In the two years we were away, Mrs Cole had written several dozen long, chatty letters. Hazel, my friend in the Earth Guild, had sent nearly as many small packages, filled with advice and bundles of herbs for treating upset stomachs and other travellers’ ills.
In that same time, Claire sent three two-sentence messages. The first, saying she was engaged, arrived while we were still in the New World. The second, coming soon after, said she had gotten married, and Granny Helene had returned her bracelet in time for the small, private ceremony. The third, reaching us in Cathay, announced the birth of a healthy baby boy and begged me to come see her when I got back home.
She must have married for love, after all. That was the conclusion I reached on arriving at the address included in the last message. The street was tidy, the houses and gardens well maintained, but it was a neighbourhood of minor merchants and craftsmen. Claire’s was a narrow townhouse in a row of identical façades. Comfortable, but not impressive by anyone’s standards.
I lifted the latch on the gate and stopped.
My nursemaid, a level-one fire witch, asked, “What is it?”
“There’s magic at work here. Lots of it.”
I sent my mental eye roving over the gate, the fence, the façade, and the roof with growing astonishment and suspicion.
“There are spells on everything—half-a-dozen at least I don’t recognise, on top of the usual ones. They’re Earth Guild protective spells, I can tell that much, and they’re strong, but I can’t make out what they’re protecting against.”
“That would be expensive, wouldn’t it, ma’am?”
“Sure would. This much protective magic must be worth at least half as much as the house itself. Odd.” Odd, too, that even with three messages from her, I didn’t know her husband’s name or occupation.
“Will they let us in?”
I opened the latch. “We’ll find out.”
Whatever they guarded against didn’t include two fire witches and a baby. Not a whisper of resistance met me on walking from the gate to the stoop. I stood on the stoop for a moment, still suspicious, but unable to sense any threat.
The nursemaid said, “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“No, I’m not.” I squared my shoulders and knocked.
A shriek of “Lucinda!” from an upper story window settled that question. A servant ushered us up the stairs into the nursery, and for a while, babies drove thoughts of anything else from my head. Claire’s child, named Lawrence after her husband’s grandfather, she said, was as adorable as Edward. They cooed and cried and spit up, and acted like perfect babies. Claire and I fussed and rocked, and she pelted me with questions about our travels. I talked about Jean, she talked about Richard, her husband, and we had a splendid time laughing about the wonders of married life.
Throughout, she evaded every question I asked about her husband’s occupation.
Later, while both babies napped, she showed off the rest of the house. The furnishings were as out of proportion to the house and neighbourhood as the protective spells. Her bedroom was a feminine delight of satin sheets, feather mattresses, ruffled valances, and embroidered hangings. A duchess would not have turned up her nose at the gowns in Claire’s wardrobe.
“Claire, how can you afford all this? Who is your husband? What does he do?”
She dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Never mind him. Will you look at the gorgeous deep blue silk in this skirt? The lighter blue underskirt is a perfect match.”
“Stop it.” I snatched the dress from her and shoved it back in the wardrobe. “I don’t want to talk about clothes. I want to hear about your husband. How much time does he spend here? I don’t see many of a man’s things…”
Claire—the enchanting butterfly who never cried, raged, or even raised her voice—flushed a bright, angry red. “What do you mean, ‘How much time’? Do you think he doesn’t live here? I hope you’re not suggesting I’m a kept woman. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”
“The kind with too hard a head and too much self-respect to throw away her life being somebody’s mistress.”
She tossed her head. “I should think so. I am married. I have proof.”
“Then why do you need to argue about it? I didn’t think you weren’t. You’re the one using the words, ‘kept woman’.”
The angry flush faded. She sat down on the edge of the bed with her hands in her lap, her head drooping. “That’s what I feel like,” she mumbled, not looking at me. “That’s what people think.”
I sat cross-legged on the rug and peered up at her. “Tell me. All of it.”
The misery in her expression gave way to relief as the story tumbled out. “I married the richest bachelor—the best catch in the whole city. But he insisted we keep it a secret until his father dies. His father’s very sick, and the healers say he won’t live much longer. He wants Richard to marry the Red Duke’s daughter. Richard’s afraid of him, and thinks he’ll be angry when he finds out Richard married a commoner.”
“You married a nobleman? Which one?”
“The Earl of Eddensford’s oldest son, Lord Richard. Do you remember, when you came to see me before your wedding, going with me to the needlework shop? We met him on our way out. I don’t love him, but he loves me—I’m sure of it.”
Could I forget seeing such naked desire in a man’s face? “I remember. He followed us until we ducked into a coffee shop.” I shouldn’t have been surprised he’d pursued her, or that she had accepted his proposal. I was more sophisticated now than I’d been three years ago in Lesser Campton, and knew that desire often doesn’t turn into love, or lead to honourable behaviour. Still, Claire was telling the truth. She believed her marriage was genuine.
A chill finger walked down my spine. “Claire, show me your proof.”
She pulled a set of keys from a pocket, and unlocked a cupboard beside the bed. While she rummaged through it she said, “I didn’t like it either. I wondered if he was already married, so I took him to see Granny Helene. She may not be an Earth Mother, but she’s close, and she can tell when people are lying, like a Mother can. He swore up and down to her that he loved me, and he wasn’t already married, and his intentions were honourable. She said she believed him, and he signed his full name and title in the book at the wedding. You know that’s binding.
“And, she made him sign his name and title to a statement saying he’d acknowledge me and our children as soon as his father died, if not sooner. The Frost Maiden could freeze his hand off for not honouring that.”
She could indeed. That relieved the worst of my fears, but the situation made my skin crawl.
I read the statement she handed me.
I promise I will make public my lawful marriage to Claire, daughter of William Nelson, tailor, of the town of Rubierre, and adopted daughter of Edward Guillierre, scholar, of the village of Lesser Campton, within one week of my father’s death, if it is not already public by that time. I also promise to acknowledge any children born from this marriage.
Lord Richard Robles Bradford, eldest son of Robert Bradford, Earl of Eddensford.
Something about the acknowledgment of children nagged at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. After a brief study, I shrugged. If it was important, it would come to me later.
“So, you’ve been living here for more than a year and a half, pretending to be a minor merchant’s wife?”
“Yes. It was wonderful at first. He gave me a lot of money. I sent some home to mother, and had enough left to buy whatever I wanted for the house, and later, for the baby. He comes to see me two or three times a week—as often as he can get away. In between, I have servants to do the housework, so I can do whatever I want. I thought I would be so happy…”
Misery crept back into her expression. “But it’s been awful. The neighbours know he doesn’t live here. They think I’m his mistress, and they won’t give me the time of day. The friends I made when I first came here give me the cold shoulder. Only Granny Helene and a few other earth witches believe I’m respectable.” She waved a hand at the wardrobe. “I’ve got all those clothes, the kinds of clothes I dreamed of in Lesser Campton, but no place to wear them. I wear them for him, and he likes seeing me in them, but I want to show them off to other girls. Shopping’s no fun anymore—the shopkeepers grovel for the money, but otherwise they’d treat me like dirt. I don’t go anywhere—if it weren’t for little Lawrence I’d be bored out of my mind.”
I’d listened to this with clenched jaw and rising heat. “I don’t understand. Two years ago, you said you could marry anyone you wanted—even a duke would be happy to have me for a sister-in-law. He shouldn’t shunt you to the side like this. What’s the problem?”
She picked lint off her skirt. “Richard saw you when we left the needlework shop, and believed me when I said you’re a fire witch. But you went off on your honeymoon, and I couldn’t prove you existed. Whenever I tried to tell anyone Frankland’s most powerful fire witch was my stepsister, they either laughed at me or accused me of trying to swindle them. Not even Richard believes you’re a warlock.”
I pushed the wardrobe door closed and slumped against it. “Oh, God. Of course not. I have trouble believing it myself. Claire, I’m so sorry.”
“Well, you couldn’t know, could you? But what bothers me the most…” She stopped, and let out a long sigh. “I’ve been watching the noblewomen. I’ve had lots of time to watch them. I thought at first I wanted to be like them, but the more I watch, the more disgusted I get.” She laughed. “I behaved like one in Lesser Campton, before Granny Helene cured me of whatever it was I had. I suppose I should be ashamed to admit it. The Red Duke’s daughter, the girl his father wants Richard to marry, is a selfish, whiny, spoiled brat with a tongue that could etch glass. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be saddled with her.”
I forced a smile. “Your Richard should be grateful to you for letting him escape that fate.”
“That’s not the point. I watch the nobles, and they don’t notice. I thought at first they ignored me because I’m a commoner, but it can’t be that. I mean, I can go right up to a nobleman, almost walk into him, and he’ll look right through me. It doesn’t make sense. Men always notice me.”
“Don’t remind me. That sounds like witchcraft.”
“That’s what I think. And that’s what bothers me the most.” She looked away, her cheeks red. “Maybe Richard had someone put a spell on me so the other nobles can’t see me. Maybe he’s ashamed of marrying a commoner.”
Flaming her husband would not help Claire. I pushed against the door of the wardrobe and sat up straight. “Claire, how many protective spells are there on this house?”
She looked confused by the change of subject. “Two, I think. The usual ones against fire and burglars. Maybe a couple against burglars.”
“There are at least half a-dozen, and I can’t make out what they’re for.”
“Considering how much I’ve spent on clothes and such, Richard might have thought the usual one wasn’t strong enough.”
“No, they aren’t against burglary—I know those. I think you’re right—Richard is hiding you.”
Claire dabbed at her eyes, then dashed to the door. “I should check on the children.” She came back, sometime later, with red-rimmed eyes. Tears threatened to spill over.
I said, “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then do this. Tell your Richard the warlock he doesn’t believe in is burning up over the way he’s mistreated you. I’ll—”
“Lucinda, really, I can’t do that.”
“Why can’t you? Well, fine, I’ll write him a letter. I’ll come back in a week. If you are not ensconced in the earl’s manor by then, as his son’s respected and honoured wife, I’ll walk through the fire into the earl’s bedroom and demand an explanation. If that scares an old, sick man to death, his death be on his son’s head, not mine.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Lucinda, you wouldn’t.” Then she laughed. “Oh, you would. Yes, you would. I am so glad you’re back.”
“Then why didn’t you want to tell me about it?”
She resumed picking at imaginary lint on her skirt. “Because I’m ashamed I broke my promise.”
“What promise?”
“Don’t you remember? I promised you I’d marry somebody I liked and respected. I like Richard well enough, he’s good company when he’s here, but I don’t respect him.”
“Oh, Claire…”
“I don’t understand why he’s afraid of the earl. He’s an adult, and he’s never gotten into trouble with the Water Guild, so there isn’t anything the earl could do to him, is there?”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. If they weren’t titled, the father could disown the son, but an earl has to keep the succession going. He can’t disinherit his son without the king’s approval.”
“That’s what I thought, and Queen Marguerite is Richard’s aunt on his mother’s side. He’s her favourite nephew, and she can’t stand his half-brother—so he says, anyway—so she wouldn’t let the earl disown him. What’s he afraid of?”
“I can’t imagine. It would be next to impossible to kill him.” I shook my head, once again, over the Fire Office’s magical shields. If the titled noble and the next two in line, the heir and the spare, were subject to a bit of pain for their mistakes, there would be a lot less untempered arrogance on display.
Claire sighed. “I didn’t really expect an answer from you. You’re not afraid of anything.”
I wasn’t afraid? I understood then why I had sought out my oldest friend—to take my mind off my terror. I’d wanted to talk to someone who had never considered dying for her country. But I couldn’t. The Frost Maiden’s conspiracy spell wouldn’t let me tell Claire the danger I was in. I might as well go back home. At least I’d done her some good by coming.
The heir and the spare. The nagging, amorphous worry took shape, the shape of a darling little baby boy. “You said your husband has a brother?”
“Lord Edmund. Half-brother by his father’s second wife. I’ve not met him. He and his brother despise each other. With good reason, or so I’ve heard.”
“Has Lord Richard told his brother about your son?”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. Is it…” The colour drained from her face. “Oh my God, Lord Edmund’s not been shielded since Lawrence was born.”
“Right. He could be injured, maybe even die, if he thinks he’s shielded and he’s not.”
“Why did I never think of that?”
“You’ve not been getting enough sleep, you’ve had your mind on the baby, and you aren’t used to thinking like a noble. Your husband must have thought about that months ago. He probably told his brother as soon as the baby was born.” And if he hadn’t, then, no, he didn’t deserve Claire’s respect.
“His brother’s not nearby.” She sounded uneasy, but colour crept back into her face. “He went somewhere up north several months ago. Over somewhere. Or after. Something. I forgot.”
I ran through a hasty inventory of the northern Frankland map. “Abertee? Near the Crystal Palace?”
“Maybe. Wherever the White Duke lives. He was going hunting with the duke’s son.”
“Yes, Abertee. I’ll send a message to the duke.”
“Thank you. And I’ll tell Richard tonight. I promise.”
I sent the message on my return to Blazes and resumed wrestling with my conscience. Visiting Claire had not done me much good. Escaping for an afternoon had not resolved my quandary, and the pressure continued to build. I imagined myself balanced on the edge of a diving platform, looking down into deep water. The slightest nudge would push me in, over my head.
Two days later Hazel, my other best girlfriend, gave me that nudge.