Goblin Moon (31 page)

The two men sat down, unwrapped their suppers, and
prepared to eat. But their previous conversation, along with his
concern for Uncle Caleb, put Jed in mind of another source of
worry. He cleared his throat. “I would be obliged, Mr. Budge—that
is, if you wouldn’t consider it a violation of confidence—if you
would tell me something about your friend Lord Skelbrooke.”

The tutor paused in the act of pouring the wine into
a willow pattern cup. “What do you wish to know?”

Jed felt himself blushing. “I know that it isn’t the
custom, among gentlemen of good breeding, to—to freely discuss the
respectable
young women they happen to
know. But Lord Skelbrooke being an old friend of yours, well, I
suppose he speaks a little more openly, and that you’ve a fair idea
what goes on in his mind.”

Mr. Budge put down the wine bottle. “There is, I
believe, a degree of confidence between us.”

“Well then,” said Jed, all in a rush. “That day that
I first met him, I took it into my head that he had maybe formed an
attachment to my very good friend—my all but sister—Miss Sera
Vorder.”

Mr. Budge nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I remember the
conversation. The more so, because it struck me as
uncharacteristic. I would not have you misunderstand me: Lord
Skelbrooke is all that is gentle and courteous in the company of
ladies, and I believe they consider him the most gallant of men.
But in private, he has expressed himself on the theme of romance in
such shocking terms, I would not offend you by repeating them. And
indeed, if you knew what I know of his history, you would not be
surprised to find him something of a misogynist.”

Mr. Budge lifted his cup and took a sip of wine. He
sat back in his chair and frowned at the ceiling. It seemed as
though Jed’s statement had troubled him deeply. “Since the lady is
a friend of yours (almost a sister, you say), I take it that you
wish to know if Skelbrooke’s interest in her is a wholesome one. I
wish that I could say that it was, but I really do not know.”

Jed’s fork dropped on the table with a clatter. He
pushed his plate away. Suddenly, he had no appetite at all. “He
don’t speak of her when you’re together?” he ventured.

“Only on that one occasion, when you also were
present,” said Budge. “I confess that it has been many years since
I last heard my poor Francis speak so warmly of any woman. And it
is evident that he admires and respects the young lady—which is a
remarkable thing in itself. But if he has actually formed an
attachment, I am not absolutely certain that would be an altogether
fortunate thing for your Miss Vorder. He is generally capable of
achieving any thing that he wants, and if he set out to win her
regard . . .

Jed sprang to his feet, images of rape and abduction
crowding into his mind. “Here now, you don’t mean to tell me that
this friend of yours is a rogue? One of those arrogant noblemen who
takes a fancy to a girl and thinks nothing of ruining her?”

“No, no, nothing of the kind,” said Budge. “Heaven
forbid that I, who have known him so long and so well, should imply
anything of the sort. I believe his essential generosity, his sense
of fair play, would prevent him from victimizing any woman in that
way. Yet he is undoubtedly a dangerous man, and capable of terrible
deeds when the mood is on him. But as to the peril to your Miss
Vorder; I believe that would principally pertain to her peace of
mind. He would never harm her, not physically, I am very certain of
that.”

The tutor shook his head sadly. “But to love a man so
troubled as Francis Skelbrooke, that would be a heavy burden for
any woman to carry.”

Jed scowled ferociously. “Sounds like you’re talking
about two different men.”

“Two men . . . a dozen men . . . I have known him to
play many different roles, yet in each of them I still see
something of my old friend,” said Budge, picking up his knife and
fork.

Jed resumed his seat, slumped down in his chair. “And
I’ve been encouraging her to see him. Using him to carry notes back
and forth. D—n and blister me for a short-sighted fool! He was so
soft-spoken and polite, I thought he was perfectly safe.”

Mr. Budge skewered a piece of potato with his fork.
“You have been employing
Lord Skelbrooke
as a go-between?”

Jed nodded glumly. “Twice he carried messages from me
to her, and once from her to me. I suppose he thought it a fine way
to gain her confidence. But what do I do now? Send her a letter,
warning her to stay clear of him? That doesn’t seem right, somehow,
if he’s the messenger, and I guess he might open it, anyway.”

The tutor took another sip of wine. “He is capable,
under certain circumstances, of not only opening a letter entrusted
to his keeping but of altering the contents as well. I doubt,
however, that he would be moved to open any letter written by you.
Among honorable people, he is himself the soul of honor. By all
means, warn the lady, if you believe she will heed your
advice.”

Jed drummed his fingers on the table. “Well there, I
reckon, you’ve put your finger on it. She never takes advice, not
Sera—not my advice, anyway. Or so seldom, it doesn’t hardly matter.
More likely, if I warned her against him, she’d fall in love with
the fellow out of sheer perversity. I guess I won’t write again at
all.”

“No,” said Mr. Budge. “You ought not to send her any
more letters by way of Francis Skelbrooke. You must not do anything
more to encourage their friendship.”

Chapter
25

Which promises to be Brief.

The day was hot, sticky, and oppressive, with a taste
of thunder in the air. Throughout the town, along the dirty
meandering lanes and alleys down by the river, along the wide,
well-paved streets where the wealthy lived in mansions on the
heights, the people of Thornburg cast open their doors and window
casements, in the hope of attracting any vagrant breeze, any breath
of cooler air rising up from the water.

Sera left the Vorder mansion at noon and set off on
foot to visit her grandfather at the bookshop. Despite the dark
clouds piling up on the horizon, the sky overhead was a clear
eggshell blue. Surely, she told herself, she had ample time to walk
to the bookshop, have a good long visit with her grandfather, and
walk home again before the storm struck.

But when she arrived at the shop, her grandfather and
Caleb Braun both looked so old, dusty, and frail, the little suite
of rooms up in the attic was so cluttered and disorganized Sera
spent the entire afternoon cooking, cleaning, and mending, fussing
over the two elderly men. It was little wonder that she overstayed
her time. She was just putting on her hat and her gloves when she
heard the first scattered drops of rain hitting the roof.

“I shall send Caleb to hire you a chair,” said
Jenk.

“You must do nothing of the kind,” said Sera
adamantly. She knew there were no sedan chairs to be hailed in
this
part of the town and that Caleb would
have to walk a long way in the rain before he spotted one. She was
of no mind to send the old man out into the wet simply because she
had lacked the foresight to hire a chair in advance.

“Only lend me an umbrella, Grandfather, and I shall
set out at once. If I walk swiftly, I can reach the Cathedral very
quickly, and there I should have no difficulty hailing a
chair.”

Jenk protested, but Sera was adamant. In the end, he
did as she requested, and lent her his rusty black umbrella. Sera
dropped a kiss on his forehead, picked up her reticule, and ran
downstairs. Out on the street, she unfurled the umbrella and set
out at a brisk pace.

She did very well at first. The rain was light and
seemed to evaporate the moment it hit the steaming cobblestones.
But then it began to pour, and the streets became slick and
dangerous. Nevertheless, she continued on hopefully for another
half a mile until she reached Church Street. There, she stopped and
looked around hopelessly.

The street was all but deserted, save for a few
improvident foot travelers like herself; there was not a sedan
chair or a goat cart in sight. A gust of wind spattered the
bottle-green gown with rain, and she knew that the big black
umbrella would offer scant protection if the wind continued to
rise.

“Miss Vorder, your servant,” said a soft, familiar
voice. Sera tipped up the umbrella to see who had addressed her. A
slight figure in a voluminous coat with many capes and a hat with a
wide piratical brim peered back at her.

“Pray do not take offense,” said Francis Skelbrooke,
“if I tell you that you seem to be getting very wet. Please allow
me to procure for you some suitable conveyance.

Sera scowled at him. “If there were any suitable
conveyance to be had between here and the river, be sure, my lord,
that I should have hailed it myself!”

Lord Skelbrooke made her a very pretty bow (though he
did not, Sera noticed, imperil his exquisite powdered curls by
removing his hat). “But of course . . . how dull of me to imagine
otherwise. Allow me, then, to escort you to a place of shelter. It
happens that I know a house not far from here . . .”

And before Sera could either consent or refuse, he
had taken her by the arm and was leading her, gently but firmly,
around a corner, down a broad street, and through the narrow door
of a little shop with a blue slate roof.

The interior of this shop was crowded with tables and
chairs and men of all ages: talking, smoking long pipes, or sipping
a steaming brown liquid out of brittle white cups. There were only
two women present so far as Sera could see: an overdressed young
beauty surrounded by a circle of admiring youths, and an elderly
dwarf sharing a plate of sugared biscuits with a small boy.

Sera hesitated by the door. “This is a respectable
house,” said Lord Skelbrooke, with a reassuring smile, “and it is
entirely proper for you to come here with me.”

Sera bit her lip. Was there something just the least
bit patronizing in his tone? Contempt for her obvious lack of
sophistication? She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, and
followed him through the maze of tables and chairs.

A rotund gnome woman in a clean white apron came to
meet them, her claws clicking on the planks of the floor.

“I wonder,” said Lord Skelbrooke, “if we might have a
room upstairs?”

Sera opened her mouth to protest. “Trust me, Miss
Vorder,” said Skelbrooke. The brim of his flamboyant hat shaded his
face, so that it was impossible to guess his expression, but there
was an unaccustomed edge to his voice. “If the day ever comes that
I attempt a seduction, I shall not conduct the affair in a
Chocolate House.” Sera blushed, closed her mouth, and meekly
followed him up the stairs and down a short corridor.

The gnome ushered them into a cozy room at the end of
the hall. This room, Sera saw, was built like a box at the theatre,
open on one side to the floor below, offering the illusion of
privacy but no real concealment. The walls were paneled in dark
oak, and there was a round window made of wavy panes of glass
overlooking the rainy street. An oil lamp fashioned in the shape of
a spouting whale hung by a brass chain. There were two chairs and a
table covered with a flowered cloth. Lord Skelbrooke ordered a pot
of chocolate and a plate of gingerbread, and the gnome
withdrew.

Offering Sera a chair facing the round window, he
hung his oversized hat on a peg by the door, and removed his
dashing caped overcoat. In apricot velvet and cream lace he looked
more like the man she knew; small, neat, and delicately scented.
Why had he seemed so threatening, only a moment before?

“You are very kind,” said Sera, as he took a seat on
the other side of the table. She folded her hands primly in her
lap. “But the storm will only grow worse, and if I do not return
home by nightfall my cousins will be dreadfully upset.”

“The storm is likely to continue for some time,”
agreed Skelbrooke. “But once you have had the opportunity to dry
off and to drink a cup of chocolate I shall send a boy to hire you
a chair.

“You have nothing to fear,” he added, with a smile.
“I am aware that you never accept invitations to ride or to
dine—that you do not allow gentlemen to escort you to the play or
to the museum. Though you make an exception in the present
instance, it is not a circumstance which I am likely to allow to go
to my head.”

This speech, far from offering reassurance, only
served to disturb Sera. How had he learned so much about her? “Lord
Skelbrooke,” she said with a frown. “Lord Skelbrooke, is it the
custom among the gentlemen of Thornburg—Mr. Hakluyt and Lord Krogan
in particular—to discuss my habits.”

“Not when I am present. They are not so foolish as
that,” said Skelbrooke, and continued to smile so amiably that she
did not immediately take his meaning.

Then she blushed and looked away. “I see,” she said
in a stifled voice. “Then I believe that I ought to thank you.”

“Why is that, Miss Vorder?” he asked politely.

“For—for defending my good name, as I suppose,” she
said, and forced herself to meet his eyes.

The smile faded from his face, and he leaned forward
in his chair, suddenly very serious. “Your name and your honor
require no defense. It is merely a matter of personal distaste, an
aversion on my part to hearing your name mentioned by those
unworthy to speak it.”

The room was quiet, save for the drumming of rain on
the window and her own irregular breathing. Lord Skelbrooke sat
back in his seat; he crossed one leg over the other and tipped back
his chair. “Mr. Hakluyt and Lord Krogan—I thank you for bringing
their names to my attention.”

The rosy-cheeked little gnome woman came in then,
bearing a pot of steaming chocolate, two cups, and a dish of ginger
cakes. By the time the gnome departed Sera had not only composed
herself but had remembered what she carried in her reticule. She
unfastened the drawstrings, drew out a tiny glass vial, and placed
it on the table between them.