“We thought a little something from home . . . or someone, shall I say, would be a pleasant surprise.” She gestures to the servant waiting at the door.
My stomach hits the floor when The Wad enters, wearing a fussy new frock coat and shoes with floppy ribbon laces. “Ladies,” he says, bowing in our direction. He doesn’t look at all like the murderer Bayne accused him of being. He looks like little more than a tarted-up chimney sweep, but looks, as I’ve found, are often deceiving. I know now that he is deadlier than I ever imagined he might be.
I swallow. “Mr. Waddingly.”
“Miss Nyx.”
Probably only I can hear the hiss of hatred as he says my name.
“Your father asked me to deliver this,” he says. He hands me a letter and I take it as though he’s given me a poisonous snake.
I open it, willing my fingers not to tremble.
I can’t say anything in front of Lucy, but I know Charles must have put Father up to this. The thought is chilling. But what’s more chilling is that he’s here now, watching my every move. He’s looking at me with a sliver of malice in his horrid eyes, enjoying my discomfort immensely. Then he slides a tiny box out from his waistcoat. For a terrifying moment, I fear it’s an engagement ring. I can see by Lucy’s feline smile that she’s thinking the same thing.
“Go ahead,” he says, pressing it into my palm.
My tongue is thick with fear as I open it.
My little jade toad stares up at me, its carnelian eyes winking.
“My toad,” I whisper.
I look up at Charles. He’s smiling, a genuine smile that I can’t quite comprehend. As far as I know, he’s never done anything except for his own gain. Why would he return this to me? Where did he get it? Has he had it all along? I realize in a flash that Syrus was telling the truth, that he wasn’t keeping it from me. I blush.
Lucy is nonplussed.
I hurry to explain. “This is the only thing I have left of my mother. It was stolen from me a month ago. . . .” I stop. I feel uncomfortable calling Syrus a thief.
“I understand,” Lucy says. “And now Mr. Waddingly has somehow found it and returned it to you. How very kind!”
She gives me a look which is easily read. She thinks he’s in love with me.
Darwin and all his apes!
Charles bows, smiling, but his eyes cut viciously to me. He wants her to think he admires me. Can things get any worse?
I close the lid of the box without touching the toad. I’ll need to investigate this further, to see if he’s done any damage. There’s an old saying: Beware of Gremlins bearing gifts. I think this certainly applies.
I once again force myself to smile and say, “Thank you.”
Charles nods. “I sincerely hope that we can let bygones be, Miss Nyx.”
“That is much to be desired,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t shake.
“And now, ladies, much as I would like to stay in your delightful company, I must see to my work. Good day to you both.” He bows again to Lucy, and she inclines her head.
She squeezes my arm once he’s out the door. “Looks like you have a true admirer!” She claps her hands together. “And he’s perfect for you! Perhaps we can be married at the same time!”
It’s all I can do not to scream in terror at that suggestion, but I bite it back and say more calmly than I believe possible, “Oh, I don’t think that’s the case, Lucy. Besides, I wouldn’t want to dull the shine of your day.”
She giggles and bats at me, much like the cat playing with yarn. “Don’t be silly. I think he likes you. And rumor is, he’s on the up-and-up. Or did you have someone else in mind?” She narrows her eyes at me, as if I’ve been keeping secrets.
“Let’s just get you married and settled first,” I say. “No need to be matchmaking just yet for me, eh? I’m not even properly out yet.”
“Very well, then,” Lucy sighs. “Spoilsport. Help me reply to Lord Grimgorn for my father.”
She leads me to her writing desk, where servants help us ready the everink and seals, but my mind is gnawing on what Charles has planned and what trap he must be setting for me. And how I will keep my heart from breaking every day I see Bayne by Lucy’s side.
CHAPTER 20
When Syrus had presented himself at the kitchens a few days ago, he’d been worried that Cook might not take him on. But Bayne had been right that the great estates always needed kitchen help. Cook had ushered him into the kitchen’s sweet-scented hell with barely more than a growl and a gesture of her hammy hand.
He had been put to work, first on a spit with a broken pulley system, then arranging trays and carrying them out, then flinging the kitchen offal to the Virulen hounds, and so on. Syrus wondered why the Virulens didn’t have more kitchen wights, as was the fashion these days. He’d heard rumors that, for all their finery, the Virulens were rather poor. It was hard to believe, looking around, but the state of the kitchens, the lack of wights, made him think perhaps the rumors were true.
He was sore today, and his foot ached. But the fever that Truffler had nursed him through showed no sign of returning. It was just the craving he couldn’t seem to banish. Every night since the bite, he woke with it—the urge to be in the Forest, to roam its dark byways, to discover things he’d never even thought to seek.
Bayne had asked him if he felt any ill effects from the bite, and he had said no. And Truffler thankfully hadn’t needed to ask. Syrus couldn’t bring himself to admit his fear—that somehow the werehound’s bite was slowly changing him into one. He’d realized there was just too much at stake for his fears to overcome all that needed doing.
Because last night was the first night he’d actually changed and knew it for more than a fever-dream.
He’d woken at dawn, curled in the low window of the communal servants’ quarters, stark naked. He’d found his clothes all around the room and had collected them red-faced before anyone else was awake. In the process, he’d nearly stepped in a relatively fresh pile of dog turds.
The door was bolted from the outside. There was no dog here. He’d looked frantically around again, but everyone was still asleep. He’d gotten the mess into the chamber pot as best he could, but the fear still lingered.
Syrus was certain he must have changed. It couldn’t have been anyone else. And certainly no dog could be hidden in the gallery that passed for a room, unless it had been smuggled in and out during the night.
Cook grabbed him by the collar, shaking every thought out of his head. Her giant arms were lobster-red, one
