“I will obey, my lady.”
Though I did not tell that story immediately, for a group of new arrivals came forward to wish Amalie a happy birthday, and I withdrew to engage in aimless conversation with a pair of elderly ladies who were some distant connections of Stayne, and who were overcome with joy at the imminence of Amalie’s child. While I listened to this conversation, I felt my nape hairs prickle as I saw in the hall my old acquaintance Slope-Shoulder, the orgulous gentleman who I had dunked in the slop bucket in Sir Basil’s dungeon. I doubted that he would make trouble for me at the party, not when it might offend Amalie and Stayne, but in case he was discourteous enough to make a fuss, I prepared some remarks that I trusted would silence him. For I knew that he would not want that story of the slop bucket known, especially in this company.
A few minutes later, Stayne came into the room to tell Amalie that dinner was about to be served. I recognized him from our brief meeting in Sir Basil’s courtyard, tall and longshanked, with graying dark hair elegantly curled down past his shoulders, and a small, disapproving mouth amid his short beard. Amalie called me over to introduce me, and I bowed. He regarded me with his little mouth pursed.
“Pleased I am to meet thee,” said he. “I understand that you slew that wolf’s head Basil.”
That “thee” marked me as an inferior being addressed by a superior, but otherwise Stayne seemed polite enough in his interest—and distant enough, for I did not desire his attention.
“I killed Sir Basil in Longfirth, my lord,” I said. “He was fleeing to Steggerda along with one of his men.”
“I shall be pleased to hear thy story,” said Stayne. “But later, at dinner, for now we must go into the hall.”
The gong was rung a few minutes later, and Stayne helped his lady to her feet, and took her into the great hall. Her ungainly walk was far from the languorous undulation that had once marked her passage, and I felt sadness touch my heart. I took into the hall an older woman, the widow of a knight, who once seated managed to keep up both sides of our conversation, scarcely pausing to eat any of the dainties laid before her.
For my part, I saw Slope-Shoulder and his friend Fork-Beard, who sat next to each other and saw me at the same moment. I saw the shock of recognition on their faces, and then at once they put their heads together, and I watched their conference with interest, wondering what feeble scheme they were hatching together.
Stayne kept the same sort of abundant table as his grace the duke, with one extravagant remove after another, though his cooks had not the same sense of whimsy as those of Roundsilver Palace. Nevertheless, there was a dish called “infant’s toes,” and a suet pudding called “boiled baby,” which—though hardly at the epitome of taste—were probably intended to salute Amalie’s pregnancy.
The dinner conversation consisted almost entirely of criticisms of the knaves who ran her majesty’s government, for the guests did not dare to criticize the monarch directly, not in public. The Chancellor in particular was savaged as a thieving rogue who had wormed his way by guile into his position. The word “base” was used, and “barber-monger,” and “cullion,” all of which were reflections on Hulme’s common birth. So persistently were these used as insults that I began to feel a considerable resentment against these well-born lubberworts and loiter-sacks.
During one of the pauses, when wine glasses were replaced and filled, I was called upon to relate the story of Sir Basil’s death, which I did with a minimum of embellishment. “I failed to recover my ransom,” I said at the end. “If Sir Basil was carrying a fortune with him, the governor and his soldiers must have taken it. If his hoard lies somewhere else, I know not where it is.”
One of our host’s friends then flattered him by saying that Sir Basil must have been fleeing Stayne’s vengeance, and had probably buried the money somewhere in the Toppings before departing.
“In that case,” said Stayne, “it will remain there forever, for the Toppings are such a tangle of hill and wood and dale that an army could vanish there without a trace. Indeed, I never even found the place where I had been held.”
“I was lucky to have found a track leading out,” I said.
Amalie gave her husband a brief consoling look, then turned to me. “We’ve heard of a battle at sea off Longfirth,” she said. “Do you know aught of it?”
“I witnessed it,” said I. “For I was in Longfirth at the time, with a ship of which I am part owner.” I related the story of Royal Stilwell’s capture, though before I got very far into my story, I recollected that I was speaking to an audience of people who were, or had been, Clayborne’s supporters, and I much reduced my own part in the capture.
The party listened with some interest, then forgot my existence and returned to their business of abusing the government. For once, I was pleased enough to be forgot.
The last of three desserts arrived, and the last health was drunk. Amalie’s two ladies helped her to her divan, and I thanked the voluble widow for the pleasure of her company and drifted after the marchioness. She was once again surrounded by well-wishers, so I was able to offer only a few polite compliments before her husband arrived, hovering over my shoulder.
“Master Quillifer,” he said, “I quite forgot to thank thee for the return of my signet.”
I donned my attentive-courtier face. “I did not wish that outlaw to abuse your ring,” I said. “If he’d started using it to sign writs and loan documents, that would have been mischief indeed.”
From Amalie’s last visits to my rooms, I knew that Stayne’s finances were in perfect disorder. He had borrowed heavily to outfit Irresistible and his expedition, and now owed his ransom to Amalie’s father. Irresistible had been seized by the Crown and was being used as a warship for the duration of the rebellion, and although Stayne was being paid for the use of his ship, the payment came in the form of bills on the treasury, which would be paid only when the treasury pleased. He could not collect rents on his property in Bonille, where Clayborne ruled. Creditors had begun to hound him, and though being a great lord he could turn most of them away, he could not bar the door against his own father-in-law, to whom he owed four thousand royals.
“My friends were stripped also of their signets,” Stayne continued. “Hast rings other than mine?”
“A number,” said I. “But I know not to whom they belong.”
“If my friends may call upon thee . . .”
“Certainly. They would be welcome.” I very much enjoyed the thought of Fork-Beard and Slope-Shoulder arriving to beg their rings of me.
While I was enjoying this pleasing fantasy, Stayne looked down at my waist, and his eyes narrowed.
“I have seen that somewhere before,” he said, and my blood ran chill as I realized he was referring to the pendant I wore on my belt, the black twin to the pearl-strewn girdle-belt his wife was wearing at that very moment.
“What, this?” said I lightly as I tossed the ornament in my fingers, “I hope it doesn’t belong to one of your friends, since I took it from Sir Basil’s strong-house. If you know the owner, I will return it.”
He tilted his head, his prim little mouth pursed in thought. My nerves sparked to full alertness, and I was aware of Amalie stiffening as she realized what was at stake.
“I have seen it more recently, I think,” said the marquess.
I shifted my position so that, Stayne following, he would have his back to Amalie and her girdle. My fingers still played with the pendant in hopes of disguising its true shape. “Perhaps another piece by the same jeweler? I know not who made this, but he may work here in Selford.”