A knock sounded on my door and I started. Surely no one could have seen the hawk and gotten up here already? I opened it and found Dorian standing there.
“You need to come down in a few minutes Mort. The first of the guests are here and Marc wants you there to greet them with him.” He glanced around the room. The bed was still in disarray and the pillows were scattered. “Looks like you’ve been making friends with the cleaning staff already.”
I wondered for a moment if he had been talking to Marc. “Dorian you trust me right?” I tugged him into the room and shut the door.
“Well sure. You remember that time you and Marc dragged me out to old man Wilkin’s farm to help you steal pumpkins?” He had an endearing habit of repeating our childhood stories every time he got the chance, or annoying habit, depending on the circumstances.
“Yeah yeah, here come sit down for a second.” I hustled him over to the divan.
“You and Marc told me you were gonna use the pumpkins to scare the crap out of…” he started to continue the story. Normally I wouldn’t have minded but I had heard it a dozen times already and I had other things on my mind.
“Shibal,” I intoned seriously. Nothing happened.
“…Sir Kelton while he was standing watch that night,” Dorian continued without missing a beat. It might have been because I was staring at him intently, he probably thought I was listening. A second knock interrupted my thoughts.
Benchley, Marc’s valet stood in the doorway, “His Lordship thought you might need some help getting ready,” he said. I guess Penny had changed her mind about dressing me, or perhaps Marc had.
A sudden thought occurred to me, “Actually Benchley I’m already properly dressed but you could give me a hand with the bed. I haven’t a clue how to get the sheets and pillows back the way they were.” I waved in the general direction of the disaster zone I was calling a bed.
Benchley stood a bit straighter and I realized I had probably insulted him since such tasks were usually the domain of the chamber maids. He was a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ after all. He kept his tongue though, and walked over to pick up the coverlets. I watched him carefully, biding my time. Meanwhile Dorian had stopped his story and was looking at me with an odd expression; he knew I was up to something now.
As soon as Benchley leaned over the bed to smooth the sheets I spoke, “Shibal.” He collapsed across the mattress as if he had been poleaxed.
“Sweet Mother!” Dorian stood up and stared at Benchley, then looked at me, his mouth agape. Then he silently mouthed, “What did you do?” as if we were in danger of being overheard. Honestly, his overly serious expressions are half the reason I love Dorian.
I spent the next few minutes explaining what I had done. One nice thing about Dorian, as opposed to Marc, is that he doesn’t interrupt. He listened intently, his eyes growing wider as I talked. My demonstration had definitely sent him into a state of high anxiety, but the other thing I love about Dorian is his intense loyalty.
“I better go stand guard in the hallway to make sure no one comes in,” he said in a hushed tone. I tried to convince him that wouldn’t be necessary, since there was nothing more incriminating in the room than a sleeping manservant, but you can’t shake these ideas from him once he gets his mind set on them.
Once he had left the room I stepped over to Benchley. My first thought was to awaken him with a shake, since that was what had worked with the bird, but then I figured I should use the opportunity to get more information from my experiment. I tried shouting first, that didn’t work but it did draw a worried Dorian back in from the hallway. “What are you doing?” he silently mouthed at me.
“Nothing, go back to the hall,” I silently mouthed back. Lord, now he had me doing it too! He went back out so I decided to try gently shaking the sleeping valet. After a moment I had to get more vigorous, for it seemed I had put Benchley into a deep slumber. That didn’t work either. Finally I went and got a slender straight pin from the dressing table. I’ve never been sure why they keep those there, but it came in handy.
“Gah!” Benchley uttered a most ungentlemanly sound and sat straight up from the bed. I quickly hid the pin I had just plunged into his posterior. “What happened to me?” He seemed very confused.
“It appears that you fainted Benchley. Do you think perhaps you might be working to hard lately? You might do well to get some more rest.” I did my best to look concerned for his well being as I gently ushered him to the door.
“What about the bed sir?” he asked.
“Never mind that,” I replied, “the chamber maids can get it in the morning.”
“Very good sir,” he ambled down the corridor while I watched him go.
Dorian nudged me, “If we don’t get moving you’re going to miss greeting the Duke’s guests.”
“Oh, right!” I shut the door and we headed down.
As we walked he looked over at me, “We’re going to need to talk about this later.”
“Be sure to invite Penny to the meeting,” I muttered sarcastically to myself.
“What? I didn’t hear you,” he said.
“Nothing, I was talking to myself.” Inwardly I did resolve to try and make sure I included her more in the future. Her speech earlier had made me feel like a complete jerk. All of this assumed of course that she didn’t think I was an agent of the dark gods. The last I had seen her she had been putting as much distance between us as possible.
I wound up standing at the steps leading into the main keep with the Duke and his family. The Lord and Lady Thornbear were there as well, which left me feeling distinctly out of place. While the coaches drew up the Duchess was kind enough to explain my role.
She was a striking woman in appearance despite her middling years and she placed her hand over mine as she spoke, “As the guests get out of the carriages James and I will greet them one by one. Each person standing here will escort one of the guests into the front hall and then show them to the sun room upstairs.” In case you’ve forgotten, James was her husband, the Duke, although she was the only person I had ever heard refer to him by his given name. The sun room was a brightly lit parlor upstairs near the Duke’s rooms. “Mordecai, you will escort Rose Hightower.”
“Yes your grace.”
“Do you remember how to address her?” the Duchess had some qualities that reminded me of my own mother.
“I address her as Lady Hightower,” I said confidently.
“No, Mordecai. Lady Hightower is her mother, you address her simply as Lady Rose,” she remonstrated me.
“Yes your grace, Lady Rose.” I knew that, but I was nervous.
By then the first coach had drawn up and the occupants were getting out. Naturally the first was Devon Tremont, the son of Duke Tremont. The Duke of Tremont was the only peer of the realm who had equal standing with the Duke of Lancaster; accordingly his son and heir had equivalent standing to Marcus. I took that to mean I should be exceedingly polite. The Duke and his wife greeted him warmly and Marc stepped forward to escort him upstairs.
Knowing Marc as well as I did I could tell he didn’t like Devon immediately. “Devon,” Marc tipped his head slightly in greeting, “It is good to see you again.” Something told me that was exactly the opposite of how he felt, but he hid it so well I doubt anyone could have discerned it.
“Marcus, well met. I see you are in good health…still.” Devon replied. The slight pause before the word ‘still’ made it abundantly clear he wished it were otherwise. I watched him intently as they mounted the steps. He was of middling height with a lean athletic build and light brown hair. The moment I laid eyes upon the young lord I nearly gasped. He carried about him a strange radiance, almost a purplish aura and something about it made me feel mildly ill. I had never encountered anything like it before. For a moment his eyes met mine and they narrowed, I wondered what he might be seeing, as there was certainly nothing remarkable about me.
The moment passed and he continued up the stairs. My reverie was interrupted by the next guest, Stephen Airedale, the son of Count Airedale. He was an impressive young man with light blond hair and steel grey eyes. He was also the first person to emerge that was my equal in height, possibly he was taller. Marc’s sister Ariadne offered him her arm and the two of them proceeded up the stairs chatting amiably. Her mother had trained her well and I could see she would someday be a formidable socialite.
The next to get out was Master Gregory Pern, the son of the famous Admiral Pern. As the son of a military
