Echo in Onyx Page 15

  We treated Prudence much the same way, though we were gentler with her broken body than we had been with Jamison’s. And we did not throw her half-naked into the lake. Once I had swapped my clothes for hers, we put mine on her. Nothing in the details of my dress would give away my identity or link her to Marguerite, and we could not bear to send her to that unfriendly grave without giving her the smallest scrap of honor.

  Then we stood there on the bridge, arms linked, staring down, waiting to see if our efforts were thorough enough. Apparently they were. Prudence did not rise to the surface, either.

  After a long, silent, dreadful spell of waiting, I tugged on Marguerite’s arm. “Come on. We have to get back to the inn. The coachman’s probably been waiting half an hour already.”

  We crossed back to land and did what we could to erase all traces of the skirmish. Jamison’s clothes we folded into a square bundle covered tightly with his velvet jacket. My hope was that it might look like a pillow Marguerite had brought along on our walk.

  Then we put a little more attention into my appearance. As I had suspected, I was easily able to fit into Prudence’s dress, though it was a little tight in the bosom and waist, since I was heavier than Marguerite. The biggest problem at this point was my hair, so much darker than Marguerite’s blond. But, as luck would have it, today the four of them had been wearing blue summer dresses ornamented with exaggerated lace collars almost as sizable as shawls. We carefully ripped each collar from its neckline to fashion impromptu scarves to wear over our heads and shade our faces. The disguise was imperfect—but I hoped it would be good enough for any casual observers.

  “If anyone asks, say the sun was hot and you wanted to shield your complexion,” I told Marguerite. She nodded. She had hardly spoken at all during these grim activities and showed almost no volition of her own. If I had not been there to direct them, I thought she and the echoes might have simply sat on the ground between the two corpses, crumpled against each other, and waited until someone came along and found them.

  Disastrous on so many counts. Though I could not be certain our present course of action would be any less ruinous.

  Our last chore was to strip and free the horse. Marguerite had no idea how to remove a saddle or bridle; fortunately, I had plenty of experience with those tasks. Within a few minutes, I had tossed the final items into the forgiving lake. We better hope there’s not a drought in the next few months, I thought as I watched the last ripples fade away. By the time I returned to the others, the horse had already drifted off a few yards, nibbling at the wilted green grass. I figured it would only be a matter of hours before he had wandered a couple of miles away.

  I gestured at the path. “Nothing else to do here. Let’s go back. Marguerite, I’ll walk behind you and try to copy your movements. Purpose, Patience, you walk on either side of me. I think people are less likely to notice me if I’m in the middle of the group. Nudge me if I do something wrong.”

  Without a word, Marguerite set off, the three of us right behind her. I studied her posture, the set of her head, the way she held her hands very carefully at her sides as if she had been told that swinging her arms while she walked was unladylike behavior. The sun beat down on my makeshift veil and threw a spiderweb of shadows across my face. I tried not to sweat, but between the heat and the tension, it was hard to stay cool.

  I had hoped we could slip unseen into the posting house and up to our private parlor, but the proprietor appeared to be on the lookout for us, for she greeted us the minute we arrived at the back door.

  “Your coachman says he’s ready to leave when you are,” she said. “We’ve already had your things put back in the carriage.”

  “Thank you,” Marguerite said in a faint voice. “Might we have a few moments in the parlor to tidy up? It was so much hotter than I expected.”

  “Certainly! I’ll have tea brought up, shall I?”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  The four of us had just filed past her into the kitchen when the landlady spoke again. “What happened to your maid, then?”

  I froze, and not just because Marguerite did. Even if I could have thought of a response, I couldn’t have uttered it; echoes never said a word. But it scarcely mattered—my mind was a blank.

  Marguerite hesitated only a moment, so briefly perhaps the other woman didn’t notice. “She encountered a friend and stayed behind to visit. She’ll catch up in a day or two.”

  I was watching the proprietor, praying she would accept this flimsy excuse, so I saw sharp comprehension come to her face. “Oh! That fancy man who came through here, wanting to know who owned your carriage.”

  My stomach clenched, but Marguerite nodded. “You’re exactly right. I was—ah—surprised to see how well they were acquainted.”

  “I know it’s not my place to say so, but anytime one of my servant girls starts carrying on with a noble, high or low, I just let her go on the spot. Nothing but trouble comes from such things, I’m sorry to say.”

  Marguerite turned away from her. “I’m afraid you’re right. If she ever does show up in Camarria, I’ll be astonished.”

  Marguerite and I were out of the kitchen, Patience and Purpose at our heels, when the innkeeper called after us, “If you need a maid, now, my sister’s girl is just a ten-minute ride away.”

  “Thank you, I shall make do until Camarria!” Marguerite called back, and we all kept walking.

  The minute we arrived in the room, we threw the door shut and all four of us sagged against it, trembling and trying not to break down. Only for a moment—there was too much still to do. I was the one to pull myself upright and square my shoulders.

  “Now. We must clean ourselves up. Bind that wound on Patience’s arm. Make sure none of us have blood on our clothing. And put on better disguises! Here’s my workbag—excellent. I have three headpieces ready to go.”

  Within twenty minutes, we were refreshed and fed, and we had exchanged our erstwhile lace collars for actual veils. Standing between Purpose and Patience, I studied myself in the mirror. With the headpiece in place, the netting pulled down to my chin, I looked enough like them that it would take a hard second look for someone to notice that my hair was darker and my body softer. It was possible we would pull this off, after all.

  “The netting hides my face and eyes well enough,” I said. “My hair is the real problem. I just have to design headpieces with a lot of fabric, I think.”

  Marguerite came close enough to make a fourth nearly identical shape in the mirror. “Brianna, are you sure—”

  I turned away and began gathering up my things. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”

  We had one more bad moment, when the coachman was helping us all into the carriage. “Where’s Brianna?” he asked.

  I was actually the one holding his hand when he asked the question, and my fingers involuntarily tightened over his. I wasn’t well acquainted with the man; like the guards, he’d been hired to take us on this journey, since Lord Garvin couldn’t bear the inconvenience of sending his own staff away for an entire month. But he was usually the one Lady Dorothea requested when she needed an extra driver, so he was frequently in and out of the servant’s hall. He knew me—and he would know, as the landlady did not, that I wasn’t the kind to take a tumble with random noblemen. There was no way I could communicate this information to Marguerite as I climbed inside and took my place beside her. I closed my eyes behind the veil and waited for doom to fall.

  But Marguerite was proving to be an unexpectedly adept liar. “Brianna twisted her ankle when we went for a walk,” she said. “I insisted she stay behind until she feels better. She can come in with the second coach.”

  That seemed to satisfy him. “Should I go tell the head groom to flag down the second coach when it comes by? They might not be planning to stop here.”

  “I’ve already asked the proprietor to speak to him.”

  “All right, then. We’ll be on our way.”

  The four of us sat, rig
id on our benches, until we felt the carriage rock with the weight of the coachman taking his seat, until we saw the two guards trot up on their horses, until we finally felt the vehicle jolt into motion and slowly pick up speed. Half a mile away from this accursed spot … a mile … five. Only then did any of us relax; only then did any of us take more than the shallowest breath. Marguerite doubled over and began sobbing silently into her skirt; Purpose and Patience did the same.

  Not me. I sat bolt upright, one hand resting on Marguerite’s back, and stared out the window with fierce concentration. It was only now sinking in that I had witnessed two murders and helped organize an elaborate scheme to conceal them. The horrors of this day would haunt me forever, whether or not anyone ever discovered what we had done. If we were found out, Marguerite’s life could be forfeit, and possibly mine as well.

  We would have to be very, very careful in Camarria if we hoped to make it home alive.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  For the rest of the journey, Marguerite and I practiced lies and gestures.

  I sat beside her in the coach, learning to watch her from the corner of my eye and to detect the small motions that signaled bigger ones she intended to make. For instance, her right hand would twitch slightly just before she raised and extended it to greet an acquaintance. Her chin would dip a fraction of an inch before she turned her head to peer over her left shoulder. Marguerite had always moved with a certain stateliness, but now she was slowing down to an even more deliberate pace in the hope of allowing me to match her, only one or two heartbeats behind.

  Six days after we left Oberton, we arrived in Camarria, and we all took turns leaning out the window to get our first glimpses of the royal city. My overall impression was one of size. From what we could see from the carriage, it covered about three times as much land as Oberton, but it wasn’t just bigger in terms of sprawl; it also claimed more height. In Oberton, the governor’s five-story mansion was the tallest structure in the city. In Camarria, even from some distance away, I could see whole clusters of buildings that were even taller.

  Even that wasn’t the most impressive feature. Nico had mentioned Camarria’s bridges, but I hadn’t been able to picture what they looked like or how many there could be. But we passed dozens of them, all over the city, short ones linking one building to another, long ones arching over busy commercial districts. They appeared to have been constructed thoughout the course of centuries because they came in all styles and materials. I saw a flat wooden walkway laid across the rooftops of two old commercial buildings; a short distance away arched a graceful construction of elegant white stone that incorporated decorative disks of black marble. When we got close enough to make out details, we could see the shapes of people hurrying across every span. Camarria appeared to be a city constantly on the move.

  Despite the fact that the city was packed with carriages and pedestrians, traffic moved at a decent pace through the wide and well-kept streets. It wasn’t long before we arrived at the palace, a magnificent building in the heart of the city. It was constructed of warm red brick accented with white stone and black wrought iron; the copper roof was green with verdigris. I lost count of the turrets poking up at every seam and corner, their roofs gathering into sharp points that pierced the afternoon sky. Two gently curving wings extended from the palace proper to create a paved courtyard enclosed on three sides. And the courtyard was overrun with horses, carriages, brisk soldiers, fine nobles, servants, and the occasional cat.

  “Just looking out the windows as we drove in, I thought it would be easy to get lost in the city,” Marguerite murmured. “Now I’m wondering if I might get lost in the palace.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  She glanced at me as the carriage slowed in front of the massive doors. “Are you ready?”

  I pulled my veil down to my chin, and the echoes did the same. Today we were all wearing simple green traveling dresses and headpieces wrapped with so much netting that it obscured our hair as well as our faces. “I better be.”

  She took a deep breath. “Me, too.”

  A minute later, the carriage came to a halt. A palace servant opened the door and helped us out, one by one. Marguerite made her way across the courtyard and into the grand foyer of the palace. I followed directly behind her, with Patience and Purpose on either side of me and one pace back. We moved in lockstep, our feet echoing on the polished marble of the floor, our heads lifting simultaneously to take in the high painted ceiling. Then we paused a moment to glance around the whole foyer, which was dotted with people—more servants, more guards, a smattering of visitors, and several ornamental suits of armor that looked like people, even though they weren’t.

  A tall, ample woman approached, holding herself with the self-importance of a high-ranking servant, and we all turned our attention to her. She was clearly well briefed on who might be arriving on any given day, for her greeting was a curtsey and a question. “Lady Marguerite Andolin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome to Camarria. I am Lourdes, the head housekeeper. You may send me word anytime you need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I have set aside rooms for you in the east wing, where we are placing all the young ladies who are coming to visit.”

  “Are many of the others here already?”

  “I believe all but two have arrived, and we expect them before nightfall.”

  “How many guests will be here altogether?”

  “Twenty-two. Twelve women and ten men.”

  “It sounds very splendid!”

  “Indeed, I believe it will be,” said Lourdes. If she was anything like Constance, I thought, her sole goal in life would be to present her household, and the people within it, in the best possible light; she would see the royal family as extensions of herself, and their hospitality as wholly dependent on her management skill. In her own way, she was even more of a shadow to them than I was to Marguerite. “I will have one of the girls show you up to your rooms. Is your luggage outside with the coach?”

  “Some of it. A separate coach will arrive in a day or two.”

  “Very good.” I saw Lourdes’s eyes flick from Marguerite to the three echoes and keep searching. “Is your maid outside with the coach as well?”

  “Brianna had an errand to run for me when we arrived in the city, but she will be here within an hour or two,” Marguerite said smoothly. We had debated this lie endlessly during the last two days. We had quickly decided to abandon the notion that I had run off or been dismissed; if Marguerite showed up without a maid, the housekeeper would undoubtedly offer to supply one, and we couldn’t risk having a stranger around us. No, I must arrive as an echo, slip out as a stealthy stranger, and return as a maid, making sure that Lourdes or someone on her staff met me and knew I was on the job.

  “Very well. I will have her shown to your rooms when she gets here.”

  “Thank you,” Marguerite said.

  “Dinner will be served in the dining hall at six,” Lourdes went on, motioning to a passing serving girl. “Some of the visitors gather in the adjoining parlor beforehand, if you would like to join them there.”

  “Certainly. I look forward to it.”

  Lourdes gave instructions to the servant, and the four of us turned as one to follow the girl toward a wide doorway opening from the cavernous foyer. I was concentrating hard on synchronizing my movements with Marguerite’s, so I couldn’t say what sound or motion caused me to glance sideways at a shape that lurked near one of the suits of armor. And then I was so unnerved that I almost missed a step.

  It was Nico Burken, and he had clearly witnessed Marguerite’s arrival. From the corner of my eye, I could see his slight frown as he assessed the fact that I wasn’t with her. I wondered if I could guess at the thoughts going through his mind right now: Did Marguerite fire Brianna, or did she choose not to come? Did her mother fall sick—or did she want to avoid seeing me?

  He pres
sed his lips together and narrowed his eyelids as he watched us pass. I held my breath, but his gaze passed right over me without registering my face. Another few paces and we were out of his sight.

  Although the palace was enormous, it was methodically laid out, and it was clear Marguerite and I would have no trouble finding our way back downstairs at the dinner hour. Her suite on the third floor was elegantly appointed, with fine mahogany furniture and delicate silk hangings, though it was not nearly as large as her rooms back home. In fact, it consisted of only two connected chambers—a small but pleasant sitting room, and a large bedroom with four beds. One was wide and plush, covered with a dozen pillows and a lace duvet; the other three were comfortable but narrow, lined up in a row on the side of the room.

  “The echoes don’t get their own room?” I said stupidly.

  Marguerite shook her head. “In most houses, they don’t. Even my parents and my brothers have their echoes in their rooms with them. I created something of a stir when I insisted on the extra space. I think I was twelve years old.”

  “And you’d already learned their different personalities.”

  Marguerite perched on the edge of her bed, and Patience and Purpose and I each sat on our own. “Which I tried not to talk about. I can’t remember how I finally convinced my father to give me an expanded suite. But my brothers made fun of me for weeks.”

  “Do you mind sharing a room with them?”

  She shook her head. “No, I think I’ll find it comforting that they’re here. Although I’ll keep thinking— I’ll keep looking around and feeling like … like …” She pressed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head.