Page 57 of Confounding Oaths
I watched the couple awhile. They were both, in their own ways, lost in the magic of it all. Which was, by and large, exactly where my people want your people—the more befuddled and confounded you are, the more it amuses us. Of course, having watched the young lady and her family for so long I could not quite help—but I am digressing. My kind are beings of whim who hold cruelty an art, comedy a virtue, and find our deepest delight in the combination of the two.
“What do you have planned for her?” I caught myself asking.
“Watch,” she told me. “And find out.”
That was the trouble with Titania’s court. No professional courtesy.
“I should probably return you to your father,” Mr. Bygrave continued, rather hesitantly.
With equal hesitancy, Miss Caesar nodded.
“It is not proper”—he flushed, gazing enraptured at the quasi-animate marvel that was Miss Caesar’s new form—“but I should very much, that is—”
He got no further, because she kissed him.
It was a chaste affair by modern standards, but shocking by those of the day. Although of course the extent to which thestandards of the day still applied when one was a fairy-wrought being of otherworldly substance was very much debatable.
Since she had no heart, I could read Miss Caesar’s feelings on the exchange less well than those of most mortals, but I could still see triumph in her, and validation, and hope.
And, simmering beneath it all, questions.
Chapter Twelve
After the kiss, which lastedonly two-thirds of a heartbeat—enchantment is powerful but in so many ways society is more powerful still—Miss Caesar and Mr. Bygrave returned immediately to their senses. He straightened his jacket and she moved to straighten her dress, though no mortal power was capable of disarranging so marvellous a garment.
Unable to justify any further dalliance, Mr. Bygrave made good his promise to escort Miss Caesar back home, not realising until after he had parted from her that his gloves had been cut when his fingertips brushed the glass roses, and that blood was now seeping through the fine cloth.
When Miss Caesar had returned to the bosom of her family, it was to less admonition than she had received last time. While her parents and brother had been concerned for her well-being, the conclusion that there was nothing they could do until the transformation and all of its attendant consequences were reversed had kept them from excessive panic.
Still, a tension remained in the household. The elder Mr.Caesar spent longer at his correspondence, Lady Mary longer at her meetings, and Mr. Caesar longer visiting the Folly. Only Miss Anne was without means of escape from the realities of family life, and even she grew more given to lurking in her bedchamber.
Those members of the family who were directly involved in the plan against the Lady had eventually selected Lady Etheridge’s forthcoming ball as the best opportunity for striking at their enemy. It had the advantage of proximity, being the next event on the calendar, and also of being one to which the Caesars would actually be invited. Not only was Lady Etheridge of too low rank to risk insulting the Earl of Elmsley by excluding his grandchildren, but she was at any rate a friend of the abolition and so held fewer objections to Lady Mary’s choice of husband than many in the ton.
It was during my observations of Mr. Caesar’s (and Miss Bickle’s, since she had found herself with rather a central role in proceedings) planning sessions alongside his new associates that I discovered quite how much at odds the Lady’s schemes and my own could wind up being. One of the first difficulties our intrepid band would need to overcome was their quarry’s ability, common to all my people, to vanish from sight and slip our mortal guises at will. And it was through their discussions around this matter that I learned that Barryson possessed, or at least believed himself to possess, the knowledge of seeing-runes.
“The thing with elves,” he explained to the assembly, the night before the plan was to be executed, “is that they think they’re smarter than we are.”
In our defence, we are. And in case you are concerned, reader,elfis also an acceptable term for our kind and is considered pejorative only if used in conjunction with the wordsSantaorKeebler(thehistory behind that last sponsorship agreement is long, sordid, and leaves neither of our species looking our best selves).
“She’ll not expect us to be able to see her,” he continued, “but the ones making the grab, they’ll have runes painted on their eyes to show them hidden things. Which might take some getting used to, but I’ll do it early.”
Miss Bickle, whose father did not know where she was but was too wrapped up in poetry to care, squealed delightedly. “Ohdo.I should so love to be shown hidden things.”
“Not you,” Barryson clarified. “She’ll know if you can see her, and the runes are obvious. Means you’re not getting them either.” He nodded to Mr. Caesar and the captain. “Can’t go to a ball with paint on your eyes.”
Mr. Caesar gave an easy smile. “That rather depends on the ball.”
“There’s a ball John refuses to take me to,” Miss Bickle explained, “where apparently gentlemen do that sort of thingall the time.”
“Which is why you’re not coming,” confirmed Mr. Caesar, lapsing briefly back into the elder-brotherly tone that he otherwise shed around the Irregulars. “It’s called the Gentleman’s Ball for a reason.”
Captain James frowned into his beer. “I don’t like going in blind. If she can vanish on us, I should be able to see her.”
At the other end of the table, Kumar had been making notes and drawing diagrams, but he looked up now. “Barryson’s right. We need you on the inside. You’ll have to rely on the rest of us for the catch.”
Within the strict camaraderie of the regiment,rely on the rest of ushad almost the power of a magical incantation, and the captain accepted it with good grace.
Miss Bickle, however, was not so easily put off. “Well, it seems very unfair to me that I should play so central a part in the scheme yet get to see no wonders as a consequence.”
