She had not seemed overly concerned with her betrothed’s disappearance, Wren reflected as he wandered out of the garden. Then again, considering she was betrothed to Felix, he could hardly blame her for her disinterest. All the better for her if he should mysteriously perish. And while it certainly made matters convenient for her, convenience need not make her a murderer.
Wren reached the cathedral without drawing a definitive conclusion as to Miss Flora’s involvement in Felix’s death. He intended to say so to Shrike, but as he entered the vaulted sanctuary, he found Shrike already in conversation.
With Tolhurst.
Shocking enough to see Shrike in the form of a man when he’d left him in the form of a bird. More shocking, still, to see his broad ebony antlers reaching toward the vaulted ceiling. He wore the leather domino mask of oak leaves with its notches for his antlers and the antlers-bound-in-spiderwebs sigil that Wren had devised. Shrike had donned it before they left Blackthorn. Even then, Wren hadn’t seen it make any difference in the appearance of Shrike’s antlers. Yet Shrike had seemed pleased with it.
And now, while Wren found it difficult to tear his gaze away from those very antlers, Tolhurst seemed not to notice them at all.
Tolhurst and Shrike stood together by the ruin of Gundulf’s tower and beneath the green man carving in the groined roof. Wren felt quite certain of that last point, as Shrike had his arm upraised to indicate said carving and his gaze fixed upon it, with Tolhurst following his direction. That is, until Wren dared to venture further into the sanctuary, at which point his boot-falls echoing from the floors to the rafters alerted all to his presence.
“Ah, Mr Lofthouse!” said Tolhurst in a tone which suggested all his geniality had returned since Wren had seen him last. “Your friend Mr Butcher was just telling me the legend of the Green Man. What a queer pagan fixture in this house of God.”
“Very medieval,” Wren agreed, forcing his words to remain conversational even as his pulse raced. “If I might have a moment of your time, sir, in private?”
Perhaps, Wren hoped, Tolhurst might speak more freely than Miss Flora had on the subject of his nephew. But he could hardly expect Tolhurst to speak candidly on the subject of Felix’s fate if Shrike were looming over his shoulder.
Tolhurst glanced at Shrike with raised brows. Shrike’s expression remained blank stone as he bowed and retreated to the cathedral entrance. He went beyond the range of human hearing—but not beyond that of fae. Wren gave silent thanks for Shrike’s evident trust in him, while feeling relieved that Shrike hadn’t wandered too far off to respond if Wren should require his intervention.
“Perhaps you’ve heard, sir,” Wren ventured in a low tone, “that Mr Knoll has withdrawn from university?”
“I have heard so, yes,” Tolhurst replied. “From his creditors.”
Wren, surprised at Tolhurst’s apparent ease, took a moment to respond. “You’ve not spoken with Mr Knoll yourself?”
“I haven’t,” Tolhurst said with a faint smile. “Nor have I seen him. As such, you see, it becomes much more difficult for me to reveal his present location to said creditors.”
“Your loyalty to your kin is commendable,” said Wren, his mind whirling all the while. “However, should you come to discover where Mr Knoll has hidden away, perhaps you would be so kind as to mention it to Mr Grigsby? He has his ward’s best interests at heart, I can assure you of that. And he would by no means betray—”
Tolhurst waved off the remainder of Wren’s speech. “Your employer’s concerns are admirable, but unnecessary.”
Wren bit his tongue and grit his teeth, yet could not quite prevent himself from replying, “If I may be so bold as to mention it, sir… you do not seem particularly worried regarding your nephew’s welfare.”
Tolhurst raised his brows, though his tone remained mild. “I beg your pardon, Mr Lofthouse. But as Felix has already vanished and returned within the last year, and as one might argue vanishing is the best thing he could now do to escape his present predicament, I see no cause for concern.”
Wren had to concede that reasoning seemed sound. At least when one didn’t have the benefit of fae sooth-saying to tell one otherwise.
Tolhurst’s smile widened. “Particularly when he has such good friends as yourself looking after him.”
Wren forced a smile to match it.
~
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wren could not say in truth he mourned Felix’s death.
However, whatever Wren’s own thoughts on the matter, when he returned to Staple Inn and stepped over the office threshold, he couldn’t fail to notice how Mr Grigsby bolted upright at his entrance, or the spark of hope that lit up Mr Grigsby’s eye as he peered over Wren’s shoulder, expecting Felix behind him.
Something in Wren’s withered conscience likewise twisted as he informed Mr Grigsby of his failure to find his ward. The glint in Mr Grigsby’s gaze guttered out like a spent candle stub drowning in its own wax as Wren described, in broad terms, his meetings with Miss Flora and Tolhurst alike. He made no mention of Shrike; it wouldn’t have helped matters, and indeed might have confused them much. He took care to prevent his gaze from wandering toward the black-masked songbird perched outside on the windowsill just over Mr Grigsby’s shoulder.
Yet, wan though it had grown over the course of Wren’s recital, still Mr Grigsby’s smile remained as he expressed his belief that, in time, Wren would discover his ward. Perhaps sooner rather than later, he added with a sage nod.
“I do hope,” Mr Grigsby continued, “that we may find him before any danger befalls him.”
Wren fixed an answering smile onto his own features. He needn’t tell Mr Grigsby that Felix now lay beyond all hope and beyond all danger.
~
