Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (25 page)

Raechel eyed her. “Your experience talking?”

Gwen nodded, then started to eat herself. The food tasted good, although there were odd flavours that suggested the cooks weren’t entirely used to cooking English food. She ate enough bacon and eggs to make Raechel give her another look, then stood upright and checked to make sure they weren’t being watched. When she was sure, she leaned forward to whisper in Raechel’s ear.

“I have to go speak to someone,” she said. “If anyone asks, say you got sick of the sight of me and told me to get lost for a few hours.”

“That’s not much for me to do,” Raechel complained.

“But it’s important,” Gwen said. She leaned forward and surprised herself by giving the older girl a hug. “I need an excuse to be out and about.”

She dressed rapidly, then checked her watch. It was nearly twelve o’clock; she’d overslept quite badly. If she’d been with Janet and Romulus ... shaking her head, she slipped out of Raechel’s room and headed down towards the rest of the diplomatic suite. Lady Standish was chatting to a Russian woman who seemed to speak perfect English, while Janet was sorting out her clothes and Romulus was nowhere to be seen. The remaining diplomats, apart from Sir Sidney, were gathered in the smoking room. Gwen left them before they could start demanding food and drink, then headed into the next room. Sir Sidney was standing there, a glass of brandy in his hand.

“Gwen,” he greeted her. One hand tapped an ear. “How is the Young Mistress?”

Gwen took the hint and reached out with her senses, trying to determine if they were unobserved. It certainly seemed that way, so she relaxed as best as she could without letting go of her enhanced awareness. This wasn’t the airship, where they could be assured of relative privacy. There were any number of people who might overhear their words.

“She’s fine,” she said, shortly. It was suddenly hard to concentrate; her awareness told her, all too clearly, that Sir Sidney was male. “And you?”

“Lord Standish met with the Tsar this morning,” Sir Sidney said. “The Tsar had an offer for him. In exchange for a free hand against Persia – not the Ottomans: Persia – the Tsar will stay out of the war between Britain and France.”

Gwen considered it, recalling the maps she’d seen. “That would put the Ottomans in a bind,” she said. “If the Russians controlled Persia as well as their holdings in the Balkans, they’d be able to attack the Turks on two fronts.”

“I’m glad you can see that,” Sir Sidney said. “Because Lord Standish is very tempted.”

“It’s a looming disaster,” Gwen said, and rapidly explained the maps she’d found during her exploration of the uppermost levels of the palace. “They’ve definitely got plans to use the undead.”

Sir Sidney frowned. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t be the first time some civilian drew up completely impractical operational plans.”

“The Tsar was a soldier,” Gwen pointed out. “He’d know better.”

Sir Sidney sighed, loudly. “There are some very stupid officers out there,” he said. “Men who purchased their commissions, then left their regiments in the hands of their juniors while they partied all night.” He shook his head. “The Tsar is planning to go to Moscow,” he added, “and we’re invited.”

Gwen rubbed her tired eyes. “Why?”

“Good question,” Sir Sidney said. “He may feel safer there.”

“Try to keep Lord Standish from making any stupid agreements,” Gwen said, recalling how much trouble the Airship Treaty had caused Lord Mycroft. If Lord Standish made an agreement that compromised Turkey so badly, Parliament would have no choice but to reject it ... thus compromising the authority of other diplomats. “The lines on the map came from Moscow ...”

She froze as she sensed someone – Lady Standish – making her way towards the drawing room. For a moment, she found herself utterly unsure of what to do. Gwen the Maid should not be talking to Sir Sidney, certainly not alone. She couldn’t afford to be caught, yet she was too tired to hide herself ... and she had to let the woman draw a reasonable explanation for why Gwen was there.

“Lady Standish is coming,” she said, and grabbed Sir Sidney before she could think better of her mad idea. His eyes went very wide as she pulled him close. “I’m sorry.”

She kissed his lips, firmly. It felt odd to start a kiss, something she’d never done in her life ... hell, it wasn’t ladylike. And yet, it brought a strange sense of freedom, a sense that she might have enjoyed it if things were different. She felt him respond, his arms going around her ...

And then Lady Standish burst into the room.

Chapter Twenty-One

G
wen!” Lady Standish snapped. “What is the
meaning
of
this
?”

Gwen jumped back from Sir Sidney, schooling her features into fear. If she’d been a normal maid in London, she would have been blamed for everything, even if Sir Sidney had forced himself on her. It was yet another problem she knew she would have to try to fix, somehow, even though she wasn’t sure where to begin. The upper classes found it so much easier to blame everything from wanton behaviour to outright rape on the lower classes.

“Get away from him,” Lady Standish snapped. “You utter ...”

“You will have to excuse her,” Sir Sidney drawled, in his best aristocratic manner. “The fault was mine.”

Lady Standish rounded on him. “My husband will be hearing about this,” she thundered, angrily. “Luring young ladies into lives of sin!”

She caught Gwen’s arm and swung her round. “You represent
my
household,” she added, then lifted a hand and slapped Gwen across the face. “Your actions bring shame upon me!”

Gwen glared at her, feeling magic pulsing under her skin. It would be easy, so easy, to kill the woman right there and then. A tiny pinch in Lady Standish’s brain and she’d collapse, leaving no traces of anything to suggest it hadn’t been a natural death. Or she could Charm her into complete and total submission. Or ... she controlled her temper with an effort, running through meditative tricks to make the pain fade away. She couldn’t afford to blow her cover, not yet. But when she did ...

“Come now,” Sir Sidney drawled. “The fault was not hers.”

“Be quiet,” Lady Standish snapped. “You should not lead young women into sin!”

Gwen stayed quiet as Lady Standish told Sir Sidney off in no uncertain manner. It almost seemed comical; Lady Standish was in no position to blight either of their careers, no matter what she reported to High Society when they got home. But if Gwen had been a real maid ... a shiver ran down her body as Lady Standish turned and practically dragged her out of the room. If they’d been in London, a real maid could expect to be turned out onto the streets for disgracing her mistress. Even here ... would Lady Standish try to abandon her, thousands of miles from home?

If she does,
Gwen thought, as she was pulled down the corridor towards the rooms that had been assigned to Romulus and Janet,
I’ll have to Charm her and take the risk of discovery
.

“You spent most of your time in the countryside,” Lady Standish said. She sounded calmer, but the rage had been replaced by cold anger. “You are unaware of the true dangers of the world, particularly those posed by young men. That man would have used you, then discarded you, once you had served your purpose. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

The hell of it, Gwen realised, was that Lady Standish had a point. If Gwen had been a real maid, pulled into a relationship with a man from the upper classes, it might well have ended badly. No, it
would
have ended badly. In her own way, Lady Standish was actually trying to help. But it wasn’t really any help at all.

“You are not to be alone with him ever again,” Lady Standish hissed. “I expect you to spend all of your time, after today, with my niece. If I catch you without her or near him, you will be dismissed on the spot.”

She pushed the door open without bothering to knock. Romulus was bending over an ironing board, carefully ironing his butler’s jacket. Gwen flushed as she realised the butler was topless, wearing nothing above the waist, but Lady Standish showed no reaction. He was, after all, of a very different social class to herself.

“Gwen requires discipline,” Lady Standish said, as Romulus turned and bowed. “You will handle it, then send her to my niece.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Romulus said. He nodded to Gwen, then pointed to a chair. “Wait there. I will see to you shortly.”

Lady Standish threw one last disgusted look at Gwen, then strode out of the door, slamming it shut behind her. Gwen looked over at Romulus, wondering just what Lady Standish had had in mind when she’d ordered him to discipline her. She couldn’t mean she wanted Gwen
beaten
, did she? But Gwen knew, all too well, that servants were often beaten. And she’d have to lie there and take it ...

Romulus finished ironing his jacket, then pulled on his white shirt and carefully buttoned it up. Gwen couldn’t help admiring the sheer precision of his movements – they reminded her of the sergeants who supervised the male trainees at Cavendish Hall – as he turned and inspected himself in the mirror, then pulled his jacket on over his shirt. He might be in Russia, where his duties were really nothing more than a manservant’s, but he saw no reason to allow standards to slip. Gwen felt her heart sinking as he turned to face her, wondering if she dared try to Charm him. But he was self-aware enough to make that a very dangerous prospect.

“I’m surprised to see you,” he said, his dark eyes meeting hers. “What happened?”

“Lady Standish caught me kissing Sir Sidney,” Gwen said, bitterly. Her mission had just become much more complicated ... in hindsight, they could probably have sneaked back to his room to chat, rather than staying in the open. “She was ... not happy.”

“She wouldn’t have been,” Romulus said. He frowned, thoughtfully. “Her Ladyship likes to be in control and yet she knows she isn’t really in control of anything.”

Gwen nodded. Lady Standish might come from impeccable breeding, a bloodline that dated all the way back to the Norman Conquest, but she was as helpless as any other wife in the face of her husband. She had no money, no land and no rights of her own, save what her husband chose to give her. No wonder she was so obsessed with making everything perfect; it gave her a sense of power, of control, her life denied her. Not for the first time, Gwen wondered what would have happened to the Grande Dames of High Society if they’d been allowed to shape their own lives.

But none of them had the chance
, she thought.
Only the very lucky women get to choose their own paths through life.

Romulus leaned forward. “That was careless of you,” he added, warningly. “Her Ladyship will be watching you like a hawk from now on.”

“Yes, sir,” Gwen said. It was true. Lady Standish would be looking for other signs of wanton behaviour. Even if she was with Raechel, Lady Standish would be watching. “I know.”

“You could have lost your position,” Romulus warned. “Stand up.”

Gwen obeyed, then braced herself as he swung her around and delivered a sharp slap to her bottom. It stung, but the pain faded quickly. She couldn’t help thinking that Lady Standish had meant something worse when she’d ordered Romulus to provide discipline. But she wasn’t about to complain.

“I suggest you wait here for a while, then I will escort you to Lady Raechel,” Romulus said, coldly. His face was curiously impassive. “You should make an attempt at looking miserable.”

“Yes, sir,” Gwen said.

“And try not to sit down anywhere,” Romulus added. “Lady Standish
will
be watching.”

Gwen nodded. “Do you have an onion?”

Romulus surprised her by laughing. “I think you need more than just an onion,” he said. “But you can do whatever else you need to do here before I take you to Lady Raechel.”

Gwen sat back and tried to think about what she’d learned, both about the Tsar’s plans and the offer he’d made Lord Standish. On the face of it, she had to admit, the offer seemed tempting. Britain had no alliance with Persia, no reason to go to war on the state’s behalf ... except, of course, for the fact that whoever controlled Persia could attack the Ottoman Empire or British India. Or Russia, of course. It had been why all three powers had seemed content to leave Persia as a buffer like Afghanistan, carefully coordinating their political influence to ensure that the state remained neutral. But the Russians had clearly decided to change their minds ...

But what did they really want?

Perhaps the Tsar wanted to avoid joining the French in war against Britain. Judging from the problems beyond the Palace’s walls, the Russian population was restive and the Russian military might be needed at home. She doubted that the Russians actually
wanted
the war, they just feared being abandoned by the French or left to fight the Ottomans on their own. If they came to a deal with Lord Standish, they could abandon the French at will and leave them to fight alone.

And yet ... the plans she’d seen had called for the use of vast numbers of undead. She was sure of it, even though she knew Sir Sidney had had a point; it
was
possible that the plans had been drawn up by ignorant idiots more interested in impressing the Tsar than actually doing genuine staff work. But her instincts – and Olivia’s kidnapping – told her otherwise. The Russians wouldn’t have kidnapped a Necromancer if they hadn’t had some use in mind for her.

She looked over at Romulus, who was carefully sorting out the contents of his suitcase. Why had he spared her? And she was sure that he
had
spared her. Lady Standish, if Janet was to be believed, was another firm believer that sparing the rod spoiled the servants. If she was prepared to beat Raechel, she was certainly prepared to beat her maids. But Romulus had spared her ...

Bracing herself, she opened her mouth. “Why didn’t you thrash me?”

“Her Ladyship can go too far,” Romulus said. He gave her an odd little smile. “I would suggest, however, that you stay well away from Sir Sidney. It will only end in tears.”

He turned. “Wash your face,” he added, “and then I will walk you back to Lady Raechel.”