“Only what?” I said. I should have let him keep talking, because he might have given something away . . . but I’d spent the entire trip to the Selwright and that half hour in the café planning out what I would say, and it came out by reflex. “Only a scheme you cooked up with Gleinleigh?”
Mornett recoiled, and I pressed my advantage. “Did you put him in touch with Hallman? Somebody must have tipped the Hadamists to Kudshayn’s arrival. What was the plan—that Gleinleigh would heroically save the day and look like a great friend to Draconeans, instead of a Calderite? So terribly sorry that I made a hash of that by charging in.”
“And getting yourself hurt,” he said furiously.
“Very fine of you to care about me being hurt now,” I snapped.
He jerked as if I’d slapped him. “Are you talking about five years ago? Audrey, that was a misunderstanding—”
A misunderstanding! Sometimes I honestly think he believes that—believes the calculations for the draconic year were his own, or at least that he had the idea and I just did the maths. He can delude himself into anything.
I almost started that argument all over again, even though I know it will never go anywhere useful. But Mornett kept talking, saying, “Whatever you may think of me, Audrey, I have no desire to see you get your head bashed in with a brick. Hallman’s a contemptible ass; what redeeming characteristics he had when we were at school have been strangled by this religious mania of his. I wrote to him after that mess in Ventis because I wanted him to know that if he ever hurts you again, I will—”
“Will what?” I shot to my feet, knocking my coffee cup over when I hit the table. “Mr. Mornett. Get this through your dragonbone skull: you have absolutely no right to defend me. You are not my brother or my cousin, and you will never be my husband, whatever you may have thought five years ago. You are not even my friend. To this day you have not apologized for your intellectual dishonesty, and if you said the words I wouldn’t believe them, because I don’t think you recognize what you did wrong. Nor does the mere fact of not being as bad as Hallman make you a friend to the Draconeans. I have no use for you. My biggest mistake the other night wasn’t breaking into your room; it was ever thinking that you had anything of value to offer me. But I am done thinking that now.”
And then I stormed away.
Lotte, I almost hope you are reading this, even though you promised not to, because then you will know all of this without me having to tell you. I don’t know if I could get the words out in person, not even with you. I don’t know how much of what I said to Mornett I actually meant. I still don’t trust him, and I think he did arrange the whole thing with Gleinleigh, because otherwise it’s too much of a coincidence that the Hadamists were there, that their leader was Mornett’s school friend, that Mornett came to Stokesley that night to shout at Gleinleigh.
But at the same time, it destroys me that he’s wasting a mind like his on the Mrs. Keffords of the world, on trying to assert human superiority over Draconeans, on passing other people’s work off as his own when he’s perfectly capable of great achievements without that. He would be a lovely human being, and not just in the physical sense, if he weren’t so determined to be un-lovely all the time.
No, I am not over him. I keep telling myself that I am, but it’s a lie. I don’t like him, but I keep reaching for the kind of peace that will make me be all right with not liking him, and it keeps escaping me.
I should never have gone to the auction.
From: Charlotte Camherst
To: Isabella, Lady Trent
27 Messis
#3 Clarton Square
Dear Grandmama,
I am so sorry for bothering you with this when I know the preparations for the congress have you flying all over the world, but I’m afraid I desperately need your advice—not for myself, but for Audrey.
By the time my letter reaches you I expect you’ll have heard about what happened with her and Aaron Mornett, sneaking into his hotel room and all. And you probably also heard about the riot and the Hadamists back in Ventis, when Audrey got her nose broken—from the newspapers if nowhere else. But there’s more going on than just that, which you probably don’t know anything about, unless Papa has mentioned it to you in his letters. Or Audrey, but she would have had to have done it while she was here in Falchester, because while she’s at Stokesley there’s someone reading her mail to make sure she doesn’t spill any details about what she’s doing, and oh, things have gotten so complicated. And some of it may be my fault, because I’m the one who insisted Audrey stay for the race at Chiston, instead of going back to work.
This is all out of order. I’m sorry.
Audrey thinks there is some kind of conspiracy going on between Lord Gleinleigh, Aaron Mornett, and Mrs. Kefford. She may be right; they’ve all been behaving very oddly, and we know they’ve talked to one another. (And to Zachary Hallman, that Hadamist stink.) That’s why she broke into Mornett’s room, because she wanted to know what they were up to.
I should have known it was more of the same when she showed up this morning for the race. She was covered from head to foot, with gloves and long sleeves and a long skirt and the most modest broad-brimmed hat you can imagine—and I know for a fact she doesn’t own anything like that get-up; she must have gone and bought it specially. At the time I thought it was just because she wanted to avoid gossip about her arrest. Let’s face it: she and I are hardly inconspicuous, and while swathing herself in fabric wasn’t exactly subtle (nor could it have been at all comfortable), it did at least mean she couldn’t be spotted from across the field. It seemed terribly unlike her to hide from the gossips like that, but I chalked it up to her being so rattled by Mornett.
Except this is Audrey. I should have known better.
We went to the racecourse. A few months ago it would have been thrilling for me, so many fine people in so many fine outfits, but after a whole Season of things like this, I have to admit that even I’m a bit worn down. I didn’t object at all when Audrey asked if I would mind her wandering about; I was content to sit with Mama and enjoy the sunshine. Audrey, I assumed, just didn’t want to stay in one place where it would be easy to spot her—we’d already had more than a few ladies whispering behind their fans at us.
But when they started the preliminary races and she didn’t come back, I got more and more worried. What if she was hiding somewhere, miserable because I’d dragged her out in public when she would rather have gone back to her tablets? Finally I told Mama I was going to go look for her and set off.
If Audrey had really wanted to hide, she would have left the Royal Enclosure and gone somewhere else on the premises. I was prepared to chase her down anywhere, even if it meant missing the main race. But as it happened, no sooner did I go into the gallery under the viewing stands than I saw her up ahead, walking slowly but very steadily through the crowd.
Maybe it would have been better if I’d left her to it—I don’t know. I almost did. But I had fixed in my mind that I was going to apologize for making her come, and so I trotted to catch up with her.
When I caught her sleeve, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Then she said, “Lotte! What are you doing? Leave me alone.”
I would have taken that as hurtful, except that she was craning her neck while she said it. Foolishly, I said, “Are you looking for someone?”