The Wolf Witch Page 9

  Distantly, Emmeline heard the doorbell trill. It didn’t matter, nothing did but the equal measures of relief and panic coursing through her. How had the sender even gotten in there? The Interceptors didn’t just send dangerous gifts to those who raised hell. Someone had gone out of their way to get it to her, but who? As Emmeline hefted the book into the crook of her arm, an envelope fluttered to the table.

  “Miss!”

  Emmeline spun to find Price peering at her with wide eyes. “What?”

  “Miss, your aunt is here,” she hissed, motioning for Emmeline to follow her.

  “At this hour? I’m not even dressed.”

  “I told her you were getting ready. I promise I’ll be quick. Come, Miss, up the back way.”

  Emmeline stuffed the envelope into her robe pocket and raced toward the servants’ stairs. When Emmeline emerged from her bedroom less than ten minutes later in her simplest dress and with her hair plaited and coiled into a bun she could already feel pulling free of its pins, she forced a cool smile. Her aunt had a habit of doing her damnedest to catch her off guard, and Emmeline would not give her the satisfaction of showing her how annoyed she truly was. It was probably revenge for missing Sunday dinner.

  Keeping her head high, Emmeline met her aunt’s gaze as she watched her from the sofa. As Emmeline crossed the room, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and sneered. The drab gown made her look like a governess, but she would shed her armor of lace and silk for her aunt, as long as it kept her from calling her frivolous. Emmeline quietly lowered herself onto the seat across from her aunt. Her pulse quickened at Eliza’s grave expression as her gaze traveled over Emmeline and the rest of the room. Over the months she had been away, she thought her aunt had lost a little of her fire. The red of her hair had dulled and the hollows of her cheeks had grown more pronounced. If she hadn’t lived in a house with two doctors, Emmeline would have been worried for her health. Perhaps she and Uncle James merely needed a holiday away from corpses.

  “Aunt Eliza,” Emmeline said as sincerely as she could muster, “what a surprise it is to see you. How is Uncle James?”

  “He’s fine. He will be going to Cornwall to investigate a case in two days.”

  “Oh, I thought London was his jurisdiction. I must stop by before he leaves. I hope you weren’t too put-out that I couldn’t make it to dinner last night.”

  “You said a friend had an emergency?”

  “They did. I spent most of the day at the Interceptor’s getting the matter straightened out.” Keeping her hands demurely on her lap, Emmeline wished she had a cup of tea or biscuits or anything to keep her hands busy. “All is well now, though.”

  “I see.” Eliza Hawthorne opened her mouth as if to say more but stopped as Price bustled in with a tea tray. The moment the maid left with a fleeting harried look to Emmeline, Eliza drew in a breath and said, “And who is this friend?”

  A pang of warning echoed through Emmeline’s ribs as she poured them each a cup of tea. “One of Miss Ashwood’s friends. Why do you ask?”

  “Because your letter was written on hotel stationery, an expensive hotel.”

  “I stopped along the way to send you the note. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Well, I am worrying, Emmeline, because I know you’re lying to me.”

  Emmeline met her aunt’s steely gaze over the rim of her cup.

  “I went to the hotel and inquired about who you were with. They refused to go beyond saying you were in a gentleman’s room.”

  Heat flooded Emmeline’s face. “You followed me? Do you really have so little trust in me?”

  “You have a history of erratic behavior, but this really takes it, Emmeline. After what happened in the summer, I can’t risk trusting you. Now, tell me, who were you with?”

  My father. She could say it. She could easily say it and drag her aunt’s attention elsewhere, but she couldn’t. Eliza would never believe her. As much as she would equally hate and rejoice being foisted into her father’s care, Aunt Eliza would never see the likeness in Silas Bisclavret’s features. For the world, her father had been dead and buried since she was a babe, and he would stay buried for now. Finding out she had family that might welcome her with open arms, even if they were a bit peculiar, was too raw a wound to expose to ridicule.

  “I told you, I was helping a friend. Do you really think I would do something so foolish?”

  “I don’t know, Emmeline. I’m not the one who ran off to Europe unannounced and unattended.”

  “I went as Mrs. Richmond’s companion!”

  Clunking her cup down, Eliza Hawthorne rose to her feet. Anger flashed across her features as she hissed, “Have you not heard the rumors?”

  “Since when do you care for rumors?”

  “They act as if you are ruined, Emmeline. Is that what you want people to think? If it was only a broken engagement—”

  “Lord Hale died,” Emmeline added through clenched teeth.

  “But you went to Europe alone. That is bad enough, but you came back and managed to convince Lord Dorset to let you use one of his family’s properties.”

  “Use? I pay rent, as a tenant.”

  “You know what people assume. They think you and Lord Dorset are having an affair.”

  “Then, they are idiots.”

  “They think the worst of unmarried women living alone.”

  Rising, Emmeline hardened her jaw and stuffed her hands behind her at the itch of magic. “Do you believe them?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know what to believe. I know you aren’t that foolish, but then I hear you’re at parties without even so much as your lady’s maid. All you had to do is ask and I or Lady Dorset would go with you.”

  “I didn’t ask because I didn’t need or want a chaperon.”

  “That’s precisely the problem. You have the ability to appear respectable, but you choose not to be.”

  “Respectable? Respectable? Since when do you care for respectability? From what I heard, you pushed Lady Dorset to wear trousers and maintain her own business. You pushed for independence before her marriage, but when I want the same thing, you chastise me. It isn’t fair.”

  “It’s different.”

  “How!” Emmeline cried, forcing the venom from her voice. “Because I’m not like you? Because I don’t want to be a doctor or a mechanic? It’s because I wear frivolous dresses and read novels. Because I like spending time in the company of people who actually like me for who I am.”

  “It has nothing to do with that.”

  “What then?”

  “Your mother entrusted us with your care and—”

  “My mother never entrusted you with me. I came to you because I had nowhere else to go. Besides, my mother would have been happy to see me living on my own off the inheritance she secured for me. All she wanted was to do as she pleased. To be her own woman. Isn’t that why you became a doctor?”

  For a moment, her aunt wavered. Her features softened a fraction, all anger draining until it solidified as weary resolve by the time her focus settled on the vase of flowers beside the door. “I’m sorry, Emmeline, but it’s already been decided. When your uncle and I return from Cornwall, you will return to Wimpole Street with us.”

  “But that isn’t fair!”

  “Please don’t make this harder for either of us. I expect your things to be packed by the time we return.”

  Biting her tongue, Emmeline watched her aunt gather her things and leave. She wanted to scream. She wanted to chase after her aunt and demand she give her the chance to experience the freedom she never had. All she wanted was to prove to her that she could do it.

  She had tried so hard.

  Grief bubbled to the surface as Emmeline bit back a scream. Gripping the hall table for support, Emmeline’s eyes filmed over, but rage boiled beneath the sadness. Her hand clutched the base of the vase, squeezing until she rode out the impulse to hurl it at the door. Releasing it with a rough breath, Emmeline wiped the stray tears
from her cheeks and stomped up the steps to her room. Fury rolled off her in a palpable fog, but as she reached the landing, she turned back at a faint cracking sound. It grew louder until the face of the vase broke off, releasing the bouquet of now dead, brown flowers in a sluice of water. Emmeline stared at the wreckage with horror and realization twisting in her gut.

  “Not now,” she whispered, feeling the weight of the tether behind her heart.

  ***

  Stabbing the cake with a thunk of her fork, Emmeline shoveled a piece into her mouth. Her scowl softened a fraction at the chocolate melting on her tongue. This cake had been the best decision she made all day. While it couldn’t change that her carefully curated world was crashing down around her, she could lose herself in the intermingling flavors of chocolate and raspberry and the earthy warmth of her hyson tea. That and it let her hack something to bits without repercussion.

  “What did that poor cake ever do to you?”

  Emmeline snapped her head up to find Nadir Talbot at the other end of her table shaking his head in mock disappointment.

  “It didn’t let me eat in peace,” she replied with a rictus grin.

  With a silent laugh, Nadir slid into the empty seat and motioned for the server. Her relief at having a friend to talk to warred with annoyance as her gaze settled on the rich purple of his waistcoat. It was nearly the same shade as her dress. Surely someone would see them and assume they had planned it.

  “A scone for me and a strawberry tea cake for the lady. Oh, and a cup of coffee if it’s fresh,” he rattled off the moment the woman reached their table. When she left, he flashed Emmeline another obnoxiously bright smile, but before she could reprimand him for ordering her more cake, he pulled out a small bouquet wrapped in red paper from under the table. “For you. I was on the way to your flat when Perkins spotted you as we drove past. I had him circle back.”

  Peeking past the paper, Emmeline bit her lip at the pink star-like blossoms draped between tiny buds clustered on the stalk, more explosion of petals than flowers. Enchanter’s nightshade and oleander. “Beware of sorcery?”

  “And skepticism. You’re quite enchanting when you want to be.”

  She snorted and brought the bouquet to her nose to hide the heat creeping across her cheeks. “They’re lovely, even if their giver is full of it.”

  “How many honesty flowers would it take for you to believe me?”

  “A whole field, though I’m more likely to believe a few sprigs of Venus’ looking glass.”

  “Trust me, I already know flattery gets me nowhere with you.”

  Nadir’s cardamom eyes brightened at the mug of hot coffee placed before him along with the scone and clotted cream. As the server placed the tea cake before her, she gave Emmeline a pointed look and took away the remnants of her macerated cake.

  “I wish you hadn’t gotten me more cake. I’ve already had two pieces and my stays are starting to creak,” she said, sinking her fork into the miniature cake’s pristine pink frosting.

  He shrugged. “Some problems can only be solved with good food and company. So what happened?”

  “What do you mean?” She stuffed the bite into her mouth before she could chip it to bits with the tines of her fork.

  Pursing his lips and cocking his head, he seemed to stare into her. She hated when he did that because for a moment she was certain he understood. That despite all that had happened since she made it to London, someone finally understood. Emmeline licked her lips and released a breath in hopes the words would die on her tongue.

  “My aunt came to my house today and told me I had to move back to Wimpole Street with her and my uncle.” She kept her eyes on her plate as the words tumbled out for fear of what she might see written on his features. “But I don’t want to. I worked so hard to be where I am. I just… I can’t go back.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Emmeline looked up to find Mr. Talbot’s black brows knit in concern. “I don’t know. I could do nothing and hope she relents by the time she gets back. Promise her that I’ll bring a chaperone and act like a respectable lady. Ultimately, they control my inheritance until I reach my majority. They could cut me off tomorrow if they wanted.”

  “Do you have anything set aside?”

  “Some, enough to last half a year if I’m frugal.”

  “So no cake?”

  “Less cake,” she said with a smirk. “But no more gowns or books or trips to the theatre.”

  “Kind of defeats the purpose.”

  “But at least I’m still free.”

  “You could leave again.”

  She sighed, letting her fork drag through the pink icing left on her plate. Her father had offered to take her back to America with them. She could pack her trunk and be off before her aunt and uncle left for Cornwall, but she had a life here. She had friends and parties and the stability of having places she could call hers. It wasn’t until she returned from her trip around Europe that London felt like it could be home, and sitting across the table from Nadir Talbot, things felt right.

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “You could marry. Then, they could lay no claim to your inheritance.”

  “Marry?” Emmeline scoffed, fingering a petal until the edge began to brown. “And have my husband get my money instead? I don’t think so. Besides, I told you I’m never going to marry.”

  “You don’t have to really marry. It could be a marriage of convenience, like in a novel. It would be quite salacious. You could carry on like you were unencumbered. People would talk; you could be all over the society pages, have the attention of every gossipmonger in town.”

  Emmeline released a soft laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. “And who do you suggest to be my would-be husband in this grand plan of yours?”

  Opening his mouth to speak, Nadir paused before flashing his best smile. “Of course, I would volunteer since it was my idea. And…” He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers until the steadiness of deep ochre eyes seemed to shrink the world to their table. “And if a deeper affection should come out of it—”

  The lingering taste of strawberry turned to ash on Emmeline’s tongue at the beating of her heart in her throat. Her mind blanked at the implication, but when she broke her attention from Nadir’s expectant features, she found Silas Bisclavret standing on the other side of the window with a sullen Wesley at his side.

  “We’re about to have company,” Emmeline blurted, jerking her chin toward the door.

  Nadir turned to the glass, and Emmeline released a silent sigh of relief. “Is that the man from the Cafe Royal? The one claiming to be your father?”

  “He is my father.”

  “Do you want to leave? If he’s going to bother you, we can go; manners be damned,” he said, nodding to the door as the bell sounded.

  “No, Mr. Talbot, it’s fine. I may have overreacted the other night.”

  Edging between the other tables, Wesley murmured something under his breath only to be silenced with a quelling look from their father. Even after affecting a casual pose, Emmeline could still see the tension in Nadir’s jaw as her father and brother stood at his side. Without a word, Silas whisked two chairs from an empty table and sat between them. Wesley stiffly sank down looking more rested but still frayed around the edges with deep circles under his eyes and a trace of darkness at his collar where the bruises weren’t quite hidden.

  “Emmeline, I thought we would find you here,” Silas greeted warmly.

  More like you tracked me like a rabbit. Plastering on her most convincing smile, she replied, “It’s a pleasure to see you both.”

  “Are you all right? You look upset.”

  “I’m fine,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. How bad must she look for near strangers to notice? “Mr. Talbot, this is my father, Silas Bisclavret, and my brother, Wesley Bisclavret. You’re somewhat acquainted to the former.”

  Wesley gave him a dispassionate shake of the hand before turning his attenti
on back to the door. If he was plotting his escape, she hoped he would take her with him. The scrutinizing look her father was giving Nadir Talbot curdled her stomach. Whether it was because he was Egyptian or flamboyant or a potential suitor for his daughter, she didn’t like it.

  “What is it you need? You wouldn’t have sought me out otherwise.”

  “Can we speak in private? I need you to explain to Wesley how things work here.”

  Emmeline ground her teeth and folded her arms over her breast. “No, we cannot, Mr. Bisclavret. I am enjoying some cake and spending time with a friend. What gives you the right to storm in and upturn my life?”

  “Emmeline, I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I don’t care, because you are.” She could feel Wesley’s eyes upon her and everyone’s around them, but she didn’t care. “If Wesley wants to continue on despite the consequences, then that is his problem. He’s a grown man who has managed to live this long outside your care, so I assume he can stay out of trouble now that he knows what’s at stake. I won’t be a part of anymore family drama. I’m done.” Standing up, she gathered her belongings and her bundle of flowers and glared down at her father. “And if this is how you treat your children, dragging them around for judgment from strangers who don’t know their business, then I want no part of this. I’ll go back to being Emmeline the orphan. At least no one bothered her.”

  For a moment, shame hung on her father’s features, but she turned away before she could cave. Swallowing hard, she bit back the burn in her throat and eyes. “Nadir, settle our bill. I’ll be in the steamer.”