The Monstrous Sound of Wings (Patreon)

Chloe had been waiting on the hard bench in the chilly hallway outside the Headmistress’s office for nearly an hour. She had her hands trapped under her thighs to keep her fingers warm, but it wasn’t doing much good. 

The bench didn’t often see visitors who weren’t in some form of trouble with Mrs. Redoubt. In fact, Chloe thought she might be the first –hopefully. She wasn’t one of the schoolgirls anymore. Mrs. Redoubt had not been her guardian for nearly four months, not since Chloe had reached her majority. Of course, there wasn’t much difference between a guardian and an employer at St. Margaret’s except the amount of pocket money she received.

She failed to startle as the door to the headmistress’s office burst open with enough force to rattle the nearby window. Her nerves had never been very tender and after living in the dormitories for so long she was deadened to the sound of raised voices and slamming doors.

The man who had opened the door did not seem impressed with her. He looked her over, taking in the plain cut of her brown wool gown and the prim knot of her hair, which did nothing to flatter her small eyes or blocky features. If they were related, she couldn’t see any evidence of it in his face. His features were more catlike below his slicked back graying hair. Perhaps it was a relationship through marriage. He was somewhat better dressed than she was. His jacket and boots were new and close enough to fashionable, although his pocket watch was old and the chain much in want of a polish. “You are?” He barked at her.

“Miss Clotilde Evans.” Chloe answered in as even a tone as she had to command. There was a slender chance that he might be a potential client and if so she did not care to alienate him at the threshold if she was about to go into his service. Indeed, though, his manner reminded her more of the sort of men she was meant to protect her changes from than the ones she did work for.

“You?” He replied, appalled. “Rational thought preserve me.” He added, to no one in particular.

She gave him a cool glance, taking in his demeanor and all his trappings. The man’s accent and wardrobe suggested he was a member of the gentry, but his manners and his pocket watch told Chloe that he’d come up from trade. 

Money could buy respectability, but new habits and mannerisms took longer to soak in. A lord or a gentleman would treat his watch as an accessory. It would be an elaborate style, new, and stiff with disuse. A tradesman regarded his watch as a tool. It would have wear around the rin, the hinge would be looser, and the chain might have been chosen to match the owner’s suit rather than the watch itself.  This man’s watch was nicer than someone in trade could afford and the style suggested it had been bought within the past few years, but it was already showing wear.  Whoever he was, his money was relatively new and he was still uncomfortable with it to only buy himself a single nice watch rather than several to coordinate with his wardrobe.

Chloe did not comment, but craned her head to see inside the office. Mrs. Redoubt looked as though she had just fought a bear in single combat. There was not a mark on her, but her eyes were dark with tired irritation. 

“Chloe, dear, come inside.” She said almost as soon as the shouting man snapped, “Get your things, girl. We’re leaving.”

Obeying Mrs. Redoubt was more than a habit. The old woman had rarely steered Chloe wrong so she chose to enter the office and took the better of the two chairs in front of the desk. It was just a bit warm so she had the vicious pleasure of knowing she’d taken the loud man’s spot.

“Tea.” Mrs. Redoubt muttered the word like some other people said the word ‘whiskey.’ She turned to the little copper kettle that lived on her stove and began to assemble a fresh set of cups. 

“Yes, thank you.” Chloe said just as the man opened his mouth to shout some more. To her surprise, he shut it and took the remaining chair with a sulky look. 

Mrs. Redoubt served her tea made with new leaves, two sugars, and cream. Chloe’s optimism took another dive with every addition, seeing them as cushions for whatever blow the loud man had come to deliver. She’d guessed some part of his aim; to take her away. That had been hard to miss, but on whose authority was what she wanted to know.

Chloe had just turned twenty-five. She no longer needed a guardian’s permission to marry or accept employment and hadn’t for years. So just how this strange man intended to pack her off like a bag of flour was a matter of great interest to her. 

…but Mrs. Redoubt had not ever given her tea with both cream and sugar. New tea leaves only made an appearance in the first pot of the day and it was well past noon. The school was not badly off, but the cost of the tea service came out of the head mistress’s salary so none of the girls or the instructors ever presumed. Whatever claim the man had on her, Mrs. Redoubt must have thought it was legitimate.

Once they were all settled with a cup, Mrs. Redoubt took a breath and favored Chloe with a smile. “My dear, I do not think you remember but this gentleman is your cousin; Mister Levi Merrow. You would have been very small when you last saw him. He was the one who gave you into the care of the school.”

Ah. Chloe considered the man. Now that she was looking, she realized he was flushed with emotion and his temples were damp with wear. Anger? Or perhaps guilt?

St. Margaret’s had been a dumping ground for the inconvenient daughters of the upper and middle classes for over thirty years. Sometimes they came with maintenance money, but they often didn’t. St Margaret’s was equal parts school and boarding house. A substantial chunk of the alumnae’s wages went straight back to the school, which paid for the room and boarding of those ladies who did not have live-in positions or those who were between posts. The alumnae also supported the charity students.

Sometimes a girl’s original guardians came back for them, although Chloe could not recall anyone ever waiting more than a few months or so. No one had ever come for one of the alumnae. 

 Mr. Merrow clearly did not want her back. Therefore, he must need her back. 

Chloe considered the very short list of things a gentleman of recent means might need the relative he’d abandoned in an institutional school for. Most of them had to do with money. Perhaps she was an heiress, but that seemed unlikely. Chloe was too prosaic to consider such a possibility out of hand. 

She knew she’d been orphaned. Mrs. Redoubt had death certificates for both her parents although Chloe had never seen them. She had no memory of her mother and father and so had never been that interested in them, but dead parents left wills. Sometimes the students of St. Margaret’s had small stipends due to them. That was a common enough story. School fees were always cheaper than supporting a relative and provided a thin veneer of legality for their guardians to keep the money left over. 

It was unlikely she’d ever see a penny of whatever this Merrow person had stolen from her, but she did wonder what had changed. If he’d only kept quiet, she’d have never known to look for him. She was valuable enough to the patronesses of St Margaret’s that she’d never have been encouraged to look into her own history. 

Chloe looked again. Perhaps that wasn’t temper or guilt on Mr. Merrow’s face. Perhaps it was fear.

That didn’t bode well for the peaceful afternoon she’d been looking forward to. Frightened men did stupid, violent things.

Mrs. Redoubt took a folio off her desk and handed it to Chloe. Mr. Merrow tried to take it, but Chloe was faster. She’d served St. Margaret’s as a companion and chaperone for hire these last four years and intercepting inappropriate notes being passed to her charges demanded fast reflexes.

Inside the folio was her birth certificate, the death certificates for her parents, and a record of tuition payments that had stopped somewhere around the time Chloe had graduated. In fact, it looked like there was still a balance due so he must have stopped paying even before that. The name on the birth certificate was not Clotilde Evans though. It was Rosamund Elodie Clotilde Merrow. Goodness. Now there was a mouthful. Maybe she was an heiress. She couldn’t imagine anyone else needing quite so many names.

She closed the folio and settled it in her lap, pinned underneath her folded hands. “What business does my cousin have with me after all these years?” she addressed Mr. Merrow, who somehow impossibly went even redder. His gaze jerked once in the direction of the headmistress and then back to Chloe.

He didn’t want to discuss it in front of a witness. How annoying.

“This is family business and will be discussed among family,” he ground out. “I won’t tell you a third time, girl. Get your belongings or be prepared to leave them behind.”

“How amusing.” Chloe permitted herself a chilly smile. She could imagine the effect such a man would have had on her younger, more sheltered charges. He’d likely been expecting someone of that breed. Indeed, she was often busier shielding her young Misses from his sort than the harmless flirtations their parents worried about. “No, I don’t think I will. Speak your piece here or go away.”

Merrow struggled to master himself and grappled with the response he wanted to make for several long seconds. Finally he managed to say -in a more even tone than he’d managed so far- “There is a –gentleman who has requested a meeting with you. He had something to do with your parents’ estate.”

Chloe made a thoughtful noise. So she’d been right. There was money involved. That was annoying because it meant she was going to have to deal with Merrow. 

Her modest needs were covered by the school and her wages, but her retirement savings were not yet what she’d like. St Margaret’s arrangement protected the most vulnerable students among the student body and working Alumnae, but made few provisions for the single women who retired from service. That wasn’t uncommon. Most independent women in Ascadia who didn’t also have independent means worked until their deaths. Most of the Alumnae married eventually and Chloe wasn’t inclined to be one of them, but she also did not want to spend her entire life in the yoke of service. So she saved everything she earned that did not go to repaying the support she’d received from previous graduating classes. Any windfall, no matter how modest, could only help her achieve her end goal.

“I see,” she replied. “And when is this meeting?”

“Now. At Merrow House.” 

Chloe let her expression speak for her and Merrow clenched his hands in his lap. He unclenched them and then clenched them again as though he were crushing something –or someone.

That tore it. There was no way Chloe intended to get into an enclosed space with him, but she was curious about this person who ‘had something to do with her parents estate.’

‘Merrow House’ was at least a familiar address. She’d never been there, but she’d seen it. Normally the residential areas in Ascadia were broken up by district, street, block, and house numbers. Those were the ‘new’ neighborhoods that had been built during the industrial boom some fifteen years ago. Old Town was a bit more lackadaisical when it came to addresses as it dated back to a time when Ascadia had still been the Capitol of Ardele, but the royal family had moved out as soon as the factories moved in and the nobility had followed suit. All the great old houses and town estates had unique names, but few of them were still occupied by the families that had built them. 

Old Town was where the new money lived these days. The only noble families who still lived there were either the ones who couldn’t afford to establish new premises in New Ardelene or were very distant relatives of the original tenants. So, to wit; being Merrow of Merrow House in Ascadia was no great honor. 

Mrs. Redoubt appeared to be in agreement with Chloe. She rang a plain brass bell that sat on her desk near to hand and an unobtrusive side door opened to the left of the entrance Chloe had used to admit the girl on Duty for the day.

The girl -no one Chloe recognized, but probably a member of the Lower Sixth- made an excellent curtsy. “Yes, headmistress?”

“Eladine, please call a cab for Miss Evans. She has an appointment in Old Town,” Mrs. Redoubt instructed the girl with a wave of her hand, which translated to the ladies of Mr. Margaret’s as ‘go fast and don’t let yourself be stopped.’

Eladine bobbed a second, less careful curtsy and was gone before Merrow could try and countermand her. 

000

Merrow house was not the grandest on Freemont lane, but Chloe had the sense that it once had been before Old Town had become so overcrowded. The house itself occupied a square lot nestled in between two other buildings. It had a bit of a front garden full of young box hedges and two gated lanes on either side to provide one with to the kitchen yard and small stable. There were old trellises and two nude pergolas in the front that suggested the gardens had once been a bit more interesting, but someone had ripped out the old plantings and replaced them with ones that required less maintenance. The effect when coupled with the silvery stone face of the building and its leaded glass windows was tidy, if unimaginative. 

The maid servant scurried ahead of her to open the front door and let them inside. It was a shocking breach of protocol, but the girl had spent the entire ride pressed against the wall of the cab as though she would not mind if the door gave out underneath her and dumped her into the street. Fear had overridden whatever common sense she’d started with. Chloe took her time paying the cabbie and followed at a more decorous pace. 

A butler stood by as she arrived. Only the slightest turn of his expression indicated he’d had to run to make it there before she did thanks to the girl’s hysterics. His gaze flicked down to take in her ordinary sage-green working day gown. To his credit, his expression of bland disinterest did not budge.

“Miss Clotilde Evans. I understand that I am expected.”

“Indeed, miss.” The butler opened the door wider and bowed her inside. 

Like most Old Town homes, there was a small shrine just inside the front door dedicated to the Little Mercenary Gods. Chloe paused to look over the little porcelain figures. You could tell quite a lot about a household by its patrons. Merrow house was under the protection of the three Agrarians; the Shepherd, the Gooseherd, and the Miller. Her ancestors must have been land stewards. Each of them had been depicted in that overly elaborate fashion characteristic of the second era; closed eyes with full indigo lashes, impossibly sleek limbs, heart-shaped mouths, towering coiffures, and enormous bustles bedecked with flounces and tiny bows. 

Chloe reached into her reticule for her tobacco case. She did not smoke, but tobacco was considered universally appropriate as an offering when entering a strange house. To her surprise, the pinch of tobacco she dropped in the offering plate vanished at once.

She couldn’t stop herself from shooting a concerned look at the butler. He did not meet her eyes so she added a second pinch of tobacco and then a third when that was taken away too. When the fourth offering remained in the dish, Chloe put her case away.

She heard the sound of stomping feet on the stairwell and the butler murmured, “Welcome home, sir.” As her cousin finally caught up to her. 

Chloe felt something insubstantial move at her back. She looked behind her back into the foyer and her gaze settled on the little shrine with its pastoral gods. 

As one, they opened their eyes.

000

A skeletal man in a severe black suit was waiting for them in the drawing room. He stood with his back to the door and his hands clasped behind him; the solicitor in charge of her parents’ estate, Chloe guessed.

Merrow caught her as they entered, his fingers dug painfully into the soft skin under her arm. “You will mind me, girl,” he hissed, having recovered from his earlier scare in the corridor at school. It happened that way with his sort sometimes. “Or things will go badly for you.”

Chloe snorted and shook him off in one, abrupt gesture. Merrow looked like there was more he wanted to say, but the solicitor turned to greet them.

His face was more pleasant than Chloe had expected from the figure he’d cut by the window. His eyes were the same warm brown of his skin and his mouth bracketed by smile lines. His hair was braided back in neat cornrows that ended in a beaded club at the base of his neck.

“Mr. Merrow.” He inclined his head in the briefest of nods; the bare minimum required by good manners. His demeanor warmed considerably when he turned to greet Chloe, “Lady Merrow. I’ve been waiting to make your acquaintance.” To her, he bowed. “Cezar Barnes of the law firm of Barnes and Dane, at your service.”

Chloe dipped in a curtsey on reflex. The honorific took a moment longer to sink in. Lady? Merrow, for that matter?

Mr. Merrow met her gaze from over Mr. Barnes’ shoulder and the look in his eyes told her quite plainly how he wished her to respond. Chloe smiled without mirth in reply and resettled her attention on the solicitor. 

“The pleasure is mine,” she replied. “Although you may be doing me far too much honor. I wasn’t aware of there being a title in my family.”

He seemed unsurprised or –perhaps not surprised. Pleased? Victorious, even? “I understand that it is a courtesy title held by the head of household in residence at Merrow house. It is limited to the female line. Your mother was the Merrow in residence and your father was ennobled as a baronet for his service to the crown, although that title is now attached to the male side of his family and was assumed by your half brother.”

Chloe blinked rapidly. A brother? First parents with property and now a close blood relative. Although not one who had ever been interested in her. If he was her father’s son from an earlier marriage then he was older than she was. “I see,” she said at last. Her voice was uncharacteristically faint. 

“Here.” The solicitor guided her to one of the horsehair sofas and took one of her hands, patting it in that well-meaning but useless way that men had

“That’s enough now,” Mr. Merrow blustered. “You’ve seen the girl now and upset her for good measure. My man will show you out.”

“I do not believe so.” Mr. Barnes turned Chloe’s hand and was now examining her school ring, which bore the rowan branch, black birds, and motto of St. Margaret’s; Ego Mordere. “A sister alumna.” Her murmured and Chloe at last noticed the pin in his neck tie; an iron raven framed with yew branches. The motto below read Ego Dormio. He was a graduate of Baird’s. 

Mr. Merrow started in their direction and Barnes held up a hand. His eyes drained of color and Chloe’s cousin froze, quite literally, in place. Chloe felt her stomach twist as she realized the man holding her hand was more than a solicitor. He was a Channel.

Barnes' gaze did not leave her face, but his voice deepened and gained an echo when she continued to speak. 

“Lady Merrow, can you state with honesty and in view of the thousand little gods, that you have been a resident of the house since the passing of your parents?”

“No.” Chloe kept her voice flat. Of all the things she’d imagined walking into, this had not been one of them.

“Did you abandon your duty of your own will?”

“No.” The air temperature had plummeted and she felt the ghost of little hands all along her arms grasping and pinching. More words escaped her; forced out by some strange internal pressure. “I was not aware I had any obligations to this household. I did not know my name was Merrow until today.”

The hands released her and the scent of tobacco and cut grass filled her nose. Barnes blinked hard and his eyes returned to their original warm brown shade. He blew out a relieved sigh. “They believe you,” he said as he straightened his collar and stepped back to a more comfortable distance.

Chloe sat heavily on the nearest available seat, which turned out to be a narrow horsehair sofa that threatened to dump her right back off.

He turned slowly to Chloe’s cousin, whose eyes had taken on the wild tilt of a frenzied horse. “Levi Merrow, I find you in default of the custody agreement made between you and the late Lady Elodia Merrow. Lady Chloe has not been kept in residence at Merrow House per the ancient traditions of the Crown. She is ignorant of her rights, duties, and inheritance. The Shrine of the Agrarians has not been maintained to an acceptable standard. Furthermore, the monies paid to you quarterly for the upkeep of Lady Merrow and the shrine have clearly been misappropriated. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Mr. Barnes gestured and Cousin Levi stumbled forward. He caught himself on the furniture and pushed himself upright. “I have abided by my end of the bargain. I only agreed to take custody of the girl and I have. I paid for her education and housing until her majority even though I was under no obligation to. Chloe Merrow was born outside of wedlock and has no right to any of the properties and funds entailed to the Merrow family. By Ascadian law, I am the only appropriate heir to Merrow House and anything I chose to spend on the girl was charity. Take me to court and try to prove otherwise.”

It was a pretty speech, but Cousin Levi had gone to a great deal of trouble to try and fool Mr. Barnes into believing that she’d been under his protection the whole time. Those weren’t the actions of a man who believed in his own innocence.

“Perhaps. I do think my findings would be upheld in that case. However, the legitimacy of Lady Merrow’s birth is neither here nor there. By ancient decree, the rights and properties of Merrow House descend through the natural female line so that there can be no doubt of her breeding. Lady Chloe’s birth was witnessed and verified by the representative of the Crown,” Mr. Barnes murmured as he reached into the breast pocket on the interior of his sleek black coat. From it, he withdrew a small silver card case. 

“However,” he continued, “...this isn’t a matter for the legal courts. As part of the custodial contract, you made a personal oath to the thousand little gods and offered them your own blood as a surety.” There, Mr. Barnes opened the case and withdrew from it a square of paper set between two sheets of glass. On the paper was a red thumbprint, noted as belonging to ‘L. Merrow’ in spidery copperplate below. “You swore to steward Lady Merrow’s properties, fulfill the responsibilities of the Merrow in her stead until such a time as she could bear them herself, and then relinquish control of her birthrights on the day of her coming of age. She has not been raised as the Merrow. The Little Gods in Merrow House are starving. You are in breach of contract.”

000

Shamus Connelly, called Shady, came aware of the commotion next door by degrees.

Shady didn’t hold with much of his religious upbringings. The parish shaman in the tenement where he’d grown up had been one of the deep mystics, not the sort you went to for spiritual counsel, so his connection to the community was tenuous at best. Shady’s mother had been a strong supporter of the Codices of Order. With seven kids underfoot, he supposed he could see the appeal for her. He hadn’t felt the same draw, but he did observe Three and Sevenday because he dearly needed two days of dedicated rest a week.

The same could not be said for the rest of the city. Rationalism was the predominant school of thought in Ascadia, which suited him fine since that meant other people had no issue kindling a flame or doing other work on the days of rest and they’d accept money to do it for him too.

There was always a bit of noise on Freemont Street. It was a genteel neighborhood within the visiting circles of the Heights. Ascadia was a fashionable city in general, although not all addresses were equally desirable. Freemont Street was too narrow and too near the Theater District for most, but many members of the country nobility kept townhouses there so it got busy during the Spring and Summer when anyone with any pretensions wanted to be in Town.

Almont was just one of Shady’s properties, but it was one of the few he’d purchased for himself. He had nicer houses that he’d won at cards or received as collateral on a loan, but this house backed up onto a network of private alleys where his people could come and go without much question. His neighbors’ staff members had learned quick to either stay out of the back lanes or disregard anything they saw there.

There was carriage traffic up front almost all day except for the quietest hours of the morning, but it was the sound of men shouting to one another punctuated by the strident tones of one of the Miss Merrows that got his attention.

Shady found some of his men clustered around one of the front windows, watching through the parted curtains. One -Derry- caught sight of him through the corner of his eye.

“Have a look, sir.” He cleared a spot for Shady at the window and, intrigued, Shady took it.

There was a large cart parked in full view of the street. Elodie Merrow was on the front step arguing with a familiar figure in black; Xavier Brant, a frequent client of Shady’s. In fact, Madame Merrow’s face wasn’t the only familiar one down there. Two of Shady’s own men came out the front door of Merrow House loaded down with cases and luggage. He vaguely recalled lending Barnes some bodies for an eviction, but he hadn’t realized that it was going to take place on his own street, much less next door.

“Well now.” Shady mused outloud. “Here’s a bit of excitement.”

Merrow had never been one of Shady’s favorite neighbors. He was nosey for one and, for another, his daughters fought like alley cats. You could hear them at it anytime the housekeeper opened a window.

“Perhaps we’ll have a bit of peace on a Threeday afternoon following this.” Shady caught Derry’s attention. “Find out what’s going on. If Merrow House goes up for sale, I want first bid on it.”

Derry shook his head. “Unlikely, sir. Word around town is that Merrow was holding the place in trust, but no one knew who for. Barnes and his agents have been seen asking questions. ‘Spect he finally caught Merrow lying to him. Anyway, I heard it’s got Patrons.”

For all that he looked like a starved scarecrow, Barnes wasn’t someone Shady cared to betray. He had the patience of stone and a long memory. Those things made him a good ally and an irritating enemy. Even if Shady were willing to make a go of it, if the house had the kind of Patrons worth specifically mentioning and not just a little altar to the city’s pantheon then he was more likely to pull back a stump than a prize if he interfered with their affairs.

All told, he was surprised Merrow was alive in that case. He was an extreme Rationalist, the kind who thought that the little mercenary gods didn’t exist or, if they did, then they couldn’t compete with the willpower and logic of a determined human being. Most Rationalists weren’t that stupid or sheltered.

Actually , he might not be alive. Shady could see no sign of him on the street.

Shady shrugged. “Keep an eye out for the new tenants then. I do so like to know the neighbors.”