Daughter of Mystery (16 page)

Margerit had grown so pale that Barbara wondered if she might faint. “But he wouldn’t…you don’t think…”

This wasn’t the time to soften the dangers. “He tried to have the baron killed, you know. That duel I had, just before we left Rotenek. Everyone knew it, though it couldn’t have been proven. Why would he hesitate over you?” Perhaps that was too far; she meant to caution her, not terrify her. “But the baron had me to guard him and you have me too. So long as I’m allowed to be at your side, he can’t harm you.”

Margerit clutched at her hands and held them tightly. “Promise me that you’ll always be there. Uncle wants what’s best for me, but best to him is a good match, a good family, a chance for advancement. You’re the only one I can really trust, the only one on my side.”

Barbara wished she could deserve what she was being offered, but it lay in her stomach like a stone. She pulled her hands free and stepped back away from the bed. “No, you can’t. You can’t trust me.”

Margerit looked at her narrowly. “What do you mean?”

Barbara’s answer was precise and mechanical. “Did you think I have no fears of my own? Estefen hates me. You—he’s simply indifferent to you. You’re a road to the baron’s money. But I—”

No, Margerit didn’t need to hear that story yet. “I’ve been a thorn in his side for years. If you consent to marry him, you put me in his power. He sent me a personal warning about that this evening. Do you think that doesn’t affect what advice I give you?”

Unexpectedly, a smile replaced the anxiety in Margerit’s face. “Ah, but you’ll tell me
why
I shouldn’t trust you. And that’s why I trust you.” She shook her head. “No it isn’t sensible, but it’s enough.” She sighed, stood and turned the covers back on the bed. “I wish I could ask you to stay at my door tonight. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink. But you need your rest as much as I do.”

When Barbara had closed the door behind her, she contemplated standing guard there until dawn, but what would it avail? In truth, if Margerit weren’t safe in her uncle’s house, no mere blade could protect her. A secret vigil wouldn’t put Margerit’s mind at rest and an open one would only fret her. And though Barbara longed to place her body between Margerit’s and all dangers…her thoughts shied away. That road led nowhere.

Chapter Nineteen

Margerit

Margerit sought her uncle out after breakfast, before there could be any possibility of visitors.
Tomorrow
. That could be at any time and she needed to speak first. Her heart shrank under his impatiently curious silence as she fumbled for the right words. There was nothing in her etiquette lessons that covered how to refuse an offer that hadn’t yet been made.

“Uncle…at the ball last night. You know that the new Baron Saveze was there? He spoke to me, after the dancing. He asked…he said that he planned to speak to you.” He still waited silently for her to finish. He must know something—Aunt Honurat would have told him. “Uncle Mauriz, I don’t want to marry him,” she finished in a rush.

He frowned, but not at her, she thought. “Don’t think so much of yourself,” he said in a dampening tone. “He hasn’t made any offers yet and I think your fancy runs ahead of the truth. Not every man who dances with you is going to make you an offer of marriage. Your aunt said that you were put all out of countenance by something he said. You need to learn to keep your composure better. If you spend a season in Rotenek you’ll be mixing more with the noble families. You can’t become flustered every time a man with a title dances with you.”

She tried once more. “Uncle, he told me very plainly that he meant to speak to you. What else would it concern? You warned me to beware of fortune hunters. And Barbara thinks—” She closed her mouth abruptly. If he thought this was coming from Barbara it wouldn’t help her cause.

His expression had turned more thoughtful. “It would be a great honor, you know. I hope you don’t have any childish dreams of making a love match. If your fortune could buy you a title…”

“No, Uncle.” She thought about telling him that all it would buy would be a death sentence, but he’d think she was being melodramatic. Better to base the argument on sound business. “I don’t expect a love match but if you want to buy me a title I suspect there are better values to be had. You heard what my godfather thought of him. He collected an estate’s worth of debt before he even came to the title. How long would my fortune last in his hands? And what value would I be to him when it was gone?” It occurred to her that it was Barbara’s story all over again.

The idea seemed to settle into her uncle’s mind. With luck, he’d conclude it was his own. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m not saying I think he’ll make an offer. But should he mention anything of the sort I think it would be best to discourage the matter. Wealth is not the same as birth, niece. You’re more likely to make a successful match among our own kind.” He looked as if he might say something more but then thought better of it.

That his reasons ran parallel to her own arguments didn’t prevent her from feeling that he’d dismissed her concerns as childish fantasies. Still, it was a reassurance greater than she had hoped for.

* * *

Barbara was waiting in the corridor when she left him at last. “Will he support you?” she asked urgently.

Margerit shrugged. “I think so. He didn’t really believe me. Oh, I want to go out somewhere! Anywhere.”

Barbara nodded, but in the hesitant way she used when she disapproved.

“What?” Margerit asked.

“It would, perhaps, be unwise to risk meeting Estefen on the street before his interview with your uncle.”

“But I can’t bear just sitting here waiting. I’ll go mad. He might not even come today. He might not come at all. Maybe it was just a threat.” She paced one way and then the other. She wanted to hide in her room but then there would be no way to know if he came. She wanted to keep watch from the front parlor windows but that might be where her uncle would receive him. She wanted to hear what was said but without being seen. She twisted like a fish caught in a net and jumped when Barbara touched her lightly on the shoulder.

“This does you no good, Maisetra. Spend the time with your aunts and cousins in the drawing room. You’ll know if anyone comes.”

It turned out to be an excruciating morning filled with domestic needlework and palpable tension. Aunt Honurat was still out of sorts with her and was clearly unhappy that Barbara refused to take the hint and absent herself. Her young cousins were caught up in it as well. Sofi fretted over her stitches, not daring to ask what the adults were not talking about. And Iulien chattered away obliviously until her mother could stand it no more and sent her back to the nursery. And around about the time that Aunt Bertrut began putting things away in preparation for luncheon, they heard a muffled knock at the front door, the sound of men’s voices and footsteps in the hall. Aunt Honurat gave her a sharp glance but it seemed she guessed something of what was going on for she remained seated and distracted Sofi with a new task.

Margerit stood and moved restlessly around the room. There was no hope of overhearing any of what was said. The long minutes stretched out to fill the better part of an hour. She wondered if her uncle were allowing himself to be persuaded after all. Then footsteps again. They paused outside the drawing room door and Margerit saw Barbara tense until they moved on. A few minutes later Uncle Mauriz came in and summoned her with a look.

“It seems you were right,” he said, when they were both private together. “I hope you’re quite certain that you don’t care to be a baroness because he was very unhappy at my refusal. I doubt he would extend the offer a second time.”

Margerit took a deep breath and answered, “Quite certain.”

* * *

Life returned to what passed for normal. As the year turned toward summer, garden parties were added to the schedule and offers of carriage rides along the lanes of Axian Park or out to scenic points in the countryside. Margerit was relieved when Aunt Honurat systematically declined the carriage expeditions.

“That’s too particular an attention,” she explained. “Even in a larger party, people would talk. You aren’t ready to give anyone that kind of expectation.”

If the close confines of a carriage were too particular, other venues seemed too open to all. The warming weather turned her favored walking paths along the river from a matter of brisk exercise to a more leisurely promenade that invited chance meetings and conversation. In sharper weather, Aunt Bertrut had been content to entrust her to Barbara’s sole care but now she claimed a place at her side when she walked out. Margerit could hardly protest that she preferred the faster pace and the wide-ranging conversation that she and Barbara enjoyed. And when Bertrut pointed out that she was well-employed engaging with the near-endless stream of acquaintances that flocked around each time they set out, Margerit refrained from pointing out that Barbara managed to fend off unwanted suitors with a mere look. But if too particular an attention was to be avoided, Margerit knew that too pointed a disdain would also cause trouble. So Bertrut became a fixture on her afternoon walks and only Fonten House remained as a refuge of solitude.

Chapter Twenty

Barbara

Estefen was still in Chalanz. Barbara hadn’t pinned down which of the great houses he was visiting but she’d seen him twice at a distance. She hadn’t told Margerit—no need to worry her. It might be only to save face. He could hardly admit that he’d come all this way to offer marriage to a
burfro
girl who then refused him. But she kept her eyes open and her nerves were stretched thin until even Margerit noticed and she had to fumble for an explanation. The fine weather only made the job more difficult. She found herself wishing for an unseasonable storm—one that would keep visiting indoors and all travel in carriages. A week passed, then two, and she saw nothing further of him and began to relax.

They had walked along the river wall nearly to the end of Axian Park when Barbara heard the sound. As she turned, she briefly considered and discarded the possibility that the hoofbeats heralded an impromptu race, heedless of the strict conventions of the promenade. Time slowed as she took in and interpreted what she saw. Two men. Their faces masked by scarves. The farther a bold and competent rider, the nearer on a horse wild-eyed and barely under control. No weapons in hand, so it was a snatch and run, not a killing. Her memory searched the area for a barrier, anything to slow or prevent access. The marble bench on the opposite side of the pathway from the river wall, not three steps away.

“Margerit!” she shouted, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her toward the bench. “Behind! Now! Stay there!”

The elder Maisetra Sovitre could fend for herself. She wasn’t the target. But she did carry a useful weapon. Barbara grabbed the daffodil-yellow parasol carried by the older woman and ran toward the oncoming horse, thrusting the bright fabric into its face as she dodged aside. The horse shied violently against the river wall, lost its footing and slipped, throwing the rider over and into the flood with a shout. As the horse scrambled to its feet she turned toward the second man. She heard him curse as he overshot the mark, passing the bench where Margerit crouched and where her aunt stood by, open-mouthed.

He pulled the horse up and turned back toward them. A professional would have continued on, counting the quarry as lost. A desperate man would have ridden her down. Instead he swung down from his mount and drew his blade. His stance spoke of good training but little experience. Barbara met him with her own weapon, simultaneously testing him and working him further away from the bench. One never knew when defeat might turn to sour vengeance. He took her retreat for weakness and lunged. Her blade found its home.

As he fell, she looked around once more. No third man. The first was carried downriver, perhaps drowned. In the distance, other promenaders had seen the struggle and were fleeing or approaching as their natures took them. Barbara knelt and pulled the cloth from the man’s face.

“Damn him,” she said under her breath. Then more loudly, “Damn him!” It was Perzin from the count’s ball. The one who had been so full of himself at being hired as armin to a baron. If she’d needed any proof of who was behind this, he was it. But it would never stand as evidence before a magistrate, not against a titled man. She cleaned her blade on his coat.

Margerit was still huddled behind the bench, despite her aunt’s urging, but at a reassuring word she rose, her hems muddy to the knees and her bonnet askew. Barbara hurried toward her to hide her view of the corpse.

“Is he…?”

“He’s Estefen’s man,” Barbara said, ignoring the more obvious answer. “You’re safe enough now.” She looked around and spotted a handful of young boys among the gathering onlookers. Pulling a small coin from her pocket, she showed it to them and said, “There’s five
teneirs
to share between you if you run and tell the magistrate’s men.” She shrugged apologetically to Margerit. “Better to send word ourselves than for someone else to report it. But we need to get you home and out of the matter.”

At the edge of the crowd she saw a friend of the Fulpis riding in a light chaise and signaled to them, urging Margerit over toward the carriage. “Your aunt can see you safely home. The magistrate will want to speak to you, but better it’s done in private.”

Margerit was taking the matter more calmly than she’d feared. “But what about you?”

“I need to stay to answer for this. It makes explanations simpler if I don’t leave the…the place where it happened.”

“I’m staying with you,” Margerit said firmly.

Maisetra Sovitre’s urgings had no more effect than her own did, so it was three of them who met the black-coated official and waited while his men examined the body and shooed off the bystanders. He blinked bewilderedly as Barbara recited the standard legal formulas she had last used—was it only four months ago? It seemed a lifetime.

“You are…?”