The Privilege of the Sword (51 page)

T
HE
B
LACK
R
OSE COUNTED ON HER FINGERS, AND DID
not like the results. The thing was possible, and it certainly explained a lot. She could play Ruthven to the hilt, now, understanding what it was to feel sudden changes in one’s body—transformation unwelcome, undesired, imposed from outside her by another person…. But could she get through the rest of the Season before she started to show? Could she keep awake? Could she remember her lines? Her breasts felt huge, now that she knew; they were like someone else’s, darker and bigger than her own.
What is this heaviness about my chest,
indeed?

The Rose composed herself for her morning meeting with Highcombe’s mysterious resident. She was a professional, after all, and Tremontaine was paying her well just to read a letter to some person here, an aged relative, perhaps, and to answer any questions he might have. Whatever her own situation, she could execute this not particularly demanding role with grace, dignity and ease.

When Richard St Vier walked into the room, she let out something between a squawk and a full-blown shriek.

He was unarmed, but she saw him start to make a move to defend himself, and then to realize, and stop, and smile. “He didn’t tell you,” he said.

“No.” Her hands were shaking. She fumbled in her bodice. “Oh, god—I have a letter—I had no idea—”

“Sit down,” he said. “It’s all right. He’s just being cautious, or theatrical, or something.”

Rose grimaced. “Well, why not?”

“Or maybe he’s annoyed with you.”

“He is, a little.” Rose sank into the chair by the window, looking up at the swordsman anxiously. “But he told me he trusted my absolute discretion.” She laughed shakily. “He must be desperate.”

“Do you think he is?” Richard St Vier asked her.

“Annoyed, or desperate?” She tried to recapture her usual lightness. She was not a Riverside tavern girl anymore. She was the Black Rose, the toast of the city, the honor of the stage.

“They go together sometimes,” St Vier said; “especially with him.” He pulled up a chair. He sat so close that when he breathed deeply, his knee ruffled her skirts. “What does he want?”

She thought of the Mad Duke’s plots, his vices and excesses, his quiet rages and his enemies. “You,” she said.

“Ah,” St Vier said. “What’s in the letter?”

That morning, with defiant panache, she had folded it carefully so that it nestled in the cleft of her bosom, planning to whip it out with two fingers and present it to the mysterious resident. If she hadn’t squawked before with so much force, it might not have slipped down that little extra way, causing her to have to fish for it with those same two fingers while her other hand kept her stays in place.

“You don’t even know who I am,” she said.

“Nor do I. You didn’t introduce yourself, and I don’t like to pry.”

That sobered her up. “I’m an actress. I’m Rose.” It reminded her, too, that even the neatest stage business sometimes misfired and costumes misbehaved, and then all it took was a quick hoist and a tug to bring the letter out into the light.

Rose broke the seal, and then she stopped. Shouldn’t she just hand it to him? “I’m sorry,” she explained; “he said to read it to you.”

“Yes, please do.”

She looked down at the page. “It’s short,” she said. “One line:
Will you come for Katherine, if not for me?
”

She cleared her throat. “That’s all.”

“That’s discreet,” St Vier said. He did not ask her anything else.

“Katherine’s a nice girl,” she said.

“Yes. I know.” He stood very still in the middle of the room.

“He’s made a lot of enemies. He doesn’t mind it, but they do. I don’t think he’d ask if—if it weren’t…” Shut up, Rose, she thought.

He looked out the window for a while, and then he looked at her.

“Yes,” he said. “I will go. He didn’t say how soon?”

“He didn’t say anything. But I would make it soon.”

“I can be ready in a day or two.”

“All right.” Weariness washed over her, and the kind of sadness she had spent her life trying to keep at bay. She stood up. “Do you mind if I go lie down?” she asked. “The journey was very tiring.”

She wanted to make a good exit, but her balance seemed to have deserted her. She staggered against Richard St Vier, and for the first time in her life she felt the swordsman’s hand close around her, warm and firm on her elbow, holding her up. “Are you all right?” he asked. And she thought,
No, I’m not all right. I’m stuffed with your sweet Alec’s child!

She said, “I’m fine. Just tired, is all.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, and she thought somehow he knew, he knew with his supernaturally clever body that had kept him alive through so many fights, through his years in the streets and taverns, somehow it saw her and recognized her distress, her condition, and he knew—but then he went on, “Will you wait and ride back with me? or are you in a hurry to go home?”

Rose closed her eyes. “I don’t know. I need to think about things. It’s been a difficult season. I might stay here awhile; the rest would do me good. After that…we’ll see. Life in the theatre is so unpredictable.”

chapter
VII

S
ERIOUS SWORD-PRACTICE MADE ME FORGET TO
think in words, so that I didn’t always understand when people spoke to me. I had been at it for some time, drilling first to a rhythm, and then tricking myself with changes, when Marcus came in and said something.

I shook sweat out of my eyes. “What?”

“I’ve got some time free. It’s nearly dark, you’ll have to stop soon anyway.”

“Yes, all right.” I stretched out around the room, carefully polished the sword and put it away.

“Good, Katie. Now that I have your attention, I thought I’d invite you out for a night on the town. What do you think?”

I’d just begun to get my breath back from practice, but now my heart started beating hard again. Something about his jaunty nonchalance, just a little too studied…He was up to something, and he was mighty pleased with himself. “A night out in Riverside?” I did my best to match his tone. “How naughty. How daring. Why not? What’s up?”

Marcus negligently kicked the stand so that all the swords rattled back in place. “I’m taking you to Glinley’s.”

That undid me; I barely managed not to squeak. I had to call on the duke for backup: “Oh, re-eally?” I said, in my best Tremontaine.

“Not just the two of us, of course. Your uncle would never permit it.” The look on my face must have been enough. Marcus dropped the pose and grinned at me. “It’s Perry. He’s here right now, and I happen to know he’s working tonight. Want to follow him?”

This was ground I knew; stalking Perry was just something we did. “Why not?” I said, but this time I meant it.

I toweled off in my room and changed into a clean shirt with dark clothes and soft boots, and buckled on a sword; it was, after all, night in Riverside. No one was in the kitchen; we helped ourselves to bread and cheese and our favorite ginger beer, and then went out the side kitchen door to wait for Lucius Perry.

He wasn’t long in coming. He wore his old-fashioned hooded cloak, with the hood pulled over his head, and he moved quickly. It was a good time of day to be following someone. Although the sky was still pearly in patches between the roofs, down in the street it was dark. I pretended I was a moving shadow, and Marcus, breathing softly next to me, was another. Only Perry was real, as he passed by other shadows, shadows of women heading for clients, shadows of musicians heading for jobs, shadows of thieves heading for houses, shadows of cats heading for food. We were almost to the Bridge when Perry turned down a side street and stopped in front of a large and rambly house with a deep-roofed portico.

“So,” I said softly, “that’s Glinley’s.”

“That’s Glinley’s.” Marcus was smug, as if he’d pulled it out of the air for me.

Like our house, Glinley’s had once been many small town houses, now knit together into one. Lucius Perry hesitated at the front door and then turned round the side as people came out to set torches in the holders in front.

We drew back further into the shadows. “Now what?” I asked.

“He takes off his clothes and wallows in depravity, what do you think?”

“No, I mean—now what do we do? Shouldn’t we follow him?”

I heard Marcus’s clothes rustle as he pulled back sharply. “In
there
? You can’t go in there!”

“Why not?” Even at Teresa Grey’s we had tried to climb the wall.

“Because—because you’re a lady!”

I stared at where I knew he was in the darkness. “Marcus,” I said. “That is completely idiotic. The duke has just spent half a year making sure I’m not a lady.”

“Katie—”

“I’m not going to
do
anything, Marcus, I just want to see what it looks like inside.” I could sense his whole body taut with resistance. “Marcus, have you been in there already without me?”

“No, I haven’t. But I know what goes on in places like that.”

“Well, so do I. It’s just like the duke and all his friends, isn’t it?” He was being so protective, it made me want to do something rash just to show him. But I wasn’t going in there alone. “You’ve said it yourself: it’s just full of people copulating. It can’t be any worse than home. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just, you won’t like it.”

“If I don’t like it, or you don’t like it, we’ll leave.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I only want to see, that’s all. Like Teresa Grey’s: we’ll just look, we won’t do anything.”

“Good,” he said, “because it costs money, and we don’t have enough. You’re right. It is just a house. A house, and some people doing what people do everywhere. Nothing to worry about. Let’s go.”

I followed him as he strode across the street into the circle of light and under the dark porch of Glinley’s front door. “Now what?” I whispered. “Do we just knock, or what?”

“There’s a bell.” Marcus turned the plain brass door-pull. After a moment that was just long enough to belie the fact that people were always waiting for it to ring, the door opened. Light from inside nearly blinded us. A stocky, muscular man stood there, plainly dressed, quietly armed. I felt his eyes flicking up and down, sizing up our clothes and our purses.

“Well, hello there,” he said to Marcus. “Fancy seeing you here after all this time. What’s your pleasure, then?”

Marcus drew himself up. “We’re here to see Mistress Glinley,” he said haughtily.

That worked. What we were going to tell her, I had no idea, but the man drew back and bowed, and let us in.

The halls were dark and shadowy, well suited to a house of vice. I’m sure brothels uptown are better lit. It was all part of what the duke liked to call the Riverside Flair. We followed the man to a small room hung in red, with a fainting couch prominently placed next to a little round table. He lit the candles. There was a decanter of wine and two glasses on the table. Marcus stood there watching while the man filled both glasses of wine for us. Where did he know Marcus from? Maybe the man had worked for the duke once.

“I’m sure you and your…friend will be comfortable here,” the man told him, glancing at the couch. I wondered how many women with swords he saw each week. He looked back again at Marcus, and his face shifted in a sly way. He said, “Very comfortable for you, sir. Tremontaine business, is it, sir?”

Marcus turned his back, and took a glass of wine. “I thought,” he said, “you were paid not to ask questions here.”

“Oh, no, sir, of course, sir.” The man bowed his way out of the room, leaving us in sole possession of couch, candles and wine.

“Well, I’m impressed.” I plumped myself down, testing the couch. It appeared to be stuffed with goose down. “That was quick thinking, Marcus. You’ve got him on the run, cheeky villain. I don’t know what we’ll tell Mistress Glinley, but we’ll think of something, won’t we?”

“She’ll think we’re from the duke.” Marcus drank. “I hope she doesn’t tell him, that’s all.”

“What do you think this room is used for?” I bounced a few times, keeping my sword nicely out of the way. “Do you think people come here in pairs, or do they send someone in? Would we both fit on this couch?”

“Quit that.” He held me still with both hands on my shoulders. “You’re not five years old.”

“I’ll bounce if I want to. That’s what it’s there for.”

He stood looking down at me, his two hands on my shoulders. “You know, Lady Katherine, if you screamed in here, no one would care.”

“I know.” I stopped bouncing and looked up into his eyes. “I could say the same to you.”

“They’d just think we were having fun.”

His eyes were dark, the pupils large in the candlelight. “Well, that’s what it’s here for, isn’t it?” I said.

“Of course.”

“Do you want to try anything, then?”

“Yes,” he said, so suddenly I had only just heard him when his mouth was down on mine. It was hard and warm and exotic and very, very nice. I kept my arms at my sides. His fingers were still; everything was happening with our mouths, which changed shapes and textures to accommodate all sorts of feelings. My eyes were closed. I felt the velvet under my hand, and I wanted to sink down into it while his mouth and mine explored.