Vespertine (Vespertine #1)(80)

I never could have predicted how grateful I would be to see Marguerite. She cheerfully took charge of the household in a whirlwind of activity, somehow managing to transport me to the kitchen in a shuffle that placed me between her, Charles, and Jean, to the disappointment of everyone craning their necks for a look. At the table, she ushered me to the least visible corner in the back. Meanwhile Jean sat nearest the door, blocking everyone’s view from the hallway. He was drawing his own share of looks, but not for the reason I thought. I learned from Marguerite that he had carried me in his arms all the way here. People had seen, and were treating him as though he were part saint himself.

The little boy, whose name was Thomas, helped set the table. It was too early for the midday meal, but Elaine brought out a haddock and fig pie she appeared to have baked specially for the occasion, presenting a slice to me nervously, as though the Lady might smite her for offering me such lowly fare. When I tried to thank her, she fled.

We ate in a huddle, speaking in low voices. I couldn’t block out the awareness of being watched—the feeling that everyone in the house was committing every detail of this scene to memory, and a dozen different versions of it would be spread across the city by nightfall.

“There are all kinds of rumors,” Marguerite was saying. “Everyone thinks you were in the square, but as far as I can tell, there isn’t any proof. I heard too many different stories about what happened for any of them to be useful to the Clerisy. Some of them were really ridiculous—they got your hair color wrong in most of them, and in one you even brought somebody back from the dead. It’s obvious the soldiers who saw you kept their mouths shut.”

“Of course they did,” Charles said, offended.

She flashed him a quick smile, a dimple appearing on her cheek, before she turned back to me. “So the Clerisy isn’t officially searching for you yet, but there’s too much confusion to know for sure. They could be looking in secret.”

“They won’t want to arrest her during a holy festival. People would riot. I mean, they would anyway,” he added, shooting me a meaningful glance, “but having it happen around Saint Agnes’s day would make it worse.”

“You’re right—I hadn’t thought of that.”

“What about Captain Enguerrand? Did you hear anything?”

“Oh!” She gave him a sympathetic look, her heart in her eyes. “He’s been detained. They put him in the garrison’s dungeon. Someone else is leading the guard.”

Jean hadn’t given any indication of listening before. Now his hand clenched around his knife. Charles asked quickly, “Did you hear the name of the acting captain?”

“I think it was something like Henry. Hubert?”

“Halbert.” Charles swore. “He’s a bootlicker,” he explained. “He’ll do anything he’s told to do. What are the charges against the captain?”

Marguerite didn’t know. “Defying the will of the Clerisy,” I guessed. It was the first time I had spoken. The sound of my voice inspired a renewed flurry of whispers from the hallway outside, though I doubted they could hear what I was saying. “After Leander’s plan failed, I saw him trying to find me in the crowd. Captain Enguerrand stopped him. Leander probably claimed he was there to fight the white vicar, but Enguerrand knew the truth.”

Quiet fell around the table. Then Charles said, “Wait. Leander’s plan? The confessor?” and we had to explain about Leander and the Old Magic, watching him grow progressively more shocked.

“The altar?” he asked loudly once I’d finished, and Marguerite quickly hushed him. He lowered his voice, leaning over the table. “Then you think Confessor Leander was the one who summoned the white vicar?”

Marguerite glanced at me. “It follows the pattern,” I said carefully. So far, we’d managed to skirt around the revenant’s role in uncovering the Old Magic.

“We think he might have been planning to do something during the ceremony,” Marguerite added, “but when he realized Artemisia was there, he had to change tactics.”

“Or the vicar was his plan all along,” I said. “We don’t know.”

“But where did it come from?”

“It might have come into the city possessing a thrall,” I said, listening to the revenant’s suggestion. “The priest—Confessor Leander has enough influence to arrange passage for someone. Maybe he was keeping it in reserve for an emergency.”

“Or it could have been inside Bonsaint already, minding its own business,” the revenant added. “It was old, and very intelligent.”

Intelligent enough to speak. I’d forgotten about that until now. Traitor, it had called the revenant. Scorned One, just like in Josephine’s manuscript. I supposed the vicar had known the revenant was helping me of its own free will. Except—to have earned that title in the first place, had the revenant cooperated with a human before? It hadn’t spoken to its previous vessels, the ones who had been trained. But Saint Eugenia…

Charles placed a hand on the table, interrupting my thoughts. “We should go to the cathedral right now,” he said, starting to stand. “The service starts at fourth bell.”

The hallway outside the kitchen looked more crowded than when we had sat down. There were more people in the house, watching us with eyes as wide as saucers. My presence wasn’t going to remain a secret for long.