After supper, the suspects did indeed gather in a room, though Liesl could not say for sure that it was a drawing room. She had lost track of which rooms on the ground floor of Aphrodite Villa were parlours, receiving rooms, drawing or indeed withdrawing rooms. There were at least six of each, in different colour palettes, and the house was such a labyrinth that she was never entirely sure which room lay beyond which door.
In any case, no one was here to listen to theories about who had or had not stolen a valuable family diamond. They had gathered in the (alleged) drawing room for the same reason they had gathered in Aphrodite Villa in the first place: for Emma, the Countess of Sandwich.
Liesl had not known quite what to expect of Emma’s showpiece: The Classics. A song or two, perhaps. Dancing? Something inappropriate, probably — or at least something that Grandmamma would have considered inappropriate, which included anything more daring than sitting very still while fully clothed.
Were there to be spangles? Ankle-revealing petticoat flutters? Jewels in unexpected places?
Nothing so outlandish, as it happened. When Emma entered the room she was dressed in a long white dress, covered in a light blue shawl. Very similar to what she had worn when Liesl first arrived at the villa, except that nothing was splashed in paint.
“Behold!” cried Mr Meredith Merryweather, his hands cupped around his mouth to create a vibrating intonation. “Her Fanciest Ladyship, Emma Lamb-Battenburg-Seville, Countess of Sandwich and Queen of our Hearts, performing her Classics!”
Their friends applauded wildly, but went respectfully silent once Emma stood before them. The guests sat in straight-backed chairs as the official audience, except for Amie and Evans the valet, who hovered at the back with a grinning Mrs Pennance, and Basil Robucks, who sat at a nearby piano with a herbal cigar clenched between his teeth.
Bert the stable lad was there too, Liesl realised, tucked into a corner behind the piano in the hopes no one would notice him. Bets the tweeny, in her cleanest apron, crouched beside him, eyes wide like saucers. So the entire household had turned out for the Countess’ party piece except for the invisible butler and the maid of all work.
Basil began to play a slow, lilting melody.
Emma did not speak. She commanded their attention with her silence. She breathed slowly, in and out.
And then…
She transformed.
As the music rose and fell, the blue shawl became butterfly wings, a queen’s mantle, the sail of a swan-shaped boat. It folded up to be a crown and a magister’s hat and a harp between her fingers.
Emma changed too. Her face lengthened and shortened, became ugly and beautiful, old and young. She pantomimed a host of characters from classical plays and ancient myth, from famous novels and plays and songs, each with a recognisable look and prop in her hands.
The audience broke their silence, calling out guesses as rapidly as she shifted from one character to another.
Was it magic, or not? At first Liesl was convinced that Emma was using some kind of enchantment, but magic didn’t work that well in this house… and no, it was just cleverness. Acting. Posing. Expert performance and and folded fabric.
Basil’s piano playing sped up, and Emma matched his speed. She was shifting characters every thirty seconds, then ten.
Her friends laughed and gasped and heckled her, utterly delighted. Captivated.
Liesl was captivated too. Such humour and cleverness and… a thought struck her.
She looked around, at the pride that shone from the faces of Basil and Merry and Perdita and Indigo. Emma’s closest friends. In that instant, she knew that none of them would ever have betrayed her.
The faces of the staff were open and honest too, everyone from Mrs Pennance the cook to the stable lad behind the piano. Everyone thought the Countess was marvellous.
No, the mystery of the Prima-donna Diamond was to be solved elsewhere. And now, finally, Liesl had an idea where to start looking.
During the supper break, as Amie and Evans brought around trays of cheese and olives and other savouries, Liesl slipped away.
“Marvellous!” she heard Mr Merryweather exclaim as she made her discreet exit. “I thought marriage and conventionality would dim your star, my dear Lamb, but you’re as magnificent now as you were the first time I saw you treading the boards at the Starlight Theatre.”
“Glad not to disappoint,” Emma said dryly. “Pass me an olive will you, Perdita my duck? I have to throw it at a poet.”
“I do think the show’s improved since I last saw it in Town,” said Basil thoughtfully.
“Must be the sea air,” said Indigo, without a touch of irony. “Makes everything taste better!”
Liesl made her way through the green baize door and down a long white staircase towards the kitchens and servants quarters, beneath the ground floor. Because the villa was cut into the side of the hill on an angle, part of this floor had natural daylight, making it a vast improvement on most basement kitchens.
Still, the design was familiar enough. Liesl was searching for the room that would normally belong the housekeeper. Except, of course, Aphrodite Villa had no housekeeper. It had Tavistock, the maid of all work.
She found herself in an unexpected second scullery and turned back, only to find herself face to face a most determined Perdita Cholmondley. She was wearing a most fetching violet gown tonight, with very daring sleeves which Liesl had been trying not to notice.
“What are you doing here?” Liesl demanded in a startled whisper.
“What are you?” replied the artist, at a normal volume. “I hope you realise your behaviour is verging on skulking at this point.”
“I’m not skulking,” Liesl hissed, gesturing for Perdita to also lower her voice. “I’m investigating.”
Perdita’s eyes flashed. “This again. Your family really are the most outrageous—”
“Not Emma,” Liesl said impatiently. “Someone is out to sabotage her marriage. There’s this whole diamond business… anyway, I know now that you were right. None of her friends would try to hurt her. I should have realised earlier, and I’m sorry.”
Perdita raised both eyebrows expertly. “So who do we expect? Are we about to ambush some scullery maid in her lair?”
“There are no scullery maids in this house,” Liesl said impatiently. “Honestly, artists. You think the nobility are out of touch. Haven’t you noticed that there are meals served every few hours, but barely a handful of servants, and no cleaning charms?”
“You wouldn’t be able to use cleaning charms in this house,” Perdita said dismissively. “Spells barely work.”
“Exactly,” said Liesl. “And yet, the dishes are clean.” She waved a hand at the scullery which was indeed full of bright, gleaming white dishes and silverware. Not a servant in sight. “I’ve narrowed it down to Torquay and Tavistock. I’ve never even seen him, and she’s the only one who doesn’t stare at Emma like she’s made of cake and twice as nice.”
“You do come out with odd expressions,” said Perdita. “But I’ll grant you the butler is odd. I caught him out on the lawn once, chasing rabbits with a javelin.”
“I thought I’d try Tavistock first,” said Liesl. “But I’ll keep in mind that that butler is… armed and dangerous. If I ever see him.”
“Come on, then,” said Perdita, swishing along the corridor.
“You’re coming with me?”
“Naturally. You can’t do this alone. I spend half my time lugging granite and marble and paintbrushes around — if she makes a break for it, you’ll be glad to have a partner with powerful upper arm strength.”
“Partner,” said Liesl, doing her best not to blush. She had more important things to think about. Such as, how to ambush a maid of all work who seemed to be able to perform miracles.
Perdita, at least, knew the way to the housekeeper’s parlour, set further back into the servant’s quarters. The two of them approached the door with caution.
From inside, they could hear the tinkling of a piano, played with precision. The notes rose and fell in complex layers as if played by half a dozen virtuosos on several pianos.
“Is she having a party?” Perdita whispered.
Liesl knocked, and the music broke off.
Tavistock, a woman of exactly middle age, met Liesl at the door with a face so perfectly impassive, it belonged in a museum. She wore a pale dove grey dress covered in an enormous white apron, and a matching white cap. Neat as a pin.
“Lady Liesl,” she said politely, with a face that expressed no pleasure or annoyance. “Miss Cholmondley. May I help you?”
“We’ll show ourselves in,” said Liesl, barging into the room with Perdita on her heels. It was the rudest she had ever been to a member of staff in her life; her mamma had taught her to respect those who worked for you. Mind you, her mamma had also been one for barging everywhere if she had to go anywhere. “It’s a big house, with many guests and barely another servant to hand,” Liesl went on accusingly. “So much scrubbing and dusting and sweeping to be done, with no army of chamber and parlour maids to help you, and not a sniff of a cleaning charm in the air. You actually have time to practice piano?”
Tavistock smiled. It was not the smile of one who was concerned about her station in life. “There’s not much to be done in a place like this. It practically runs itself.”
“That’s not how houses work,” Liesl said impatiently.
“And you would know, of course. Milady.”
“I know what cleaning charms smell like,” Liesl replied haughtily. “And I know how many people it takes to keep a house this size running with or without them. Do you think girls of families like mine are taught nothing beyond fan-fluttering and simpering at eligible men? Managing a house is what I was trained to do.”
Tavistock’s eyes narrowed.“ And what do you know about this house, with all your expertise?”
“Anyone can tell something is wrong here,” broke in Perdita. “Something about this house. I can’t stop painting frescoes, but I can’t make any of my paint spells work properly for love nor money. And I… I’m sure I’m supposed to be somewhere.” She frowned. “Appointments in Town. The Queen’s portrait… I’m sure I was supposed to be doing something about that.”
Tavistock turned on her, eyes wide. “You’re doing great work right here, miss. Aren’t you?”
Perdita faltered. “I am doing great work, it’s true. How kind of you to notice.”
“You don’t want to be anywhere else, do you? Not with so much fresh air and inspiration right here on your doorstep.” The maid’s voice was heavy, forceful. Liesl couldn’t help agreeing with her. Of course Perdita should stay.
Perdita’s eyelids drooped as if drugged. “So much inspiration,” she murmured, then appeared to snap out of it. “Really, Liesl. Why would we want to go anywhere else? I’ve never been so inspired. I think I’ll paint three frescoes tomorrow.”
It made so much sense, and yet… and yet, Liesl had written so many letters she could paper a room with them. “Stop it,” she snapped. “Stop whatever you’re doing to her.”
“I’m not doing anything, miss,” said Tavistock.
“You are. And if it’s not magic… it’s something else.”
When is magic not magic? When it…
Somewhere, a bell jangled. Tavistock twitched towards the door.
Liesl stood in her way. “No.”
“I must get the door, milady.”
“The butler greets guests, then the footman,” Liesl said sharply. “Let them do it. Or, let one of them hire an appropriate number of staff to cover the available tasks. I’m not finished talking to you.”
Tavistock’s face went distant for a moment. “I have to go, milady. That’s himself at the door. He’s finally come back to us.”
Liesl stared at her. “My father? How on earth would you know that?”
“Because IT’S MY HOUSE.” Tavistock raised herself taller. She wasn’t plain and middle aged at all, but quite beautiful. Young and beautiful and… familiar. Where had Liesl seen that face before? Tavistock looked like one of Perdita’s marble busts, only with less of a sense of humour. “You are the intruder here,” she thundered at Liesl. “I have to greet the master.”
“No,” Liesl said again, refusing to be tidied away. “Tell me about this house. Why was my father so desperate to have it built exactly here? How is it that Emma’s friends are so inspired, so wildly attached to this place that they can’t bring themselves to leave?”
Why can’t I stop writing letters to people that pour out the truth after spending so many years keeping my thoughts to myself?
“And what have you done to Perdita?” she growled.
“Nonsense, Liesl, no one’s done anything to me,” said Perdita. “I could run laps of the house and build a mosaic at the same time. Actually, I think I could add some bas relief work to the downstairs lavatory, what do you think?”
The bell jangled again.
The maid threw her hands up in the air, like a magister casting enchantments.
Liesl staggered slightly, overcome by images that filled her head.
She was an opera singer on stage, holding a high note while adoring audiences threw orange blossoms at her feet. All her wishes come true.
She was a talented author, scribbling novels that her friends all gushed over, while bookshops sold them in lavish hardcover editions edged with gold. All her desires, met.
She was a sculptor, carving beauty out of cold marble, as the Queen herself arched her pretty chin to be copied. All her longed-for hopes, fulfilled.
She was a detective, earning the admiration of her family as she confidently declared “The murderer is…”
Liesl blinked, staring at Tavistock. “I don’t want any of those things,” she said. “And honestly, if you had all those to offer, why did you stick me with letter-writing for four days?”
The other women hissed at her, pulling an ugly expression with her beautiful, marble statue face. “Everyone wishes for something, sooner or later. What is your desire?”
Those were big questions, and Liesl was going to need some time to work them over in her head. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted.” I’ve never been allowed to wish things for myself. That was supposed to come later.”
After she secured the ideal husband, the successful estate, the approval of her father, the acceptance and unconditional love of her dead mamma and grandmamma… After she achieved perfection, as defined by the Battenburg-Seville family going back seven generations.
Even though literally no one was left in the family who cared if she did.
“Liesl, look out!” Perdita cried suddenly.
There was a blur of white as the statuesque maid of all work shoved past her and ran away, surprisingly fast.
Heart beating out of her chest, Liesl gave chase.
When Liesl and Perdita made it back to the drawing/parlour/room, they were greeted by a frozen tableau. The Earl of Sandwich, still in his coat and hat, stood awkwardly on the threshold, pushing his way past a starchy-looking man in top hat and tails. The elusive butler Mr Torquay, perhaps?
Liesl blinked in astonishment as the butler turned to her and winked. He was alive and moving. But the rest of them — every other person in the house — was stiff and cold. Unmoving.
The Earl’s son (and Liesl’s brother) Gustav, Viscount Ganymede, stood at his father’s heels, face captured in an expression of fury.
What was wrong with them all? Had time been frozen, or had someone turned them into statues? To Liesl’s great frustration, she still couldn’t feel any traces of magic at all.
Bustled in behind the Earl and Gustav were the Earl’s three eldest (and married) daughters, Lady Annabetha Battenburg-Seville Chisholm, Lady Margaretta Battenburg-Seville Sotheby, and Lady Gerdrut Battenburg-Seville Melusine. All three of them were dressed in fine gowns and new bonnets as if they expected to be at a royal picnic, or a public promenade. These were not gowns one chose to wear when visiting family, unless one meant to make a very specific impression.
An intense expression of disapproval was frozen on each of their faces, directed at… oh yes. The rest of the Bohemians had reassembled for the show. Basil was seated at the piano, leaving Indigo and Merry as an audience of two on the gilded chairs.
Emma, the Countess of Sandwich, stood on her makeshift stage, interrupted in the moment of an impersonation of Aphrodite, goddess of love. In her white gown, blue shawl and house slippers, she somehow managed to look as if she had recently stepped out of seafoam. Her expression was one of astonishment and sadness as she caught sight of her husband and his children, performing their surprise attack.
Emma’s friends all tensed in their chairs, defiance captured on their faces. Indigo blazed with such indignation, she looked as if she was about to seize the nearest picture frame and batter the Earl around the head with it. Merry looked merely curious. At the very back of the room, Amie and Evans were caught in the moment of flattening themselves to the wallpaper, not wanting to be noticed by the horde of invading aristocrats. Bets and Bert had a better hiding place behind the piano. Mrs Pennance stared openly, clearly enjoying the show.
“You started without me,” Tavistock complained to Torquay.
He rolled his eyes. “So impatient, sister. There’s plenty of food to go around. Just look at them all.”
“Spoilt for choice,” she agreed.
“What have you done?” Liesl demanded of them both.
The two turned to stare at her. Brother and sister? Torquay, like Tavistock had an otherworldly beauty about his face. Pale like marble. Symmetrical, like a less than original artwork. The little moustache looked like it had been drawn on.
“They are quite safe,” said the maid. “Caught in a moment between moments.”
“Never mind that,” Liesl said dismissively, waving away whatever incredible sorcery had turned a roomful of people into statues. “I want to know what you two did to my father.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Do you not?” Liesl stood up very straight, facing down the maid who was not a maid. “Six years ago, my mother died. And the Earl, my father, he changed. Ran wild with theatricals and Bohemians. Fell in love. Eloped. My siblings all blamed Emma, but it started happening before that, didn’t it? She’s the symptom, not the disease.”
“Charming stepdaughter you are,” muttered Perdita at her elbow.
“Don’t distract me by trying to make me feel guilty,” sighed Liesl. “I’ll do that later for myself.” She turned back to Torquay and Tavistock. “Look at you both. You have some kind of power, enough to transformed him… oh.”
When is magic not magic? When it performs miracles.
Liesl’s eyes were drawn back to Emma, caught in her performance as Aphrodite. “Oh no.”
“Look at you,” said Tavistock smugly. “You solved the mystery.”
“Wait,” said Perdita. “That’s not fair. Solve it out loud, for the rest of us.”
“You didn’t transform him,” Liesl said slowly. “But you did something.”
“We granted his wishes. His every desire. The beautiful house. The untouchable actress. Generations of debts paid. Arthritis pain vanished, overnight. A thinning hairline, verdant once more.”
“We were kinder than he deserved,” said Torquay. “Trespasser that he was.”
“We haven’t even made him pay the price… yet,” said Tavistock. The two of them shared an inhuman giggle together.
Not the fey folk, not witches. Not magisters. No, it was worse than that. No wonder the house felt like a temple.
“You know the stories,” Liesl said to Perdita. “The old myths. You’ve painted half of them. You know what they are.”
“Oh, gods,” said Perdita sucking in a breath as she realised.
Indeed.
Gods, walking the earth.
One knew such things happened in the olden days, of course, but no one had reported a sighting from the True Pantheon since Grandmamma was a girl, and most of those tales were hogwash anyway.
The inhabitants of the Teacup Isles preferred their gods to remain in their place: as the subjects of temple statues, naughty frescoes and overly-flowery poetry. No one was in any hurry to invite them around to tea.
(Or, heavens above, to serve the tea.)
Liesl was no longer merely surprised or startled or even astonished; she was outraged. Who did they think these two were, strutting among humans and playacting at maids and butlers? What was their game?
“Who are you?” Perdita asked Tavistock, the maid of all work. “This villa might be named after Aphrodite, but we haven’t all spent the summer swooning at each other, so I don’t think you’re the goddess of love.”
“No,” the creature said with a tight smile. “Not love.”