Love-in-a-Mist (Greenwing & Dart Book 5) by Victoria Goddard

Author:Victoria Goddard [Goddard, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Underhill Books
Published: 2020-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Murdered!” I said. “Who?”

“I don’t know.”

That stopped me dead. (So to speak.) I coughed and directed him to the seats; he took the chaise longue. Hoofs clattering on the wood floor drew my attention downwards, to where an alert and playful unicorn foal had decided to make its presence known. Ballory’s liquid black eyes showed no hint of fright or even wariness as it took the hem of my borrowed coat in its mouth and started to suckle on it.

“She’s been like this for two hours,” Mr. Dart explained, briefly distracted from his gruesome news.

I, however, wasn’t. “How do you know there’s been a murder, then? Did someone see something?”

“I found the murder weapon.”

I looked at his empty hand. He flushed. “I didn’t take it with me! I went downstairs to see if breakfast was being served—how did you warrant it up here, anyway?—and one of the knives on the wall told me it had been used to kill someone last night.”

Right.

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, and then what? I sought you out, obviously.” He shifted, visibly agitated, and wrung his hands slightly. I eyed him for a moment and then pointed towards the coffee. The headache between my eyes was back and gathering reinforcements, but he seemed to need it more. I didn’t correct him when he picked up the Honourable Rag’s cup, however.

“Well,” I said with an attempt at sang-froid, “at least this time I have witnesses to show I didn’t do it.”

“Is that my cue?” the Honourable Rag asked in his own accent. All three of us looked up: myself in resignation, Mr. Dart in shock, the unicorn in glad eagerness. Ballory bounded over to him, only to stop splay-legged a foot or so back from where he was leaning against the bathroom door.

“Roald Ragnor!” Mr. Dart cried. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“House-breaking,” I replied. The Honourable Rag’s attention was largely fixed on the unicorn, but he spared me a mock sneer even as he extended his free hand for Ballory to sniff. His other held the Green-Man mask.

Mr. Dart opened his mouth, took a breath, shook his head, and made directly for the breakfast tray and the coffee pot. The unicorn left off sniffing the mask and bounded back over to him. He set down the coffee so he could stroke its head. It leaned into his touch, then picked up one of the quinces—just at a height it could reach by craning its neck—and carried it over to the hearth, where it lay down in a rather dog-like fashion to eat it.

After swallowing down half the refilled cup of coffee, Mr. Dart’s colour improved. He watched the Honourable Rag saunter over with what I considered excessive theatricality (but see: his disguise as the Hunter in Green; his alter ego’s career as a highwayman; his own general giant blondness and propensity for wearing scarlet and black and excessively dramatic boots) to take the wingback chair. He set the mask down next to the silver tray.

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