I cut in smoothly. “I am so glad to hear it. She is indeed a delightful girl, and it is not kind to say it, but I think Lysander needs to be shaken up a bit. He is too tightly bound within himself. She is a tonic for him.”
Father laid down his cup and smoothed his waistcoat, a fraying affair in aubergine stripes. His sartorial taste was frighteningly close to Plum’s. “I am glad to hear it. Now, the reason I sent for you. Say hello to your friend. He has missed you, you know, and I don’t mean to keep him forever.”
He nodded toward the corner behind me. I turned to see a large, ornately wrought birdcage standing where a bust of Kean usually held court. Inside the cage was a bundle of sleek black feathers and a pair of intelligent jetty eyes.
“Grim!” I cried. I went to the cage and leaned near, careful to keep my arms behind my back. It would not do to have the tweed of my sleeves shredded by his sharp talons. He looked up at me, his head tipped quizzically to the side. After a long moment, he opened his beak.
“Good morning,” he said cordially.
“Good morning,” I returned. It was Grim’s favourite greeting, no matter the time of day. I opened the cage door, and he bobbed his feathered head and hopped out. His wings were tucked behind his back, and he walked across the carpet with the dignified air of an elder statesman. Grim might have been a souvenir of the previous investigation, but he was also a great deal more. He had begun his life as a Tower raven, property of the Crown and petted darling of the Tower’s inhabitants. I wondered sometimes if he missed the social comedown he had suffered when the Queen had made me a present of him.
I returned to my chair and Grim followed. Father passed me a small box of sugared plums and Grim’s eyes brightened. “That’s for me.”
“Yes, it is, Grim.” I tossed a plum onto the carpet and averted my eyes. Grim was a lovely companion, but watching him eat even confectionery required a rather stronger stomach than I possessed.
Father rose and shot his cuffs. “I must take my leave of you, my dear. I have estate business to attend to before we depart for the village. Be ready in an hour.”
There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. He sounded like a man about to effect an escape, and that only heightened my curiosity.
But this was no time to confront him. I merely smiled affectionately. “No matter. It will give me time to read the newspapers. I haven’t had the English papers for weeks. I am frightfully out of touch.”
Father paused. “I am afraid Aquinas is too efficient by half. He has burned them all. Read the latestPunchinstead. It’s just there on my desk,” he prodded.
I picked it up and opened the cover. I waited until he had closed the door behind him, then counted to one hundred. When I finished, I tossed another plum to Grim and went to the lidded basket by the hearth where Father always stuffed newspapers he had not yet finished.
With apologies to Crab for disturbing her, I knelt and opened it. I was not surprised to find it was half full. Another mystery, and it was not yet nine o’clock, I mused. Quickly, I perused the pages, not quite certain what I was looking for. It was not until the second time through that I saw it: each bit of newspaper he had saved carried some piece on the same subject, a recent riot in Trafalgar Square, all written in the last fortnight.
When I was finished, I replaced the papers just as I had found them. Then I wiped my hands on my handkerchief and coaxed Grim back into his cage with the last of the sugared plums. This house party was proving intriguing indeed.
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER
If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work.
—Henry IV, Part I
The party that assembled in the hall an hour later was merry, but somewhat diminished. Violante was still unwell, and Hortense, who was fluent in Italian and not fond of the cold, offered to sit with her. Aunt Dorcas refused again to go, insisting the vibrations were bad and the weather would turn, her beady eye fixed firmly on Aquinas. I had no doubt she would insist on a hot tray for both elevenses and luncheon, and a fire in the library. From what Father had told me, it was apparent her food allowance did not extend to the luxuries one might find in the larders at Bellmont Abbey. No doubt when she left the house her trunks would be stuffed with vintage champagne and tins of caviar and lobster, but it would be rude to search them.
The rest of us made a picturesque group. The gentlemen were in country tweeds, even Plum, although he sported a velvet waistcoat in a particularly virulent shade of cerise. He carried his sketchbook, and his pockets bulged, doubtless with pencils and gums and grubby bits of charcoal. Brisbane too wore country attire, though his arm was confined in a black woollen sling now, and over his dark tweeds he had thrown an enormous black greatcoat. A man of lesser inches would never have carried it off, but he did so quite impressively. As usual, he was hatless, and as usual, his thick black hair was just unruly enough that I had to thrust my hands into my pockets like a schoolboy to keep from organising it.
In contrast, Father was dressed like a pedlar of dubious origin. His tweeds were thirty years out of fashion, and his shirt, though made for him by the finest tailor in London, had been stained with ink and tobacco until the cuffs were quite disreputable. He wore a cape one of the grandchildren must have unearthed from the dressing-up box, all bright red wool and braided gilt trim, like something out of Gilbert and Sullivan. To complete the ensemble, he had clapped a crumpled deerstalker on his head and wrapped a length of sky-blue velvet about his neck.
In comparison, the ladies were a vision of decorum. Lucy and Emma were nearly identical in grey flannel, serviceable as anything a governess might wear. Lucy had attempted to brighten hers with a jaunty green bow, to mildly depressing effect. Mrs. King, in simple black merino, and Portia, in green tweed with a dashing feather in her hat, were more decorative. My own costume, a delicious purple tweed edged in violet velvet, was not entirely unflattering, I decided, smoothing my cuffs.
“Do stop that,” Portia muttered in my ear. “Yes, the fabric is divine and the cut is perfection. You needn’tpreen.”
I put out my tongue at her only to find Brisbane’s gaze on me, his expression thoughtful. It was not the first time he had witnessed such behaviour on my part, and I turned away, my face hot, as Father began ordering us about.
“All right, I make it twelve of us then. Can’t all possibly fit in two carriages, so I have ordered horses for the gentlemen. Not you of course, Brisbane,” he said with a chuckle. “I suppose you had best ride with the ladies.” Brisbane did not smile.
In the end, Alessandro and Plum elected to ride with us as well, and after a short delay a second carriage was brought round. There was a jolly scramble for seats, and I was surprised to find myself sharing a carriage with Brisbane, Alessandro, and Mrs. King. I could not have engineered a more awkward arrangement, but when Portia winked at me as she hoisted herself into her own conveyance, I had little doubt she had had a hand in it.
“Oh, this is cosy!” Mrs. King declared as the footman slammed the door. The horses sprang and she gave a little shriek. Opposite me, Brisbane flinched, and I could not help but prod him a little.
“I do hope the motion of the carriage does not jostle your arm, my lord,” I said. “I know how painful those falls can be. I remember a dozen devilish tosses when I was learning to ride. I was quite purple with bruises for the whole of that summer.”
“I am perfectly well,” he said blandly.
“I am glad to hear it,” I replied, mimicking his tone. He shot me a black look, but I ignored it and turned to Mrs. King.