There are a few sounds, the clinking of spoons, and I picture the small bowl of sugar. At least it is Eleanor’s and not Lord Downpike’s.
“I will admit the suspense of why you are here is sending me near to fits! I cannot imagine the girls at the club will believe me when I tell them that I hosted the minister of defense himself!” She titters, and I am suddenly afraid for her.
“This is not a social call. It is about a girl. You met her last night at the gala.”
“Oh, the gala! I met so many wonderful people. Did you enjoy it? It was my first large event, but I do so hope to have made an impression. Were you to want aid in the future with parties or balls or—”
“Jessamin. You would recall her. Red dress, dark skin.”
“From the colonies! Yes, of course. She was quite the coquette, wasn’t she? I think Ernest is half in love with her. And she’s such a nice reminder of the work we are doing, spreading solid Alben values to savage nations.”
“She stole something from me.”
“No! How horrible! She seemed trustworthy to me, but one never can tell these days.”
Lord Downpike continues on, failing to acknowledge anything Eleanor is actually saying. “It is of personal value only. I need it back.”
Sir Bird! I left him in book form, tucked beneath the couch after I changed. Lord Downpike is probably sitting directly above him right now. I hold my breath, praying that the bird is either unaware of his master’s presence or faithful enough to me not to give us all away.
“Have you contacted the royal arms?” Eleanor asks.
“I prefer to deal with it myself. You will let me know if she contacts you.”
“Certainly! Anything I can do to be of service.”
“Hold out your hand.”
“Whatever for? Oh, did I spill some sugar—” Her voice cuts out with a sharp squeak of pain. I flinch, raise a hand to the door. I can’t let him hurt her.
Finn’s lips brush my ear. “Not yet,” he whispers near soundlessly.
“A reminder,” Lord Downpike says. “Sides must be chosen. I do hope you stand firmly with the might of Mother Albion.”
There is a stumbling noise, and then the sound of the parlor door opening. Eleanor’s voice is strained with the effort of suppressing tears. “Yes, thank you, do come again. I—Ernest! And Uncle?”
A voice who must be the elusive earl says, “What is it, Eleanor? Ernest said to come immediately, that you told him it was urgent.”
Her laugh sounds like a bird with broken wings; it borders on hysterical. “Did I? Urgent? You know how prone to exaggeration I am. I merely wanted to visit with you. You needn’t have hurried. Silly Ernest, you shouldn’t have nagged him so.”
Finn lets out a sharp breath, and I realize that Eleanor must have sent her brother for the earl while we were discussing shadows.
“Is that Lord Downpike?”
“Well met, Lord Rupert.”
“I feel like the prettiest maid at the ball, all of these men visiting. Tea?”
“What did you do to your hand?” Lord Rupert asks. When he speaks again his voice is a low rumble of a threat. “Lord Downpike, if you had any part in this . . .”
Eleanor speaks first. “Oh, that! I burned it this morning trying to make myself toast! Aren’t I the silliest creature alive? That is what I get for trying to give Cook a morning off.”
“You did no such thing,” Ernest says, not as sure-sounding as the Earl, but obviously upset.
The Earl’s voice contains all the force of generations of power. “I will not allow you to bully my own blood. You cannot threaten us in our homes.”
Lord Downpike sounds bored. “Then where shall I threaten you?”
Eleanor coughs. “Tea! We need more tea! I’ll see to that, yes?”