Chapter Twenty-Two

Eliot, tapping his foot one minute, fidgeting the next, waited on the steps by the front door, willing Renard and Minette to appear. Along with Lina, the four friends had planned a late morning ride, but that plan had changed.

Torn between wanting to return to the drawing room and wanting to alert his friends, he kept his gaze fixed on the outside gate. He also continued to ignore the three men standing by the carriage in the courtyard, conversing quietly with the coachman and footman.

Finally catching sight of Renard and Minette in the distance, he waved; to his relief, they urged their horses into a trot and were soon riding through the gate. Eliot hurried down the steps to meet them. “I’m sorry, we won’t be riding today,” he said, holding the bridle of Minette’s horse.

Renard’s gaze flicked to the carriage, and he said softly, “Garlon?”

“And Jack.” Eliot helped Minette down.

She looked at the men who removed their hats and inclined their heads in her direction; she graced them with the barest of smiles.

They were about to mount the steps when Renard spoke quietly. “Wait. Jack made it to the mountain again? Even though the guards knew to look out for four men?”

Eliot nodded. “I don’t know how they managed it.”

His brow furrowed, Renard said, “I’ll let Father know.”

As they started to ascend the steps, Eliot said, “Garlon arrived first, it seems he was expecting Jack to be here today, and he arrived about twenty minutes ago.”

“With the harp?” asked Minette.

His hand on the door handle, Eliot stopped and shook his head. “We only found out now, Garlon had told him to take the cat instead.”

“What?” Renard stared.

“Climence was angry until Jack arrived. She took one look at it and is pleased he did.”

“I didn’t know she likes cats,” said Minette as Eliot opened the door.

“I don’t know that she does. It’s, you have to see it.”

They followed him to the drawing room, their progress hampered by the servants who, crowding around the doorway, only reluctantly stepped aside. Eliot led the way to where Lina stood near the door.

At the other end of the room, Climence sat on the edge of a chair with Marcelin, arms folded before her, standing by her side, and Garlon next to her.

On Climence’s other side, Jack stood tall with his shoulders back despite cradling a bandaged arm. Catching sight of Eliot, his lip curled in a sneer.

Between them and the four friends, in the middle of the room, in a cage large enough to hold a small child, was a cat, larger than any cat they’d seen. Ears back, teeth bared, it prowled the cage, its angry cries eerily like that of a child. It turned in the direction of the friends.

Renard exclaimed softly as Minette gasped. Its eyes did indeed resemble those of a human more than an animal.

“Its eyes,” said Minette, “so strange. But it’s beautiful.”

“That is exactly what it is,” said Climence, holding her closed fan in both hands. “What a prize. I admit this is so much better than a harp. Well done, Jack.”

He bowed. “Thank you, madam.”

Eliot took a step forward, his brow furrowed. “Taking a living creature is better?” He ignored Lina’s attempts to hold him back. Seeing such a magnificent animal caged angered him more than he realised it would.

Climence scowled. “This is none of your concern. I do not care for your unwanted opinions.”

Garlon advanced, glaring at Eliot.

Eliot’s gaze went to Jack. “You know how it feels, to have an animal you care for taken from you, when your horse was sold.”

“You can’t compare this to a horse,” said Jack. “It’s just a dumb beast.”

“But you said the tall-folk–”

“Enough.” Climence got to her feet.

“You would do well to mind your grandmother. Boy.” Staring at Eliot, Garlon stalked past the cage.

The cat lashed out, its claws ripping through Garlon’s trousers. Yelling, he lurched away, half falling to his side.

Climence’s cry, drowned out by some of the servants’ screams, fell back on her chair as Jack scrabbled to stand behind her.

Marcelin covered her mouth with her hands, tell-tale crinkles around her eyes.

Eliot snorted as Lina, Renard, and Minette struggled not to laugh.

Climence reached out to Garlon but made no attempt to leave her chair. “Garlon, are you hurt? Marcelin. Go to him.”

Garlon quickly got back to his feet. “Cursed beast.”

The cat lowered itself onto its haunches, licking its paw, its gaze fixed on Garlon, a continuous long, deep, throaty rumble emanating from it.

“Marcelin–”

“No, Mother, I don’t want to be scratched.” Meeting Eliot’s gaze, her smile, no longer hidden, widened as did his.

Climence stared at the four friends. “You four may leave. I don’t see anything humorous about this, and I do not appreciate such a display of childish behaviour.”

No longer bothering to hide their smiles, they followed Lina as she led the way out of the room.

Eliot paused at the door. “What are you going to do with it?”

Climence clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Keep it, of course.” She looked at Garlon, still checking the tear on his trouser leg. “Unless you want it.”

Eliot didn’t miss the glare he shot Climence, making him wonder if there was more to their plan.

“Why would I want it?” said Garlon, his tone dismissive.

Snapping open her fan, turning towards Marcelin then turning away again, Climence stuttered before finally forming a sentence. “Then I shall keep it.”

“Where?” said Eliot.

“Here,” she said, scowling.

“You can’t keep it shut in a cage with barely enough room to move.”

“You would have it run free and terrorise us all?” Shaking her head, she turned her back on him. “I refuse to be questioned like this. Leave.”

Eliot continued to glare. As he took a step forward, Marcelin raised her brows and tilted her head towards the door. With a sigh, he turned to leave, knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere trying to get Climence to change her mind.

The house was silent, its occupants in various stages of sleep. Except for one.

Lying on his back, staring into the dark, Eliot’s thoughts raced around his mind. From his father’s business to Marcelin and Lina, to Jack, Climence and Garlon, the cat, even the tall-folk. But it was thoughts of his father that dominated.

As much as he loved Dacey, Eliot couldn’t stop thinking how his life would have been if Ruvane hadn’t died. And especially since Marcelin had said they’d planned on moving to be closer to his grandmother, Arditha. Eliot wondered what she was like, was she even alive? Suddenly, his conscience countered with Lina, that he was putting her aside so easily.

With a soft denial, he sat up, sleep nowhere near. Swinging his legs off the bed, he sat with elbows resting on his knees, staring at the darkened floor. “If Father was still alive, surely he and Mother would have had more children,” he whispered. “Surely I’d have had younger siblings, a sister.”

His conscience whispered back, ‘Not Lina, though.’

Pressing his eyes shut, he got to his feet and padded over to his desk. Feeling around, he lit the lamp then leaned forward, hands flat on the desk, staring at nothing. Trying to put aside the conflicting thoughts of his father and Lina, he turned instead to the plan Climence had with Garlon.

“There’s more to it, I’m sure. Why did Garlon look angry when she asked if he wanted the cat? And her reaction.” He straightened, eyes widening. “Does he know the tall-folk on Cloud Mountain? The cat? Is that why he told Jack to take it and not the harp?”

Staring at the lamp, he failed to find any enlightenment to this new conundrum. He jammed his fingers through his hair. “I’m never going to get any sleep.” He turned to his bed, frowning. Another thought came to him and, instead of getting back into bed, he donned a shirt to cover his bare torso.

Taking his lamp, Eliot slipped out of his chamber, bare feet padding down the dark corridor to the stairs. With the lamplight only bright enough to illuminate each step he placed his foot on, he carefully made his way down and crept into the drawing room.

A pair of eyes reflected the light from the lamp, punctuated by a low growl.

Eliot slowly went down on his knees, but he kept his distance. “I am so sorry, cat. I don’t know why you were taken, and I am sorry you’re suffering for it.”

A platter of meat had been shoved at an angle against the cage.

He shook his head. How was the cat supposed to eat from it? Taking a deep breath, he set the lamp down a little way from the cage, but still close enough to light up the immediate area by the cage.

“Don’t hurt me, please. I only want to help you.” Softly repeating the words, he moved closer to the cage, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

The cat’s growling didn’t increase in volume neither did it move, but it watched his every move.

Taking a piece of meat, Eliot slowly put it in the cage, his heart pounding, fully expecting the cat to shred his hand.

Instead, it fell silent and sniffed in his direction. When he pulled his hand back out of the cage, it stretched its neck, smelt the meat, and gobbled it. Raising its head, its gaze met Eliot’s.

The third time Eliot put his hand in the cage, it placed its massive paw on his hand. He froze, holding his breath, but the cat didn’t extend its claws. It didn’t eat much more, but it seemed more relaxed as it regarded him silently.

Eliot lay on his side so he could keep his hand in the cage, and gently stroked the cat’s paw, talking softly to it.