No One Noticed the Cat Read online

  Back out, with only a quick sip of wine to sustain them through the next part of the ceremony, and Jamas and Willow were crowned Prince and Princess of Esphania.

  The oaths of fealty from the nobles were limited to the Duke of Brastock as the oldest of the nobles, the Earl of Moxtell, Count Fennell, and Baron Illify, all swearing allegiance to prince and princess on behalf of others of their rank. The Lord Mayor of Esphania City handled the one for the citizenry.

  Then, the congregation—already on their feet—let out the traditional cheers as the prince and princess made their way down the aisle and to the waiting carriage.

  In the very next coach rode Grenejon and Lady Laurel, to the consternation of Duchess Fanina, who thought she and her brother-in-law should have been the next passengers. Egdril, with a little help from Moxtell, Fennell, and Brastock, smoothed the whole thing over.

  Fanina’s expression suggested that she would have a word or two with the impudent best man and maid of honor— though somehow or other, she never did.

  The wedding feast would go down in Epicurean annals for that decade. The subtleties were fantastic, the viands incredible—especially considering the numbers who dined. Frenery had outdone himself—as had the leading citizens of Esphania who had been unstinting in the supplies of food, the labor required, and in general the organization, so that everyone within the city, be they guest, resident, or innocent traveller, ate to satiation that night.

  If the guests in the castle banqueting hall also noticed that the prince and princess fed each other from a single plate and drank from a single cup, it was considered “sweet” and “loverly.” Though why Duchess Fanina frowned so much was not immediately apparent.

  “They dare not poison me, too, you see,” Willow murmured to her brand new husband.

  “Do stop fretting, my love…”

  “You simply won’t believe me,” Willow said with a tremulous note in her voice.

  He folded his hand around her fingers. “I do, love, I do. And have taken steps to ensure my continued existence. Please, my love, at least enjoy your sister’s wedding.” He smiled mischievously at her.

  “Oh, you!” and she started to laugh, glancing over her shoulder at Grenejon and Laurel, who were observing more decorous behavior in their manner of eating.

  Before there could be the dancing which Jamas looked forward so much to, there were the toasts and the speeches to be sat through. But Frenery had had severe notice from his prince to limit these as much as possible. Only King Egdril, waffling on about the union between the two great nations, did not observe the restriction. But then, no one had mentioned it to him.

  At last, when the chamber group was augmented by the full orchestra which would play dance music, the prince and his princess retired briefly so that she could remove her cumbersome train for dancing. They, of course, had the first dance, in which they acquitted themselves to the onlookers’ delight. If Princess Willow had resumed her veil, no one thought it odd. The prince handed his partner to her uncle and bowed before Duchess Fanina, adjusting his white gloves before he took her hand. Two circles of the floor and the Duke of Moxtell requested the pleasure of Duchess Fanina’s company, and the prince relinquished her with a show of reluctance. And, shucking the gloves off his hands, he deposited them behind a plant. Few noticed that it wilted and died that night.

  Then everyone started dancing and, if the prince slipped off for a moment, he was back on the floor very shortly, claiming a dance with each bridesmaid in turn. If he did not appear as graceful in these turns as he usually did, by then there had been sufficient wine drunk that it passed unnoticed.

  Indeed it was fairly late into the evening that people began to realize that they had not seen the princess dancing, nor Baron Illify and Lady Laurel. And when the Duchess Fanina archly told her brother-in-law, the king, that it was time to bed the happy couple, it was Egdril who noticed that the “prince” was really Prince Temeron, dressed in his cousin’s finery, who had been partnering the bridesmaids. As these young ladies were all from Mauritia, they had not recognized the deception.

  “Well, you see, your majesty,” Temeron began, casting about to find Frenery or Moxtell or someone of greater rank than he held to support him in this explanation, “my cousin, Prince Jamas, is not a great one for ceremony and the, ah, um…”

  “Bedding,” Moxtell put in, arriving to assist the inexperienced courtier.

  “Yes, that was one he particularly wanted to avoid.”

  The Duchess Fanina did not speak but, almost as if the movement was being choreographed, those nearest her moved back, leaving her isolated in a small empty circle.

  “One could almost feel the heat of her anger,” Temeron later told his cousin. “She was really, really mad.”

  Jamas only laughed and thanked his cousin again for standing in for him.

  The king was not best pleased about this unexpected departure and shirking of “dynastic duty” but Brastock and Moxtell managed to jolly him out of his displeasure. And one of the Fennell daughters was only too happy to dance with him…all night long. And, as it happened, as long as he was in Esphania, which did not make him eager to return to his moody pregnant wife.

  Meanwhile both couples had made good their escape: Baron and Baroness Illify to his estate and the Prince and Princess of Esphania to a long-unused but newly refurbished lodge high up on the Elbow. Jamas’ great-grandfather had used it when overseeing the construction of the landslide nets.

  “It’s the last place in the principality anyone would think to look for us,” Jamas told his wife as he handed her down from the dark mare. “The fire needs only the touch of a match inside,” he added as he took the horses to the lean-to to tend them.

  When he entered, he found the fire was burning merrily and Willow leaning against the thick log mantel, watching the flames. She gave a little start as the door snicked shut and Jamas dropped the bar in place.

  “No one will find us here, my love,” he said, glancing about to see that his requirements had been met: the table set with its two places and covered dishes, wine in a cooler, flowers and garlands lending their own scent to the freshness of the newly done room. He must reward Cambion who had done the work—most of it by himself.

  “Then at least we’ll have had this,” she said in a brief return of her fatalistic attitude.

  He pulled her in very close embrace, and she responded as ardently as he had hoped she might.

  “Worry later, my love. Tonight is ours! I love you so much, my Willow Princess.” And he proceeded to demonstrate how much.

  Prince Jamas delayed returning to the city until King Egdril and especially that awful Duchess Fanina had wearied of waiting for the newlyweds to return and gone back to Mauritia. Six days after their arrival at the lodge, a note was added to the supplies discreetly deposited on the porch of the lodge.

  “Queen sent messenger for king. He leaves this morning. Will send escort for Lady Laurel. They think the baron and she are with you.”

  Jamas chuckled and even Willow smiled happily.

  “You weren’t looking forward to seeing him again, were you?”

  Willow gave a little shudder. “I don’t mind my uncle. It’s the duchess who’s almost as bad as her sister.”

  “You’re safe now.”

  “And my uncle hasn’t realized that Laurel’s not going back?”

  “Evidently not. But, don’t worry, she’s now my sister-in-law, you know, as well as the wife of my first equerry. And we protect our own!” He gave her a squeeze.

  “He mightn’t do anything,” Willow said, “but she might. I know she had plans for Laurel, you see.”

  “Marrying her off to a Gorundian hairy monster?” Jamas said jokingly.

  “Almost.” Willow gave a flicker of a smile. “I worry about my mother, though, and our younger sisters…”

  “Do I have to find brides for all of them?” And he quickly added, when he saw that his flippancy wounded her, “and I will, of course,
should you wish me to.”

  “I’d rather they were far away from Mauritia when Laurel’s marriage is discovered.”

  “Done,” and Jamas kissed her. “Hmm… It’ll take the royal party five days with those heavy coaches to make it back to Mauritia. And before they get there, your mother and sisters will be safely ensconced elsewhere and under my protection.”

  Returning by horseback, the keen-eyed Elbow guard sent word of the imminent arrival of the prince and princess. So the happy couple were greeted by showers of cheers and rose petals as they made their way through the city to the castle. Someone had also apprised Frenery and he was there to greet them, looking immensely relieved.

  “A discreet task for you, Frenery,” Jamas said, tak-ing his secretary by the arm into the nearest private room.

  “Oh dear.” Frenery wrung his hands.

  “Dear Frenery, what discreet tasks have you had to do recently that put you in such a tizzy?”

  “Oh dear!” Frenery repeated, blushing furiously.

  “My uncle,” Willow said in a dry tone.

  “Never mind him,” Jamas said, not quite realizing what his lovely bride was implying. “My mother-in-law—” He smirked a bit. “—needs to be spirited out of King Egdril’s palace, and my wife’s younger sisters quietly abducted from their home in…where do they live, Willow?”

  “On the Farm in Yolend. It’s not far from Mauritia City. And they’re all good riders.”

  “All? How many sisters-in-law do I have now?” Jamas was surprised.

  “Three, including Laurel, but I meant that Mother rides well, too, and it’s much easier riding than disappearing by coach.”

  “Indeed it is. Will you see to it, Frenery? The Moxtell lads would do the job neatly enough and the Earl’s old barn of a castle can suffice until I can set up a more suitable residence for them.”

  “Oh, dear, oh dear.”

  “What is the matter, Frenery?”

  “The Countess Solesne. I thought she’d gone. I handed her into the coach myself but she’s here. In your quarters, with Cambion.”

  “Oh dear,” and now Princess Willow took up the chorus, gathering up her riding skirt and running out of the little salon and up the stairs, the prince following her after telling Frenery to set the rescue in train.

  The countess was attended by a very nervous Cambion.

  “She insisted on staying,” the lad said.

  “What is it, Sollie? You should be safe enough,” said Willow, rushing to embrace her old friend.

  “I would be,” Sollie said, rising, “only I heard a conversation which I must inform you of, or I could never live with my conscience. But, first, is there any way you can get your dear mother and sisters out of Mauritia?”

  “That’s already taken care of,” Jamas said, feeling rather superior at the moment. “Now, what could possibly prey upon the conscience of a woman of your integrity, Countess?”

  “Murder,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

  “Heavens, above! Whose?” The prince motioned for her to resume her seat.

  “Yours, your highness,” she said, tilting her head to regard him as if she was certain he would doubt her.

  “Oh, dear! I knew it!” Willow turned tragic eyes to Jamas.

  “Now, love,” and Jamas drew his wife to him and then gently pushed her onto the love seat. He beckoned for Cambion to serve them all wine. “Tell me, Countess.”

  “I overheard them, the countess and that sourfaced maid of hers,” Sollie began when she had taken a sip of wine. “Oh!” as Niffy leaped to the top of the table beside her. The countess, not being a cat lover, nonetheless instantly stroked the silky head of this most unusual feline.

  “Do go on…” Jamas urged.

  Satisfied by the attention, Niffy then leaped down and up into what little space there was on the couch between the newlyweds, purring softly and turning her green almond-shaped eyes on Sollie’s woeful face.

  “I don’t think they know that I did, but I heard them discuss…ways and means…” She shuddered and took another sip. “I know you have discounted Willow’s fears, sir, but they are real. Too many of us in Mauritia live in fear of…that woman! And Fanina!” The countess almost spat the name out. “By any chance, did you happen to notice how moist her hands are?” When Jamas nodded, she went on. “I have reason to believe she transfers a subtle slow poison in that fashion.”

  “I, too,” and Jamas twisted his finger around so that Sollie could see the jewel he wore. “This detects poisons.”

  “Oh, you did listen to me,” Willow said, relief taking away the strain about her eyes.

  Niffy very distinctly said, “Meh.”

  “And you told him, too, did you, Niffy-cat?” Willow said, stroking her lavishly.

  “Did you wash your hands instantly?” Sollie asked the prince.

  “Until the jewel returned to its proper shade,” Jamas said. “But how could a single exposure affect me?”

  “It’s cumulative,” Sollie said. “I know you had to dance with her at the wedding dinner…”

  “I wore gloves. Specifically for dancing with her.”

  “Wise! If you also discarded them the moment you could? Oh, good. You were very wise. That sort of poison can filter through cloth as easily as it does flesh. Now, there are other ways in which this tactile poison can be transferred to the intended victim,” Sollie went on. “You will probably discover some new apparel in your closet, gifts from your generous relatives. I know of a solution in which these items can be washed…for you may be sure that if you are not seen to wear them, that information will be passed back to Mauritia.”

  “They left spies behind?”

  “I believe there have been a few in place here in Esphania for some time, your highness,” the countess added as she took a small packet of notes out of her reticule and handed over the first sheet. “The recipe for the solution—all relatively common substances. This,” and she passed over another sheet before Jamas had a chance to read the first, “is another contact poison that is soaked into things as innocent as the brushes you use on your hair, the stick you carry to ride, your favorite saddle, your usual chair. Minute portions, but gradually, daily contact would put enough in your body to be effective.”

  “Duke Kesuth?” Jamas asked.

  “I fear so,” Sollie said with a sigh. “And Willow’s father, too. For why else would such a capable man, and such a strong fine horse, have such a bizarre accident?” She reached over to pat Willow’s hand, for the reminder saddened the princess. “I think now that they believe they have set such…arrangements…in place, they will wait to hear of sudden indispositions of the Prince of Esphania.”

  “And my unexpected demise at an early age?” Jamas asked, pulling his mouth down in a suitably lugubrious smile, though his eyes danced. When the countess nodded solemnly, he asked, “And how long should that take?”

  Sollie shrugged. “We’ve never been able to estimate that because we never knew when the victims were first…ah…poisoned but you are a young, healthy man and would not succumb too easily.”

  “Your queen has been a very busy woman, has she not?”

  The countess gave another little shudder. “Endlessly. One never knows what she’ll do next. I have observed that the queen enjoys scheming and is always positive that others are so involved. As if we all had her greed for power.”

  “My, she is a virago!” Jamas gave a mock shudder of fear.

  “Do not underestimate her,” princess and countess said simultaneously.

  “Oh, I do not,” Jamas assured them. “Cambion, what new apparel has reached my wardrobes? Would you know?”

  “I do, indeed, my Prince, for I put the packages in a separate place for you to inspect at your convenience even before I had any notion the contents might put you in danger.”

  “All right.” Jamas handed Cambion the recipe for the antidotal solution. “Get Frenery to collect these items.” Niffy merowed. “Oh? They might be
in Mangan’s possession? Hmm, that will make it even simpler. Cambion, you have just been promoted to launderer. Would they have dusted my boots, d’you think?”

  “Not only your boots but every shoe you own,” Sollie said firmly to counteract his levity. “They even mentioned how leather holds the poison better than cloth. Your feet, when warmed by even such minor exercise as walking, would absorb more that way.”

  “As well that my shoemaker has my last fitting and can make replacements for all my footwear.”

  And so they planned to combat the threat. The countess was spirited through the secret passageways to Mangan’s tower where, with Cambion, she made safe the new garments— rather beautifully embroidered shirts—which Jamas then wore whenever possible.

  “But where will Sollie go?” Willow asked when the first excitement of their counter-deception was complete. “I mean, the tower is lovely but is it safe?”

  “Safe enough for the nonce, but perhaps she would enjoy the freedom of our honeymoon lodge? That is not only isolated but protected by the Elbow guard detachment.”

  “Oh,” and Willow’s face was wistful.

  “Ah, then, you don’t like to think of anyone using our retreat?” Jamas wound a strand of her silky black hair around his finger. And laughed when she blushed. “Then I shall think of another refuge.”

  “Is there not a place in the city itself…”

  “A good idea. Hide something where it is most visible. No one need remark on a widow, possibly slightly infirm, taking a house in a quiet square, now would they? I know the very one.” Jamas gave the orders to Cambion, who had not thought to have so many diverse tasks as his prince’s aide. “And you, my love, will still have the good countess nearby until your mother is safely within our boundaries, too.”

  The young equerry had made so much use of the secret passageways that he knew almost as many as his prince and Grenejon did. So he made all the arrangements through an intermediary and even employed his younger brother as the “grandson” of the elderly widow because, as he told his prince, “Simon is so close-mouthed, he never says two words when a nod or a shrug will suffice.”