She couldn’t go out the way she knew – through the window in the scullery – so she slipped out a side window, dropping to the ground soundlessly. She had made it as far as the street when she stopped, a little breathlessly, to look back at the house.
It was so familiar, a window light shining upstairs, and some smoke trailing upward from the stove fire chimney. Soon Cook would begin making breakfast, and her family would eat together. Violet’s last meal with them had passed without her even knowing it. Her final goodbye to Tom had been that ghostly feeling of his fingers in her hair.
She remembered her first needlework lesson. Her governess had suggested she embroider the word Mama, which she had done with her crooked stitches, presenting it to Louisa. Louisa’s face had changed. She’d snatched the embroidery and thrown it into the fire, and the governess had been dismissed. Violet had told Louisa the truth. She wouldn’t come back. She didn’t have a family, just a dream that had existed in her head.
It was late when she finally made it back to the inn, the grimy, impersonal place where she had left the horses. The raucous sounds of the downstairs tables, crowded with men slopping drinks and calling for more, hit her ears as she entered. She sidestepped around them to reach the narrow wooden stairs. Climbing with exhausted legs, she made it to the small room where she and Will had agreed to meet.
She wanted nothing more than to lie down on the bed with her forearm over her eyes and rest, but she knew she had to ride back to the Hall. They only had until dawn to find and stop James. She pushed the door open.
Will was waiting by the window, though there was little chance of seeing anything through its dim pane.
‘Violet!’ Will turned when she entered, eyes wide with relief.
‘I’ve got what we need,’ she said. ‘We have to go.’
From the cold, half-eaten meal on the sill, he’d been watching for her at the window for hours. She took in the uncomfortable stool where he’d been perched, his face all but pressed to the window.
‘What are you doing?’ She could see where he’d tried to wipe the window clean for a better view.
‘I was worried about you,’ said Will.
It made her feel warm, like she wasn’t alone. Like maybe, in that room, she hadn’t been alone after all. Feeling suddenly awkward, she punched his shoulder lightly.
It wasn’t until they were saddling their Steward horses in the stables that she noticed the immaculately fitted jacket, with its snug waist, and dark trousers.
‘And what are you wearing?’
‘I had to borrow these.’ He made a face, but she had to admit that the clothing made him look dashing, the tall standing collar setting off his high cheekbones and the fall of his dark hair.
‘Borrow, or steal?’
‘Borrow. It’s not important.’ Swinging up into the saddle, he tugged a rein, turning his horse out onto the road. ‘Come on, we have to go.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘HERE!’ A WAVE of relief washed over Violet seeing Stewards ride out to greet them. ‘We’re over here!’ It felt so good to see the white tunics and the silver stars, pale shapes in the night. She counted two dozen mounted Stewards cantering over the dark marsh in pairs, with Justice at the head of the column.
Back in London she had told Will everything that she had overheard. ‘James will be alone with the ivory merchant Robert Drake. We can take him unawares, before he has a chance to use magic.’
‘He can lead us to Marcus,’ Will had said, grasping it instantly as she nodded.
The window to act was small. They had ridden back to the Hall in haste. Now Justice’s face was a welcome sight, the words spilling over her lips.
‘Thank God,’ Violet said as the Stewards reined in, surrounding them in a loose circle. ‘We don’t have much time. We found a way to find Marcus, but we have to act before dawn.’
Nothing happened. Violet looked for some sign that the Stewards had heard what she’d said, and saw only blank faces. A moment later, twelve of the Stewards dismounted, their spears out.
‘Didn’t you hear me? I said that we’ve found a way to find Marcus. But we have to go – now—’
Their faces stayed blank. She recognised the Stewards; they were people she knew. Carver and Leda were on horseback. Justice was one of the dozen of the Stewards who had dismounted.
‘What is it?’ she said, a prickle of cold going down her spine. ‘Why aren’t you listening to me?’
‘Because you’re a Lion,’ said Cyprian, reining in his horse next to Justice, his eyes utterly cold.