Page 46 of The False Vow

“Darling!” Nathalie flew out of her chair and knelt on the ground, her arms spread open. The white mouse rushed to her, curling into her cupped palms. Settling the animal in her lap, Nathalie cooed over it for a moment, then glanced back up at me. “Apologies, Miss Lovett. What were you asking?”

Anais scoffed. She was sucking on her thumb, looking generally aggravated. Her cheeks were so pink, it appeared as though she’d been slapped. “It’s no use now,” she spat. “That horrid little thing broke my concentration. My Wit won’t hold her any longer—whatever she tells you next may be a lie.”

Nathalie glared at her. Her expression was odd—part revulsion, part intrigue, as if Anais’s admission had stoked her curiosity. A second later, she turned and smiled innocently at me.

Anais’s warning in mind, I relented. “It seems as though you and I shall be seeing a lot of each other these next few weeks, Miss Moreau,” I said instead. “A wedding is a stressful enough affair without taking into account threats from within one’s own bridal party. I’d prefer to make allies where I can, not enemies.” I arched a brow. “Will you help me?”

Nathalie regarded me, still holding Good Sister in her lap. “Miss Tremblay just told you that I may lie.”

“I suppose we’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way, in that case,” I answered. “And trust one another.”

The other silkwitch crossed her arms, examining me from where she sat hunched over on the floor. “Yes,” she said a moment later. “I’ll help you.” She tossed me a wink. “I quite like you.” Setting Good Sister aside, she rose. “And I’m sorry about the garotte,” she added as she stood. “My mother insisted. She has her heart set on me marrying an Alaire.”

I found myself amused against my will by her simpering pout. “I have no mother, and I likely would have done the same,” I replied.

Turning back to the mirror, I examined myself in its reflection.

“That will be all for today, ladies,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll see you both soon.”

—

From the fitting, I made my way to the billiards room.

The space was quiet, done up in shades of dark green. Checkered drapes hung over the windows; from their posts on the far wall, several hunting trophies eyed me as I entered. A stag was at their center, his antlers throwing great knobbed shadows over the floor.

I’d been meaning to come here since the previous day, when Anais had identified this room as the site of her and Dorian’s rendezvous during the Midway Ball. She hadn’t given me much during that conversation—certainly not enough to justify the deal I’d made with her—but there had been one part of her confession which had caught my attention. I thought I heard a door open…it must have been one farther down the hall.

Closing my eyes, I summoned my Wit, letting my vision flood with gray. It only took me a few seconds to find what I was searching for. There. Beneath where I knew the hunting trophies stood, an outline had emerged. A door—hidden when my eyes had been open, visible now that they were shut.

An entrance to the tunnels. Was it possible that this was the source of the sound which Anais had heard? Had someone—Nathalie’s mysterious veiled woman, perhaps—attempted to exit into Fortblanche through this door during the Midway Ball, only to hastily retreat again once they realized the room was occupied?

That woman. Though I couldn’t place it, there was something about Nathalie’s description of her which felt familiar. Where had I seen a person like that before?

I examined the door a moment longer, turning theories over in my mind. Then, at a loss, I departed.

Chapter Twenty

“Your fiancé wishes to see you, miss.”

I set down the newspaper I’d been studying. It was the following day, midmorning. I’d slept late, having stayed up well into the previous night reflecting on all I’d learned. Noé had already departed from my room by the time I’d finally woken, a fact which—in the moment—had cheered me. A full day spent contending with my fellow silkwitches had been exhausting enough; I had no desire to begin a fresh one arguing with my husband-to-be.

Now Bernard stared at me from across the length of the breakfast table, where I was seated with a cup of coffee at one elbow and a pile of newspapers at the other. I’d been rifling through the stack for over an hour, searching out evidence to support a suspicion which had occurred to me after further pondering Nathalie’s description of the veiled lady her mice had seen—with little success. The information I was seeking eluded me, whether because I wasn’t looking in the proper place or because it did not exist at all, I’d yet to determine.

Setting down my reading, I replied to the butler. “When does he want me?”

Bernard cleared his throat. “Now, miss,” he replied. “He said it was urgent, I’m afraid.”

Did he? I doubted that meant much, except that Noé had finally realized I would not come when he called, lest he tacked some sort of ultimatum onto his summons. Still, I pushed away my paper, rising from my chair and following Bernard out of the room without protest. With autumn’s arrival, I’d been forced to set aside my lighter summer frocks; today, I wore an ivory shirtwaist with pearl-buttoned bows down the middle, paired with a full plaid skirt in shades of gray and blue. It swished around my ankles as we walked, the only noise in the otherwise-silent halls.

We strode onward without speaking. I tucked away my surprise as Bernard led me—not to the library, or any of the other rooms where Noé and I had met previously—but to the front of the house, past the grand entry hall and through the double doors, outside.

Daylight assaulted me. Directly beyond Fortblanche’s entrance was a circular gravel driveway where the cliffside road curled around a large stone fountain to deposit guests. Noé was waiting toward its left, cigarette in hand, dressed in a light summer-weight suit despite the chill in the air, a white shirt with a rounded club collar, and a cap in a checked print.

He was leaning against an utterly bizarre contraption, the likes of which I had never seen before. It had spoked wheels similar to that of a carriage—smaller in the front, larger in the back—and a stiff, wooden-framed body. Rather than the enclosed carriage box I was accustomed to, though, there was only a leather booth and a padded, rickety-looking bench sticking off the back of it. A number of strange instruments were arranged in front of the former, including what looked to be a rubber horn and a curious sort of wooden handle, attached to the vehicle’s hood at one end and featuring a leather-wrapped grip on the other.

The machine was lacking both driver and horses. It sat, crouched, over the driveway like a great black cat, coiled onto its hind legs and readying itself to pounce.

Noé lowered his cigarette when he saw me. “Darling!” he called out. “There you are. Isn’t it such a splendid day? I thought we’d do a little adventuring.”