‘We won’t do anything rash,’ promised Carter. ‘I just want Willow to be free to choose her own future. That’s her due under the law.’
‘You’ve arrived at a bad time, Northhaven,’ said Anna. ‘King Marcus is a cornered fox, now, and you know that’s the biting kind. One of his hirelings tried to slip poison in Prince Owen’s supper last week and damn how his death might look to the rest of the country. It’s getting to be we’d be safer having stayed back in Vandia breaking our backs for Helrena Skar.’
‘Bide your time,’ advised Prince Owen. ‘Soon enough I’ll have the throne. I’ll make the viscount an ambassador and order him dispatched to the ends of the league, and if old Benner Landor gives you any trouble, I’ll appoint him governor of the Rotnest Islands and he and his wife can retire to a sea-view of a couple of thousand screeching gulls and damp sheep.’
I can’t wait that long.
Anna noticed Carter’s poorly suppressed anger, and she shook her head sadly. ‘There never was a bigger fool in the sky mines, or a man who took more whippings and created more trouble for the Vandians.’
‘I see that Carter hasn’t changed,’ said Tom.
‘No, I’m not that slave anymore,’ said Carter. ‘I won’t fight unless I’m forced to. But there’s no way in the world I’m going to allow Willow to come to harm, that much remains the same.’
Jacob bowed towards the prince. ‘Thank you for pointing us in the right direction, Your Highness. We’re just going to make sure the viscount doesn’t hang his washing on someone else’s line, is all.’
‘Be careful,’ called Prince Owen, somewhere between pleading and ordering, as the three men left the room. ‘For all of our sakes.’
‘I’ll go ahead to the Winteringham Hotel,’ volunteered Tom as they walked through the barracks. ‘None of the Landor family or their staff know me. I can scout around and make sure that your lady will be attending the dinner before you turn up for her.’
Carter removed the portrait miniature of her from inside his pocket watch and passed it across to his guild friend. ‘This is Willow.’
‘You don’t get many red-heads down south,’ said Tom. ‘It won’t be so hard.’
‘Don’t be too eager, boy,’ warned Jacob. ‘With so many of Marcus’s high-born allies in one building, that hotel’ll be locked down tighter than a drum.’
‘I still have my guild credentials,’ said Tom. ‘There should be dozens of runners carrying packets in and out for the librarians and radiomen. I’ll just be one more face in the crowd.’ He reached out and put a hand on Carter’s shoulder. ‘We’ll get her out of their hands. You’ll see.’
‘You’ve been a good friend to me, Tom,’ said Carter. For the first time since Carter had set out from Northhaven, he allowed himself to feel a sliver of hope that things could work out for Willow, and for him.
Willow found it hard to concentrate on what the maid was saying as she rocked with the carriage’s motion, the clatter of metal-rimmed wheels against cobbles throbbing intensely inside her head. The male servant seated opposite kept his hard, cold eyes resting on Willow, reaching for the pocket under his coat, tapping the little glass bottle whose contents he forced down Willow’s throat when she proved uncooperative, as if to make sure he hadn’t left it behind in the viscount’s estate. Willow’s mind was returning to her now, slowly, even if her body still drifted, detached. Whether it was the result of the ‘medicine’ or her brutal so-called marriage, she couldn’t say.
The maid raised a privacy blind on the coach’s window, checking their progress through the jammed streets. ‘We’ll be there soon enough. We would have arrived already if the police hadn’t turned us away from those strikers on Maddox Street.’
‘Dull-witted loafers,’ said the servant. ‘I should be so lucky as to get paid a little guild rate working for the viscount. Here now, make Lady Wallingbeck’s hair presentable before we arrive. She looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards.’
Willow tried to push the woman’s hand away as it snaked towards her with a brush, but the servant opposite dragged her hand away and patted his coat again. ‘You want to enjoy the evening, don’t you, your ladyship? Or do you need another swig of hysteria’s helper to help settle your nerves?’
‘Let me brush your hair,’ hissed the maid. ‘Don’t be a fool. If you keep acting like this, his lordship will have you committed to an asylum.’
‘I’m already in one,’ muttered Willow. She heard a peal of laughter from the rear of the carriage, the two footmen clinging to it exchanging levities with a servant sat next to the driver. A full complement to chase her down if she tried to lurch away from her ‘fine new life’.
The maid pawed at her hair. ‘It’s a mistake bringing her to the dinner.’
‘All she has to do is sit at a dining table,’ said the man. ‘How hard is that? Anyway, it’s nothing to do with me. His lordship’s orders. This’un’s parents are going to be at the banquet, too. Want to make sure their dowry is well invested, I reckon.’
‘My mother’s long dead and my father might as well be.’
‘I’m still owed five months’ wages,’ complained the maid, ignoring Willow’s slurred mumbles. ‘It had better be invested in my direction pretty soon, or I’ll be seeking fresh service.’
Willow tried not to gag. ‘Take me with you.’
‘Oh, do be silent, your ladyship,’ said the maid. ‘Do you realize how selfish you sound? How many people have what you have? Half my brothers and sisters are forced to lodge with my mother with no work or prospects, and you’re whining about spending a warm night in fine silks, dining in the company of lords and ladies to the accompaniment of a chamber orchestra.’
‘You know anyone hiring?’ said the servant. ‘Because I don’t.’
Willow clung to the carriage’s seat, feeling queasy and coughing faintly. ‘No better than a slave.’
‘Here now, if a night at the Winteringham is slavery, you can drop those chains on me,’ guffawed the male servant. ‘You’re to be on your best behaviour this evening, your ladyship. If you try to run again, we’ve got his lordship’s blessing to give you a proper chastisement. He’s going to be too busy with his tongue up half the court’s arse tonight to be bothered with your peculiar little fevers.’
Willow rested her head against the seat’s padding in misery. There was none of the kindness of the servants at Hawkland Park at the hall, not even during the strange diminished period of her stepmother’s regime. These hirelings weren’t part of the house’s family, because what fool would want to claim Viscount William Wallingbeck as kin if they had a choice in the matter? They took his money and did what they had to, which was a greater choice than Willow had been allowed.
‘Don’t give her the rest of the bottle,’ said the maid. ‘She can hardly stand as it is.’
‘Good,’ said the servant. ‘We can’t have her scarpering tonight. You heard about old Luther? Broke both legs when he was thrown from his horse trying to chase her through the orchard. Poor bleeder’s laid up in the stable as useless as an ice teapot and I hear he’s going to be dismissed. A new groom’s already been hired.’
‘I wish I was in service to a proper lady,’ said the maid, finishing mauling Willow’s hair. ‘Not asylum keeper to a mad hare.’
‘Mad hare’s father is good for a few coins, though,’ said the servant, grudgingly.
‘That’s as maybe, but you keep your eyes on her ladyship every second during dinner,’ said the maid. ‘Don’t move away from behind her. No sharp cutlery to be slipped out; or there’ll be more than broken legs for one of us at the hall tomorrow when she recovers.’
The servant sighed. ‘By the saints, I’d let the bloody viscount jigger me for just a tenth of what he’s been paid to take this loon on, and I’d thank the dirty dog kindly for his troubles.’
The carriage lurched to a halt, side-mounted oil lamps illuminating the face of the liveried bruiser who swung the door open; two men jumping down from the rear to make sure the House of Wallingbeck’s prize new possession didn’t abscond. Willow shivered uncontrollably as the cold breeze came from outside and cut straight through the ridiculous clothes she had been forced into. Her copper-coloured corset bustle dress with more sequins than stars in a sky might have been all the style inside the capital, but it was in no way practical against a hard winter. A hand from behind shoved Willow down into the waiting servants’ grasp, a wary loathing for her written across their features. Willow’s carriage was one of a line drawn up inside the courtyard of the same grand hotel where she’d stayed when she first arrived at the capital. Golden light spilled from its tall windows, but there was one new addition – the doors into the lobby now stood guarded by tall blue-uniformed soldiers from the king’s own guard, a stiff yellow stripe down their trousers as they stood ramrod straight.
Two footmen opened the doors of the carriage in front of Willow’s and she swayed groggily on her uncomfortable shoes as she watched Leyla Holten step daintily down its folding steps, swathed in an even more ludicrous dress than Willow’s, a mound of purple satin above a billowing underskirt and a corset so tight it was a wonder she could still breathe. Benner Landor exited the carriage behind her, Willow’s father looking pompous and stiff in a dark heavy tailcoat and curling green cravat. The haughty woman had, it seemed, finally had her way and successfully remade the Landor patriarch as a southern gentleman. Even slowed and fogged by the servant’s sedative, Willow found the hatred she felt for the interloper who had invaded her life still burned fierce and strong. Willow thought that the misery she’d suffered in Vandia had made her compassionate towards the worst mankind had to offer, but she realized that given the strength and opportunity, she’d happily strangle this malicious woman as though she was no more than a wounded animal.
Leyla Holten turned and spotted Willow, a look of cunning triumph slipping across her face and then disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Ah, my Lady Wallingbeck,’ announced Holten, loudly, the master of the House of Landor swivelling around to spot his daughter. ‘Ready to hear your husband speak for the loyalist cause this evening? You must be so proud of how essential he has become at court.’
‘Husband,’ said Willow, her voice barely escaped her throat, as though the servant’s foul concoction had sapped her voice. ‘
Beast
.’
‘You’ll have to forgive her ladyship,’ said the servant as his men manhandled Willow swaying towards the steps to the hotel lobby. ‘She’s taking poppy tincture for her nervous attacks.’
‘Fish oil is the cure for melancholy,’ said her father, sounding saddened. ‘Have the viscount’s doctor contact mine in Northhaven. Willow, hold yourself steadier than this. Stand straight, girl. Half of the realm’s most powerful leaders are gathered inside. You will bring dishonour to your new name in front of them unless you can master your dark humours.’
‘She will settle given time,’ said Holten, affecting concern. ‘I told you, husband, it is natural she should be jealous of my state and yearn for children of her own. When she is pregnant, her body’s changes will bring her comfort naturally without the need for further medical remedies.’
‘What have you done to me?’ Willow croaked.
‘You have a title,’ said her father, as if this was the most precious thing in the world, ‘you have a house of your own to call yourself mistress over, and a generous financial settlement in the bank. We’ve prevented you from throwing your life away. I would say our work’s been well done.’
‘You’ve
destroyed
my life.’
‘I had hoped she would come to understand the importance of her new position,’ said Holten, tugging at Benner Landor’s walking cane, ‘with the fate of the country swinging in the wind. Her husband may have embraced the king’s cause, but your daughter’s still behaving no better than a petulant child denied a bag of sweets. The pretender’s rabble is breaking windows in the streets, the nation’s order hangs in the balance, but Willow’s self-indulgent whims must be met or she’ll be sure to sulk and swoon until she gets her way.’
‘Yes, you were right about bringing her to Arcadia before it was too late,’ said Benner. He waved at the servants. ‘Drag the frivolous creature inside and ensure she doesn’t disgrace us any more than is necessary to see this evening through. Thank the stars that King Marcus isn’t attending tonight to meet her like this.’
Holten and her father passed Willow as the servants escorted her towards the entrance and she was about to pass the doors when she heard an explosive cry behind her. Her first thought – that the trouble on the streets nearby had spilled outside the expensive hotel – was replaced with a ferocious surge of hope as she turned and saw who it was yelling.
Carter
! And Carter’s father sprinting fast behind him, along with a young man she didn’t recognize. Willow staggered, shocked. She only realized it was no drug-addled hallucination when she heard Holten gasp; her father growling, ‘How in hell’s name did
they
get here?’
‘Willow!’ yelled Carter. ‘Let her go, damn you.’
Willow’s father barked at the guardsmen advancing down the steps. ‘Throw these men out – they have no part in tonight’s business at the banquet.’
Jacob Carnehan pushed past one of the retainers trying to hold him back, waving a sheet of paper towards them. ‘I have an affidavit of legal majority for this woman, duly notarized by the circuit court of Northhaven,’ said Jacob. ‘She’s free to come with us and return to Northhaven. Ask the lady what she wants to do …’
The soldier’s captain took the paper and examined it. ‘It’s as he says,’ nodded the officer, confused by the unexpected turn of events.
‘Let me go!’ demanded Willow, trying to struggle free. ‘Take your hands off of me. I’m leaving with Carter.’
Her father shook his head in fury. ‘So, the northern magistrates are still trying to tweak my damn nose? They’re nothing but jealous buffoons in dusty wigs and fancy gowns paid for by
my
taxes.’ Benner Landor snatched the legal paper from the guardsman’s hand. ‘Let me see that!’ He scanned the document rapidly, before flourishing it with a look of triumph on his face that Willow knew well. So, that was all she was to him now?
Trade. A successful trade deal.
Her surge of hope retreated as rapidly as it had appeared. ‘This judgement is made out in the name of Willow Landor, and my daughter is a Landor no longer. She is the Lady Wallingbeck! This document carries as much validity as a handbill blown down the street.’