“I get it,” said Mallory. “But if one were to go searching for him, where might one want to start?”
Lucienne bit her lip. “I cannot recommend going there, but… it would have to be the cellar.”
“Oh, don’t do it,” said Béatrice, wide-eyed. “He is very territorial. Going down to the cellar is the surest way to anger him. We stay as far away from it as possible.”
“And yet, alas,” said Lucienne, “the cellar stairs are right next to the cupbearer’s room, so a visit from time to time cannot always be avoided.” She lifted her glass—now empty—and pouted. “If youaregoing that direction, perhaps you could bring me a refill?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the servants’ halls, Mallory passed the linen room, stocked with towels and napkins and tablecloths. The butler’s pantry, with its monogrammed porcelain stored tidily in mahogany and glass cabinets (disappointingly, no sign of the lutin). The kitchen, where Armand had so tenaciously stirred the simmering pot of chocolate. The cupbearer’s room, stacked high with dusty casks and bottles of wine.
Stepping around a corner, she crashed into Julie. An armful of linens scattered across the floor.
Julie gasped, her arms still outstretched. “Gracious! You are in a hurry, Miss Fontaine.”
“I’m sorry.” Mallory scooped the linens into a messy lump and tried to pass them back to the maid.
Julie smiled thinly, then took a hand towel off the top of the stack and folded it neatly. “Quite all right.” She took a bedsheet,whipped it straight, folded it corner to corner. “What are you doing in the servants’ halls, m’lady?”
Realizing that the maid intended to refold every piece, Mallory cast around for another place to set the work, but there were no tables in the corridor.
“Just trying to be thorough in my search for wicked spirits.”
Julie hummed in acknowledgment as she studied Mallory, eyes narrow with suspicion. Maybe Yvette had persuaded her not to trust Mallory and her witchcraft.
Noting a sprig of small white flowers tucked into the maid’s pocket, Mallory said, “Lovely bouquet. Are you warding off dark spirits yourself?”
Pink flooded Julie’s cheeks as she pressed delicate fingers over the flowers. “I don’t think they have magical powers. Other than making me smile. Perhaps that is magic in itself.” She finished with a towel and set it on the stack. “You would know better than I.”
“They were a gift?”
Julie’s blush deepened, but she didn’t respond. Confirmation enough. The girl had a beau.
“I hope you’re being careful.”
Julie paused halfway through folding a pillowcase. “Careful?”
“With whomever is wooing you.” Mallory shifted on her feet. The linens were growing heavy. “You can’t always tell which ones are monsters until it’s too late.”
Julie let out a peal of laughter. “Oh no, Miss Fontaine, he is the sweetest, most thoughtful man in the world.” She set downthe pillowcase, pressing out its corners. Her expression took on a dreamy quality.
“Right,” Mallory mused. “And no wolf ever donned sheep’s clothing.”
Julie clicked her tongue. “You sound as though you’ve been jilted in love, Miss Fontaine.”
“I’ve had enough sense not to fall in love to begin with.”
The maid’s shoulders seemed to relax. “I am relieved to hear it.”
“Relieved?”
Eyes going wide, Julie giggled uncomfortably. “That is—I’ll be relieved when you change your mind, Miss Fontaine. Surely you won’t be so staunchly opposed to love when it finds you. I daresay, there’s no avoiding it.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t looking to fall in love, and yet… it was inevitable.” She stiffened. “But perhaps I shouldn’t be speaking so forwardly. And Yvette will be wondering what’s keeping me.”
She hurried through the rest of the pile—three towels, two pillowcases, another bedsheet. Mallory folded the final dishcloth herself.
“Sweetheart or not,” said Mallory as Julie bustled away again, “I’d still be careful.”
The maid paused. “You’re kind to worry, miss. But I assure you, he wouldn’t harm a—” She screamed suddenly, jumping back. The tidy pile of laundry tumbled from her arms onto the floor again. “Salamander!”
