Gossip and Gorgons Read online

  Gossip and Gorgons

  Manners and Monsters book 3

  Tilly Wallace

  Copyright © 2020 by Tilly Wallace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Version 26.05.21

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Also by Tilly Wallace

  1

  Westbourne Green, May 1816

  * * *

  Hannah woke to a scream. The high-pitched wail turned into a warble, and then tapered off into more of an outraged shout.

  “Not again,” she muttered as she opened her eyes. There was sufficient dawn light peeking through the open curtains that Hannah could see without the need of a glow lamp.

  Sheba lay curled up in her dog bed. The spaniel raised her head and thumped her tail at the movement from the human bed. Hannah threw back the blankets and lowered her feet to the floor. She patted the puppy’s head. “Come along, girl. We shall use the opportunity to take you outside.”

  Hannah padded to the chair where she had left her robe. She shrugged on the purple dressing gown and tied the belt as she headed down the stairs, the spaniel at her heels. This was the third such wakeup call in less than a week and the time had come to take matters in hand.

  She was joined on the stairs by her husband, also with a robe knotted around his middle…though the blue and gold paisley seemed at odds with his stormy personality. Sheba wagged her tail and sidled along the stairs to his side.

  “Again?” Wycliff asked as they descended.

  “I presume so,” Hannah replied.

  She couldn’t help staring at her husband’s naked feet. They had been married for two weeks now and the sight of his toes was the most she had seen of him.

  Not that she intended to see her husband naked. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and they kept to their separate rooms. But Hannah was curious enough that when an early morning scream warbled through the house, she wondered what it would be like to open her eyes and find another person next to her in bed.

  Thumping noises and muttered curses came from the front parlour. Lord Wycliff pushed open the door to reveal Mary, fire poker held high over her head, preparing to do battle with the light fitting.

  “Barnes, get down,” Hannah called as she stepped into the room.

  “He did it again, ma’am!” Mary swiped with the poker, but his lordship’s quick hand caught it in its descent before the glass shade protecting the candles was smashed.

  “So we heard,” Lord Wycliff said.

  Mary relinquished the weapon and stepped back to the fireplace. “I cannot get my work done with him lying in wait to jump out at me, Lady Wycliff.”

  “Yes, I agree with you entirely, Mary.” An object dropped from the light fitting to the carpet with a solid thump, and Hannah scooped it up before it could scuttle away.

  She held Barnes between her own hands and raised him to eye level. “This has gone on quite long enough, Barnes, and will not be tolerated any longer. You have two options before you. If you frighten Mary again, you will find yourself confined to the cage in the laboratory. If instead you value your freedom, you will leave Mary to do her work unharassed. Do you understand?”

  The hand slumped in her palms, then he raised the index finger and waved it up and down.

  A steady thump rumbled from the floor and up through Hannah’s feet, the accompanying noise like the distant approach of thunder. A shape completely filled the doorway and blocked the exit.

  Mary gave a sob and rushed to the newcomer. Frank, formerly the Chelsea Monster, sheltered the maid and turned his body to hide her from view. He raised a hand and pointed at Barnes with a growl.

  “Perhaps we should leave the two monsters to fight it out,” Wycliff suggested. “Do you think you can take Frank one-handed, Barnes?”

  Barnes arched and stood on his fingertips in what appeared to be a vain attempt to look taller.

  “There will not be any fighting under this roof.” Hannah knelt and released Barnes on the carpet. “Go find Timmy. The lad will be awake soon.”

  Frank lifted Mary off her feet as the disembodied hand scuttled across the carpet and shot between his two tree-trunk legs. The larger creature growled again before setting Mary down.

  Lord Wycliff returned the poker to the fireside set. “How is it, Mary, that you have no problem with all seven feet of stitched-together Frank, but scream when confronted with Barnes?”

  Mary curled her hand into the front of Frank’s shirt and spoke to him when she answered Wycliff. “Because Frank here has a gentle soul—plus arms, legs, and all the bits in between, my lord. That Hungarian hamster…thing ain’t right.”

  Hannah held in a sigh. She doubted this was the sort of domestic dispute other married women had to mediate; but then, theirs wasn’t like any other household. “Right or not, Barnes is a part of this household. If he drops on you again, he will be confined to his cage. I believe he has had sufficient warning that he will not bother you again. Now, Mary, kindly be so good as to ask Cook to make some hot chocolate. Since I am awake, I will do some reading in the library. Frank, could you please take Sheba outside?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mary unwound her hand from Frank’s shirt and wiped her face.

  The former monster bent down to pick up the puppy, who squirmed and licked his face as the odd trio left the room.

  Lord Wycliff inclined his head in Hannah’s direction. “Let us hope that is the end of the matter.”

  “Yes, I too hope that is the end of it,” Hannah said as her husband left the room.

  She rubbed the gold band on her left hand. There had been many adjustments to life in the Miles household over the last few weeks.

  Frank, the stitched-together man reanimated by the late Lord Dunkeith’s potions, had moved into the stables. His gentle nature was ideally suited to working with the horses and Old Jim appreciated the help. For all they knew, the monster’s hands and arms might have come from a groom, as he seemed to know instinctively what to do.

  Hannah’s father studied the man while they tried to make sense of Lord Dunkeith’s notes and what he had done. Somewhere in the animation of Frank and Barnes was the knowledge they needed to help the Afflicted, if only they could determine the nature of the liquid in which both had been immersed.

  Another change affected Hannah. Mary and the other staff referred to her as either ma’am or Lady Wycliff, but on the inside, she still felt like Miss Hannah Miles. What did it take to truly become a married woman, if a piece of jewellery, the marriage articles, and the parish register were insufficient?

  Their marriage was little more than a business arrangement. The viscount had extended the protection of his name and body should anything happen to Hannah’s father. Many such
aristocratic marriages were made every year. Their participants lived separate lives, even if they happened to share a roof.

  Yet Hannah’s heart yearned for something more. How was she to fill the void within her? If she found common ground with her husband, could friendship blossom between them?

  Hannah considered the idea in the library, as she laboured over Egyptian hieroglyphs in the book she studied. Her husband was like an inscription carved on a stone obelisk—inscrutable and unmoving.

  Mary delivered a cup of hot chocolate and the puppy, then left with a quick smile. The sunlight coming in through the window grew in warmth and reminded Hannah she still wore her dressing robe. Sheba was nestled inside a blanket, asleep, and Hannah left her to her dreams as she hurried upstairs to dress for the day.

  Once properly attired, she found the family gathered in the dining room. All except Timmy—the youth preferred to eat in the kitchen with Frank and Cook, but Hannah suspected he was really afraid of the viscount. She would have to find a solution to the lad’s hesitancy. If he were to become a surgeon like her father, he would need to face a variety of patients in order to carry out his work.

  She glanced at her husband’s stern countenance from under lowered lashes. Truth be told, Timmy wasn’t the only one a little afraid of the viscount.

  Hannah said her good mornings, drew a deep breath, and stood a little taller. She was married to Lord Wycliff and her mother was a powerful mage. There was nothing for her to fear. In that moment on the threshold, she decided to consider their marriage a type of experiment. She would try different approaches to grow an amicable relationship with her husband, and would record and measure any improvements or setbacks.

  She kissed her mother’s cheek and then took her chair opposite Lord Wycliff.

  “Another early start, courtesy of Barnes,” her mother said with a chuckle.

  “Yes, his behaviour is intolerable. If he jumps out at Mary again, he will be put back into his cage.” Hannah poured another hot chocolate and nursed the cup between her two hands.

  “It would appear Hungarian hamsters have a puckish sense of humour.” Her mother slid the toast rack along the table toward Hannah.

  “This particular Hungarian hamster is in danger of being flattened by Frank. The constructed man has taken quite a shine to Mary and is rather protective of her,” Lord Wycliff said from across the table.

  “Barnes might simply be enjoying every day of life available to him. We do not know the exact mechanism that keeps him healthy and animated. He may at any time begin to rot or simply collapse, lifeless.” Hannah had her own such dilemma. If her mother’s spell failed, the French curse would snatch away her life. Perhaps she should be more like Barnes and enjoy each moment.

  “From my investigations, Barnes was known to be an argumentative man before he was murdered. If he carries on like this, he will be killed twice over. Or thrice, if what Dunkeith did to him counts.” Wycliff pulled the newspaper closer to scan the headlines as he ate his breakfast.

  Sir Hugh entered with the mail in one hand. “One for you, Lady Wycliff,” he said as he placed a heavy envelope by her plate.

  “This will be from Lizzie.” Her friend was much amused, and curious, about Hannah’s newlywed state. Although with nothing gossipworthy to impart to her friend, Hannah was afraid Lizzie would have to wait until her own wedding to find out what marriage was really like.

  Hannah picked up the envelope and read the direction. The handwriting was unfamiliar. She broke the seal with her knife and pulled out a sheet of paper, curious as to who was writing to the new Lady Wycliff.

  She read the enclosed letter twice, then picked up the envelope and stared again at the name on the front. It was addressed to Lady Wycliff, but perhaps it was meant for another such lady or someone with a similar name? “This must be a mistake.”

  “Why is it a mistake, dear?” her mother asked.

  “This is an invitation for Lord and Lady Wycliff to attend a house party in a week’s time.” Hannah stared at the letter as though it were a summons to Hell by Beelzebub himself. A house party? How absurd. “I have no intention of being paraded about like some curiosity to be ridiculed. Let them find some other sport to fill their days in the country.”

  Lord Wycliff glanced up from his newspaper. “Who wants us to perform like baited bears?”

  Hannah read the signature at the bottom of the sheet. “Lady Frances Pennicott.”

  “The Earl of Pennicott’s daughter?” The viscount folded up the newspaper and placed it on the table.

  “Yes. Do you know her?” Did he have some previous association with the young woman that had prompted the invitation? An odd sensation rippled through Hannah at the thought.

  “No. But I am aware of the earl by reputation. He owns a thriving banking establishment and I have been trying to secure a meeting with him for some time. The earl rarely comes to London and mostly conducts his business from his country estate.” He rapped his short nails on the tabletop.

  Hannah stared at her husband. “Are you saying you wish to attend?”

  “Ordinarily I would agree that you ought to refuse the invitation. I have neither time nor inclination for silly house parties. But this would be a rare opportunity for me to talk to the earl. His managers in London will not see me and Lord Pennicott is the only avenue I have to acquire new breeding stock for my estate.”

  “Hugh and I would be willing to invest in your farm,” Seraphina said.

  Dark brows knitted together. “No, thank you, Lady Miles. I will not have it said I married your daughter to access your finances. I will recover my family home through my own endeavours.”

  “We are to attend, then.” Hannah tried to smile but she was chilled on the inside. She enjoyed her time spent with her friend Lizzie, but it was one thing to stay with a dear friend and another entirely to be surrounded by strangers. Her every movement would be scrutinised for faults, as would her clothing.

  “I think a trip to London is required, Hannah, to acquire a few new outfits for the week? I’m sure Lizzie would be delighted to assist in the matter.” Her mother clapped her hands, reading her daughter’s thoughts.

  Her father waved his knife in the air as though he performed invisible surgery. “Pennicott has an estate out Swindon way. My old friend Doctor Colchester lives there, he’s an aftermage with a gift for healing similar to that of our Timmy. It would be an excellent chance for the lad to spend a week with someone with magic similar to his.”

  “It is agreed, then. Lady Wycliff will reply and accept the invitation.” Lord Wycliff went back to his newspaper.

  “I will offer you one snippet of information about your host, because I am sure that as soon as you meet the earl, a question will spring to your mind,” her mother said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Hannah asked, curious as to why her mother raised the issue.

  “Lord Pennicott is a goblin. He hails from a long line of goblins who are exceptionally good with finances. But they are rather unusual to look upon.”

  “Goblins are real? What other fairy-tale creatures are living quietly in the countryside? What of fairies? Do they fly over the fields with gossamer wings?” It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning and already Hannah’s head felt crammed full with nonsense. House parties and goblins. Whatever next?

  Seraphina laughed. “Who would know, with the Fae? They think us ugly and uncivilised and keep their own company.”

  Hannah stared at her mother, not sure whether she should believe her, or if she spoke in jest. A veil hid so much and she couldn’t tell if her mother’s eyes crinkled with humour or not. “I think you tweak my nose, Mother. Fairies could not fly around England and remain a secret.”

  This time a gentle laugh did puff out the thin veil. “Oh, it’s true. Ask your father. Hugh longs to have one of the Fae on his autopsy table to see how they fly.”

  Her father waggled his eyebrows. “Entirely true. I nearly got my hands on one during the war, you know
. A French Fae collided with a cannonball, but no one could find where the body fell. We searched for it all day, until we lost the light.” He sighed like a young lass after a lost opportunity.

  “I shall write a note to Lady Frances accepting the invitation. Then I shall call upon Lizzie and seek her assistance with what to pack for a goblin’s house party.” Hannah traced a finger along a gilded spiral on the paper. Her life was most certainly not like the married life of other women. Then a warm trickle of curiosity curled through her. A goblin? What else would she discover in her time away?

  2

  Hannah called on her friend that afternoon. The butler showed her through to the front parlour, with its wallpaper of ferns and shrubbery where all sorts of birds hid. Lizzie reclined on a chaise, fanning herself with a blank wedding invitation.

  “Hello, Lizzie. No more wedding arrangements to make?” Hannah glanced around the parlour. The stacks of cards, envelopes, and large sheets of paper with instructions and arrangements were conspicuous by their absence.

  “I have banished all wedding matter to Mother’s study.” Lizzie pointed with the card.

  “Whatever is the matter? There is nothing amiss with the duke, is there?” Hannah sat on the chaise next to her friend as Lizzie swung her feet to the floor.

  Lizzie took Hannah’s hand. “Goodness, no. Everything is done or arranged and there is nothing left to do save the act itself. I wish I could marry him tomorrow instead of enduring this horrid waiting.”

  “The day will be here soon—only a few more weeks to wait. There is the Royal Wedding next week—are you not looking forward to that?” Many Londoners would line the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom. Lizzie and her parents had a coveted invitation to the celebration ball.