Brass and Bone Read online

  Chapter Three

  Cynara

  France, my home, was so close I could see it. I could almost reach out and touch it. While the sea took up most of the scene before me, there was a haze on the horizon I knew to be France. I leaned forward against the balcony’s chill stone railing, trying to make out some faint details, but my attempts were for naught. I was still here in this damned icy England. Stuck on this little estate of Lady Abigail’s, so near to my homeland. Waiting to fulfill the duties to ensure my freedom.

  And when I did, I would be free of the Witchfinders forever. If it was blood they wanted, then they should have it and be done with me.

  I sensed Henri as he approached me from behind, long before his strong fingers seized my arm. He’d been in excellent spirits, but I’d refused to speak with him since we left Sir Eli Hopkins to his liquor, though I longed to release my anger.

  I jerked my arm away and widened the distance between us, never once removing my gaze from my beloved France.

  Henri grabbed me. Try though I might, I couldn’t struggle against the pleasure that came with his touch. Instead of fighting back as my anger would have me do, I let him pull me into his embrace.

  He held me for a moment, brushing a kiss against the top of my head, before I spoke. “Bitch, am I?”

  He laughed, and I hated him for it. “What would you have me do, my darling? Rush to your defense with Eli right there? Why, he’d have my head instead of yours if I tried such a thing.”

  I slapped his face.

  Henri brushed a strand of gold from my eyes as he responded, still chuckling under his breath. “Surely you aren’t surprised, Cynara. Your very blood makes you my most hated enemy. No matter what we’ve shared in the past.”

  “As you are mine,” I whispered into his waistcoat, breathing in his familiar scent of tobacco and cologne. I became consumed with my once-cherished memories of the time I spent in his favor and, despite his hateful nature, I wanted nothing more than to be with him as I used to be. I spoke, my voice thick with the emotion brought on by those remembrances. “Henri, you must know that I expected nothing from Jean-Pierre—”

  “Except my inheritance?” Henri turned to stone in an instant before shoving me away. “You are my weakness, Cynara. I admit it. But you are still a witch and a thief who has harmed me greatly.”

  “I have harmed you?” My nails dug into my gloved palms as the dull ache of his rejection filled my chest. “Need I remind you of my time under your beloved Sir Eli? You are a murderer!”

  “That may be.” His expression became unreadable, and he shrugged. “But my attempts failed, and you are still alive despite my best efforts. Worse still, I am now bound to you whether I wish to be or not.”

  “Ah, yes.” I frowned as my anger took its rightful place in my heart. “You are now my jailer. Such a role will interfere with your gallivanting and whoring, I do not doubt. But perhaps it will not be for long. Perhaps it will be I who will come to my senses first, and push you out into the sea somewhere.”

  The sounds of footsteps startled us, and we sprang apart. I turned to see the young man, Monsieur Thorne, stop before us. He seemed as surprised as we were, but recovered from it with ease. He begged our pardon for his interruption, though he would never know how grateful I was for it.

  “Non, Monsieur Thorne, do not apologize, I pray. There was no interruption. I was simply admiring the gardens of this lovely manor. Tell me, can it truly be France I see? Or is it my own homesickness playing tricks with my heart?” I smiled at him as he approached us.

  Simon Thorne returned my smile, gesturing with one long-fingered hand. “Yes, that is France. We’re so close to the sea here you can spot the opposite shore on a clear day. There is another outlook, just on the other side of the gardens, where you can view France best. In fact, often one can make out the ships sailing to Calais.”

  “Really? Would you be so kind as to show me?”

  Monsieur Thorne seemed surprised by my request, but he was too much of a gentleman to refuse me. He extended his arm.

  I glanced up to see Henri’s dark expression. I knew that expression well; I recognized it as jealousy. “Excuse us, monsieur.” I gave him my best smile in order to calm him. Henri was known in our small family for his temper. His possessiveness. It would be a shame to see him release it on someone as kind as Monsieur Thorne seemed to be.

  His expression shifted into his usual careless look of unconcern as Henri waved us on, and we left him, settling into a peaceful silence as we walked. I will admit I had become lost in my thoughts when my companion broke into them.

  “Do you miss it much, mademoiselle? France, I mean.”

  “Oui, I do. It is my home, monsieur, and this country is so very different.”

  Monsieur Thorne glanced down at me as I pulled my fur-lined cloak closer. “If I may be so bold to ask, then why are you in England? Something to do with d’Estes, I suspect?”

  I stiffened at his question, and considered a harsh response, but relented. There was something calm and reassuring about Monsieur Thorne, an aura I found myself responding to more and more as we strolled along a graveled path. “Oui. At least, to some extent. My purpose here in England and with him is a personal one.” I smiled, though I knew it was tinged with sadness. “But it is of little matter. One day, perhaps, I may share it with you if we become good friends. And I suspect we shall, for you are a kind man, I can see. But tell me, have you been with your Lady Abigail long? If I may be so bold as to ask such a personal question…”

  My companion returned my smile with one of his own, equally sad. “Longer than you can imagine. But you must not get the wrong impression. We are only close friends and, uh, business associates. Nothing more.”

  “That is not how you wish it, I think?” The question slipped from my tongue, and it was his turn to stiffen. I hastened to apologize. “Forgive me, monsieur. I fear my manners deserted me, and for mere curiosity’s sake.”

  “Perhaps I too shall tell you more someday, when we become better friends, mademoiselle.” His topaz eyes gleamed with mirth.

  I laughed despite myself as he led me up a set of steps. When we reached the top, I gasped at the beauty of the scene before me. The sea spread out its fanfare of blues and greys. But here, I could see more clearly the array of ships he spoke of. Their steam and sails billowed outward as their flags, both English and French and those of other lands, snapped against the winds.

  “Oh! Monet himself could not paint a more beautiful scene!”

  “You are familiar with Monet, then.” Monsieur Thorne joined me as I sat on the bench closest to the sea.

  I nodded. “Oui. My beloved benefactor was a great patron of the arts. Why, Monsieur Monet himself stayed at the comte’s countryside estate for months before he left for his travels in the South.”

  He chuckled as he leaned forward. “I see. You know him well, I perceive.”

  I nodded, never once taking my eyes off the scene spread out before me, which was indeed very like a painting. “Oui. He is a great storyteller at dinner. But when he is behind his easel, Monet becomes someone quite different.”

  Monsieur Thorne made no reply and once more, we fell into the comfortable silence that seemed to settle around us. It was pleasant being so still, so safe. Yet my mind continued to wander away from the peace to the future. Thoughts of escaping Henri and England mingled with the events that had led me here. My memories of the past week seemed as vivid as the blue spread out before me, and I became so immersed within them I jumped when Monsieur Thorne stood suddenly and began to speak.

  “Perhaps we should return before Abigail and Monsieur d’Estes come looking for us,” he said.

  I nodded, taking in one last look at France before accepting his offered arm. As we walked away, I made a vow to myself I would live long enough to see my home once more, even if it were only to be buried within its blessed soil.

  ***

  Dinner was an uneasy affair. The food was good en
ough, it was true. And Monsieur Thorne and Lady Abigail were delightful, finishing each other’s sentences, full of laughter and the joking only seen between very old and dear friends. But Henri was in a dark mood, one no amount of wine could shake from him. When Lady Abigail finally stood, I asked to be excused from any further gathering. My freedom from one sort of captivity only to be trapped into another, and then the trip to this lovely little manor, as well as the day itself, had exhausted me. I wanted nothing more than to retire to my chambers.

  “I shall escort you there, Mademoiselle des Jardin.” Henri stood and moved around the table to pull out my chair.

  I hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Very well.” I stood, turning to the others. “Good evening. I once again thank you for your most kind hospitality.”

  I slipped past Henri before the others could respond, though as we moved through the small manor to our rooms, the air between us was thick with a tension I was most curious about. I kept telling myself this was the reason I had accepted his offer of escort, though I knew better. Somehow, in a way that I could not understand, I still wanted him. Wanted his love and affection instead of the hateful scorn I was sure to continue receiving from my former lover.

  When I entered my rooms, I will admit I was not surprised when he followed me and closed the door behind us.

  “I want to know where it is, Cynara.” Henri’s tone was harsh, his words slurred from the amount of wine he’d consumed at dinner.

  I threw my shawl over the couch. Then and only then did I turn to face his anger. “Whatever are you speaking of?” I asked, a smile on my face though I felt like snarling.

  “You know damned well what I mean. My uncle’s money. My inheritance. Where is it?”

  I chuckled despite myself. “So this is why you have been in such a temper this evening.”

  “Temper…” Henri breathed out the word as he attempted to calm himself. “I convinced Eli to sign over your possessions to me as payment for watching you during this fool’s errand on which he has his heart set. But when I received the books today, do you know what I found?”

  I sat on the edge of the sofa, amused. Henri was too well trained to lose himself to anger. Too well bred. I tilted my head to the side, freeing the pins holding my hair in place, and waited for him to continue.

  “Nothing! I found absolutely nothing! How is it you could spend a fortune in so short a time? My fortune, gone! The estates, sold. The gold, dwindled down to a few hundred pieces.” Henri stamped over to stand in front of me, glaring down as he ranted. “So let’s have it. Where is it?”

  “Oh. The money signed over to me, is it? My fortune, do you mean?” I bit my lip as if in thought. “Let me see if I can recall. Ah, yes. I remember now. I instructed my lawyer to give it to les soeurs—the nuns of Notre Dame.”

  Henri stared at me, almost choking in his rage, as I tried not to laugh. “The…tell me you are joking, Cynara,” he managed at last.

  “Well, not all of it went to the nuns, of course.” I ran my fingers over my sleeve as if to brush away something unpleasant. It amused me when I saw Henri took notice of my movements even through his anger. “Some of it went to the orphanages in Paris. I thought if I do succeed in killing you, and then myself, then I would have no use for it. Better it be used for something good.”

  Henri grabbed my arms, yanked me to my feet and shook me. Before, I had found his anger humorous. Now, he had invited my own wrath. I slammed the heel of my boot against his foot and as he dropped his hands, I did the most gentile thing I could think of.

  I slapped him.

  For the second time that day.

  “You forget your manners too easily, monsieur. Tell me how it is you came to be such a brute. So ill-bred, and from such a family as yours? You disgrace the memory of your dear uncle.” I had no wish to anger Henri more than necessary, but I could not help but display my own rage. “And me? Do you take me for a fool? And worse, a weak woman who can be easily frightened?”

  Henri rubbed his jaw, breathing heavily. Then, with one quick motion, he seized me about the throat.

  “Tell me the truth,” he insisted. “Your new wardrobe. Your baubles. You had the money to buy them from somewhere. Now, where is my money?”

  I turned my gaze away from him until his grip began to tighten. Only then did I meet his eyes, letting the ice in my veins lace through my words. “I have been to Death’s threshold many times, monsieur, but as of yet He never allows me to pass. He may, however, invite you into His domain to stay unless you release me this very instant.”

  I could see his struggle, but Henri did as he was told, releasing me before turning to storm across the room. He grabbed the doorknob, holding it as if for an anchor, before he lashed out.

  “You will release every franc and sou to me before this is over. I can promise you that, my darling.”

  “How can you speak to me in this way, Henri?” I stayed still, silently willing him to turn around to face me. “Do you not remember the words of love you once spoke to me? What has happened to change you so?”

  I was sure that, for a moment, Henri would come out of his anger to love me as he once did. Or that this was all a wretched nightmare from which I would wake up to find myself back on the comte’s estate. But it wasn’t a simple nightmare. Henri wrenched open the door, rushing from my room and into the hall.

  With that, he left me. I stayed on my feet long enough to ensure Henri would not reenter my rooms before collapsing on the sofa to rub off the marks his fingers left behind. Henri could threaten me. And perhaps he would make good on his promise to see me dead.

  But Henri would die a pauper before I released my wealth, my security, to him. That was one promise I vowed to keep.

  ***

  It wasn’t long after Henri’s dramatic departure when a knock sounded on my chamber door. I waited for a maid to allow entry to whoever was on the other side, until I remembered I had no maid of my own to command here. I sighed and took a sip from the wine brought to my room by Lady Abigail’s servants before standing to open the door.

  Monsieur Thorne was on the other side, just turning away. He turned back and I tried to smile to him, but there was no happiness about me.

  “Monsieur Thorne, what a pleasure,” I said. “Do please come in.”

  The poor man blushed, his skin taking on a shade of red much like his hair. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper, mademoiselle. After all, your reputation—”

  “Was in tatters long before I came to England. Now, do not be a goose. Come in. Have a glass of wine with me.”

  Monsieur Thorne hesitated until I held the door open wider, but relented at last and came inside, though he still looked ill at ease.

  “Bon. What is it you wish to see me about?” I gestured to the sofa I had vacated and chuckled as he looked at it as if it had the power to bite him.

  Monsieur Thorne cleared his throat then responded. “Only this: Lady Abigail hopes to have the airship ready for our departure day after tomorrow. She asks you have your packing done by tomorrow morning.”

  “So soon, then.” I poured the wine and handed it to him.

  “Mademoiselle…”

  “If we are to be good friends, then you must call me Cynara. I insist upon it. And do sit and visit with me for a while, I entreat. I enjoy your company, monsieur.”

  “Then you must call me Simon.” He sat at last, nervously, on the very edge of the sofa. I took up my own glass as I seated myself by his side.

  “Tell your mistress I will be ready by sunrise if she wishes it. I do not want to be any more trouble for her than I need to be. My boxes have arrived from my flat in London, so I will not want for attire on this trip. I think it must have been she who ordered this kindness, no?”

  Simon nodded, taking a sip of the wine as he looked to me. I watched as he examined the marks on my throat. “Since we are now friends, do you wish to tell me of this?”

  “Non. It is not your burden to share, mon ami.”
/>   My companion nodded his understanding. I sighed, staring down into my wine before smiling up at him. “So it is true then. We are indeed going to Australia on behalf of the Witchfinder.”

  Simon sat up straighter, examining me in the faint light thrown off by my lamps. “Yes. Though I can’t think of a more barbaric place. It is quite the other side of the world. Still, it is an English colony, so I suppose it could be worse.”

  I laughed at that; I couldn’t help myself. I nodded. “I have heard the country is strange, with its deserts and tribes and odd animals. Your Lady Abigail seems pleased, though. I take it you two do this sort of thing often.”

  I met Simon’s eyes, noting their deep golden color, listening as he detailed some of their adventures. Yet despite the stories he told me, there seemed to be more he was not saying. As if he were reluctant to tell me the true purpose behind their deeds. I tilted my head to show my interest, gasping as he told me a recent tale of a silver spider that had attached itself to him, laughing as he talked of a magician’s performance where the clever thief stole the jewels of the rich. In turn, I spoke of my exploits here in England, omitting details of my own.

  As I completed the story of my devil’s mark, Simon sat his glass aside and gestured to my arm. “May I see it?”

  I shrugged at the skepticism in his voice, extending my arm to him. Simon’s cool fingers wrapped around the slender bones of my wrist, and I heard the intake of his breath when he took in the sight of the mark.

  Simon released my arm after a moment. “It is a simple scar. Strange shape, I’ll grant you. But this is all that labels you as a witch? And if you are, if this is indeed true, what sort of strange powers do you have?”

  I took the final sip from my glass before turning back to him. “I am a healer. And you are absolutely correct. The mark is nothing spectacular, but it is enough, non? Well, for most of my enemies, at least.”

  Simon finished his own drink then stood. “It is getting late. Forgive me if I beg my leave. I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”