“You’re an Anstruther.” He handed the card to her. “Invitations are redundant for you lot.”
“These directions are unusual, and detailed. Far south of London. It isn’t even a town.” Kate tapped the note card against her chin. “Why not meet at the prime minister’s residence? Or at Whitehall?”
“These murders are a delicate matter. They have a desire for discretion.”
Kate tossed the card on the table. “I’ll change.”
An hour later, a four-horse carriage rolled south out of London along Kent Road, and through numerous crossroad villages surrounded by rolling brown fields. Simon watched the grey rows of homes grow more scarce and give way to a winter landscape.
Another hour passed, and he went to check the surroundings again. He felt a painful tug at his chest, reminding him of Barnes’s curse. He was careful to cover the discomfort, but Kate’s quick glance showed he was unsuccessful.
The carriage wheeled off the poor road onto an even poorer cart path. Heavy brush slapped at the sides of the coach. Simon and Kate both watched out the windows as the carriage rocked like a ship in heavy seas. The wheels slammed through ragged holes. The path made a steep decline and they hung onto the seat while they listened to the voice of Malcolm roaring from the driver’s bench, cursing and coaxing the team of four Friesians by turns.
They tore out of the high scrub into a wild stream valley. The land had not been tilled or grazed for generations. A ramshackle little cottage stood near the water, strangled by vines and nestled in the shadow of a twisted grove of ancient oaks. However, smoke drifted from the stone chimney. Simon noticed an area near the house where the brush was thinner, and he saw the jagged stones of a forgotten graveyard hidden in the high grass.
“Charming,” Kate said, as the carriage thrashed down brambles and rocked to a stop yards from the oaks, which seemed frozen in a moment of terrible writhing.
“It was probably someone’s honeymoon cottage once,” Simon said.
“I’d say the marriage didn’t thrive.” Kate took a long dagger and slid it into a sheath under her coat. Then she looped her bandolier of vials over one shoulder.
Simon gave her an appreciative look. “Very striking, but hardly an appropriate accessory for meeting the prime minister.”
“I’m an Anstruther. They expect the unusual from us.”
“At least you’re not resorting to wearing gigantic ravens on your head.”
Kate’s door opened and Malcolm stood outside with pistol in hand. He didn’t speak but was clearly suspicious of the setting. She gave him a pat on the shoulder as she stepped out.
Simon leapt out the opposite side. “Nicely done, Malcolm. I’d say you have a career in transport should you tire of hunting monsters.”
Malcolm stalked around the carriage. “I’ll wait out here so there are no rude interruptions for you.”
Kate kicked thorns with heavy boots. “Glad I didn’t dress for tea.”
She and Simon stomped through brambles, clearing a path to reach the door. The cottage was worn stone with a long-neglected thatch roof. The smell of mold and wet grass nearly overwhelmed the scent of woodsmoke.
“Ready?” Simon asked.
Kate put her hand on her bandolier. She nodded.
He pushed the thick door. It squealed back to reveal a fire crackling in the hearth on the far wall. A table sat in the middle of the cottage with several indistinguishable objects on it. A shape moved in front of the fire.
Simon whispered a word and felt aether surge in him. He noted how the pain of the curse eased slightly. He prepared to slam his hands together to create a shock wave.
“Come in, Mr. Archer,” a female voice said from the darkness.
Simon and Kate both looked to their right to see a long, pale gown shimmering in the firelight. As their eyes grew more accustomed to the interior, they saw a woman with a pale face and blond hair cascading about her shoulders. She sat in the corner in a simple chair.
Simon recognized the voice, and now the face, as did Kate, as would nearly anyone in the realm. Grace North, the prime minister’s wife. Beloved and beautiful, the people’s queen. It was jarring to see her here in the middle of the wild in a filthy cottage.
“No one means you harm.” She indicated the man standing in the shadows. He was tall and dressed in a long coat with a scarf wrapped about his face, revealing only his eyes. “He is merely my bodyguard. There is no danger.”
“Mrs. North.” Simon lowered his hands. He eyed the shadowy man by the fire. “This is unexpected. Is your husband with you?”
“He is not. I am the one who sent for you, Mr. Archer.” Grace North’s voice was calm, almost drowsy. She nodded to Kate. “Miss Anstruther, I didn’t expect you, but I suppose I should have given that I’d heard you and Mr. Archer were attached now.”
Kate replied, “I hope you don’t mind my presence, ma’am.”