How long had it been since she… Since someone had…?
Too long, evidently.
Jasper. Bloody. Townsend?!
She glanced down at the tray of mail that sat on the little table by the door and immediately spotted the folded, unsealed, handwritten scrawl addressed to her by her father. It was just sitting there, hanging open for the world to read.
She snatched it up, her lips curling into a frustrated snarl, and stuffed it into the pocket of her pelisse before anyone could wander past and peek at it.
“Morning!” Ruby’s voice sang from the hall, snapping Libba’s head up in her direction. She was hovering in the archway to the entry hall with a steaming cup in her hands. “Were you already out and about today? Gracious, I’m the only one in this house who knows how to sleep.”
Libba blinked at her, knowing she likely looked rather ferocious just now. “Ruby?”
“Did you run errands? What errands can one run at the crack of dawn?” Ruby pondered. “Did you bring me anything? I heard you brought candies to Hattie and now I’m jealous.”
“No candies,” said Libba, frowning as Ruby gave a sigh and a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe next time.”
“Oh! Mr. Harcourt is here,” Ruby added, sipping at the rim of her cup. “He’s with your muscled friend. I think they were looking for you. Ought I to make a scent for Lem, you think? I made one for Jasper recently. I’ve grown bored of all my usuals.”
“Yes, I know you did,” Libba said through her teeth, stalking forward. “Marzipan and Christmas.”
Ruby gave a soft laugh, watching through her long, curling lashes as Libba got closer. “Yes, something like that. It suits him, doesn’t it?”
“Where are Lem and Harcourt?” Libba asked, rather than answering, her fingers reaching up to fumble with the brass buttons on her pelisse. “The parlor?”
Ruby shook her head. “Willa’s old study, by the library.”
She paused, turning her head and giving a little sniff to the air, a glint of recognition seeming to light in her eyes as she took a step closer to Libba.
“Get off!” Libba cried, dancing away from her. “Go smell someone else.”
Ruby’s lips were peeling back in a very slow, very predatory smile. “My, my Liberty. Are you all right?”
“I’m splendid,” Libba snapped. “Excellent! Perfect!”
“Capital,” Ruby echoed, her voice gone shrill as Libba spun away from her and marched off, still in the process of peeling herself free of the blasted pelisse. “Glad to see you’re splendid, Lib! Right as rain! All right as an almond blossom, eh?”
“Shut up, Ruby!” Libba called over her shoulder, turning sharply on her heel down the hall that led toward the library.
She didn’t run. Not exactly. But she certainly increased the speed of her walk.
“Can we not just get a different judge?” Lem’s voice asked, leaking through the crack in the door as she drew nearer.
She sagged in relief, reaching for the knob.
Nothing like bureaucracy to chill one’s overheated blood.
Mr. Harcourt laughed. A rare sound. Actually, quite a nice one.
“I wish it were that simple, my friend,” he said. “But I’m sure you might imagine what would happen if any case could simply hop judges until they found the most sympathetic one. Besides, it’s not even a real judge, just a magistrate.”
“It is not the same?”
Mr. Harcourt gave another little chuckle, but this one sounded tired. “It is not. I thought it might be as simple as a common law name change at first, remember? I was disabused of that notion quickly, due to the lack of origin paperwork, which is why I began the more formal proceedings, but we’ve hit a snag there, too, because of this particular bloody magistrate, pardon my French.”
“You did not speak French,” Lem replied. “Liberty?”
“Good day,” she said, hovering in the doorway and speaking through the crack before realizing that was absurd and pushing it further open with one extended index finger. “Goodmorning. You were looking for me?”
