Chapter 8

C HAPTER 8

Dinner was an unmitigated disaster.

The Squire sat at the head of the table, with Cordelia and her mother on either side of him. She nearly panicked when she saw the sheer number of forks and spoons. Dear god. It was a sea of flatware, all glittering in the candlelight. There was even a fork at the top of the plate and another by the spoons. And someone would have to wash them all up afterward?

She meant to watch her mother for cues, she truly did, but the first thing that happened was that an enormous centerpiece was brought in and placed, some kind of absurd folly with a whole lobster in a sea of aspic. Her mother laughed and clapped her hands like a girl. "Now that's something like, isn't it?" said the Squire proudly. Hester rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately the lobster blocked her view of her mother's plate completely, and she had no idea what fork to use. Was there a lobster-in-aspic fork? Were they all for the lobster, and you were supposed to stab at the thing's shell until your cutlery blunted?

A footman set a tiny plate in front of her, with three small bits of bread, topped with some kind of pinkish paste and a small triangle of meat. Cordelia stared at it in numb horror. Which fork? Did you use a fork? At home she would have picked it up with her fingers and stuffed it in her mouth, but clearly you were not provided with this many forks if you weren't supposed to use them. The etiquette primer was no help at all. It had apparently been written by someone who assumed that you already knew which forks to use, and that the worst sin you might commit was passing your plate with a knife or fork on it, or pouring your tea into a saucer to cool it.

The Squire was already eating. Her mother was saying something about the food being delicious, but her voice seemed to emanate from the lobster.

Hester cleared her throat. Cordelia looked over in panic and the older woman tapped the outmost of her forks, almost absently, then picked it up and speared one of the little hors d'oeuvres.

Relief flooded Cordelia so intensely that for a horrible moment, she thought she might faint, followed by an equally intense rush of gratitude. She picked up the outermost fork, which was apparently the small-bits-of-bread-and-paté fork, and ate.

Next was soup, which used the broad, flat spoon, then asparagus with a mustard sauce, which used another fork and a knife, then a tiny salad, which used yet another fork, and by now even Cordelia was starting to get full and was beginning to understand why Hester kept leaving so much food on her plate. It seemed terribly wasteful.

She remembered belatedly that she was supposed to be charming the Squire. She snuck a look at him but he was deep in conversation with her mother. Cordelia relaxed slightly. Surely she wasn't supposed to interrupt? No, of course not. The Ladies' Book of Etiquette said that interrupting was "very ill-bred," which, coming from Miss Florence, was a judgment so savage as to consign the victim immediately to the fires of Perdition.

Two footmen brought in an enormous piece of beef and set it down. It looked as if it weighed nearly as much as a large dog. What in the name of heaven were they doing serving that much meat for four people?

An arm materialized next to her head and she squeaked. It was another footman, or perhaps an underbutler or something similar, taking a slice of beef and setting it on her plate, with a drizzle of dark sauce over it. "Thank you," Cordelia said.

Unfortunately she said it into a gap in the conversation and it rang out much more loudly across the table than she had intended. She shrank in on herself and realized that she had not heard anyone else thank the servants at all.

Her mother's indrawn breath was so loud in her ears that she expected the crystal to rattle. For a moment, she felt like she was back on the doorstep, having just curtsied to the butler.

The Squire turned to her and smiled, his eyes crinkling. Cordelia swallowed and gripped her napkin in white-knuckled fingers. "How are you liking Chatham House?" he asked.

"I… I…" Cordelia licked dry lips. "It's very grand, sir," she said, trying not to squeak. "And the maid you lent me is very kind." Wait, no, she was talking about servants again, apparently you didn't do that. She was supposed to ask him about himself. Men liked that. "Ah… have you… err… lived here long?"

The Squire laughed, a great booming laugh that made Cordelia shrink again. "All my life," he said. "The house has been in my family for five generations, since we came across the sea. Though it was not so grand initially. My grandfather had a passion for building and put two extra wings on."

"Fortunately our father was less extravagant," said Lady Hester, her voice dry. "He settled for putting in water closets." She took a sip of wine.

"Water closets are very useful," said Cordelia weakly. She had a feeling that her mother would not consider this charming conversation. She darted a guilty glance at the lobster.

"Mind you," said Hester, "for the amount of walls that had to be knocked out and floors torn up for pipes, I'm not certain that an extra wing would have been less trouble." She smiled politely over the lobster. "I'm sure you know how it is, Lady Evangeline."

"Oh yes," said Cordelia's mother. "Before he passed, rest his soul, my late husband had a passion for starting grand projects that he did not finish. He would read about a new invention and immediately begin thinking of ways to use it about the house. Not one of them worked. I loved him, of course, but it was enough to make a woman long for someone a bit… steadier."

Cordelia had never heard so many words about her father in her life. She stared at the beef and the sauce congealing on her plate, wondering if they were true.

When the time came to eat the lobster at last, the plate was removed from the table and then slivers of lobster meat and aspic placed in front of the diners. Even if Cordelia had not been full, she would not have been able to eat. Her mother gave her a sharp glare and jerked her head to the Squire.

"Uh… ah…" She tried to think of another question. "Do you… err… like lobster, sir?"

Ridiculous question. He must or they wouldn't serve it, would they? She didn't dare look at her mother.

"Love it," said the Squire happily. "We never had it when I was a lad, you know."

"You didn't?"

"No, my mother wouldn't have it in the house." The Squire spooned up a bit and popped it into his mouth, then dabbed his chin with his napkin. "She was from far up the north coast, you see, where lobster's as common as turnips. Fishermen eat it five meals of the week. Mother said it tasted like poverty and she couldn't abide the smell."

"Where on the north coast?" asked Evangeline, deftly taking control of the conversation. The Squire explained in tediously precise terms, and she clapped her hands in apparent delight.

"I've been there," she said. "Oh, years ago, when I was a girl. With the little white houses with the funny shingles on the roof?"

"Yes, exactly." She and the Squire went back into their conversation, with Evangeline expressing her desire to go back someday—"Such a lovely countryside!"—and the Squire giving her an extensive description of his family's holdings in the region, and every huntable beast that crawled, swam, flew, or ran.

Cordelia sank back into her chair, hoping that she had averted disaster. When she looked over at Hester, the Squire's sister gave her a rueful smile and murmured, "Hunting is always such a spectacle."

It is, Cordelia thought grimly, and she's going to keep hunting the Squire until she catches him.

Cordelia woke with a panicky start, remembering dinner the night before. She almost certainly had not been charming enough. She'd used the right forks, at least, but her mother couldn't very well see around the lobster to notice that.

I haven't been in school for years. The most I speak to anyone is after church, or riding with Ellen. Surely she couldn't have expected me to do any better than that.

It was a hopeless thought. Her mother would certainly have expected better. Evangeline was not concerned with such things as shyness or inexperience.

The thought struck her that her mother might come into the room to scold her and that propelled Cordelia out of bed. Her room was such an unexpected oasis that she did not want her mother coming into it if she could help it. It felt safe and Cordelia knew that it would only feel that way so long as Evangeline did not set foot within it.

Alice tapped on the door as soon as Cordelia's feet hit the floor. "Come in," called Cordelia, and despite her dread, the words gave her a tiny thrill, as if she were doing something illicit.

"I've rung for tea," said the maid cheerfully. "Would you like breakfast up here, or would you like to go down?"

Cordelia bit her lip. She would have preferred to see no one, but if she went down to eat breakfast with Hester and the Squire, her mother couldn't do anything terrible to her over breakfast. Would that be better or worse? The longer her mother had to wait, the more likely she was to have rewritten the story of what had happened in her head. That could be good or bad, depending on whether she decided that Cordelia was maliciously stubborn or simply hopelessly ignorant.

In the end, she decided to go down. If the Squire was there, perhaps she could try being charming again and buy herself some goodwill.

As it happened, her mother wasn't there at all yet. "Help yourself, my dear," said the Squire, looking cheerful and avuncular despite the early hour. He waved to the sideboard. "We don't stand on ceremony this early."

Hester was already sitting there with a cup of tea in one hand and a broadsheet in the other. The rest of the newspaper was spread out in the corner between her and the Squire, and they were both picking up pages and reading through it. Cordelia took a plate and set several cold meats and a hard-boiled egg on it. She was not used to quite such an extravagant breakfast.

A servant poured tea for her. "Would miss like chocolate?" he asked.

"Tea is—" Cordelia realized that she was whispering, licked her lips, and tried again. This time her voice came out slightly louder. "Tea is fine, thank you." Oh damn, I've thanked the servant again. Her first instinct was to apologize, but if you weren't supposed to thank the servants, you definitely weren't supposed to apologize to them. She gave him an agonized look, hoping it would serve as apology without the extra faux pas of being spoken aloud.

He winked at her. Cordelia felt an intense rush of relief and gulped her tea, which was so hot it burned her tongue.

"Good heavens," said the Squire with horrified relish. "How dreadful!"

Cordelia shrank in on herself, thinking that the man had somehow noticed her exchange with the servant, but the Squire was staring at the broadsheet in front of him.

"Eh?" Hester glanced up. "What, did the price of tea go up again?"

The Squire cleared his throat. "‘Grisly Scene at Manor House,'" he read aloud. "‘Constables were summoned to the estate of the Parker family in the town of Little Haw Tuesday morning, following reports of screams emanating from within the manor. They found there a scene of carnage, as it appears the patriarch of the family, one Edward Parker, fifty-five, had assaulted the other members of his family with an axe.'"

Parker. Cordelia felt the world begin to go gray around the edges. Parker of Little Haw. There was a terrible ringing in her ears, but it did not drown out the sound of the Squire's voice, still reading in a litany of fascinated horror.

"‘Coroner George Keeling made an examination of eight people and pronounced life extinct, giving his opinion that they had been brutally murdered. The doors were locked and in the opinion of the police constable, no entry had been forced. The deceased include three servants and five members of the Parker clan. Most astonishing is the behavior of Edward Parker himself, who opened the door for the police, stating that "A terrible thing has occurred, gentlemen." He has been taken into custody. Two survivors have suffered grave injury but have stated that it was Parker who attacked them. For his part, he has made no denial of these charges.'" He folded the paper back. "Now what do you say to that, old girl?"

"Monstrous, the things people do these days," said Hester. "That poor family. I wonder if they'll ever know why he did it."

I know why he did it, thought Cordelia, but that was the last coherent thought she had, before the world dissolved into gray and black.

"Really, Samuel," said Hester, annoyed. "You should know better than to read such things at the breakfast table when there's a young girl present." She waved the smelling salts under Cordelia's nose, waiting for her to come out of her swoon.

Swoon was perhaps too mild a term. Hester had seen her share of artful swoons practiced by artful temptresses. They tended to involve the back of the hand pressed against the forehead, an exclamation—"Oh! I feel faint!"—and then a graceful crumpling to the floor, carefully conducted so as to miss any inconvenient furniture.

Cordelia had turned bone white, her eyes had rolled up in her head, and she had slumped over sideways and fallen out of the chair, hitting another one on the way down.

"Didn't even think of it," said the Squire anxiously. "You never balk at any story, old girl. Clean forgot other ladies might not like it. Is the chit alive?"

Cordelia proved that she was alive by coughing and sitting up, pushing away the smelling salts. "What… what am I…?" She blinked up at Hester. "Why am I on the floor?"

"You fainted," said Hester, softening the words with a smile. "And no wonder. You'd hardly touched your food yet, and my brother was reading a hair-raiser of a tale over breakfast."

"I'm so sorry," said Cordelia. She scrambled to her feet, started to sway, and Hester caught her arm to steady it before she went over again. "I…" She swallowed and Hester saw her pupils suddenly dilate. "Oh," she said, in a much smaller voice, and sat down.

"Don't pay any mind to me," said the Squire earnestly. "So terribly sorry. I'm an old fool, that's all, and forget how to behave around a gently bred young lady. I should never have read such a thing out for your ears."

Cordelia picked up her teacup and wrapped her fingers around it. "It's all right," she whispered. Hester thought she might be fighting back tears. "I'd rather know."

A terrible thought struck Hester. "You didn't know the family, did you?"

The vein in the girl's throat began to pulse. "Little Haw," she stammered. "We're from Little Haw."

The door to the breakfast room opened and Evangeline breezed in, dressed in an extravagant dressing gown that Hester recognized as having come from her own wardrobe about twenty years earlier. Her brother must have offered some of her clothing to replace what Evangeline had lost in the oh-so-convenient carriage accident.

In another situation, Hester would not have minded. She had plenty of clothing that she was never going to wear and she understood genteel poverty and the stories that one might tell to cover the fact that one had only one or two gowns to one's name. But it did strike her as a bit much that Doom had come to her home, and that in addition to making conversation and waiting for the inevitable, she was expected to furnish Doom's wardrobe as well.

"How is everyone this fine morning?" Evangeline trilled. She squeezed Cordelia's shoulder and Hester saw the girl's knuckles go even whiter on the teacup.

"I'm afraid poor Cordelia's taken faint," said the Squire. "All my fault, really. I was reading a regular hair-raiser of a story and I didn't know that you were from that neck of the woods. Damn poor manners of me, and I make my apology to you, young lady."

"It's fine," said Cordelia, as her mother's fingers dug into her shoulder. "I'm sorry for making a fuss." She shot a nervous glance behind her. "I… uh… I think I should go lie down."

"Probably for the best," said Evangeline, in a glittering voice. The Squire murmured another apology as Cordelia bolted for the door. A footman removed her plate, and Hester made a mental note to send up a tray in a few minutes.

"Please forgive her," Evangeline said. "I think she is still quite fatigued from our journey, and this is the first time she has traveled so far from home."

"No, no." The Squire's mustache quivered with his sincerity. "All my fault, my dear, truly all mine. I forget that most well-bred ladies have nerves. Hester hasn't any at all, you see."

"None whatsoever," said Hester dryly. "Otherwise people might get on them." She turned to Doom. "There was a terrible murder in Little Haw, you see, and your daughter was overset by the thought that she might know the victims."

Was there an imperceptible pause? It was hard to tell. But Evangeline's voice was quite casual. "Little Haw? I can't imagine why she'd think that."

"She said that you were from there," Hester said, genuinely curious as to what the response would be.

The pause lasted a fraction longer this time. "I suppose we're from near there," said Evangeline. "I doubt we've gone into the town more than a handful of times. It's not the closest." She smiled at the Squire. "I must beg your pardon for my daughter again, sir. You know how young girls are, giving themselves die-away airs about how close terrible events have come. They think it makes them interesting at that age."

"Think nothing of it," said the Squire. "And it was a terrible tale, I own, so I think no less of her. Sensitive little soul."

"So many girls are at that age," said Evangeline.

"How old is she again?" asked Hester.

"Seventeen."

"She seems so young for it."

Doom's glance was quick and cold. Hester smiled comfortably and adjusted her shawl. "Of course, I'm old enough that everyone looks young to me now. Twelve or twenty, I can hardly tell them apart any longer. And they have so much energy! Goodness. I'm sure I must have been the same, but it's so hard to remember now. Did we really dance all night long back then?"

There you go, she thought, as Evangeline turned away to the sideboard. Ignore me. Keep thinking that I'm just a silly old woman. It will make it easier for me to do whatever I'm going to do to stop you.

I just wish I knew what the hell that was going to be.