A Restless Truth (The Last Binding #2)

Chapter 21

21

Violet’s relatives seemed to have taken the hint that she felt more friendly towards them if they didn’t try to impose their company on her. They hadn’t attempted to eat with her all day, nor did they ask her to accompany them to any of the musical or theatrical performances being held that evening.

There might be other transatlantic voyages, in the future, when Violet could be a normal passenger. Take advantage of the normal entertainment.

For now, she’d chosen her diversion on the first day. Yes, it had proven both more complicated and more perilous than she’d expected. But so far— so far, she thought, hand creeping to the nape of her neck—she didn’t regret it. And being part of Maud’s quest meant retiring to Lord Hawthorn’s suite after dinner, to create a plan of attack for the next day.

Maud’s army kept growing. Ross, for all his protestations of being in it only for the money, had clearly found himself hooked by fascination. If you counted Mrs. Navenby, there were five of them now.

Mrs. Navenby was determined to be counted. As soon as they all sat down around the low table in Hawthorn’s sitting room, Maud’s spine straightened and the old woman’s sharp tones emerged from her mouth.

“Finally. There is clearly more going on than I anticipated. What on earth is Sera Hope doing aboard this ship?”

They all exchanged glances.

“Who?” Violet asked.

“In the dining room. I’ve not seen her for half our lives, but I’d know her anywhere. Sera—Seraphina. Hope. Though she goes by Vaughn since marrying that ghastly man.”

“Mrs. Vaughn!” That was Maud. “She’s the one whose cabin I broke into, when we were looking for the silver. She thought I was the jewel thief, because I ran off after Morris.”

“Was she part of this business with the Last Contract as well?” asked Violet. “Does she have part of it?”

“ Yes, and no, ” said Mrs. Navenby. “ Seraphina was a member of the Forsythia Club, but she didn’t take a piece of the contract to hide .”

Ross whistled. “Do the people after this contract know that?”

“Stop.” Hawthorn held up a hand. “There are too many things in the pot here, and I’m afraid I have more to throw in myself. One thing at a time. Mrs. Navenby—do you mean to tell us that someone else who knows about the existence of the Last Contract has chosen to travel from New York to England, aboard a ship that happens to contain both yourself and men who are trying to acquire the contract for themselves?”

“Yes. I didn’t know Sera was in America at all.”

“Sounds too fishy for coincidence,” said Ross.

“Miss Blyth. If I remember correctly, from the somewhat disorganised tale of your efforts thus far, you broke into Sera’s cabin because you thought someone might have hidden my stolen silver there?”

“Because I saw it there,” said Ross. “Hairbrush and mirror, matching set. One of the things Miss B told me to look out for.”

“ A set, ” Mrs. Navenby said slowly. “ Yes. Flora gave one to each of us. ”

“Is she in danger as well?” said Maud. “Should she be— Oh!” A hand flew to her mouth. “Morris was coming towards her room! When I was leaving it! Do you think he intended to threaten her next?”

“Sera wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where the pieces are, or what they are. We all agreed to keep that secret even from one another. It was the safest course.”

“Ross is right,” said Hawthorn. “It’s too neat to be coincidence. Two victims conveniently trapped on the same voyage, unbeknownst to each other? How would Chapman have masterminded that?”

Violet forced herself to think. It was an unlikely scenario, but what was the alternative?

One victim. Three enemies.

“Maud,” she said. “Morris was coming towards you, when you were leaving the cabin? But you ran into Mrs. Vaughn herself first?”

Maud began to say something, was clearly interrupted by Mrs. Navenby attempting the same, and an inelegant cough-squawk emerged instead.

“What if they were both coming to investigate?” said Violet. “You thought Chapman might have a rune-signal in his cabin, Maud—I mean, ma’am.” There was something undeniably ma’amish about Mrs. Navenby. One imagined her at the front of a lecture hall or hammering out instructions to a palace full of staff. “Mrs. Vaughn could have one too.”

“ It’s… possible, ” said Mrs. Navenby. “ Though I would have sworn any oath, and put all my blood into the cradle, that no member of the Forsythia Club would ever turn on the others .”

“Entertain the hypothetical,” said Hawthorn. “You are not to go racing up to this woman to warn her. Maud .”

“And if she ends up dead as well?” Maud demanded. “And we could have prevented it? Even if she doesn’t know what the items are, she’ll know who, and—” Her hand went to her bodice, over the locket. “Mrs. Navenby. I know you didn’t want to tell me any more than you had to, in New York, but surely now…”

“ No, ” said Hawthorn. “Ma’am, you will not tell us anything. Not if you think there’s a chance it’s still secret from the people on the other side of this, and you don’t want them to know it.”

“I can keep a secret,” said Maud, indignant. “I’ve kept magic secret, haven’t I?”

“Can you keep your mouth shut under torture?” Hawthorn growled. He really had begun to relax, to soften in small ways, when in this room with these people over the last few days. Exactly how much was only obvious now, when he stood: the Baron Hawthorn, taller and broader and stronger than anyone else.

Violet had a sudden memory of Chapman yelling when Hawthorn struck him with the cane. Another of Hawthorn holding a gun on Ross.

She summoned her most cut-glass accent to cover the quake of her nerves. “Sit down, Hawthorn. There’s no need to go that far.”

“You said you had something to throw into the pot.” Maud looked up at Hawthorn like a vole to a hawk, pale and unflinching. “That man Morris recognised you, my lord.”

Hawthorn remained standing. Violet was within a hairsbreadth of doing the same, her wariness rapidly dissolving into her usual irritation with overbearing men, but Ross got there first. The writer intercepted himself within two feet of Hawthorn, and glared.

“I’m sure we’re all impressed that your parents could afford to feed you mash and oats as a child, your lordship, but there’s no need to be such a bloody peacock about it. Pretend you’re a civilised gentleman, sit down, and answer Miss Blyth’s question.”

Hawthorn’s hands clenched as if wishing for his cane. Ross’s clenched too. He had the loose, grim stance of someone who’d learned to fight for survival, not in a boxing saloon, and Violet didn’t know which of them she’d back in an outright brawl.

When Hawthorn sat, abruptly, Ross looked as surprised at his own success as Violet felt.

“I recognised him,” said Hawthorn. “And yes—vice versa, I expect. Morris works for the Bastokes. My mother’s family. And if you’ve any sense at all, Maud, you’ll abandon this entire contract business now. I wasn’t flinging the word torture around because I enjoy the sound of it. Must I remind you about the curse these people laid on your brother?”

Maud flinched and lost the rest of her colour.

“Your family,” said Violet.

“My uncle. And my cousin George, if we’re putting money on people likely to be involved in something like this.” Hawthorn assumed his usual position of arrogant lounging through what looked like sheer bloody-minded effort. “Drop this, Maud. George isn’t Walter Courcey. Courcey’s a simple bully. He likes to find weaknesses, for the fun of watching people hurt.”

“I don’t—” started Maud, but Hawthorn was still going.

“George will do anything, to anyone, and feel no remorse if he truly believes it’s necessary. And for those parts that are too distasteful for him to dirty his hands… he has Morris. That man is absolutely loyal to the Bastokes, and I’d wager a lot smarter than he looks.” The lines of Hawthorn’s face had deepened. “I regret what happened to you, Mrs. Navenby. But Miss Blyth is not a magician, and this is too dangerous for something that isn’t her business.”

“It is,” snapped Maud. “The Last Contract is my business—and if not, Mrs. Navenby certainly is, and the contract is hers. QED.”

“This isn’t some facile game of mathematics! This is your safety, Maud Blyth, and if you haven’t the wits to guard it yourself, then others will have to do it for you.”

Violet winced. Ross had a hand buried in his curls as he watched Maud and Hawthorn like a man observing a cockfight and regretting his stake.

“ Now you decide to be responsible for me?” Maud shot back.

“Devil take it, girl, will you listen ? I know what George is capable of. His—”

Hawthorn choked. On his own frustration, Violet thought at first. His hand went to his mouth; his brow creased.

“Damn, damn, ” he said, muffled as if around a mouthful of cotton.

“Hawthorn,” said Violet, with mounting horror. She crossed to where he sat and laid an assessing hand along his jaw. “Tell me what George is capable of. I know”—when his lips pressed together—“but try .”

This time the sound was unmistakably one of pain. When Hawthorn’s mouth cracked open again, sucking in air, Violet almost expected blood to spill from the corners of his lips. Instead she saw the angry glow of a symbol on his tongue.

“What is it?” asked Maud. “What’s wrong?”

“That,” said Violet, “is a secret-bind.”

She’d never seen one. She’d gleefully passed on to her sisters the tales of magicians who’d let slip the existence of magic when they shouldn’t, and the unfortunate unbusheled who’d had their tongues bound to keep it secret.

Hawthorn removed her hand from his face. His eyes were overbright. Violet’s own mouth was dry with horrible sympathy. She should fetch him a drink of water, and not push.

She was going to push.

“All right,” she said. “No specific details. We’ll try yes or no.”

“ Violet .” Maud sounded as disapproving as Aunt Caroline.

“Is this… does this have something to do with what happened to Lady Elsie?”

Hawthorn’s nod was convulsive. His hands were fists on his thighs. He was silent now; he’d brought his will to bear on his own pain.

“Did your cousin George place this secret-bind on you?”

A swift shake of the head.

“But George was involved.”

He managed only the aborted beginning of another nod, and less than half a word, and then a kettle-steam whine of escaping breath as the bind obviously flared again.

“Stop it,” said Maud. “ Stop .”

Wishing him attacked by seagulls and rats was one thing. Having to witness Hawthorn wrestling with this agonising mark of his own history was not enjoyable in the slightest. Violet returned to her own seat and twisted her rings on her thumbs until his breathing sounded normal again. She found herself instead watching Ross watching Hawthorn, as if he were a mirrored shield in which to make eye contact with the Gorgon and not be turned to stone.

Ross said, “And that’s what you’d do to me, if I blab about magic to anyone?”

“Yes,” said Hawthorn. Only a hint of rawness remained in his voice. “With no hesitation at all.”

Ross’s lip curled.

“This is nothing,” said Hawthorn. “I’ve seen Morris cripple a parlourmaid’s hand from the inside, leaving no marks, because my aunt accused her of stealing. She couldn’t cradle for days. And the way she screamed…”

He stopped, looking at Maud.

Tears were streaming down Maud’s face, overflowing, dripping to dark dots on her bodice. She hadn’t made a sound.

Violet held on to the edge of her own chair, fighting the urge to put an arm around Maud’s shoulders and let her sob into Violet’s chest. It was a new feeling. She’d always hated it when people cried at her. She never knew what to do when her sisters cried, except tell a story or do an impression. Make them laugh. Make them stop.

“I can’t give up,” said Maud. “I can’t. They killed her, and I let it happen.”

“Don’t flatter yourself with undue influence,” said Hawthorn, apparently even worse at comforting than Violet.

“ I have to agree, ” said Mrs. Navenby. But Maud shook herself back into control, wiped her face, and ignored them both.

“I’m on the Lyric to protect the Last Contract and to prevent these people from using it. And for Robin.”

“Maud,” Violet said. “Why is it so important that you be the one to—”

“Because he’s all I have, and I have no other way to repay him.”

It was her, not the ghost—even so, it was the cry of a girl younger and more bewildered than Maud had ever seemed. It dug claws into Violet’s ribs. Even Maud seemed shaken by what had emerged from her mouth.

She recovered though. Her voice shook only a little when she added, “So stop trying to scare me off.”

“Why?” said Hawthorn. “It’s working.”

Maud glared, incredulous from red-rimmed eyes.

“Of course it’s working,” Violet said. “She’s terrified. But can’t you see it’s just making her more stubborn?”

“Violet, I can have this fight myself!” said Maud. “I don’t need you to do it for me. Or you, ” she added, clutching the locket.

Tension sang in the air: the solid, deafening stuff that got in the mouth and nose and tightened the airways. Violet knew this feeling. An inch in the wrong direction, a note out of tune, and everything could fall apart.

Hawthorn stood and went to the credenza. He returned with the chess set, which he laid down on the table. A piece folded in each hand, he held his fists out to Maud, who stared at him with eyes washed green as gardens after rain. Violet’s chest ached.

“If you’re determined to play games with your life, then we’ll play,” said Hawthorn. “If I win, you will hand all the damned silver to me and leave this whole business alone for the rest of the voyage.”

“No,” said Maud at once. “If you win, I will release you from helping and not bother you again. But my choices are still mine.”

“It’s not the worst idea, Maud,” said Violet. “That man Morris seemed reluctant to hurt Hawthorn. Family loyalty might shield him. It won’t shield you.”

Maud tapped one of Hawthorn’s hands and he opened it. White.

“Christ Almighty,” muttered Ross. He smothered a yawn and exchanged a look with Violet. “Game of rummy?”

“No. I’m going to enforce timing on this game. We’re not sitting here another hour because both of you are too stubborn for sense. Hawthorn, give me your watch.”

The chess game was fast and irritable. Hawthorn had a beautiful case for his wristwatch that turned it into a small standing clock, silver with blue enamel and white nacre curling on either side of the watch face. Violet charmed it to flash a red light at ten-second intervals, and appropriated Hawthorn’s cane so that she could enforce the time limit with prods when necessary.

She made no attempt to follow the game. Her hand stole again to the back of her neck. No itching; the rune had been quiescent that day. Perhaps it had been meant to serve some sinister purpose that was useless now that everything was out in the open, with everyone’s faces revealed. Perhaps it was gone.

Violet nearly laughed at herself. She didn’t believe that. The world didn’t arrange itself in one’s favour.

Ross played a complicated solitaire on the floor. Hawthorn didn’t look up from the board. Neither did Maud; her foot tapped beneath the table, but the rest of her was entirely attuned to the game.

Perhaps a third of the chess pieces had been captured and removed when Hawthorn leaned back in his chair and finally looked his opponent in the face.

“Your brother would tell you to stop,” he said.

“Possibly,” Maud agreed. “But in my position, he’d keep going, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

The clock flashed. Hawthorn didn’t make his move. It flashed again.

Violet moved to poke his lordship’s leg; his hand caught the end of the stick without his eyes moving from Maud.

With his other hand, he reached out and toppled his king.

“Very well. I’ll remain under your command.” He inclined his head, mocking.

“Because I was going to win?” Maud frowned at the board.

“No; I was going to beat you in ten more moves.”

That seemed to be all the explanation they’d get. Hawthorn didn’t extend a chess metaphor in any direction. He wasn’t smiling, but he was as close to it as Violet had seen when he wasn’t being cruel to someone.

Maud extended her hand over the board and they shook.

“I have to tell you something,” blurted Maud.

It was only three sentences into the explanation that Violet remembered: Hawthorn still didn’t know about the notebook of Robin Blyth’s visions. Maud had simply… kept on not-telling him.

She told him now. After the handshake, Violet noted admiringly.

Hawthorn’s expression feinted in the direction of anger as Maud explained; mostly he just looked resigned, as though Maud were a stage magician’s black satin hat, and he was long past being surprised at any of the bright silks or live pigeons that might emerge from it. He glanced at the chess board. He nearly touched his mouth, then made a fist of his hand and lowered it.

“Hell,” he said finally. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask why Edwin Courcey warned you about me in the first place.”

“You were being steamrollered by charm, that first night,” said Violet dryly. “I know the feeling.”

Maud made a face, but it wasn’t very apologetic.

“Anything about me in that notebook, then?” asked Ross. He’d gathered the playing cards, and they flew between his palms in a fluid shuffle. He didn’t look at all bothered by the idea of his participation being foretold. Violet’s mind still shied away when she thought of that sketch of her own face.

“Nothing that I can recognise,” said Maud. “Mr. Ross, you at least should bow out of this now, before they know you’re involved. You earned your salary in full today, fetching Hawthorn to get us out of that mess.”

“And how’d I feel if you died and I could prevent it? No, in for a penny, Miss B. You might need my help to get that bowl of yours back.”

So there was a scrap of conscience lurking behind the cynicism. Ross yawned again, and this time Hawthorn did the same.

Maud’s jaw set. “Yes. Finding the cage and water bowl is the priority.”

“ Without letting Chapman and Morris know that we’re looking for it,” added Violet.

“ And find out what Seraphina is doing on this ship, ” said Mrs. Navenby.

“You can’t break into her cabin again, if it might be rune-warded,” said Hawthorn.

“And if nothing else,” said Violet, piling another card atop this teetering castle of potential disaster, “the locket must stay in Maud’s possession. Or we lose Mrs. Navenby as a source of information.”

“Brilliant,” said Ross. “So we’ve to make sure that they think the locket is this contract piece, so they don’t see you chasing the real contract piece, but also make sure they don’t get their hands on the decoy either. You do like to make life hard for yourselves.”

Maud’s brows drew together. “Two days,” she said. “We’ll manage. One day at a time. Now .”

Strategy might not have come naturally to Maud, but she threw herself into it anyway, with surprisingly energetic contributions from Ross. Hawthorn mercilessly pointed out flaws in their ideas; he sometimes rubbed his leg, sometimes his mouth, and always stopped as soon as he caught himself doing it. Violet caught herself copying his motions, unconsciously adding them to her repertoire of gesture.

She wasn’t one for plans either. She wondered how many great, valiant defeats had begun with a charismatic leader telling his men that they would prevail despite the odds.

Why wasn’t she bowing out? Was it only the threat of the rune on her neck? Was it still about staving off boredom? She’d gone into this with the understanding that it would cost her nothing, and it kept sprouting sly new costs like a circus side-alley.

On the first night aboard, Hawthorn had suggested Violet had no pride. Perhaps he was right. She hadn’t thought she had much left after the stripping effect of her first year in the Bowery. After Jerry had left town with the last of it in his pockets.

Whatever it was that was keeping her in this game—pride, or something else—it was proving stubborn.

“I’m going to move my luggage into Mrs. Navenby’s stateroom for the rest of the voyage,” she told Maud. “It may be a tight fit, but I’m the only magician we have, and we need to keep you and the locket safe. And I assume Lord Hawthorn isn’t volunteering to have you share his bed.”

Hawthorn raised his eyebrows at her, but just said, “It’s a reasonable idea.”

Ross left first. God only knew what the gossip fountains of first class thought was happening in this cabin, after the last few evenings. Violet entertained a brief, wistful thought of the pantomime absurdity they’d had with the erotica.

Hawthorn stood over Maud as she pulled her gloves back on and smoothed out her wrap. Maud turned a wary face up to him.

“I’m sorry I kept Robin’s visions from you,” she said. “Truly. I only…”

Hawthorn waved that aside. “My sister…” He grimaced. “She was a little like you.”

“Really?”

“I would have followed her anywhere,” he said. “Into any battle.”

And he opened the cabin door with an air that discouraged further questions.

Violet took Maud’s hand and linked it through her arm as they made their way from Hawthorn’s cabin to her own. Maud smiled at her again, and Violet smiled back. She knew what she wanted to do to erase the last traces of worry from Maud’s face. And now that she’d had some time to recover, she had enough magic to do it.