“And now,” Maud went on, voice rising, “I find out you’ve been keeping some kind of magic from me?”
“Ah,” said Robin, who had been trying and miserably failing to come up with a way to ask whether the household had been playing at normal since Maud’s invasion. That ship had clearly sailed in their absence. Maud looked far more excited than scared, at least.
Behind his shoulder, Edwin gave a pained sigh. “After all that grief about unbusheling,” he said grimly. “I am going to murder Adelaide Morrissey.”
Robin, who rather thought he recognised a punishment for tipping-in-the-midden when he saw one, said nothing.
“Why don’t you sit down, old chap?” said Charlie, catching Robin’s eye. “We were going to have some tea and sandwiches, take the edge off before lunch.”
They sat. A trolley full of food was brought into the parlour, and Billy demonstrated an illusion-spell for Maud. Her fingers were still, in the easiness of being one person’s focus; and a handsome young man’s, at that. She was full of questions, which Billy tried to answer and Charlie ended up answering instead. She rolled her eyes at learning that women were in general not expected to practice magic seriously, and it was only recently that some female magicians had begun to insist on studying it to the same extent as the males. Charlie’s tone indicated that such females were being humoured, but nobody expected much of them.
“Of course,” Maud said, with a pointed look at Robin.
“Here, Maud, you must try this lemonade,” said Belinda, reaching for a metal jug with a stylised etch of flowers. “It’s a specialty of Cook’s. The secret is the mint from our own gardens.”
Maud took the proffered cup with a smile, but didn’t have a chance to voice her thanks. She made a noise of stifled surprise when Edwin stepped in and took the cup from her hand, setting it back on the tray.
“It’s a prank,” he said.
“Come off it, Edwin, don’t be sentimental,” said Charlie.
“They serve it unsweetened, Miss Blyth, just to watch you spit it out.” Edwin stared hard at his sister. Belinda stared back at him, and then her face melted into a got-me kind of smile.
“A bit of fun,” she said.
“Quite,” said Edwin. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Robin and I were stranded at Sutton Cottage last night without a change of clothes, and we’re in desperate need of fresh shirts. And I’m sure he and his sister would appreciate some time alone, so that he can . . . explain things. Gently.”
Somewhat to Robin’s surprise, Maud didn’t argue with this. She cast a longing look at the sandwiches, but allowed Robin’s hand at her elbow, steering her out of the room. They’d almost crossed the threshold, Edwin once again close at Robin’s shoulder, when Belinda spoke behind them. She didn’t raise her voice. Robin wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear it.
“It’s kinder than the alternative, Win,” she said. “You know it is.”
“Did you bring luggage, Miss Blyth?” said Edwin, ignoring his own sister.
“Yes,” said Maud. “The housekeeper took me up to a room with birds and strawberries on the walls.”
“Come with us, for now.” Edwin led them up the main stairs to the corridor containing the willow rooms. Robin pulled to a halt before any doors could be opened. Maud had dug her fingers into his arm.
She said, “You’ve been very rude and not properly introduced me, Robin, but I’m assuming this is Mr. Edwin Courcey?”
Frankly, it was a miracle anything about the preceding half hour had shown any resemblance to the normal proceedings of polite society. Robin managed, “Um. Yes, that’s right.”
“Good.” Maud dug into a deep pocket of her skirt and pulled out a folded letter, which she handed to Edwin. “Miss Morrissey said it was for the both of you, but she wrote Mr. Courcey’s name on it, so I suppose he gets first look.”
Edwin broke the seal and unfolded the note. Some of the colour left his face as he read. He raised his eyes to Robin, and Robin again, again, wanted to touch him; wished to offer comfort, wished they’d had more than a night, wished he could bring his mind to focus on what was clearly a potentially serious matter while his body murmured memories of the taste of Edwin’s skin.
“State secrets?” Maud asked, not budging an inch.
“No, Maudie. But secrets related to my job. I need to talk to Mr. Courcey. I’ll tell you the parts of it you can know, I promise.”