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The snake slithered down from her neck onto the wooden bench, coiling itself into a loose pile. When next Clarimonde glanced over, she saw Lord Foxglove sitting beside her as a man once again, fretting over a tangle in his long white hair. “You are terrible at dealing with people, by the way,” he observed. “How ever did you become a shop girl?”

Clarimonde narrowed her eyes at him. “Just because I do not smile when I am treated badly does not make me terrible with people,” she shot back at him. In truth, she’d often called herself unsocial—but her knee-jerk wariness around the faerie impelled her to disagree with him on principle.

Lord Foxglove shook his head with exasperation, tossing his hair back behind him. “I didn’t suggest that you should smile,” he said. “You might have coughed at him. Big, hacking coughs. He’d have fled in an instant.”

Clarimonde blinked. “Well, I…” She paused briefly, stumped by the suggestion. “That probably would have been easier,” she admitted finally.

Lord Foxglove fixed a severe look upon her. “He’s likely gone to complain to someone official-looking now,” he said. “Would you like my advice on how to handle that?”

Clarimonde stifled a groan. “I suppose I ought to take you up on that,” she said reluctantly.

A few minutes later, the man with the moustache returned, hiding defiantly behind a uniformed employee.

“I’m told you have a snake on board, madam?” the guard said, with more than a hint of astonishment.

Clarimonde—now alone on her bench—offered him a deeply puzzled expression. “You were told what?” she asked. “By whom?”

“She’s lying!” Mr Moustache declared furiously. “I saw it myself! She had it around her neck!”

Clarimonde offered him a look that fell partway between pity and disgust. “Oh, him,” she sighed. “I fear I told this gentleman—somewhat indelicately—that his pomade was making me ill. I asked him to leave, and he took terrible offence. He did mention something about a snake, but I couldn’t understand what he was on about.” She raised her eyebrows at both men. “Has he perhaps been drinking?”

The guard turned to consider the man behind him. “Sir,” he said firmly, “have you been drinking?”

Mr Moustache blinked several times, caught off guard by the sudden reversal in his situation. “I have not!” he said furiously. “This woman is lying! I swear to you, there was a snake around her neck!”

Clarimonde tilted her head to show off her high collar, where there was—of course—no snake. “I do hope you don’t intend to search for snakes beneath my gown,” she told the employee disapprovingly. “If so, you may be certain that my brother will have words with everyone involved.”

The guard reached up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Clarimonde managed a brief moment of sympathy for him, given the headache she’d begun to nurse, herself.

“I’m going to take you to another carriage, sir,” the employee said. “After that, I’ll stay in this carriage, in order to watch for… snakes.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I am so very sorry, madam. Please do enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Clarimonde watched as the guard led Mr Moustache down the aisle, sputtering the entire way. Once the sound of their steps had fully retreated, a white mouse wriggled free of her pocket in order to sniff up at her.

“Passable,” it squeaked. “We’ll make a dishonest woman of you yet.”

CHAPTER 4

“The lords of Faerie are particularly dangerous; each one carries the approval of an entire realm, which deigns to grant them power. If you must face one, God forbid, then do not do so while they stand within their own domain.”

LORD ELIAS WILDER TO MISS CLARIMONDE BETONY, AGE 10

“I know what I said, and I know what I did. Do as I say and not as I do, Miss Betony.”

LORD ELIAS WILDER TO MISS CLARIMONDE BETONY, AGE 14

Thankfully, there were no further mishaps on the train. Clarimonde was soon glad that she had purchased one train ticket rather than two, however, as the carriage out of Wellington was particularly dear; as soon as she mentioned Witchwood Manor, in fact, the driver offered her such a dark expression that she was forced to bribe him with every shilling she had left in order to convince him to travel there. Still, he refused to take her up to the manor proper; instead, he abandoned her at the iron fence line. He lingered only long enough to shake his head at her one last time, before turning the carriage about and disappearing down the road.

The weather out in the countryside was colder and drearier than the weather that Clarimonde had left behind in London, and she found herself shivering lightly as she climbed her way up to the manor. The grand mansion rose out of the woods before her, both tall and sprawling in its majesty; its sharp gables and stained glass windows put her in an uneasy mind, however, and Clarimonde fancied, suddenly, that she was looking at an oversized spider with far too many eyes.

As she drew closer, she became aware that the front door was already open.

Clarimonde slowed her steps as she reached the heavy, white oak door, eyeing it with fresh unease. Though they’d arrived mid-afternoon, the light that spilled out from the manor door was pale and ethereal, as though the moon had risen within the mansion. A vivid riot of red-orange leaves was scattered across the doorstep, though the woods beyond the house were still green with the last gasps of summer. A wet, pungent rot lingered on the air, wafting out from the interior of the house.

“We are expected, of course,” Lord Foxglove said. The faerie had reappeared behind Clarimonde as she became distracted by the unsettling tableau, strolling just one step behind her. The long, pale tail of his hair drifted idly in his wake, dancing on the chill, unnatural breeze that trickled from the doorway.

Clarimonde pressed her lips together, paused at the threshold. One wet orange leaf caught upon her boot, and she shook it off quickly, staring uneasily ahead.

Foxglove leaned himself against one of the spidery white columns behind her, considering her hesitation. When glimpsed from the corner of her eye, he was a pale, ghostly figure, with a gaze that made her spine prickle with warning.