Page 53 of Confounding Oaths
“Yes.”
“Out of the question,” replied Mr. Caesar with the kind of instantaneous decisiveness that implied he was uncomfortably aware of how easily he could be swayed from the decision.
“You want to catch the Lady, you need to know where she is. The only thing we know she comes out for is your sister.”
He was, of course, right. That is, he was right about the limitations of his and Mr. Caesar’s fragile mortal knowledge. He was wrong that Miss Caesar was the only thing that could lure the Lady into the material world, but the other things that could draw herout were by turns secret, illegal, drenched in blood, and in several cases all three.
Captain James let his hands come to rest on Mr. Caesar’s shoulders. “She’ll be safe. I promise.”
“She’s made of glass. I’m not sure how safe she can possibly be. Besides, I’m very uncertain she’d go along with it. She still says this is what she wants.”
“Boy William thought he wanted to be a soldier. He’s learning different.”
“Then perhaps Mary will learn differently as well? And perhaps all she needs is time.”
Standing close behind Mr. Caesar and laying his hands on Mr. Caesar’s hips, Captain James frowned. “It might be what she needs. It might not be what she’s got. I’ve had little experience with magic, but I’ve not met an enemy yet gives you the space you need to fuck about.”
The part of Mr. Caesar that sincerely wished he could shirk every responsibility and live his entire life locked in a private room with a well-tailored coat and a well-proportioned soldier sincerely wished that the captain wasn’t right, and that his rightness didn’t mean they would need to go downstairs for breakfast and broach some very, very difficult subjects with the family.
But he was. And it did. So they did.
The Caesars’ breakfast parlour was not well set up for entertaining. But since the only people being entertained were common soldiers and a single disreputable officer, this was less of a concern than it might otherwise have been.
Nancy had done her best to keep control of the service, but she was outnumbered by infantrymen who through forceful refusal to countenance formality had caused the whole arrangement to devolve into a kind of affable chaos. Which is not the best kind of chaos, but is certainly the best kind of affability.
“I must say,” observed Lady Mary with a restraint that betrayed her upbringing, “this coffee is rather—I am not sure we usually have it this strong.”
“It is vile,” agreed Miss Anne, with a lack of restraint that betrayed her youth and general worldview. “And bitter. Nobody of refinement could possibly—”
“Anne.” If the elder Mr. Caesar was growing weary of admonishing his daughter he gave no sign of it, addressing the girl with a properly reserved affection. “This is how it is served on the Continent. I assume Mr.—” He gave Jackson asorry-didn’t-catch-your-namelook.
“Jackson.”
“Mr. Jackson acquired his taste in Spain defending us from Napoleon. It is ill-mannered to chide him for it.”
“Also,” added Sal, dusting toast crumbs from her lips, “English coffee tastes like pisswater.”
“It isalso”—the elder Mr. Caesar turned his gaze to the guest—“ill-mannered to speak ofpisswaterin front of your host’s fourteen-year-old daughter.”
Unusually, Sal looked genuinely chastened. “Sorry.”
The apology was enough for the elder Mr. Caesar but not for his daughter. “See the people you’ve connected us to, John. Were you a better brother you would—”
Ordinarily indulgent of his younger sister, Mr. Caesar was not, on this morning, in a mood to indulge. “Were I a better brother Iwould not have let Mary be taken by fairies, but I did, and I am now attempting to rectify the issue.”
“I was not taken,” Miss Caesar protested. “I am here. And I am well.”
“You’ve never beenwell,” sniped Miss Anne from across the table where she was picking politely at a boiled egg.
In an effort to play peacemaker, Lady Mary laid down her coffee and intervened. “Whatever your sister may have been in the past,” she tried, then turned to her other daughter, “Mary, you must understand that we are concerned for your well-being now?”
In her new state of crystal brilliance, it was hard for Miss Caesar to look huffy. Hard, but not impossible. “And where was that concern when the whole ton was sneering at me?”
“The men who would sneer at you,” said the elder Mr. Caesar, “are not worthy of you.”
At that, Miss Caesar let out a tiny scream. She had intended it primarily as a gesture of frustration but, through a throat that rang like a wineglass, the sound became piercing and otherworldly.
The rest of the company set down their cutlery with a range of clinks.
