed exploring the lower levels—at least until I came to a door near the kitchens. My nape prickled, and the closer I got, the stranger I felt. I stopped short of it, afraid I would vomit if I drew any nearer. Raven hunched on my shoulder, turned restlessly then hunched herself up again, looking as confused and uneasy as I felt.
I would normally have associated my reaction with the presence of evil, but what could possibly be down here that would warrant that? Here in the basement of Albany House? It was ridiculous. So after galloping up to my room to retrieve the house keys, I advanced determinedly on the doorway. I’d soon find out what was upsetting me…
I tried the keys just as fast as I could, for despite my intention to brook no nonsense I was very afraid I was going to lose my luncheon—or pass out. But none of the keys fitted.
“Oh, that door don’t go nowhere any more, my lady,” said a passing scullery maid, as I finally backed up a bit and stared from keys to door in frustration. “’Least, the key’s lost and it’s such a small cupboard now, Cook says it don’t matter anyhow. Though I suppose,” she added reflectively, “You could have a locksmith along, if you wanted.”
“Where did it used to go?”
“Some sort of larger storage chamber, I think,” said the maid vaguely. “One of his previous lordships ina’vations. But it didn’t work out so well as most of them. I think it collapsed, some years ago. Around the time… Well, it was bricked off, after that.”
I groped for an explanation in all this. Hang on… “Was anyone hurt when it collapsed?”
“Don’t think so, my lady. A workman died when it was being built, though. Cursed, that place was.” She shivered, then looked slightly embarrassed. “’Least, that’s what everyone says, my lady. Probably just foolish talk.”
A man had died in there, no doubt untimely…and just how unpleasantly? No wonder it was giving Raven and me the creeps. At least it was all bricked off and locked up, so I’d never have to visit the chamber itself for any reason.
We retreated upstairs for a much pleasanter exploration of the great hall, and when, by dinnertime, my father had still not appeared, I put on my cloak and made my way back to the church. I was most of the way down the aisle when Father Francis came out of one of the side chambers and started. “Serapia! You made me jump! Are you after your father? He’s still at it.”
I went to the side chapel and looked in. As far as I could tell, my father had not moved an inch. I felt rather overawed. I liked to pray, but there was no way I could sustain it like that. Of course, perhaps he couldn’t when he was my age.
“It’s dinnertime,” I said to the priest, “I thought perhaps I should... Well, I don’t know. I don’t want to disturb him.”
However, something, perhaps the priest’s sharp exclamation in the silence, had clearly broken the Duke’s trance-like concentration, for stirring, he crossed himself, and stood up, stretching stiffly. He saw me, and his eyes flew to the dark windows. “Oh... Has it been that long? You haven’t been waiting all this time, have you, child?”
His calling me child did not bother me, I had realized, because he didn’t treat me as a child.
“No, I’ve been up at the house all afternoon,” I reassured him. “I just came back because it’s dinner time now.”
He hastened out of the chapel to me. “I’m sorry, Serapia. When I get like this I completely lose track of time.”
I was still very impressed. “What do you say? Or don’t you? Do you just open your heart and let Him look around?”
Alban smiled a little at my method of expression, then his lips tightened as he answered dryly and almost under his breath, “Mostly I just weep for forgiveness.”
Then as if he had not given this strange answer, he went on briskly, “Let us go to dinner. Goodnight, Father,” this last to the priest, who blessed us and started to put out candles.
~+~
Dinner was a tasty leg of lamb and I took advantage of my expanding stomach and ate ravenously. Raven did likewise and then spent the rest of the meal draped over my shoulder, fast asleep. The Duke sat silently, his eyes glittering as he gazed along the length of the table. I could not help remembering my first judgment that he would make a bad enemy.
“I’m going to court tomorrow,” he told me when we’d eaten our fill. “I trust you’ll be able to amuse yourself?” His would-be casual tone caught my attention.
“Court?” My mind shook itself awake from the heavy meal. “Oh. I don’t suppose you’ll run into my uncle, will you?” I asked in a gently mocking imitation of his would-be casualness.
The Duke made a very gallant attempt at taking my words at face value. “It’s possible, I suppose.” He eyed the fruitcake as though trying to decide if he wanted a slice.
I gave up the pretence. “I don’t suppose you’re likely to run a few feet of your sword into his belly?” I challenged, watching him closely.
“Now why would I do that?” Alban said blandly, sliding the knife into the fruitcake.
“Can’t imagine,” I replied, “but if that’s not what you’re thinking of, then I can come too.”
“Certainly not,” he said rather too quickly. “You don’t want to be bothered with court. I wouldn’t be going if...” He broke off and transferred the cake to his plate.
“If you weren’t going to challenge my uncle?” I asked sweetly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “If I hadn’t been away so long, is what I meant.”
“Well, I may as well come and be presented to the Queen and all that. I don’t expect I shall want to go very often.”
“I really don’t think it’s necessary,” said Alban, then paused and crumbled cake between his forefinger and thumb for a moment. “Still,” he went on at last, “you can come if you like, of course. I dare say I shall be leaving at about ten.”
I pretended pleased triumph, and took a slice of cake myself.
~+~
When the Duke of Elfindale climbed into his coach at five to nine the following morning, he found me, correctly attired for a royal audience, already within. He sighed heavily and bade the coachman to drive on.
We were silent for some time, the Duke rather grim faced and absent-mindedly stroking his sword hilt, and me touching the beautifully set diamond and emerald pair that hung around my neck with something close to awe. It seemed my mother had taken only those jewels that had come to her from her own family, leaving all the rest behind. My father had now given these to me. It redoubled my curiosity about my parents’ separation, for my mother must have truly hated my father to leave these behind. She could have been a very wealthy woman. I was certainly now a very wealthy thirteen-year-old.
Eventually the tiny ball of fear that sat stubbornly under my rib cage compelled me to speak. “You’d better not get yourself killed. If you die I shan’t forgive you.”
My father turned a look on me that I found myself entirely unable to interpret, but after a moment his face relaxed into a smile and he sounded genuinely amused, “I assure you, child, that is not my intention.”
“Never mind intention,” I muttered, “just don’t let it happen.”
He smiled again at my rejection of his reassurance. “Right is on my side, in this,” he said, and went back to looking out of the window.
I turned my eyes to my own window but paid little attention to the passing scenes. Really, I ought to hate my uncle at least as much as my father did, if not more, but I wasn’t sure that I did. I had just been too tired for the feeling to really develop properly, and now...now it didn’t matter. I had won. I was alive and I’d found my father. I lived in a magnificent house with a constant supply of food and a warm, dry bed and although I hadn’t really thought about it yet, one day my father’s wealth would all be mine. My uncle suddenly seemed a small, greedy and grasping man.
A cruel, bad man, certainly, to try and kill his own niece, even in so indirect a way, but a small man all the same. Even the house didn’t really bother me. I would never want to live in it again, for few of my strongest memories of the place were happy ones. I certainly didn’t think that getting it back was worth putting my father’s life at risk. Revenge was a bad motive, anyway, I knew that.
“Do you really have to do this?” I demanded.
My father turned his head to look at me and gave a fierce smile in which there was nonetheless more than a touch of sadness. “Yes, I do, Serapia. Justice demands it.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say. The silence had become decidedly solemn. Seeking to break it, I picked Raven up and addressed her. “We’re going to see the Queen, Raven, so you have to stay out of sight. Pocket or bodice, take your pick.”
Raven disappeared head first down the front of my dress and I could feel her cool little body curled up between my breasts. After a few moments’ silence, I couldn’t help asking something that I had been wondering about. “Do you have a mistress tucked away somewhere?”
Alban Serapion Ravena looked excessively taken aback. “What?”
“Well…” I said meaningfully.
He stared at me for a few moments, apparently near speechless. Finally he said rather tersely, “It perhaps escapes your notice that until four years ago I was still a married man, and that I have since been travelling on the continent. I most certainly do not keep a mistress. A mistress is just a whore paid in jewels!”
I blinked at him for a moment. “Oh.”
“You have a really low opinion of my sex, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said bluntly.
“God above, I cannot believe I am discussing this with my thirteen-year-old daughter!” exclaimed the Duke and fixed his attention back on his window. Concluding that I had only succeeded in shocking and offending him, I decided to consider the conversation over, though I was more bemused than ever. What could his secret sin be, then?
Raven appeared to have gone to sleep, which was what I had hoped for. She was so small, she was easy to hide, but that brought to my mind another question I’d been meaning to ask. “Raven’s a dragonet, so that’s a baby dragon, right?” I asked. “So how big is she going to get?”
The Duke took his attention away from the grey streets and gave it to me again. “No, a dragonet is not, thank heaven, a baby dragon.” His smile was very welcome. Perhaps I had not offended him too deeply. “A dragonet is a member of the dragon family, just as a lap dog and a wolfhound are both members of the dog family. A dragonet is a natural miniature dragon. A real dragon, well, it couldn’t easily be hidden, they’re too big.”
I felt rather relieved. I’d been having an unpleasant image of Raven, grown to the size of a horse or even a carriage, and me having to sit on her shoulder. “And Raven?” I prompted.
“Oh, she may get to be about the size of a large cat. No more.”
“How fast will she grow?” I questioned.
The Duke pulled a perplexed expression. “How can I know, child? I am not an expert. I have one or two books on supernatural creatures, one of which seems better than the others. Still, I think she may not even attain her full growth in your lifetime, so I wouldn’t worry about it overly. They’re very long-lived.”
That was a relief. A cat-sized dragonet could still pass as an exotic foreign creature, whereas anything much larger and the truth would begin to be a bit obvious.
“She doesn’t breathe fire,” I remarked. “Is that just a myth, then?”
“No, of course not,” Alban said with a laugh. “She’s just too young. I’m pretty sure she will, in time. Fortunately not very much of it, though,” he finished wryly.
“When?”
My father laughed at my eagerness. “I am not an expert, child,” he repeated. “However, I believe they become physically mature long before they attain their full growth. Still, I should think it will be a number of years at the very least.”
Finally satisfied that I had picked his brains on the subject as much as possible, I leant back to await our arrival at Westminster.
~+~