3

Sam looked at the people filling the crematorium’s chapel. He didn’t recognise most of them. Some of the women were crying, all dressed in the same kind of corporate gear Leanne used to wear, only black. Their grieving made him aware of his own hollow detachment. He felt nothing except the sharp awareness of the man who’d killed her sitting three rows behind him. Bastard.

“I would like to speak at the funeral,” Neugent had said in a letter redirected from his house in Bath to Lord Iron’s vast estate in Lancashire. “I worked very closely with Leanne for several years and had the utmost respect and admiration for her.”

Sam had burnt the letter and stood at the window, looking out over landscaped gardens, wondering what the fuck was happening to his life. Lord Iron had dined with him the night he arrived; they’d talked about Leanne mostly, then he’d been called away on business. “Stay, relax, grieve,” Iron said as he shook his hand. “Treat this as your own house. The staff will provide everything you need. I’ll be back for the funeral.”

He’d watched the limousine crawl down the drive, listened to the crackle of the gravel beneath its tyres and thought of the last time he saw his wife. It was all he seemed capable of thinking about.

The funeral had been delayed by the recovery from his own injuries and by the autopsy, which gave a simple (and incorrect) conclusion: natural causes. A blood vessel had burst in her brain and then she dropped dead. The report detailed that she was slightly underweight but otherwise in good health.

Several nights in a row he dreamt of her on the underground platform. In one dream they held hands waiting for the train together. He’d woken up crying but soon sank back into the numbness that endured throughout the funeral arrangements. He’d left most of the details to her parents. His mother-in-law seemed to think the choice of flowers was far more important than he ever could. Her parents didn’t seem to know about the separation, and, from the way most of the people there were looking at him, he didn’t think they did either. At least she’d been discreet about it. But that was Leanne: professional to the last. She wouldn’t have taken all her problems to work with her. She just left them behind in Bath.

He took care not to look at Neugent and faced forwards again, unable to stop his gaze drifting towards the coffin. Sam could still feel the pressure of it on his shoulder. He wondered if his skin would ever forget the feeling of carrying his dead wife in a heavy box. He tried to imagine her body lying inside it, cut and stitched up again. He could just as easily imagine it filled with sand or with dozens of dolls or old mobile phones. Each set of imagined contents became more fantastical; all lacked any emotional impact.

The worry that Lord Poppy would do something to wreck it all or pull him away plagued him, but he hadn’t heard from him or the faerie since he delivered Cathy’s painting. Perhaps Poppy had forgotten about him.

“She was so young,” his mother-in-law said.

She was sat next to him and Leanne’s father was sitting on the other side with an arm around her. He too was staring at the coffin. Sam realised it was the longest time he’d actually sat with Leanne’s parents. He’d barely made an impression in their life. His parents were in Australia. They’d offered to come but he told them not to worry about it. They’d never liked Leanne. It would have been awkward. His mum would only have baked two dozen cakes and urged him to talk about his feelings every five minutes. He didn’t have the stomach for either, nor for the way his father would have wittered on about his stamp collection to anyone he could corner.

Leanne’s mother glanced at him, perhaps waiting for a response to her comment but Sam said nothing. There were no words in him.

They shared the front row with the pallbearers. Aside from him and her father they were made up of cousins and uncles, some of whom he’d never met. They weren’t a close family and many of them hadn’t even been to the wedding. He was sitting in a room full of strangers at his wife’s funeral. As he tried to look anywhere but at the coffin he caught glimpses of people trying to point him out discreetly during whispered conversations. It made him feel like an exhibit at some grotesque circus.

The man from the crematorium started the ceremony. It was non-religious, according to Leanne’s wishes, and bland. He finally stopped worrying that Poppy would find some way to interfere with it.

Then it was his turn to speak. The paper was crumpled and soft in his hand. He couldn’t even remember what he’d written on it. Sam walked up to the podium, decorated with flowers lovingly chosen by another woman he didn’t really know, and looked out over the congregation. Lord Iron was sitting at the back, looking straight at him. He inclined his head towards Sam. What do you want with me? Sam pushed the thought aside and looked down at the paper.

“Thank you for coming,” he started. His voice was too quiet and he leaned closer to the microphone. “I’m Sam, Leanne’s husband. I don’t know many of you, I’m assuming you know Leanne from work. She was… very dedicated and ambitious. In many ways you could say she was the exact opposite to me.” His awkward smile was reflected back at him from dozens of faces. “It didn’t used to be that way. In university we were… happy.” He felt a crackle in his voice and looked back down at the piece of paper but it was covered in gibberish. “Something changed. I suppose that’s what happens, I think Leanne was better at growing up than I was. She became something… amazing, she had so much energy and she was fearless.” People were nodding now. People who knew her better than he did. “I can’t help but feel stupid when I think about her. I thought we’d have longer together, but people always do, don’t they? We’re all on a clock. We’re all going to die. That’s why we’re all here – not just because of Leanne but because we know it’s going to happen to us and we’re scared and we want to be with other people who are scared too. Leanne should be here and I should be in that box. That’s the way I see it. She had more to give.”

His throat felt like it was closing up and his head began to throb. He crushed the piece of paper in his fist and left the podium. For a moment he almost left the chapel, but his mother-in-law was reaching a hand towards him, all tears and neediness. Even though it repelled him, he went to sit next to her and embraced her as Leanne’s father went up to speak.

Sam didn’t hear a single word he said.

 

A knock on the door woke Cathy from dreams of the butler, Morgan, speaking to her about afternoon tea with Bennet’s voice and pouring the poisonous liquid curse from the teapot. As the nurse opened the door she glanced to her bedside and saw the glass was gone, along with any outward traces of what Bennet had done. Had she dreamt it?

Will walked in and the nurse curtsied. His cheeks were pink and there were tiny drops of water caught in his hair. He smiled at her and she returned it. The Charm-addled dreams about him hadn’t focused on how handsome he was. Seeing him fresh-faced and happy brought back other memories too, ones that made her heart thrum.

“My love,” he said and came over to kiss her, sending the nurse scuttling into a corner to busy herself. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready to get up,” she said firmly. “Have you been out riding?”

There was a moment of confusion and then he touched his hair. “Oh, yes… it’s raining in Mundanus. Are you sure you’re ready? It’s only been three weeks.”

“Nearly a month,” Cathy said and pulled the covers back. “Honestly, Will, if I spend another day in here I’ll go mad. I was thinking an hour or two in Mundanus would do me the world of good.” She didn’t want to go back to the park, but she did want to see greenery again and hear birds singing and feel fresh air on her face.

“The weather is terrible.”

“And Her Grace isn’t ready to leave her bed yet, if you’ll forgive me for intruding,” the nurse said.

Cathy frowned at her. “Her Grace”? What an odd thing to call her.

“If Cathy feels she’s ready then I respect that,” Will said and the nurse retreated. Cathy squeezed his hands, happy to have an ally. “I have a surprise for you.” His eyes were even more beautiful when he was excited.

He helped her out of the bed which made her feel awkward and feeble. It was strange to have to think so much about moving, as if her body had got rusty inside and she had to remind it of how it used to move. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the attack had really taken it out of her. Her legs felt so heavy and when she stood the room tilted before Will wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re ready to go downstairs?”

“Yes, I’m so sick of this room. How’s Sophia?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Uncle Vincent.”

The nurse helped her into a robe and slippers and Cathy shuffled out of the room, Will holding her as they walked. She remembered how gentle he was after Lord Iris had cut her wrist and the night they finally consummated the marriage. They’d hardly been together since then and she felt awkward and uncertain of herself. She could remember resolving to stay away from him once her lust had got the better of her, for fear of getting pregnant and making escape more difficult. But now that she was going to stay in the Nether and fight the system, did she still need to do that? Could he become an ally too?

The possibility of falling for her own husband was not something Cathy had anticipated and it made her nervous. She had to stay focused on what she was going to do to make Society change, and the last thing she needed was to be all lovestruck, let alone pregnant. So what if he was handsome and clever and kind? If she fell into the trap of being in love with him she’d never be able to carve out a better life for herself or anyone else.

“You’re looking much better,” he said as they made their way to the stairs. “The very best care was provided, both in Mundanus and by the Agency. I’m told there won’t be any long-term problems.”

“It was bad, wasn’t it?”

He paused to kiss her cheek again. “You almost died. If it hadn’t been for the mundane doctors you wouldn’t be with me now.”

“Are you all right?” she asked and he smiled.

“Just glad we got through this.”

She leaned against him as they walked, and felt exhausted by the time they reached the top of the stairs. She didn’t say anything about Bennet for fear she’d cough and be packed off to bed again. Halfway down she noticed footfalls behind her that seemed too heavy to be the nurse. She glanced back and saw an unfamiliar man following them down a couple of paces behind. His blond hair was cropped short in a modern, mundane style, his eyes were a dull blue and his neat nose looked too small for his face.

“Who’s that?”

“Someone to keep you safe.”

“What, like a bodyguard?”

“Yes.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Yes.”

“So that man who stabbed me, he’s still out there?”

“No… he’s dead.”

She wondered how he’d died. Did Sam do something? She jolted. Sam! Had he been hurt too? She couldn’t ask Will, otherwise he’d know they’d met and it wasn’t something easily explained away. The sense of the world spinning whilst she’d been tucked up in bed was becoming frightening. What else had happened? “But if he’s dead–”

“You’re still at risk.”

“But the man attacked Sophia, it might be her they were after. I don’t need a–”

“Catherine, this is not up for debate.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t protect you before, I’m not making that mistake again. There’s no way Sophia was the target – no one else knows what she means to me.” He stroked her cheek tenderly. “But they know how much you do.”

Cathy tried hard not to lose her thoughts to the messy soup of emotions his tenderness elicited. There was no way he could love her, he was just trying to be a good husband. She was too tired to argue about the bodyguard; that would have to wait.

“Now, I don’t want you to worry about a thing.” Will helped her to walk again. “I’ve been working on something whilst you’ve been recovering and I think it will make you feel much better.”

He guided her down the hallway, past his study and the red drawing room, to the chamber they’d originally allocated as a smaller dining room for intimate dinners. He pulled a key threaded onto a blue silk ribbon out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “This is yours,” he said, placing it in the palm of her hand. “Close your eyes.” She did so and he opened the door. He guided her a few steps in, instructed the bodyguard to stay outside and then closed the door. “You can look now.”

The room had been transformed into a library. She turned in a full circle, taking in the shelves of books. There was a pair of high-backed leather chairs and footstools, one either side of the fireplace, each with a small table next to it. A cheval mirror stood in the corner, covered in blue silk and facing one of the bookshelves rather than into the room. She looked down at the key and then at Will. “You made a library for me?” She felt a rush of blood to her cheeks and chest. It was the thing she had wanted most as a child and the desire had never left her.

“It’s yours. No one else may enter without your explicit permission.”

One of the book spines caught her eye. “Hang on,” she said, moving closer. “That’s a Ray Bradbury and that’s…” She fell silent as she scanned the shelves. “It’s all science-fiction!”

“Every science-fiction novel ever published, to my knowledge. Or rather that of the expert I hired to curate the collection. Where possible I bought first editions. Some are quite rare, I’m given to understand.”

“But that would be thousands of books.” Cathy scanned the shelves. There wasn’t enough room.

Will pulled the silk off the mirror with a dramatic flourish. “Come and look at this.” He waved her over to the mirror. “Stand there.”

He moved aside and pointed to a spot in front of it. Cathy looked at the mirror, expecting to see her reflection but instead she saw a bookcase stretching into a point in the distance. Confused, she reached forwards and her hand passed through where the glass should have been, her fingertips brushing against the spine of one of the books.

“The rest of the books are in there,” Will said. “You can step through and walk around it like any other room. It’s a simple matter to add more shelves. I wanted to keep this room cosy.” He covered the mirror with the silk again.

Cathy stared at the shelves next to her. “I can’t believe it.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” She laughed and embraced him, not caring about the twinges of pain it caused. They kissed and she felt the warmth of his hands through the robe on her back. “It’s perfect,” she finally said.

“I had two chairs brought in – I hope you don’t mind. I was hoping you could educate me.” She searched for sarcasm in his expression but there was none she could detect. “It seems only right that I devote some time to the things you’re passionate about. This seemed a good place to start.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I told you it would be different from your life before. You can read whatever you like here and I won’t ever tell you otherwise.”

She wondered if he’d feel the same about some of the sociopolitical books on her shelves in Manchester. As the surprise and elation subsided the old fears emerged like rocks at low tide. Was it a genuine gesture of kindness, or had Will simply made the perfect birdcage for her? She didn’t know whether to be suspicious or joyful that he seemed to understand her better than any man in the Nether ever had.

She gave a hesitant smile. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

He nodded. “I’ll ring for tea and have the fire lit. Come and see how comfortable these chairs are.”

It felt good to rest. Her legs were trembling like she’d run a marathon, not just got out of bed and gone down one flight of stairs. One of the maids came and lit the fire and Cathy wondered what Miss Rainer was doing. Every time she thought of her former governess she felt sick. She couldn’t abandon the most important person in her childhood to the life of a scullery maid. Then she wondered how the maid lighting the fire had come to work for the Agency. She’d been surrounded by servants practically all of her life and never once thought to ask.

Weeks of lying in bed had left her feeling disjointed and disoriented. Now she’d decided to stop running away and actually do something, she needed a plan, and allies. She needed to decide what to tell Will and how to bring it up in conversation with Margritte. Cathy was certain she and Bartholomew were progressive enough to discuss the need for change in Society. Bartholomew must have become Duke whilst she was recovering and they would be the most influential couple in Londinium. They could help her set trends and change minds. She breathed as deeply as she could. Everything was going to change now.

Morgan brought tea and gave a warm smile when he saw her. Once he’d poured the tea and left, Will sat in the chair opposite her.

“I feel terrible about what happened,” he said. “I was warned. I should have protected you and Sophia.”

“Who warned you?”

“Cornelius. He said Tulipa would do anything to take the throne. He was right.”

“Bartholomew?” Cathy shook her head. “That doesn’t sound right. You didn’t accuse him, did you?”

The cup stopped halfway to Will’s lips before being set back down on the saucer. He closed his eyes for a moment, the pink fading from his cheeks. “I challenged him to a duel. I killed him. And I took the throne from him.”

Cathy missed the saucer as she let the cup drop and a little tea spilled onto her robe. “What?”

“I’m the Duke of Londinium. You’re the Duchess, Cathy, just as Lord Iris wanted. You don’t remember me telling you about that?”

“No. It’s the bloody sleeping Charms… they…” She looked at him, trying to imagine him killing Bartholomew, but it had the quality of a silly film in her mind, something utterly unbelievable. Could the same man who was so kind to her, so gentle when she was in distress, be capable of killing their friend? It was as horrifying as it was frightening.

“Don’t look at me like that! He sent a man to murder you.”

“But that was a Rosa. There were thorns, Will, I thought I told you.” She was worried she’d dreamt that.

“You did tell me, and the man was a Rosa, but Bartholomew sent him to kill you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s the truth! Lord Iris and Lord Poppy supported me, I took the throne, it’s done now.”

Cathy focused on her tea cup, unable to look at him. How could this have happened? Bartholomew was a cultured, reasonable man. There was no way he would have done such a thing. How could Will have made such a mistake? Or was it that he wanted an easy excuse to murder the man between him and the throne? Lord Iris was terrifying; had he driven Will to such desperate measures? She swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to show Will how upset she was. “What about Margritte? Has she stayed in Londinium?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t convened a Court. I wanted everything to calm down. I didn’t want to sit as the Duke until you were well enough to be sworn in as Duchess.”

“Oh, bollocks.” Cathy squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m Duchess. I really didn’t think that would happen.” How in the Worlds would she cope with the Court? She’d planned to persuade the Duchess of Londinium to help her change things, not be her! How would she be able to use the position to influence behaviour and engender social change when she couldn’t even function in public?

“I’ll help you. I know it’s a shock. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a legitimate way to take the throne.”

He seemed too calm. “A legitimate… Don’t you feel bad about it?”

“Of course I do! He was the first man I killed. It wasn’t… I had to keep reminding myself what he did. Besides, once I was committed, there was nothing else to be done.”

“Did he admit guilt?”

He looked into the fire. “No. He said he was innocent, right up to the end.”

“This is awful,” she whispered. “What will Margritte do now? Will her family look after her?”

“I don’t know.”

“The house she lived in was Bartholomew’s… she’ll have nothing now, unless he left it to her, I suppose. My God. I can’t believe this has happened. I liked Bartholomew, I could actually have a conversation with him. And Margritte. There’s no way he would have paid someone to kill me. You must have got it wrong.”

“It’s done now!” Will hit the arm of the chair, the anger bursting out as if she had lanced an emotional boil. “We have to move on.”

An awkward silence filled the space between them. She looked at the books but the joy the library had brought her seemed such a frivolity in light of Margritte’s loss. As soon as she was able to leave the house she had to find her and make sure she was provided for, although Margritte would probably hate her now.

Will set his cup down and leaned across the gap between them. “I can’t do this without you, Cathy.”

It was clear he didn’t want to talk about the Tulipas any more and Cathy realised she had to focus on moving forwards too. Nothing was going to bring Bartholomew back and somehow she had to live with what had happened. “I’m here,” she said. If she was going to stay in the Nether she needed him too. She had no idea what she was going to do about Miss Rainer and the Agency or even where to start when it came to the patriarchal hell of Society, but she did know that Will would be the best ally she could get. And despite her doubts and the shock of what he was evidently capable of, she didn’t want him to struggle alone. She knew what that was like.

“There’s something I wanted to discuss with you,” Will began hesitantly. “I have to choose the next Marquis of Westminster. The current one has too much history with the Rosas.”

Cathy dredged up one of the tedious lessons from Dame Iris on the structure of the Londinium Court. The position of Marquis was the second most powerful in the domain and was a critical component of the Duke’s rule. The Marquis was supposed to keep an eye on threats from outside of the domain and keep the Duke informed as well as help defend against them. Of course, in practice most of those threats came from within the Court itself.

“You need someone loyal,” Cathy said. “Someone who isn’t going to use the position to undermine you.”

“Quite,” Will replied. “As you can imagine, there are few men I trust absolutely in Londinium.” He poured them a second cup of tea. “Actually, there’s an added complication. Cornelius gave me a lot of help when we first moved here, explaining who was who and how the social wheels spun here. I did tell him that if he helped me take the throne, I’d make him Marquis.”

“But he doesn’t have any status in Society,” Cathy said. “He doesn’t have any wealth of his own any more, I assume?” He shook his head. “Then you’ll have to tell him the deal’s off.”

“I don’t like breaking promises.”

“Hang on, you said you took the throne from Bartholomew… he was already Duke?”

Will nodded. “I found out what he did and I went into Exilium to appeal to Lord Iris and Poppy was there too. Our patron returned me after two weeks had passed here. Bartholomew had just become Duke.”

Cathy realised how truly absent she’d been since the attack. “Why did Iris do that?” she wondered out loud. “Why deny you the chance to win the throne… normally?”

Will’s eyes were dark. “I’ve wondered that myself,” he said in a low voice.

Cathy didn’t want to dwell on talk of Iris and his schemes for them; it might remind Will of the pressure to have a child and she couldn’t face that as well as everything else. “Well, you could argue that Cornelius didn’t help you take the throne, if he makes a fuss. I’m sure he’ll understand the plan has had to change. The Rosas weren’t popular here and if you put a disgraced one into the position of Marquis you’ll only be making it harder for yourself.”

He smiled. “Listen to yourself.”

“Yeah, what do I know? Do what you want to do.”

“No, you misunderstand. You’re giving me good advice. Like a Duchess.”

“Woot,” Cathy said flatly.

Will stared at her for what seemed a horribly long time. “There’s something else we need to talk about.” His tone was serious. “When you were–” He gripped the arm of the chair and turned a pale shade of green.

“Are you all right?” Cathy took his cup from him as he clutched his stomach.

“I’m being summoned,” he said. “I have to go.”

“We’ll talk when you get back,” Cathy said and he left her to sit amongst the books she had always wanted but was afraid to accept.