Well. Isobelle drew herself up taller. She had seen it done. This would be fine. She could pack the bags. How hard could it be?
She found herself missing the girls, Jane and Hilde and Sylvie. Her friends spent most of their time on Sir Ralph’s estate – well, Sylvie’s estate now, after the timely death of her husband. After all, Isobelle was mostly away with Gwen on patrol. But Isobelle could have used their quick wits and humour, their skill at buoying her against the buffets of her guardian’s whims and dictates.
Isobelle walked slowly into her bedroom to pick up the note Olivia had left on her pillow, tucked in among the lace and pink ruffles. It said no more than her maid had, before she’d disappeared into the night. Only a few words, under an address where she might be reached:Family business. Urgent.
Well, Olivia was certainly entitled to go. She’d never taken any time off, not in all the years she’d been with Isobelle. Her business must be truly urgent. Which meant that Isobelle would have to sort things out on her own. She would simply have to pull herself together.
She raised her voice to address Gwen, who was still in the next room. ‘You know, I think my father used to holiday in Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea in his youth. I’m sure I remember him mentioning visits to the seaside, and the name’s very familiar. Perhaps it will be picturesque. There are worse things than a trip to the beach.’
‘In winter?’ came Gwen’s dubious reply. ‘I have some questions about …’
It was at that moment that Isobelle saw the second letter resting against her pillow. Olivia’s note fluttered to the floor. Gwen kept talking, but Isobelle couldn’t make out her words over the rushing sound in her ears.
She saw this handwriting only once or twice a year, but she knew it instantly.
This was it. Whimsitt hadn’t found her parents’ letter. She and Gwen had outfoxed him. They’dwon. Nobody was going to the seaside today, tomorrow or any other day. Certainly not until summer, anyway.
With trembling hands, she broke open the missive and began to read.
Dearest Isobelle,
As you can imagine, your mother and I were most surprised to receive your …
A minute later, she heard Gwen calling, possibly not for the first time. ‘Isobelle? You all right in there?’
‘What?’ Isobelle’s voice came out sounding all wrong. Her throat felt like it was closing. Her lungs wouldn’t seem to expand when she tried to drag in a breath. In an act of pure will she tensed her stomach, gulped for air, and forced the tremble away. ‘What did you say?’
‘I was asking if you know where Olivia keeps those little herb sachets that make the clothes smell nice. Since we won’t have time for laundry …’
‘Oh,’ said Isobelle. ‘Oh. I … I don’t know.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Gwen said slowly.
Isobelle heard her champion’s footsteps approaching, and moving on instinct, she hurriedly shoved her parents’ letter underneath her pillow, then used the heels of her hands to rub away the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She turned towards the door. And by the time she saw Gwen’s tired, familiar, beloved face, her decision was made.
Gwen’s father loved her. He wished her nothing but happiness. How could Isobelle ever tell Gwen that her parents had … had …
As you can imagine, your mother and I were most surprised to receive your letter. Even taking into account your usual embellishments, we can only conclude that extraordinary events have been taking place at the castle.
At times like these, the guidance of your guardian is more important than ever. Releasing your dowry to you is out of the question – it is not a sum intended to fund wild undertakings, but rather to secure your future with …
Gwen gave Isobelle everything. She had risked her life for her.
Isobelle couldn’t bear to tell her that she had nothing to offer in return. She needed more time. She’d write another letter. She’d find a way out of this.
She always did. Shemust.
‘Isobelle?’ said Gwen gently.
‘Yes,’ said Isobelle, only a little too brightly, as she reached for ink and parchment. ‘Yes, everything’s quite all right. I was thinking that I should write a letter to Olivia, letting her know where we’re going in case she returns before we do. Get some rest – tomorrow’s the start of our next adventure.’
It is a well-known truth, dear reader, that the hardships of travel have a deleterious effect on one’s mood.
Less than a day of riding from Darkhaven Castle, the heavens open up and let loose a deluge of legendary duration and intensity. Envision our lovely heroes soaked to the skin, plodding through grey, freezing rain, curling up at night without even a fire to warm them for days on end … and you will begin to form an inkling of how quickly an annoying chore can devolve into abject misery.
There is a delightful trope in stories of this sort about wet, cold conditions, a solitary cave or shelter, a fire, a single bedroll, and the need to huddle together for warmth. But what the stories don’t often dwell upon is that shivering through the night and riding using stiff muscles all day long does not exactly stoke the desire for … huddling together.
The beginning of a relationship, any relationship, is a fragile thing under the best of circumstances. It is a delicate undertakingto get close to someone even when one is not sodden and half frozen. But as the days pass, and their arrival at Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea grows near, the distance between our lady and her knight seems to grow, rather than shrink.
