All is Fair (38 page)

“So you’re going to let him go back and sit on Bartholomew’s throne and–”

“He sits on his own throne now. Nothing will bring Bartholomew back to me. I see no reason to carry on infecting everything and everyone around me with the madness of my grief.”

William reached out and rested a hand on her arm. “I beg your forgiveness, Madam. I know your husband was a decent man. I was led to believe he wasn’t and, like you, I acted swiftly in anger and filled with the desire to take revenge. I swear to you that I only discovered his innocence after the deed was done. It’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

Margritte’s legs wobbled beneath her, so she knelt on the floor in front of him, the black satin of her skirts disappearing against the black floor. “Who did it?”

“The Roses. When Thorn attacked Cathy he disguised himself to look like a minor Rosa, whom Cornelius White killed. He told me it was because he discovered he’d been hired by Bartholomew to kill Cathy. An Arbiter backed up the story and together I found their false evidence irrefutable. Lord Iris supported me but gave me no opportunity to calm down or uncover their lies. Once I learned of what they did, I killed Cornelius and banished Amelia to Mundanus. I’m so sorry.”

The hard stone of rage-filled grief that had sat in Margritte’s chest for so long burst and she couldn’t help but sob. Bartholomew had been nothing more than a cog in a political machine, one that was pulled out to make something else break. No wonder William hadn’t said anything; his own patron was part of the reason he’d rushed into challenging Bartholomew. Admitting he’d been tricked would reveal that Lord Iris had also been duped by the Roses – a family already broken – and William’s life would be forfeit. They were all victims, in their own way, and the thought fuelled her grief. What else could William have done, believing Bartholomew had attempted to kill his wife? She’d done the same as him: acted without knowing all the facts, driven by passion and rage.

“I accept your apology,” she said as the worst of the rush of emotion subsided. “And I offer you mine. I’ll see that this is put right and I’ll answer for my rash act.”

“Now just wait a bloody minute,” Rupert said. “The Irises won’t just accept an apology, they’ll want blood!”

“So be it,” she said. She wasn’t afraid to admit she’d made a mistake.

“Don’t give me that noble bullshit! And anyway, he’s my prisoner and I’m not letting him go until I’m certain he’s not–”

A Way opened behind William, making her jump to her feet in surprise, William too. The gargoyle that she’d seen in the film of the Moot leaped through, looking left and right with urgency as it took the room in. “I’m here to get you out!” it yelled.

“I don’t need to be rescued,” William said. “It’s all–”

“Not you! Him!” The gargoyle pointed at Rupert. “All of you, actually, if you don’t want to die.”

“I can’t trust you, you’re one of Ekstrand’s–” Rupert began, readying his yo-yo.

“Dante’s sister is about to kill everyone in this building,” the gargoyle cut in. “Your Arbiters are dead. Now let’s get out of here before you are too!” When Rupert hesitated, the gargoyle leaped onto the table. “Open a Way into Oxford, you idiot! We can’t go the way I came, they’re all dead in the Cloister already.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Rupert said to it and then looked at Margritte, but she knew where she was going and it wasn’t with either of them. She thrust the key into the nearest part of the wall and turned it to the left, opening a Way to her room. She reached for William’s hand, he took it and she pulled him through, leaving Rupert to determine his own fate.

26

Cathy parked the car half a mile down the road from the gates to the asylum. She and Carter walked on to the entrance in the deepening twilight, silent for the first time in their journey. She’d talked so much on the drive from London that her throat felt sore. Excited by his change in status, Carter had bombarded her with questions and between them they’d drawn up a list of rights to announce to the staff once they got home.

She was grateful for something to keep her mind busy. Now she was just walking along a road her thoughts were tugged back to Will. The steward reported that he and his men had reached the hotel but never left and he’d ended up carrying out a rather hasty clean-up by Charming the staff on duty to believe that the group had paid and left to avoid any difficult enquiries.

There was nothing she could do to help, as Nathaniel had so forcefully said, so she had to keep her mind on the things she could change. She looked at Carter, who looked back and smiled. “Are you ready for this?”

“Yes, your Grace. Are you?”

She grinned. “Hell, yes.”

They reached the gates and Carter had a quick look first. “We should walk along the boundary and approach across the grass over there, your Grace. It minimises the chance of us being seen before I cut the phone line.”

She nodded and followed him in, noticing the orchids growing at the boundary between the trees and the lawn. She wondered if they had something to do with the disorientation she’d experienced on her earlier visit. Not that it mattered now; they weren’t going to leave by the driveway.

Carter guided her along the best route, pointed out a place for her to hide whilst he cut the phone line, and then beckoned her over to the house. Lights were on inside, on both floors, and she saw the curtains being closed by the orderlies.

When they reached the front door and she held her finger above the bell, the doubts flooded in. Would the Patroons send people to stop what she was doing? Will would probably be furious when he got back… could she–

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself, to the frightened child inside her still fearful of getting a beating for putting a foot wrong in a dance lesson. “This is the right thing to do.”

She pressed the doorbell and listened to it clang inside. With one last glance at Carter, who seemed rather excited, she tried to prepare for what lay ahead.

Will let himself be pulled through into a room that smelt of freshly baked bread. As Margritte closed the Way behind them he noticed a painting over the fireplace with black silk draped over it, and the same drapes over the sprite lamps in the room, creating a dour atmosphere. There was fresh bread and butter, along with a glass of milk on a tray. His stomach rumbled.

“Please, sit,” Margritte said and busied herself with buttering some bread after handing him the glass of milk.

He drank it all without pausing for breath, the cold glass soothing his throbbing lip. He took the plate she offered him, and the handkerchief. When he ran it around his mouth it came away red. He noticed the time on a grandfather clock in the corner. “Is it really morning?”

“No, he was just trying to disorient you. You were in there for about four hours. I’m sorry they hurt you.” She went to the window, still sniffing. “Do you have any idea what that gargoyle was talking about?”

“No.”

“I’ll do everything I can to put this right, William. It got out of hand.”

He nodded. “I know. We both will.”

“We need to go to the Hebdomadal Council,” she said after a few moments. “They’ll be debating what to do next. We need to go there together and explain it’s all… resolved between us.” She turned to face him. “I am right in saying that, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” He stood, aching all over, his legs and arms trembling with fatigue and the residue of adrenalin that had rampaged through his body. “I forgive you, if you’ll forgive me. I did far, far worse, of course, but they were both acts of passion, and both have far-reaching consequences. I’ll make sure my family know my feelings on the matter.”

She nodded. “And Bartholomew’s reputation?”

“I will discuss the matter with my patron in person,” he said. “If a way can be found to tell the truth without damaging Lord Iris’ standing, then I’ll do so. I hope, in the meantime, the knowledge that those behind this foul business have been punished will give you some peace.”

Margritte’s eyes were still reddened and shining with tears. “It will,” she finally replied. “Are you able to walk? They’ll be meeting at the Sheldonian. It’s not far from here.”

“I thought that was a theatre.”

“It is, but it’s also one of the main university meeting venues.”

“And the city is run by a council?”

She pulled a shawl from a nearby chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Yes. It’s very different to Londinium. When all of this is over, I would be delighted to explain it to you.” She paused. “If I have the opportunity.”

He went to her side and offered his arm. “I’ll see to it that you do.”

Cathy recognised the man who answered the door, but now she was dressed like a Duchess he didn’t realise they’d already met. He was one of the orderlies and a big man, but not as huge as Carter – a fact he seemed to evaluate after they both stared at each other for a few moments. Cathy could almost smell the testosterone.

“My name is Catherine Reticulata-Iris and I’m the Duchess of Londinium,” she said, channelling a memory of her mother at her most frightening. “I’m here to speak to the manager,”

It had the desired effect. “Come in,” the man said and, as he went to a room down the hallway, Cathy exchanged a grin with Carter.

Soon after, the manager darted out, a short man with a paunch and receding hairline. A napkin was still tucked into his collar. “Your Grace?” He hurried over, tugging the napkin free and dabbing at his mouth as he walked.

“I’m here to speak to all the residents and all of the staff, yourself included. Is there a place I could address everyone?”

“This is… most irregular… We’re serving dinner and–”

“Perfect. I assume everyone dines in the large hall at the end of the hallway?” He nodded, dumb with shock. “If you’d be so kind as to round everyone up? There’s a good fellow.”

Like her mother, like her father, like Dame bloody Iris, Cathy didn’t ask for what she wanted. Instead she stated what he needed to do as if he’d already agreed. He could obey, as the social cues dictated, or he could refuse and risk embarrassment and confrontation. She held her breath, watching to see which way he would go.

“I… I need to speak to my superior.”

“Is he here?”

“No, I need to make a phone call.”

“That would take far too long and be most inconvenient. You don’t need to phone someone to ask if one person can speak to the people here, surely? Certainly not the Duchess of Londinium.”

A muscle beneath his right eye twitched. She felt sorry for him. “This way,” he finally said after a glance at Carter’s arms.

“Keep an eye on him,” she whispered to Carter.

The manager had a brief hushed conversation with the orderly, who began to round up members of staff they came across on the way to the dining hall. Cathy’s heartbeat became more frantic with every step. What if they didn’t believe her? What if they laughed at her? What if her voice came out like air from a leaky balloon when she got up to speak?

But then she was in the dining hall, all of the residents assembled at long tables and the last members of staff being ushered in. She found a chair to stand on with a helping hand from Carter.

Cathy took a breath, trying to stop her knees from shaking as the assembled looked at her. There were about thirty staff and over a hundred residents and every single regarded her expectantly.

“Good evening,” she began.

“Speak up!” someone called from the back.

“My name is Catherine and I’m the Duchess of Londinium. I feel you should know that, because it might make you believe that I can actually do what I’m about to.” She glanced at Carter. He was busy watching the room, vigilant for foul play. “I know that many of you were put in this place against your will because you had an opinion that was dangerous to Society. I know that many of you have tried to leave and couldn’t, because of a Charm placed on the boundary.”

“I knew it!” a man cried out and was rapidly shushed by those around him.

“I also know that some of you are here because you need to live in Mundanus again. And I can understand that. But I don’t think you should be confined to one part of it, and I don’t think anyone has the right to keep anyone here who doesn’t want to be, regardless of why you ended up here in the first place.”

The room was silent, every face fixed intently upon her. The manager was drained of colour, nurses and orderlies gathered around him. Some looked terrified.

“And I say this to the staff too. There’s more to life than doing what they’ve told you to do. You should have choices and you should have rights as employees. The right to earn wages, to resign and do something totally different with your life if that’s what you want. I know how the Agency works now and it’s wrong to just let them use you like slaves.”

The staff looked at each other and then to the manager.

An elderly woman caught Cathy’s eye, smiling away like she was watching a fabulous play. “Go on,” the lady mouthed to her.

“I’m going to open a Way to my house in Londinium. Anyone who wishes to leave this place may come with me. I’ll give you somewhere to stay that’s safe from the Agency so you can decide what you want to do with your lives. If you don’t want to leave Mundanus, that’s fine – come with me and you can stay in the mundane wing of the house. I’ll help each and every one of you to find a way to be independent if that’s what you wish. No one has the right to keep you here. No one has the right to tell you how to live and no one has the right to control what you say or think. So I say… sod them! Let’s find our own way. Who’s coming with me?”

The streets of Oxenford were deserted, something Will found rather disconcerting. He was surrounded by the most beautiful architecture, reminding him of Aquae Sulis with its warm sand-coloured stone and neo-classical grandeur, but without people promenading and eager to be seen in their finery.

“Is it always this quiet here?”

The clip of Margritte’s shoes echoed from the walls as they hurried down a narrow street, wide enough for only one carriage. “No.”

“Who sits on this council? Anyone who’ll be sympathetic?”