“They’ll be safe enough, and near enough, for the few minutes we need, Miss Marchant,” Valentine assured her. He reached out and touched one of the errant ringlets hugging her nape, and a shiver ran down her neck, skipped across her shoulder, as if anticipating his further touch. “Almost alive, isn’t it, winding itself around my finger. I should like to see it all down.”
A lesser man would have burst into flame as she glared at him in her most stern governess manner. “Then it can only be hoped your grandmother also taught you how to deal well with disappointment.”
“Sadly, her one failing. Yes, well, down to business, I suppose,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning one hip against a potting table. “Now, who are you?”
“Who are you?” she countered, taking a precautionary step backward. “I already told you who I am, although I’m still at a loss to know why I did anything so foolish.”
“And your name is Daisy,” he said, shaking his head. “Really, Miss Marchant? That’s all you could come up with?”
All right, now she reversed direction, and took a step forward. “And what’s so terrible about Daisy?”
He shrugged. “For one, as I’ve already mentioned, my—”
“Your sister’s mare is named Daisy. Yes, I remember. How very droll. Nevertheless, that is my name, and I’m fine with it, thank you very much. How is it for you, lugging about a silly romantic burden like Valentine?”
He touched a hand to his forehead in a rather negligent salute. “I suppose we’re even now. Very good, Miss Marchant. Now tell me why you’re here.”
She decided to be deliberately obtuse. “Because you demanded we meet, and I agreed, figuring you for a madman who must be treated with some care.” And because I’m afraid you’re going to tell me something I already suspect, and much as I don’t want to hear it, I probably need to hear it before I’m forced to finally believe it.
“Again, I salute your attempts at wit. But much as I’m enjoying our sparring session, I don’t believe we have time to indulge ourselves much longer, so I’ll keep this brief. I want you gone from this estate, now, and you can tell whomever it is who sent you that only the luck of having a shortsighted idiot as your quarry has stood between you and a rather messy end. Oh, please add that the Honorable Mr. Valentine Redgrave sends his regards, and if he is ever so fortunate as to discover your employer’s name, the man can expect a visit from him. One he won’t care for, tell him. Sending a female here. Madness.”
“Because...?” Daisy asked, hoping if she pretended to go along with his nonsense he’d at last say something that made sense about why he was here. Right now, all he was succeeding in doing was alternately frightening and confounding her.
“You know damn well because, and I’ll be damned if I’ll be put to the blush explaining the obvious. We warned them, but clearly they only half believed us, otherwise they wouldn’t have put a woman within ten miles of this place. They told you something, as you’ve already disguised yourself, not that any but a fool would be deceived, so you’d have to at least be able to guess at what could happen to you if—”
He stopped, blinked and whispered something under his breath. From the look on his face, she was glad she couldn’t hear what he said.
Her heart was pounding now, whether in dread or confirmation of her worst fears, she couldn’t be sure. One thing was certain, she couldn’t allow him to stop now. “Yes? What could happen to me if—?”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe those idiots didn’t warn you.”
This conversation was going nowhere, and she was finished being his audience. Clearly he was convinced she was someone she was not. She would give him one more chance to untwist his tongue, but only because she didn’t seem to have a choice.
Daisy jammed her fists against her hips. “That’s because there are no id— There is no they. There’s no he or him, either. Can’t you please endeavor to get that through your thick skull? I’m here because I’m employed here. I’m a governess, and I dress as I dress because a governess does not seek out the attentions of husbands and sons or the wrath of wives and mothers, not if she wishes warm food in her belly and a dry roof over her head for more than a fortnight. Please let me know when you want to stop speaking in circles, and perhaps we can meet again. Otherwise, this conversation is over, Mr. Redgrave. And if you have not only lately escaped a strait-waistcoat and a cell in Bedlam, then I suggest you consider being measured for both.”
“All right, we’ll play it your way, mostly because I’m beginning to believe I’ve made a horrible mistake, God help me. You’re nothing more than a vicar’s innocent orphaned daughter, making her way in the world as best she can. Not here to spy on his lordship, not here to spy, God forbid, on any of us Redgraves who might have shown up. Whatever’s true, whatever I’m beginning to believe, you’d better believe this. Gloves off, Miss Marchant—you’ve fallen into a den of monsters that gather here monthly to play their terrible games. A hellfire club, Miss Marchant, if you’ve ever heard the term. Devil horns, hideous costumes, sacrificial altars, the entire gambit of debauchery. They rape women like you for sport, pass them about among them—and that may be the least of it. You have to leave. Now.”
This was worse than she’d thought, worse than anything she could have ever imagined. Daisy staggered where she stood, nearly lost her balance. “What?” She couldn’t locate the strength to speak above a strangled whisper. “What did you just say to me?”
“At last, your full attention. You heard me. Take women, use them, perhaps then kill in their excitement or simply to cover their crimes, something I’ve just recently begun to suspect of the imbecilic but dangerous Lord Mailer. They, whoever they are over and above Mailer, consider it their right to use and abuse women in pursuit of their own pleasures, among other things. If that isn’t enough to convince you, take a good long look at your mistress. She lives in terror, doesn’t she? How long have you been here?”
“Still, if one has to, at least he’s...”
At least he’s clean. Daisy heard Lady Caroline’s words whispered again in her ear.
She wanted to scream, to run. But she had to stand her ground, hear the rest of it. She had to know, truly, why Valentine Redgrave had come here. Was he really here in the role of rescuing prince? No, of course not. He was here on some sort of mission of his own, not on orders from the Crown. He certainly hadn’t come here to help her.
“How...how long have I been here? You asked that, didn’t you? A few—” Daisy had to pause, attempt to catch her breath, for she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. Rose. Ah, God...Rose. Maybe I’m finally getting closer. “Near...nearly three months.”
“Then at least two full moons. Good. Since you’re not deaf and blind, Miss Marchant, you must have seen something during that time, must suspect something odd going on. Think a moment.”
He knew about the full moon? How could he know that? It was only by keeping her diary that she had eventually realized how different things were at Fernwood leading up to the first night of the full moon. Just as they were now, with another full moon in the offing. Six months ago, Rose had left London, just before a full moon.
“I don’t know what you mean by that. I haven’t— Oh, all right, all right. Don’t look at me that way. Yes. Yes, I’ve noticed things. People. Mostly gentlemen, but some of their wives, as well. They stay for a week or less. Coming and going at strange hours while they’re here, sometimes gone all night. But what you’re saying is so utterly preposterous that I—”