Corsets and Crossbows: A Drake Chronicles Novella in Letters (2 page)

Now that I’m safe, you have to admit, it is a rather exciting story. Perhaps I should be writing gothic novels. It might have been romantic if I hadn’t been dressed as a boy.

And if he hadn’t been one of the undead, of course. Of course, that.

All my love,

Rosalind

Dear Evangeline,

The more I think on it, the more I am bewildered. Why did no one ever mention gentlemen vampires? We have been told time and time again that they are savage and cruel and ghastly and have questionable hygiene.

Evangeline, he was not ghastly.

What does this mean, do you think? What else could they be keeping from us? Allegedly for our own protection, though I can’t think why we would need to be protected from beauty. Can you? I fear that if I pull on this little thread, the whole tapestry will unravel.

I know that Eleanor would tell me to leave things be, that this is not my concern. But I am part of the society, am I not? I am a vampire hunter. How can I do my work if they are keeping vital information from us? And it is only the women who are being treated thus. I cornered Justin. He is such a terrible liar I knew right away. He was home for Aunt Anne’s birthday and admitted (eventually) that it is only girls who are told these dangerous and condescending half truths. He says it is because we are more susceptible to the charms of a vampire.

Bollocks to that, Evangeline.

These fabrications and convenient omissions put us all in danger, whatever their antiquated reasoning. And if you’ll recall, Cousin Andrew was the one who got himself killed by following some lightskirt into an alley for a tumble. They forgot to tell us that part about his murder, how he died with his trousers down around his ankles. I don’t mean to shock you, but there it is.

Even the League cannot be fully trusted.

What are we to do now? A vampire cannot be trusted just because he has fine features, and a hunter cannot be trusted even when he is family. I vow I won’t keep quiet about this. It’s too important.

I also vow, dear Evangeline, to ferret out the society’s secrets.

Tonight, in fact.

The Wintersons are having their annual ball. It is always such a crush of people, I’m sure I won’t be noticed. I’ll simply sneak into Lord Winterson’s office and see what I can find out. Surely, being the head of the organization, he must keep some items of import in his home? If not, I suppose I shall have to try and search the Helios-Ra town house, but you and I both know that will be nigh impossible.

Never mind. Tonight’s the night. I can feel it.

Your cousin,

Rosalind

Postscript

I really ought to stop making such inflammatory pronouncements.

It never ends well.

Forgive my uncertain penmanship, I am still shaky from the adrenaline and the champagne. And my first waltz. Who could have guessed the Wintersons’ dull ball could prove so very diverting? I hardly know where to begin. I can hear you gnashing your teeth, Evie, but you’ll simply have to be patient with me. I must organize my thoughts if I’m to make sense out of any of this.

We arrived fashionably late, as always. Mother wouldn’t hear of our making an appearance before midnight. The lane was positively clogged with carriages and the ballroom packed with several hundred guests in their finest. I’ve never seen so many fans and feathered turbans. I do hope that particular trend fades quickly, it’s rather distressing. Think of all those bald ostriches and peacocks.

And I admit it, I hid among the potted ferns until Percy went to the cards room to play whist. Probably not very hunterlike of me, but it was effective. I can’t bear to hurt his feelings, his eyes are always so sad. But he has a veritable train of debutantes giggling and fawning over him, surely one of them will console him adequately.

Because I won’t marry him. I don’t care what my parents say. Or his parents. Or Percy himself. I won’t be sold to the highest bidder.

Especially not now.

I waited until the champagne had begun to make everyone a little louder than necessary and couples were sneaking off to find dark corners before I made my way upstairs to the family rooms. Also, I had to time it perfectly as I had no intention of missing the waltz. It was simple enough to avoid the chaperone Mother set on me. And I was well prepared and even spilled strawberry wine on my gown so that I would have a credible excuse should I need one. The gossips and dowager mothers can be every bit as scary as any vampire. I defy you to find a creature more chilling than Lady Kirkwood. Don’t even bother to consider it, there is no such beast. She has made grown men cry in public with scarcely any effort at all. I’ve always thought she’d make an admirable hunter.

Back to the ball. I made it upstairs easily enough. I would have expected the Wintersons’ house to be better guarded, to be honest with you. But I suppose they never suspected for a moment that a debutante might be clever enough to do any harm. And admittedly the town house is prodigiously well protected against vampires; I’ve never seen such a collection of swords and walking canes with retractable daggers. (I mean to fix one of my parasols along similar lines. It is a most interesting alteration and surely to be of great use.)

I could hear the orchestra playing a quadrille, and the noisy hum of a hundred conversations going on at once. There were no footsteps, no flicker of the candle flames, nothing. I was not foolhardy in thinking myself alone. Indeed, I still cannot countenance that I wasn’t.

I found the study with little incident and it was exactly as you might have imagined it to be: spacious, with a massive oak desk, silver decanters and bottles of expensive brandy, and rows of books and curios. I felt rather daring as I skulked through the shadows and opened all the drawers. I found nothing of import until the very last drawer, which was locked. Those new hairpins you devised are brilliant, Evie. I picked the lock with very little trouble.

There were a few banknotes inside, a diamond cravat pin, and other odds and ends, but nothing at all related to the society. I confess I didn’t know what I was looking for. It just flustered me so to know that our cousin died in different circumstances than we were led to believe. It all seems so sinister and suspicious. And overly dramatic.

That was about the time I decided to abandon my search and return to the ballroom before I was missed. There was no sense in damaging my reputation irrevocably over … a faint feeling of disquiet. Even I am not so reckless.

I was at the top of the stairs when I heard men’s voices. Two voices, one older and vaguely familiar though I couldn’t place it and still cannot, the other young and impatient. I slipped between an armoire and a huge brass urn full of ostrich feathers. I take back what I said about the trend for feathers, they can make a most convenient hiding spot. I held my breath as the conversation turned into a hushed argument. I had to strain to hear so I cannot be certain I heard every word correctly.

But I am mostly certain.

“It’s too soon,” the older voice snapped.

“You’ve been saying that for weeks now. I haven’t the time to coddle you if you’ve gone milksop on me.”

“I’ve done no such thing.” He sounded affronted. “Then let’s get on with it. I’m the one who was ambushed at Vauxhall, if you’ll recall. You’ve barely sullied your fine hands.”

Evie! Surely this is the same man I saw in Vauxhall!

“I do not think you comprehend what I am doing. It’s betrayal.”

“Your problem, not mine. I’m not breaking any oaths.”

“Well, you aren’t a hunter, are you? I am.”

An irritated sigh followed. “Are you going to help me remove Winterson or not?”

“Shhh. Are you mad, saying that out loud?”

“I grow weary of your excuses and hand-wringing.”

“And I of your neck-or-nothing arrogance.”

His voice lowered even more until I had to lean out so far I nearly fell at their feet. “Another incentive not to procrastinate further, wouldn’t you say?”

It took me a moment to realize they’d walked away entirely. I stood in the hallway but I couldn’t hear footsteps or smell a trace of cologne or cigar smoke. I had no way to follow them. It was as if they’d vanished entirely. I went back downstairs because I didn’t know what else to do. People must have thought me mad, I stared so hard at every gentleman I passed. Justin accused me of squinting like a pirate.

I was just inside the doors and could see no one looking nervous or secretive. I sighed, disgruntled.

“Miss Wild, might I have the pleasure of this waltz?”

Dante Cowan, Lord Thornwood and the Earl of Dunrowan’s son, had come up behind me, and was standing so close that I could feel the length of his body nearly touching mine. He was so close that when I jumped and whirled, I elbowed him in the stomach. I didn’t mean to, but he startled me! And the ballroom was devilishly crowded.

Did I mention how handsome he is? I barely remember him from before he went on his Grand Tour but now that he’s returned from the Continent, there is an air about him, something mysterious and dark in his gray eyes. He has away of smiling that makes you wonder what he is actually smiling about.

“I say!” Justin raised his monocle. Did you know he’s taken to carrying one around and wearing pink-striped waistcoats? He fancies himself a dandy now. “Have you been properly introduced?”

“Yes.” I out-and-out lied and I’m not sorry for it. I also crushed Justin’s foot under the sole of my dancing slipper.

Dante smiled his crooked smile at me and held out his arm to lead me to the dance floor.

“Not here.” I tugged him behind a portly couple and into a far corner. “I don’t technically have permission to dance the waltz yet.”

“I shan’t give you away.” His hand went to my waist and he drew me close.

I can understand, now, why the old dowagers make such a fuss over the waltz. It’s not that they fear we’ll get dizzy from the whirling and fall down in a heap of petticoats. It’s that it affords an opportunity to get so close to a charming young man that one can see the way his hair curls over his ears, the exact shape of his cheekbones, the feel of his shoulder under one’s hand.

And when that man is Dante Cowan, there is danger indeed.

I don’t want to be like the other debutantes, obviously fawning over him and simpering when he walks by, but he makes me feel … kaleidoscopic. Does that even make sense? I don’t remember if we spoke much because he maneuvered us out the French doors and onto the deserted balcony. He drew me even closer until a breeze could not have passed between our bodies. It was exceedingly shocking of him, of course. And, of course, I let him. He didn’t take liberties, only kept whirling us until I was laughing and breathless and dizzy.

“You’ve spilled wine on your gown,” he said softly.

I glanced down at the stain near my knee. I’d forgotten all about it. He must have exceedingly good eyesight to have noticed it. “It will wash out.” I shrugged.

“Most girls would be swooning or running weeping for the nearest ladies’ maid.”

“I am not like most girls,” I declared.

“No, I should say not.”

I wanted to ask him if he meant that as a compliment but I was half-afraid of the answer. And I know, I know, I should have been concentrating on the fact that someone was plotting to kill the leader of the Helios-Ra society. I like to think I am talented enough to worry and waltz at the same time.

“There is a maid upstairs if you’d like her to wash the spot out.” He seemed very serious all of a sudden, his eyes flaring.

“The maid is downstairs, actually, and the stain has already set. It’s of no matter.”

The song ended too soon and he bowed over my hand as I curtsied. I know this is going to sound strange, Evie, but I could swear he leaned forward and sniffed me. And his face went hard, his jaw clenched. It was very brief but I saw it.

But I’m convinced that’s just the hunter training talking. Right?

Botheration. Might Eleanor actually be right about something? Have I forgotten how to be a normal girl?

Worriedly yours,

Rosalind

Dearest Evangeline,

I am so cross I can barely calm myself enough to write this.

You would think that after the training we have endured and, I might add, excelled at, a small measure of trust might be expected. Even the barest trace of confidence in our common sense and intelligence, if nothing else.

I regret to say, that is not so.

I suppose you know this already, with your mother inventing all manner of country pursuits to keep you from London and the hunters. And I can understand that, I really can. She is your mother, and, of course, she will worry. The fact that she worries equally for all your brothers speaks well for her character, I believe.

But this is different. My father ought to know better. It is devilishly unfair. I spent a long sleepless night trying to determine the best course of action regarding the whispered conversation I overhead at the Wintersons’ ball. I do not take it lightly, nor our duty to the League, and I expect the same consideration. Murder is bad enough, but the traitorous murder of the leader of the Helios-Ra by a fellow initiate is abhorrent. It behooves us all to be on our guard, to take our oaths seriously. To take one another seriously.

You see where this is going, I am sure.

By the time the sun rose I was convinced that I must tell my father everything. It is one thing to seek out vampires in Vauxhall Gardens or take one on in a dark alley after the opera, but it is another thing entirely to unravel a conspiracy in a society that barely recognizes you (though I mean to turn that to my advantage shortly. More on that later, I assure you). I am not so reckless that I think I must do everything myself.

I found my father at the table, eating coddled eggs and toast and reading the newspaper, freshly ironed and smelling like scorched ink and paper. He glanced up to smile at me before going back to his reading. “Morning, poppet.”