The Great Game (Royal Sorceress) (22 page)

Sir Charles jumped out of the carriage and held out a hand to help her into it. Gwen ignored his hand and scrambled up herself, her mind too jumbled to care that she was being rude.

“I need to go to Crichton Hall,” she said, once he’d joined her in the carriage. “Can you have the coachman take us there?”

“Of course,” Sir Charles said. He opened the slot and issued orders to the coachman, then closed it with an audible
snap
. “Is there something the matter?”

“It’s not something I can discuss,” Gwen said, shortly. What
was
her mother doing mixed up in the whole affair? As far as Gwen knew, Lady Mary wouldn’t have known Lady Mortimer – and the thought of her knowing Sir Travis personally was laughable. “I just need to go there.”

Sir Charles settled into his seat as the carriage started to move. “It won’t take long to reach your home,” he said. “Do you want me to come inside with you?”

“No, thank you,” Gwen said. It was going to be hard enough talking to her mother without a single man being with her. And then it struck her that she was being incredibly rude. “I... I can make my own way back to Cavendish Hall.”

Sir Charles grinned, relishing her discomfort. “There’s a formal ball this weekend for Ambassador Talleyrand,” he said. “I would be delighted if you would accompany me.”

Gwen hesitated. She had received an invitation, but she hadn’t intended to go. And yet... the last ball she’d attended had been fun, at least until Jack had arrived to reintroduce himself to Polite Society.

“I’d be delighted,” she said, although she had the vague sense that she’d been outmanoeuvred in some way. “But we’ll have to talk about that later.”

Chapter Eighteen

G
wen couldn’t help a surge of mixed emotions as she stood in front of Crichton Hall, waiting for the butler to open the door. The Hall had been her home; she’d never been anywhere else, save for a couple of brief visits to the countryside. She had played with David in the garden – until he’d grown all stuffy – and practised with her magic in the trees. They’d even spent one summer building a treehouse, before Lady Mary had decided that it wasn’t ladylike to climb trees and ordered Gwen not to do it any longer.

And yet the Hall had also been a prison. She had been confined within its walls, held by invisible chains of social propriety... and the shame her mother felt at giving birth to such a child. What would have been a source of great joy and pride if she’d been born male had damaged her mother’s social standing when she’d had a daughter. That, at least, wasn’t going to happen on Gwen’s watch. She’d already started recruiting upper-class women who happened to have been born with magic.

The door opened, revealing a familiar face. “Mistress Gwen,” the butler said, gravely. “Welcome home.”

He’d been new when Gwen had left to go to Cavendish Hall, which was probably why he was still working for the family. Most servants had been too scared of Gwen to stay for long, even though the rumours were wildly exaggerated. She had
not
turned a pair of maids into her dolls. Even the most skilled of Changers would have been unable to do
that
.

“Thank you,” Gwen said, as he took her hat and coat. “Is my mother home?”

“She is in the Flower Room,” the butler said. “Should I bring tea and biscuits?”

“Please do,” Gwen said, although she had no idea if her mother would be pleased. She’d spent too long avoiding her mother in the months since Master Thomas’s death. “I can find my own way there.”

Lady Mary had been redecorating since Gwen had left, she saw; over the years, Gwen had destroyed dozens of pieces of china with bursts of accidental magic. In hindsight, she wondered why Lady Mary hadn’t killed her - or given her up for adoption. Her mother had been a stronger person than she’d realised, she saw now. Perhaps, now that they were both mature adults, they could get along better. But Lady Mary might always see her as the little girl who’d thrown tantrums and pushed her tutors away.

The Flower Room had once held David’s toys, before he’d grown up and had most of them transferred to his new house. Now, Lady Mary – in line with the ineffable dictates of fashion – had turned it into a hothouse where she was trying to grow exotic plants imported from the Far East. Gwen smiled as she smelled the flowers, wondering why her mother didn’t take such good care of the garden outside. But then, that would suggest that the family was too poor to hire a gardener.

“Gwendolyn,” Lady Mary said, as she looked up from a potted flower. “How...
nice
to see you again.”

“Thank you, mother,” Gwen said. Her mother could always make her feel like an ungrateful child – and, in truth, she had a great deal to be grateful for. “It has been too long.”

She sat down on a bench and studied her mother as she worked on the flower. Lady Mary’s hair was slowly going grey, but apart from that she looked like an older version of Gwen herself. Gwen had wondered, more than once, about her own paternity; if Jack could have been adopted by a well-connected family, why couldn’t someone else have adopted her, if she’d come out of the farms. It was sometimes hard to see anything of her father in her. But then, the farms wouldn’t have sent an untested girl out for adoption. It was much more likely that Gwen was her parents’ child.

But David doesn’t have magic
, she reminded herself.
If I do, why doesn’t he
?

“I heard that you were spending time with Charles Bellingham,” Lady Mary said, without looking up from the plant. “You are comporting yourself with all the dignity of your station, I trust?”

Gwen scowled, inwardly. It hadn’t been more than a couple of hours since she’d had lunch with him. Word moved faster than horses and carriages in London... someone had probably spotted them in Glisters and sent a note to Lady Mary. The elder women always kept an eye on the younger girls.

“Yes, mother,” she lied. Few girls of her station would share a carriage with an unrelated man, unless they had a chaperone. On the other hand, she suspected that she wouldn’t have enjoyed herself so much if Lady Mary had been there. Some of Sir Charles’s stories would not have amused her mother at all.

“There is some... question over his family,” Lady Mary added. “But on the whole, you could do worse for marriage.”

Gwen scowled, openly this time.
Trust
her mother to start wittering on about marriage, as if her life would only be validated when both of her children had left the nest and started building households of her own.
David
had a wife and a child on the way... she didn’t need to worry about Gwen. And besides, surely being related to the Royal Sorceress was something she could brag about in Polite Society.

Or maybe not
, she reminded herself.
Master Thomas had no close relatives when he died
.

“I have no intention of getting married yet, mother,” she said, tightly. “I am young...”

“You are growing older,” Lady Mary reminded her. “Most girls your age are not only married, but bringing up children. It is rare indeed for a young woman to marry a suitable young man after she passes twenty-five.”

“There are no suitable young men,” Gwen said, dryly. If there had been another Master, she was sure that she would have been urged to marry him and see if two Masters could produce more Masters. Master Thomas had had children through the farms, but unless the suggestion that Jack had actually been his son was correct, none of them had been Masters. “And those you keep pushing at me don’t want to marry the Royal Sorceress.”

Lady Mary scowled at her, then walked over to sit down next to her. “Your father and I only want what is best for you,” she said, as she gave Gwen a hug. “In many ways, you are lonely. You were
always
lonely.”

Gwen had to admit that she was right. Being a so-called devil-child had left her almost friendless; very few girls of her generation had been willing to play with her, even before the rumours had grown far out of proportion. And, even as Master Thomas’s apprentice, her femininity had isolated her. She could never be too friendly with the other magicians.

And now? The great and the good hung on her every word, or privately disdained her when they thought she wasn’t looking, but none of them were her
friends
.

“You’re perceptive,” she said, numbly. “Why were you never this perceptive before?”

Lady Mary surprised her by laughing. “While I was a child, my mother was a thoughtless old biddy who tried to run my life,” she said. “When I grew up, I realised that my mother had only wanted the best for me.”

Gwen nodded, slowly. Her maternal grandmother had died when Gwen had been very young, before she had discovered her magic. It was difficult to imagine Lady Mary as a naughty young girl, but she must have been ... once upon a time.

She would have liked to have chatted to her mother for hours, just trying to enjoy her company, but duty called.

“This trip isn’t for pleasure,” she admitted. She felt a pang of guilt as she realised that she might not have visited her mother
unless
she hadn’t had a choice. “I need to ask you about someone.”

“Not Sir Charles, I presume,” Lady Mary said. “But I will definitely look into his family tree.”

Gwen gave her a cross look, which washed off her mother like water from a duck’s back. Now, she could tell that her mother often concealed her intelligence behind a facade... although she wasn’t sure how much of the facade truly was a facade. If all she’d wanted was some flowers to impress visitors, it would have been simpler to buy them – or hire a proper gardener to take care of the plants.

“Not Sir Charles,” Gwen said. “Augustus Howell.”

Her mother’s arm shook. Gwen looked up and saw, to her alarm, that her mother had gone pale.

“
Mother
?”

Lady Mary stared at her. “
Where did you hear that name
?”

Gwen hesitated, then answered. “I have to find out who murdered Sir Travis and he’s one of the suspects in the investigation,” she said, honestly. She could trust her mother, she suspected, to keep
that
to herself. “He suggested that I should talk to you...”

Her mother clutched Gwen’s arm. “What did he tell you?”

“Merely that I should talk to you,” Gwen said, alarmed. Who was Howell that so many people had bad reactions to his name? Lestrade, Lord Mycroft, Sir Charles... and now Lady Mary? What did those people have in common? Maybe she should have asked David; stuffy or not, she could usually get answers out of her brother. “Mother...”

“Nothing else?” Her mother demanded, her grip tightening. “Nothing at all?”

“No,” Gwen said, quickly. “Mother... who is he?”

“No one,” Lady Mary insisted. “Just... just don’t go near him, all right?”

Gwen stared at her. Lady Mary had been flustered before, particularly after she’d heard about some magic-related chaos the young Gwen had caused, but she’d never been on the verge of outright panic. Even when Master Thomas had come to invite Gwen to study under him, Lady Mary hadn’t
panicked
. She’d just fainted with shock.

Briefly, she considered trying to Charm her mother. In hindsight, it was clear that she had used Charm on the servants, although she hadn’t really known what she was doing. She’d resented her ignorance at the time, even though it might have worked in her favour. If she’d really known what she was doing, would it have twisted her as badly as it had twisted Lord Blackburn?

And she
couldn’t
Charm her mother. That would be morally wrong.

“I need to know,” she said, quietly. “Mother...”

“Don’t talk about him,” Lady Mary insisted. She let go of Gwen and stood upright, shaking so badly that Gwen was sure that she was going to fall over. “Just... leave him alone.” Her voice hardened. “That’s an order, Gwendolyn.”

Gwen felt a flash of
déjà vu
. Her mother had been fond of that phase when Gwen had been a child, using it to remind her daughter that certain orders were not up for discussion, even though Gwen – and David – had spent considerable time and ingenuity looking for loopholes in her instructions. And yet... how
could
her mother issue orders concerning Gwen’s post and expect them to be obeyed? Gwen was no longer hers to command.

“I need to know,” she repeated. “Mother, this is
important
!”

“He won’t have murdered Sir Travis,” Lady Mary insisted. She turned and strode off towards the door. “Dinner is at five o’clock sharp, Gwendolyn. You
will
join us, won’t you?”

The door banged closed before Gwen could formulate a response. What was Howell if the mere mention of his name pushed her mother into a state of near-panic? Somehow, Gwen doubted that a loan shark could cause so much shock. Her family might not be as wealthy as some families, but they were comfortably well off; her father’s investments in airships were definitely bringing in the money. Given time, David would probably ensure that they were richer than anyone else.

Besides, Lady Mary didn’t handle her own money, apart from her dowry. She was the youngest daughter of her family and hadn’t inherited much when her father had passed away... Howell would surely have considered her a bad investment risk, far more so than Sir Travis. Unless... he’d expected Lady Mary’s husband to pay? But a husband wasn’t legally obliged to pay his wife’s debts unless he’d backed them...

“Nothing about this makes sense,” Gwen said, out loud.

She briefly considered asking her father, then dismissed the thought. If her mother was scared... how would her father react? Instead, she walked over to the door and stepped out into the corridor. Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of Lady Mary.

Gwen hesitated, wondering if she should just go – but her mother would be mortally offended if she didn’t stay for dinner. And it had been months since she’d spent any time with her parents... shaking her head, she turned and made her way up the stairs to her room. Lady Mary, as was tradition, had left it strictly alone. Even the maids had refused to go inside and dust. But then, they’d been scared of Gwen...

It struck her, as she stepped inside, just how
small
the room seemed. Her bedroom at Cavendish Hall was much larger – and, she realised slowly, was designed for an adult. She looked around, remembering the dolls she’d played with as a young girl – and how she’d accidentally burned one to ashes when she’d been experimenting with her magic. The stuffed donkey she’d been given one birthday still sat on her bed. She couldn’t help reaching for the toy and cuddling him to her chest. And to think that she’d almost forgotten him!