Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (17 page)

... Because the alternative, she told herself, was worse.

Chapter Fourteen

I
f she had met Raechel openly, Gwen told herself for what felt like the umpteenth time, she would have liked the girl. She was funny, daring and braver than Gwen would have been, without her magic. But as Raechel’s servant, the whole experience was quite nightmarish, threatening social disaster on more than one occasion. Raechel disliked having a nursemaid and it showed. Given half a chance, the girl would slip out of sight and try to leave the house before Gwen could catch up with her. By the time they were finally ready to depart, Gwen was seriously considering just calling a Charmer from Cavendish Hall and having him Charm Raechel into behaving as a young girl should.

But you were never very well behaved either
, her thoughts mocked her, as she packed the bags for the trip to Russia. Raechel didn’t seem to have a very realistic idea of what the weather would be like in the far northern country; she’d packed several dresses that offered very little protection against the cold. Gwen was relieved that she’d managed to check the bags herself before it was time to go. Raechel offering to pack them for herself had tipped her off that something was very wrong.

“You don’t need to pack those dresses,” Raechel objected. “They’re dreadfully unfashionable.”

“They’re also thick enough to provide some protection, My Lady,” Gwen pointed out, feeling her temper fraying. “The weather in Russia is cold, colder than anywhere in Britain. You will freeze to death if you try to wear a summer dress in Russia.”

Raechel snorted. “As if anyone would care!”

Gwen bit her lip to keep the rejoinder from coming out of her mouth. If Lady Standish didn’t care about her niece, at least on some level, Raechel would have been married off by now or sent to one of the finishing schools that specialised in turning intelligent young girls into brainless young women with heads full of silly nonsense. Lady Mary had threatened Gwen with one of them, often enough, although she’d never gone through with it. She’d had some problems, Gwen suspected, finding a school that would be willing to take her. Only Cavendish Hall had been interested in recruiting magicians ... and even they had hesitated to take a girl into their employ. If Gwen hadn’t been a Master ...

“You also need a thick coat,” Gwen continued, pushing her thoughts aside. “Your Aunt has ordered the latest and most suitable fur coats suitable for Russia.”

“Also dreadfully unfashionable,” Raechel said. She picked up one of the coats and sneered down at it. “You think I can wear this to a ball?”

“I think you will have to wear it in the streets,” Gwen said. “Unless, of course, you just want to wait at the Embassy while your Aunt and Uncle go to the Winter Palace.”

“That’s what they’ll want me to do,” Raechel said. She brightened, suddenly. “But there are a great many bright young men serving in our embassies.”

Gwen groaned, inwardly. She could chase after Raechel in London and try to keep her from making a fool of herself – or her Aunt and Uncle – but in Russia she would be required to actually carry out her mission. And, despite herself, she was actually starting to like the girl, even though she was hellishly annoying. It didn’t seem right to leave her running around on her own while Gwen did her work. Raechel was far too likely to get into trouble.

“I suppose there are,” she agreed. David had spent time in an embassy, after all. “But most of them will have few prospects ...”

Raechel snorted. “Who cares about prospects?”

Gwen sighed and finished packing the bags, then stepped back to survey her work. Unlike most aristocratic women when they went travelling, Raechel only had a couple of large bags, both crammed with dresses, fashionable make-up and a handful of other items she probably couldn’t get in Russia. Lady Standish, on the other hand, seemed to have packed her entire supply of clothes into a dozen large suitcases, most of which wouldn’t be opened while she was in Russia. Gwen had rolled her eyes when she’d seen Janet packing the clothes, wondering if the maids were allowed a suitcase of their own. It turned out that she and Janet were expected to share a single bag between them.

Good thing I don’t carry the tools of the trade around with me
, Gwen thought, with droll amusement.
What would Janet make of it if I placed a gun in the bag
?

There was a sharp tapping on the door. Gwen hastily checked to make sure that they were both decent, then opened the door to reveal Romulus. The butler bowed politely to Raechel, then picked up both of the suitcases and carried them out of the door and down the stairs to where the small fleet of carriages were waiting. Gwen shook her head, impressed – despite herself – at the butler’s strength. She’d seen soldiers who would have hesitated to pick up both suitcases at once.

“Well,” Raechel said. “Farewell London.”

Gwen said nothing as Raechel checked her appearance in the mirror – for once, she looked surprisingly decent, clad in a long red dress that matched her hair – and then led the way out of the room, descending the stairs as grandly as if she were being presented at Court. Gwen smiled at the thought, then followed her down to where Janet was waiting, their shared suitcase right next to her. Janet looked to be having problems carrying it, Gwen realised, which wasn’t too surprising. She picked the suitcase up, drawing on a little magic to make it easier, and carried it out towards the carriages. The servants were expected to ride in the very last one.

“A pity Cook isn’t coming,” Janet said, as she scrambled into the carriage. “She would make sure we were served proper food in Russia.”

Gwen had to smile. She didn’t really know what sort of food was eaten in Russia, but it was typical of Londoners to eye foreign food with suspicion. Even the influx of Turkish refugees hadn’t managed to change that too far, although the younger aristocrats were making a habit of patronising Turkish cafés as a way of showing their feelings for the Sultan, the man who’d given the Russians a black eye and a bloody nose. The fact that most of the refugees had fled the Sultan as he consolidated his rule seemed to have escaped them.

The door opened, revealing Raechel, who scrambled into the carriage before either of them could object. Gwen opened her mouth to say something, then dropped the thought as the coachman cracked the whip and the carriage shuddered into life. Raechel sat down next to her, folding her dress over her legs, then gave Gwen and Janet a brilliant smile.

“It was too stuffy in the carriage,” she said, by way of explanation. “Uncle only wanted to talk about money matters.”

Gwen didn’t – quite – roll her eyes. Inheriting Master Thomas’s considerable fortune had forced her to learn a great deal about managing money, one of the many useful skills that were rarely taught to young girls. If she’d married, as she would have if she hadn’t been born a magician, her husband would be expected to handle her money even if it was in her name. It had been hard to learn, even with a dedicated tutor, but there’d been no choice. If someone else had handled the money, she would have been at that person’s mercy.

“You are a rich young woman,” she said, quietly. She could understand why someone as flighty as Raechel would find it boring, but she was only making herself vulnerable. “You need to learn how to handle your own money or someone will take it from you.”

Raechel eyed her, suspiciously. “Did you teach Lady Heather how to handle money?”

“I tried,” Gwen said. The file the family had received stated that Gwen had been tutor as well as maid, chaperone and confidante as well as servant. “But she had far less in her own name than you. You will be targeted by young rakes who want your money to fund their gambling habits.”

“And what,” Raechel demanded, “is wrong with gambling?”

“The gambling house always wins,” Gwen said, remembering her visit to the Golden Turk. It had been an eye-opener in more ways than one. “You could get into debt very easily and then find yourself in the poorhouse.”

“Oh,
that
would never happen,” Raechel said. “Auntie would never allow it.”

Gwen sighed, inwardly. The hell of it was that Raechel was probably right. An aristocrat might be sent abroad, to India or China, to escape gambling debts or scandals at home, but it was unlikely that he would go into debtors’ prison. She’d never heard of a woman getting so deeply into debt that she had to flee the country, but one of her relatives could probably put her up in a country house, well away from her creditors. No aristocratic family would tolerate one of its womenfolk going to jail or being transported.

“You don’t want to be in her debt,” Gwen said. If Raechel did manage to gamble away all her money, she would be utterly dependent upon Lord and Lady Standish. “And you need to be careful.”

Raechel gave her an odd look. She had to have realised that Gwen wasn’t
quite
acting as the perfect servant, even if it was Lady Standish rather than Raechel herself who was employing Gwen. Despite her crash course in being a maid, Gwen knew her pose was very far from perfect, something she’d tried to blame on being Heather’s confidante as well as her servant and chaperone. But someone as smart as Raechel might notice other discrepancies ...

It wasn’t uncommon for poorer aristocratic girls to seek placement as governesses, rather than household servants. Their richer fellows saw them as being better companions and teachers than people from the lower classes. But Gwen’s file included no trace of aristocracy. It had been too risky, Irene had pointed out, to risk drawing their attention. The Royal Sorceress, after all, was perhaps the best-known aristocrat of her generation.

The carriage rattled to a halt before Raechel could ask any questions. Gwen heard shouting from outside, then the coachman opened the door, allowing Raechel to lead the way down to the ground. Gwen followed her ... and stopped dead as she saw the colossal airship, hanging in the air in front of them. It was a long thin gasbag, which Gwen knew to be filled with hydrogen gas, capable of lifting a vast amount of weight into the air. Gwen’s father had made his money by investing in airships, proclaiming them the wave of the future. It was certainly easier to take an airship than a sailing ship.

But it could be dangerous too
, Gwen thought. She could fly – levitate, rather – under her own power, but even she had problems with airships. There had been a handful of crashes over the years and very few people had survived the explosions. Indeed, the Houses of Parliament regularly debated banning airships from overflying London, particularly after Jack had used one to storm the Tower of London.
I wonder how Lady Standish will react to the airship ...

Her Ladyship didn’t seem too worried as the small crowd made its way towards the gondola, the passenger compartment hanging down from the colossal gasbag. Instead, she spoke to Raechel in tones that suggested she would have been shouting, if she had been ill-bred and brought up to believe that shouting at her niece in public was acceptable behaviour. The younger woman, Gwen noted, didn’t seem too cowed at her Aunt’s words. Gwen sighed, inwardly, then watched as Romulus and a team of footmen started to pick up the bags and transfer them to the airship. She couldn’t help noticing that half of the footmen were staring at him whenever they thought he wasn’t watching. They’d probably never seen a black man before, at least not one dressed like a Butler.

Inside, they were greeted by a man wearing a uniform grander than any Royal Navy Admiral, an elaborate collection of navy blue and gold lace. He bowed low to Lord Standish, kissed Lady Standish’s hand and didn’t seem particularly put out when Raechel declined to have her hand kissed. Once the greetings were over, he allowed a pair of young women to lead them into the seating compartment, which was larger than Gwen had expected. Beyond the doors, the women explained, were the sleeping compartments, ranging from a large section for the aristocrats to a smaller set of rooms for the servants. It looked, Gwen realised numbly, as though Janet and herself would be sharing a compartment with Romulus.

A dull whine ran through the gondola as they explored the passenger section. Gwen had to admit she was impressed, even though she’d seen pictures of airships her father owned years ago. It was both spacious and compact; the staff had a cooking section, while the aristocrats had large bedrooms and a drawing room that allowed them to talk or stare out of the windows towards the ground, far below. She hastily joined Janet in unpacking the travel bags – the remainder would be stowed in the cargo compartment, out of reach – and then returned to the smoking room. Sir Sidney and several other diplomats had arrived and were clustering around Lord Standish like planets around the sun.

Sir Sidney caught her eye, then headed for the door and walked past her. Gwen followed him into his room, after checking to make sure they were unobserved. Sir Sidney was not meant to know Gwen the Maid – and if they were sighted together, she knew what sort of conclusion would be drawn. Sir Sidney, unlike Lord Standish and the rest of the mission, was young enough to feel a fire in his blood.

He looked her up and down as soon as the door was closed. “You seem to be fitting in nicely,” he said, wryly. “How are you coping?”

Gwen looked down at her maid’s uniform and scowled. “When we get back,” she said, “I’m going to make damn sure that servants are treated better by their masters.”

“A sensible desire,” Sir Sidney agreed. He took a breath as he sat down on the bed. Apart from being surprisingly small, it was little different to one on the ground. “There have been worrying developments.”

“Oh,” Gwen said. She took a breath. “What sort of worrying developments?”

“We just picked up a message from an ... agent in Paris,” Sir Sidney said. “The good news is that the Russians are clearly hesitating to join the French in war against us. That actually works in our favour right now.”

Gwen nodded. The airship would be overflying French territory for part of its journey to St. Petersburg, allowing the French a chance to shoot it down if they wanted to start the war in style. But if the Russians were being baulky, the French wouldn’t dare interfere with the airship for fear of convincing the Russians to join the British in war against France. They’d probably prefer to allow the British to send their envoys and then try to outbid them, if the Russians wanted to get more out of their allies before going to war.