Elizabet soon took her leave as well. “Good night,” she’d said to me, more in promise than farewell. Then she’d sauntered away, sure I was watching her go every languid step of the way.
Jefrey came banging back in. He held a covered plate in his hand, which he took to the widow. “I see you didn’t touch a bite,” he said, plunking the plate down and removing the cloth. “You got to eat, Lady Merlat.”
On the plate was a grilled cheese sandwich and a thick dark slice of chocolate cake.
The widow sighed. “Thank you, Jefrey,” she said. Jefrey stood there and watched until she picked up the grilled cheese and took a bite. Then he left, collecting a few wineglasses and pausing to look at me with a “Well, what?” expression.
I shrugged in return. I’d gotten nothing, except the firm conviction that everyone but Othur was lying.
Elizabet’s revenant wore shrouds. The widow’s wore a burial suit. Abad’s ghost had mad red eyes and a bloody white shirt, and it screamed out the widow’s name.
Othur wasn’t lying only because he probably saw legions of revenants every night, and forgot them all with his first puff of weed in the morning. We could parade dancing Trolls past his bed, and get nothing out of him the next day but pouts and slurred insults.
I looked up at Lord Merlat’s blood-and-thunder portrait and propped my chin on my hands.
What about it, Old Bones?
I thought.
What are you up to, and why?
The widow put down her fork, tinkle of silver on china. “Well?” she said.
I sighed. Lord Merlat’s eyes, mere dabs of paint and shadow, bore into mine.
“About what I expected,” I said. “They’re claiming to have seen something they haven’t, unless your visitor has a more extensive wardrobe than the spooks in the stories usually have.” I lifted a hand when the widow puffed up.
“Ignore me, Lady,” I said. “I do have a few questions for you, though.”
“Ask.”
I rose, stretched, pushed back my chair. “I’m going to take two angles on this, Lady,” I said. “First, I’m going to assume that someone is dressing up in grave-clothes and taking strolls in your yard.”
“Nonsense,” said the Lady.
“Maybe,” I replied. “I’ll also entertain the notion that your husband really has returned. I’m just telling you it’s a distant second.”
“It is the truth.”
I prowled about the ornate display cases, which seemed to favor china plates and silver teapots.
“Either way,” I said, “I’ve got to work backward from your visitor in the night to the root of the problem.” I turned to face the widow. “Why would someone want to frighten you, Lady?”
“I am not frightened,” she snapped.
“Why would someone want to make you think your husband needs vengeance before he can rest?” I said. The widow’s eyes went narrow and cold. A pair of blue veins popped out on her powdered forehead.
“I do not know,” she said, snapping out each word as though she could make it hurt me.
I met her eyes, held it. She blinked first, and looked away.
I sighed. “All right,” I said. “You’ve got trouble, never mind what kind. The best kind of trouble never comes cheap. So tell me this, Lady Merlat. Are you having money problems?”
She met my eyes, glared.
“House Merlat is hardly reduced to paupery,” she said.
I shrugged. “Fine,” I said. “Wonderful. Are you causing anyone money problems?”
She swallowed, closed her eyes briefly, spoke.
“My husband invested well,” she said. “Aside from our banked assets, we receive a quarterly sum from various investing firms.” She swallowed again. “The funds are generated by careful, discrete investing. We engage in nothing rapacious. I tell you, goodman, money is not the issue here.”
“What about your will, Lady?” I asked. “How do the kids figure into that?”
Pay dirt. I saw it on her face. Her face went red, her knuckles white, before she dropped her hands into her lap.
“You said I’d get answers,” I reminded her. “I need this one, too.”
“The children will be provided for,” she whispered, after sending a furtive glance around the room. I noticed she let her gaze linger at the bottom of both doors, just to see if feet might be lurking quietly beyond. “They will not have full access to the Merlat fortune. But they will not starve.”
I considered my words. “Do they know this?”
“They do not,” she whispered. “I will present the official revision at court next week.”
“Next week.”
“Surely you do not think—”
“I don’t think anything yet,” I said, cutting her off when her voice threatened to rise above a whisper. “But I need to know these things, Lady. It may be relevant, it may not. But I still need to know.” I paused. Jefrey’s footfalls passed by the door, continued down the hall and were swallowed up by the dark empty House.
“You’re sure the kids don’t know?” I asked again. She flushed further, glared.
“I am not a fool,” she said. “Nor am I so blind that I cannot see what they have become. They will be able keep up a pretense of wealth after I am gone—but they shall have no access to the bulk of my husband’s fortune, nor the house, nor the investments. I will not see them loot what it took us a lifetime to amass.”
“And Jefrey?” I asked. “What does he get?”
The widow swallowed. “Half a million crowns,” she said. “A year.”
I whistled.
“He is impertinent, rude and uncultured,” said the Lady. “But he has remained. Through it all. I cannot say that for anyone else.”
I nodded. I tried to picture Jefrey in the role of scheming frightener of old women and failed. Thufe would smell it in his heart and bite his head off.
What I could see, though, was that secrets rarely stay secret. The widow might not tell—but someone drew up the new will, someone else witnessed it and someone else filed the appeal for revision with the Court in an act that would need to be witnessed by another half-dozen Court functionaries. A dozen people probably knew. It would only take one of them to talk.
How that would bring about a charade involving revenants, I couldn’t say. But I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, either. That much money, a gambler, a weed-addict—I didn’t need Mama’s cards to see something nasty was inevitable.
“You are wrong,” said Lady Merlat, reading my face. “Money has nothing to do with this. My husband did not come back from the dead to engage in a petty squabble over the terms of a will.”
“I’d hardly call it a petty squabble, Lady,” I said. “And you’ve got to consider my point of view—that your husband isn’t out there at all. But someone is, and we need to figure out who.”
“I saw Ebed,” she said. “I tell you it was him!”
“Then tell me why he came,” I said. “What brought him back? What is this vengeance he needs, and why has it brought him back to you?”
She stood, and the look in her eyes matched that of her husband in the portrait. “I don’t know!” Her voice rang off the tiles. “He died of a fever. What vengeance shall he take? Upon whom shall he visit it?” Her eyes flashed, but she bit her lip and I could tell she was glad she wasn’t facing her late husband’s portrait.
“I don’t know, Lady,” I said. “Not yet.”
The widow sat. “Find a way,” she said, her jaw clenched tight. “Mistress Hog said you could put him to rest. She said you would find a way.”
I stood, backed away from the table. “You really ought to eat something, Lady Merlat,” I said. “And get some sleep, too. I’ll be watching tonight.”
She shook her head. “Put him to rest,” she said. Her eyes were wet, and she clenched her jaw tighter to keep it from quivering. “Please.”
I backed out of there, Ebed Merlat glaring down at me every step of the way.
Jefrey and I took up residence in the Gold Room, so called because the wall and door trim was covered with a small fortune in gold leaf that had begun to peel at all the corners. We shoved furniture around until we wound up with a pair of chairs against the wall opposite the room’s three windows.
Jefrey sat. “Well,” he said. “I reckon you’ll see something tonight.”
I sat. “Why do you say that?”
“They’re all here,” he said. He lowered his voice. “The kids. I reckon it’s one—or all—of them the old Master has come back to get.”
I frowned. “I thought you didn’t believe,” I said.
“I never said that,” he said. “I never did. I just never said I believed in front of Lady Merlat.”
“So what have you seen, Jefrey?” I asked.
Jefrey shrugged. “Not a damn thing,” he said. “Not even when Harl and the widow and that fool butler Ichabod was pointin’ and wavin’. I can’t see it, Markhat.” Jefrey shook his head, and his voice fell to a whisper. “But that don’t mean he ain’t there.”
I stared out across the lawn. Even with dusk lingering, I could barely make out the shapes of the trees and the statues through the window-glass. Three-bolt glass, I think it was called, meaning it was so thick you’d need to shoot it three times with a crossbow before it shattered. Old Bones could be out there dancing with the angels, I thought, but unless he was carrying a pair of torches, I’d never see him.
“Why do you think it’s the kids he’s after?” I said.
“They’re always here when he comes,” said Jefrey. “Always, at least one of ’em.”
I turned in my chair, recalled the notes of dates I’d made. According to the widow, the revenant had walked several times when the kids were away.
“Hold on,” I said. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Don’t care what you heard,” said Jefrey. “They were here, every time. You think the widow always knows what that bunch is up to? You think they don’t come here to hide or stash weed or defile the Master’s house whenever they take a whim?” Jefrey snorted. “They come and go as they please,” he said. “But the dogs know. Oh yes, they do.” Jefrey snickered. “Dogs was trained not to raise ruckus at the kids, early on,” he said. “Bet I could train ’em to forget that. Love to see them bastards try to sweet-talk Thufe.”
I rose, started pacing. If someone walked the grounds only when the Merlat heirs were around, there was bound to be a reason.
“Tell me about Master Merlat’s last days,” I said.
“Ask the Lady,” said Jefrey.
“I’d rather hear it from you,” I said. “The Lady seems disinclined to discuss it.”
Jefrey shrugged. “I reckon she does,” he said. “He caught fever.”
“I heard.”
“Something out of them swamps down south,” said Jefrey. “Turned his insides into sores. Open sores in his mouth. In his nose. Ruined his eyes. His ears, too, I reckon. Got all down his throat. He’d try to talk and cough up puss and blood.”
I’d heard of it. Wet fever, it was called. Rare, and not contagious, but so nasty a fear of it lingers to this day. I wasn’t surprised the widow hadn’t named it.
“Wet fever.”
Jefrey nodded. “Worst thing I ever seen,” he said. “Tried to help out. The smell—god, the smell.” He shook his head. “She never left him, though. Never did.” His gaze went up to the ceiling. “Sickroom is right above us. Door’s locked now. I think she buried the key with him.”
An odd custom, the death-room key burial. But not an uncommon one, though I hadn’t figured the Merlats as Reformists. I nodded. “And the kids?”
Jefrey snorted. “Didn’t show ’til the funeral,” he said. “Othur fell out during the service. Abad asked his mother for a loan. The girl had a screaming fight with her man of the week.” He would’ve spat, but he eyed the polished oak floor, had to swallow instead. “Bastards.”
“You say she never left him.”
“Not once,” he said, and his wrinkled face softened. “She loved him, Markhat. You mark that. I don’t know nothing about vengeance or haints or what-not, but she loved that man and he loved her and if he’s come back looking for trouble it ain’t with the Lady.”
I knew when not to speak.
Instead, I watched the light fail. Jefrey rose, lit more lamps, then sat with his shiny black walking stick across his bony knees.
“So what’s the plan?” he said after a time. “You just gonna walk outside and grab him when he shows?”
I shrugged. That was my plan, all right—wait until Lord Merlat’s shade appeared, then take it by the collar and shake it and see who fell out of the shroud. It had seemed a good plan in the cheery light of day.
Jefrey whistled. “Well, I reckon anybody that cleared Troll tunnels during the War ain’t afraid of spooks in a yard,” he said.
I put on my best war-weary veteran face, nodded and watched the darkness gather.
Chapter Four
By the time the sun turned the windows to haze and sparkles, Jefrey and I were drinking the Lady’s too-strong coffee and nibbling at biscuits Thufe couldn’t have bitten in half.
“We didn’t see nothing, Lady,” said Jefrey, bleary-eyed. “I hope you slept.”
“I did,” she said, though she didn’t look it, and her hands had been shaking when she poured us coffee. She turned her eyes upon me. “Have you any new impressions, goodman Markhat?”
“Only on my backside,” I muttered. None of the Lady’s chairs should ever really be sat on for any length of time.