Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(20)

“Of course. I’ll ask him. You believe there’s something we can do that hasn’t been tried before?”

“To stop Alpha’s curse? I doubt it. But we might isolate him for the safety of others.”

“And stop him being challenged and killed by some whippersnapper? To what purpose? So he can die alone and insane? Be fair to him, Rue.”

Rue closed her eyes and swallowed. Primrose was right. She couldn’t decide her father’s fate any more than he could dictate hers. “I have to try something!”

Primrose stood and went to the porthole. “A few hours until sunset. I’ll put Percy on it.”

“What happened to Quesnel?”

Primrose looked severe. “Mr Lefoux has gone about his business. He tried to follow us but Percy sent him on his way.”

“Did he really? They didn’t start yelling at each other again, did they?”

“No, thank goodness. My brother has been known to be capable in emergency situations.”

“Is this an emergency situation?”

“Yes, I do believe it might be. Now I’ll go and talk to him. Should I fetch tea?”

“Would you join me?”

“By all means. I’ll stay as long as you need.”

Rue found a small smile somewhere and pasted it on. “Would you read to me?”

It harkened back to their childhood days. Primrose was a quick study and had read earlier than Rue, who was frankly too lazy to bother with book learning overmuch. Primrose would read to Rue out loud in her halting child’s treble. As they got older, Prim would do the voices and get all dramatic. Rue could read herself by then, but she liked being spoiled.

Primrose gave a tinkling laugh. “I’d be delighted. German poetry perhaps?”

“Something less painful, I think.”

Primrose disappeared briefly. Tea arrived a quarter of an hour later, brought in by a worried-looking Virgil. He’d been sent by Percy, because tea detail wasn’t ordinarily Virgil’s responsibility. Footnote followed, or was pushed gently into the room by some redhead hovering out of view. The feline performed his catlike duty by jumping instantly onto Rue’s lap and purring up a storm.

Primrose followed shortly. “I’ve brought you Byron – always makes things better.”

Cook had included a few custard éclairs – Rue’s favourite. She managed to inhale two while Prim sipped tea and read Byron in ridiculously sepulchral tones. Everyone was being so nice, Rue almost felt the urge to cry again. She put her tea down and buried her face in Footnote’s fuzzy coat, which smelled faintly of cheese.

In the end, it did make her feel better. Byron was so ridiculously melodramatic it quite made her feel as if she were overdoing it herself. Tea, poetry, and cat duly applied, Rue girded her loins. The sun had set and it was time to approach her mother.

Percy appeared just as she was heading out. His hair was sticking up all over, as if he’d been tugging at it.

“Prudence? About your quandary?”

Rue was eager. “Do you have anything for me?”

“Aside from suggesting he stay in permanent contact with your mother? That might stave off Alpha’s curse.”

Rue shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Percy shrugged. “Well, then, there’s always Egypt.”

“Oh? Oh! The God-Breaker Plague you mean?”

“Yes. There’s very little written about it, and the more recent stuff is classified. But it does make immortals mortal, so it might counteract the curse. He’d go ahead and die, though. I mean, just like the rest of us.”

Rue hugged him fiercely. “Thank you, Percy.”

“Oh leave off.” He brushed her away gruffly, but his eyes crinkled in pleasure.





Rue hailed a hackney. She considered herself a New Woman, thus she did not think it odd to travel alone in public hire, even if Primrose frowned upon it and Aunt Ivy thought it perfectly scandalous.

Nothing awful happened during the three-quarters-of-an-hour drive. She paid her fare, bidding the man on the box a pleasant evening, and took a deep breath to settle her nerves.

It was after dark so the werewolves were awake, and there were a number of clavigers also surging round. Many of them, duties discharged for the day, were heading off to their theatrical obligations or other pursuits. It was the pack equivalent of the changing of the guards.

“Evening, Lady Prudence. You’re not in the wrong house, are you?” A new claviger, whose name Rue did not know, let her in and gave her a small salute.

“You might well ask but I’ve come to call on Mother.”

“Ah. My sympathies.”

“Thank you. And where…??”

“In the back parlour, miss, with himself. Last I checked they weren’t admitting.”

“I’m sure they will make an exception in my case.”

The claviger looked doubtful, for the pack had strict instructions never to disturb Lord and Lady Maccon when they made it clear they did not wish to be disturbed.

“It’s important.”

“Your peril, my lady.”

Rue gave him a nod and brushed by, heading for the back parlour. The dining room opposite was abuzz with humanity. The uncles sat at the table ripping into huge trenchers of raw meat, occasionally hurling bits at each other, boisterous as ever. Was it rougher than normal? Less controlled?