Page 46 of Confounding Oaths
… Even the earl himself danced with her in the end. He was no marriage prospect, of course, being too old and already wed, but she was sensible of the honour nonetheless. …
The soft-voiced man pulled the trigger, and the hammer fell.
… Miss Caesar turned and turned and turned. …
His mouth dry and his body tense, Mr. Caesar waited for the bullet to hit. Although he did not consider himself a brave man, the fact that Mr. Caesar witnessed the gentle click of the pistol without soiling his breeches spoke either to some hidden depth of courage or a devotion to his tailoring bordering on the fanatical.
“Told you,” said the captain. “Now, do you want to run, or do you want to see if you’ve better luck than the French cuirassier?”
From what I read of his heart, the soft-voiced man was no coward, but his bluff had been called and he had the wisdom to concede defeat. So the robed men retreated, and Mr. Caesar, the captain, and the remainder of the Irregulars decided that they, too, would be better off elsewhere.
As, reader, did I.
Chapter Ten
Miss Caesar’s evening ended likea dream, the music at last dying with the dawn light, and the Lady, permitting herself to be visible once more, guiding her out into the carriage. The carriage which, I feel honour-bound to point out, had not transformed into any kind of vegetable overnight. The works of Titania’s court are, of course, vastly inferior to those of my master, but that must be judged against the exceptional standards of fairy craft in general.
She nestled into place alongside her otherworldly patroness and, in a fit of whimsy, I took on the form of a tiny lapdog and leapt in after them. There, from my position alongside Miss Caesar’s slippered feet, I was able to make out hairline cracks beginning to form at her ankles. But then what would one expect if one insists on dancing in glass shoes?
My chosen guise had been, to some extent, a calculated gamble. The Lady, of course, knew I was there, but I hoped that if I chose a sufficiently adorable form her client would defend me and the Lady would, by the laws that bind her as surely as my laws bind me, be prevented from arranging my expulsion.
And to test my theory, I sprang into Miss Caesar’s lap, narrowly avoiding a sharp kick that the Lady had been aiming at me.
“Oh, how lovely,” Miss Caesar exclaimed, looking down at me with restful happiness. “Although I am not sure I shall be permitted to keep him.”
The Lady glared at me sourly. She was a very sour being, I felt. “On the contrary, you will find him impossible to get rid of.”
I looked up innocently and shook my doggy head. “Rrruff?”
“What’s his name?” asked Miss Caesar. And I realised just slightly too late what a poor choice this might have been.
“He’s your dog,” the Lady replied with an I’ve-got-you-now-you-fucker smile, “why don’tyouname him?”
Names have power, reader. Being given a name has power.
“I think”—Miss Caesar made a sound of musing that I did not at all like—“that I shall call him Ferdinand.”
I attempted to signal my displeasure at this moniker, but it was to no avail. It had taken hold already and although it would bind me but little (names have power, reader, but notabsolutepower), it was a restriction I resented. As Ferdinand, I curled into Miss Caesar’s lap and she stroked her fingers through my fur. Her hands were cold by mortal standards, but since I have danced with the North Wind’s daughter in the Ice-Caves of the Utter Far my mileage, as you might say, varied.
While the sun was inching its way above the horizon, its soft rays dancing through Miss Caesar as all light now did, the carriage proceeded through the streets of London towards her home. In this much, at least, the Lady had not been lying. Her plan was not to take the child away. At least not directly. She only wanted her to go to the ball.
“You enjoyed yourself, I trust?” the Lady asked.
Miss Caesar nodded. “Very much.”
“Then you shall be delighted to know that there will be more such dances in your future.”
She should indeed have been delighted. But having no heart muted her capacity for joy. “And will Mr. Bygrave …”
The Lady didn’t let her finish the sentence before breaking into a peal of beautiful laughter. “Forget him, child. You can do better now.So muchbetter.”
No lady of the era, however humble and pious, would be quite able to resist the obvious question. “How much better?”
“As much as you like. I have given you the Beauty Incomparable and with it you can have anybody you wish. Kings. Princes. Princesses if they take your fancy.”
“They do not,” Miss Caesar replied at once. “That is, I love my cousin, but—they do not. And I do not think I want to be a queen.”
Mortal as she remained, despite her transformation, Miss Caesar did not catch the look of scorn in the Lady’s eye. But I did. “As you wish. Still, you can set your sights higher than an ensign.”
