"Oh, it's a very fine entertainment," Ralph babbled "You'll enjoy it, Hawkesmoor, I promise you."
Simon drank his wine thoughtfully. If they were up to one of their lethal little tricks again, he'd best be on his guard. And the most effective way to do that was to appear not to be. Lulled into a false sense of security, they would overreach themselves or spring their trap prematurely.
Of course, he could always refuse to play their nasty little games, but he was in a mood to meet his brothers-in-law head-on. He was growing bored with turning the other cheek.
He nodded pleasantly. "I'm sure it will be a most amusing evening, gentlemen."
Ralph giggled into his wine. "Oh, yes, most amusing."
"How long are you planning on staying, Hawkesmoor?" Roland inquired. "Not that I mean to say you're overstaying your welcome or anything… but Ranulf and I have a mind to return to London soon. Winter in the country pads damnably, don't you agree?"
"I'll be out of your hair in a day or two," Simon said easily. "I expect Ariel to return from Lady Kelburn's quite soon."
"Ah." Roland nodded and sipped his wine. "Quite so." He glanced toward the door as the clump of booted feet, the jangle of spurs, heralded the return of the cadre from a hawking expedition. "Gentlemen, my brothers and I have planned a treat for you this evening. A little entertainment in true Ravenspeare style."
Jack cast his whip and gloves on the table. "Sounds interesting." He raised an interrogative brow at Simon, who shrugged and pushed the wine bottle across to him.
"Try this. It's a fine rioja. Our host's cedars are beyond compare."
Simon had the air of one settled comfortably in the company of friends, Jack thought, startled to see the earl so much at ease with his brothers-in-law. Imperceptibly he had developed the same nonchalant, almost slovenly air as he sprawled at the table, cradling his wine goblet in one hand, his eyes heavy lidded as if he'd already been drinking deep.
But what might fool the Ravenspeares wouldn't fool the cadre. They took their cue from Simon, without as yet knowing why, and slouched at their ease at the table.
The girls arrived half an hour later. Fourteen of them, the cream of Mistress Hibbert's establishment. Ranulf had picked them carefully. He wanted them young, fresh, as yet unmarked by their profession, and among their number were two accredited virgins. Pale, frightened little girls, whose tawdry finery made them look like children dressing up in their mothers' clothes.
"Come, come, my pretties." Ranulf rose from the table, clapping his hands. "Come and drink… eat-See what we have for you. Delicacies I daresay you've never even dreamed of."
The servants had piled platters of oysters, smoked eel and trout, and golden-crusted venison patties on the table, but the younger girls' eyes all went as one to the basket of sweet pastries, the rhenish cream, the marchpane cakes, the bowls of syllabub.
"Come sit with me." Simon reached out and grabbed the hand of the littlest and frailest girl. He moved up on the bench to accommodate her and selected an oyster in its gray craggy shell. He held it to her lips and the child opened her mouth obediently, swallowing the slithery thing with a small shudder. She shuddered again when the big, fearsomely ugly man put an arm around her, drawing her against him on the bench.
Jack took charge of the second child, following Simon's lead, drawing her onto his lap as he tempted her with delicacies. The rest of the cadre picked as carefully, and the boldest and bravest were left for the lords of Ravenspeare.
The wine flowed, music played from the gallery, the servants disappeared to the kitchen. They knew from long experience that when the lords of Ravenspeare amused themselves as they intended to do this night, a wise servant made himself scarce.
"I'd never 'ave thought it of 'is lordship of 'Awkesmoor," Timson declared, sitting at the kitchen table, helping himself to the knuckle of veal Maisie put before him.
"I wish I knew what's goin' on wi' Lady Ariel." Gertrude plumped down on the bench opposite him. "Try a little o', this lamprey stew, Mr. Timson." She spooned a generous helping onto his plate.
"Lady Ariel's stayin' wi' Mistress Sarah and Miss Jenny, Timson declared, clearing his throat, waving aside the refilled spoon hovering over his platter. "Thankee, Mistress Gertrude, that'll do me."
"Aye, but why? That's what I asks meself." Gertrude took an unladylike draught from an ale tankard at her elbow. "She popped in this mornin' to keep an eye on things, jest as she always does. So what's goin' on?"
"Lady Ariel 'as 'er reasons," Timson opined. "Always 'as 'ad, ever since she was nobbut a nipper."
"So what's 'is lordship doin' wi' those poor young things in the 'ad?" Gertrude demanded darkly.
Timson shrugged. "That I don't know, Mistress Gertrude. But I'd not be venturin' to find out."
"Are you going up to the castle now, Ariel?" Jenny looked up from the stocking she was darning, turning her wide blue eyes toward Ariel, who was standing somewhat irresolutely beside the table, her boots in her hand.
Ariel, who hadn't fully made up her mind whether to put on her boots or put them away again, said, "How did you know I was even thinking of going out, Jenny?"
"You mentioned it earlier, and you haven't been able to settle to anything all evening."
Ariel sat down and began to lace up her boots. "Yes, I'm going up to the castle."
"To see your husband." It was a rhetorical question. Sarah continued stripping the casings off a sheaf of honesty, revealing the silver sheen of the dried leaves beneath. Jenny said for her, "I expect it's for the best."
"Yes, I'm sure it is," Ariel commented somewhat dryly. She reached for her cloak. "Would you keep the dogs here? I have a feeling they might be in the way."
Sarah rose immediately and laid a hand on each neck. The hounds sat staring mournfully as Ariel went to the door, saying, "Don't wait up for me."
"Should we worry if you don't come back at all?" Jenny asked with an unusually mischievous glint in her eye.
Ariel blushed scarlet, although she couldn't imagine why. She shot a hot look at Sarah, who was considerately busying herself with the dogs. "Just don't wait up for me," she repeated, and left.
It was a crisp, star-filled night. The river was high and its smell of mud and reeds and rank, decaying waterweed permeated the air. She had no idea what she was going to say to
Simon, and within her mind angry, defiant bravado warred with supplicant anxiety. Neither of which were useful.
She broke a laurel switch from the hedge and cut viciously at the tangle of hedgerow as she passed. In essence, she was bowing her head beneath the yoke of her marriage because she didn't have any choice. Not without her horses. She couldn't skulk around accepting Sarah's charity forever. She was a married woman with no financial resources of her own, her husband's chattel; and any court in the land would defend a husband's right to take his wife and sequester her in the marital home.
How her brothers would laugh. And the last laugh was always the loudest. She'd taunted them as she'd foiled their own plans for the Hawkesmoor, and now she was neatly hoist on her own petard.
The three miles to the castle disappeared beneath her feet like three inches under this bitter musing. She avoided the kitchen, slipped swiftly across the deserted stableyard, noting the watchmen's lamps burning in the Arabians' block, and entered the inner courtyard to the Great Hall, whose great iron-barred doors stood ajar to the freezing night.
She heard high-pitched squeals, roars of laughter, the sounds of furniture being overturned. Nothing out of the ordinary.