The latter was surprisingly similar to what Winterly himself had said, that the devil often wore a mask of beauty.
“The history of Winterthurse,” Ana continued, “is a very dark one and its inmates are the legacy of an ancient and bloody race.”
“I suppose every family has its ghosts and evil antecedents, but it would be wrong of us to hold the sins of the forebears against their sons and daughters.”
“It is more than that, Emma, the place is cursed.”
“So is London.” Emma glanced towards her sister who, still laughing, was being lead towards them by Monsieur De Grigori.
Ana sighed. “All I ask is that you keep your eyes open, especially at night. The family ghosts, as you call them, are bloodthirsty still.”
Milli and M. De Grigori were drawing close now, and it was for their benefit only that Emma still smiled; it was, however, a brittle affectation—the sort imposed by sudden disconcertion. “Do you mean to scare me, Ana?”
“It is necessary,” Ana whispered. “Fear makes the mind keener. It is how we watchers have survived millennia after millennia.”
“Watchers?” Emma whispered back.
“The De Grigoris are a race of scribes and watchers, Emma. Our eyes have ever been open.”
Emma opened her mouth to ask more, but the brother had by now moved within hearing distance.
“Ah, Miss Rose,” said M. De Grigori, his silver hair brushing over his shoulder as he bowed, “what a pleasure.” Some fell shadow must have fallen over Emma’s features, for he was glancing between his sister and Emma with a knowing look.
The conversation, however, waxed amiably as Milli, none the wiser to her sister’s inattention, lauded M. De Grigori’s as an excellent and skilled dancing partner. And then the eldest sister, Tanith, joined them. Emma was obliged to school her face and engage her mind to the present, a mind still reeling over Ana’s queer divulgences, such as they were. It was not as if anything substantial or clear had been revealed to her, only a vague warning to sleep with her eyes open because devils and ghosts might be lurking in her dreams, waiting to suck her blood? It was all too bloody laughable. And yet Ana’s words and expressions had been so heartfelt, so candid.
“And have you sustained any lasting injuries from your meeting with my sister, Miss De Grigori?” Though Milli was speaking to Tanith, she gave her sister a playful jab in the ribs.
“None whatever,” was the reply.
“I believe you are still owed a new reticule.” Milli’s elbow came out once more.
Tanith glanced at Emma. “It is none the worse for wear.”
Emma jabbed her sister back, her smile tight.
“Our Tanith is quite the apothecary,” said Monsieur De Grigori. “No ache or sprain too great for her special embrocations and tonics. Even mud stained reticules are easily rescued from ruin.”
“An apothecary? How…” Milli glanced at her sister, as though the ink-smudged word she sought might be found on Emma’s face. “How industrious.” Her face lit suddenly with mischief. “I wonder if, perhaps, Miss De Grigori, you might recommend some antidotal elixir for somnambulists? My sister happens to—” She clenched her teeth as Emma pinched her to silence.
“I think,” said Emma, “my aunt and uncle will be wondering at our lateness, we were expected home at midnight.”
M. De Grigori exchanged a look with Tanith, his hair only slightly lighter than her platinum locks. Their eyes differed by only a slight gradation of russet shades. As compliments and adieus were exchanged, Emma considered the uncanny resemblance and was almost certain that Tanith and the brother must be twins.
Later, as the carriage rambled home, Milli seemed disinclined to discuss anything but the De Grigoris. “I knew Madame Strange must be a gypsy mystic or a pythoness of some sort. Did not I say so that first day?”
“Milli, brewing homemade remedies hardly makes her a pythoness.”
“Well, at least the brother seems quite normal.” Milli sank back against the seat. “So amiable and far handsomer than Mr. Valko.” Then, under her breath, she said, “Mr. Valko who was too beastly busy to attend the ball of the season.”
“You seemed to weather the disappointment rather well.”
“Never mind that, where did you disappear off to with Lord Winterly? It is rather unfair of you to have kept him all to yourself like that, for I wanted to dance with him too.”
“I didn’t monopolize the man, he disappeared soon after our dance.”
“Oh, yes,” said Milli, yawning, “Victoria did mention they would be leaving betimes—something about having to start out early for Winterthurse. Oh, I wish we could have gone earlier with them in the barouche.”
“Are you certain you even wish to go? How well do we really know the Winterlys?”
That certainly banished the sleep from Milli’s eyes. “Oh, Emma, why are you so determined to throw a rub in the way? Stay in London if you will, but do so alone and do not begrudge me my happiness.”
“I would do nothing of the sort!”
“Then stop being a windsucking old scold and let me hear no more of our not going. Come the Summer Solstice Ball, I will be waltzing in Winterthurse, with or without you.”
“Then I shall thank you to behave and stop making silly comments to strangers like you did tonight about my sleepwalking,” said Emma as the carriage reached its destination, “which, incidentally, I haven’t done in a while. If I ever did at all.” But Emma knew she had a better chance of lifting a fog with her breath than wasting it, as now, on words Milli would soon dismiss anyway. Best not to let her irritation get the better of her, she decided, alighting from the carriage.
She had no sooner reached the front door when Milli gave a shriek of delight behind her. When she glanced around it was to find her sister, still on the sidewalk, stroking a very large marmalade cat. The creature was even now using Milli’s skirts as a rubbing post, its throat rumbling with pleasure as it arched and stretched against her gloved hand.
“Isn’t she delightful?” said Milli.
“Mind you don’t catch fleas.”
Milli shot her sister a glare. “She doesn’t have fleas.”
“Nonsense, all vagrant little beasts have fleas. You had better get out of the street and come inside, or have the fleas distracted you from the mad butcher—he is still very much at large, you know.”
“If she’s homeless then she ought to come inside with me.” That said, Milli lifted the cat and joined Emma at the front door just as Reid was opening the door.
The poor man gaped in horror as Milli flounced past him with the cat in her arms, her cape billowing regally behind her. The whole scene was too ridiculous for Emma to keep a straight face, but she did her best to stifle her laughter as Reid closed the door.
Though, upon reflection, the adoption of the cat soon lost some of its comicality, for Milli would inevitably lose interest in the cat, the responsibility of which would then be transferred to Emma. Sometimes Emma really believed her sister would be the death of her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Devil's Bane