Deborah Harkness - Shadow of Night

“Ideas like choice and freedom of thought?” I interjected. “What are you afraid—”

“Next,” Hubbard interrupted, his focus still on Matthew as though I were invisible, “there is the matter of your feeding on her.” His eyes moved to the scar that Matthew had left on my neck. “When the witches discover it, they will demand an inquiry. If your wife is found guilty of willingly offering her blood to a vampire, she will be shunned and cast out of London. If you are found guilty of taking it without her consent, you will be put to death.”

“So much for family sentiment,” I muttered.

“Diana,” Matthew warned.

Hubbard tented his fingers and studied Matthew once more. “And finally, she is breeding. Will the child’s father come looking for her?”

That brought my responses to a halt. Hubbard had not yet ferreted out our biggest secret: that Matthew was the father of my child. I fought down the panic. Think—and stay alive . Maybe Philippe’s advice would get us out of this predicament.

“No,” Matthew said shortly.

“So the father is dead—from natural causes or by your hand,” Hubbard said, casting a long look at Matthew. “In that case the witch’s child will be brought into my flock when it is born. His mother will become one of my children now.”

“No,” Matthew repeated, “she will not.”

“How long do you imagine the two of you will survive outside London when the rest of the Congregation hears of these offenses?” Hubbard shook his head. “Your wife will be safe here so long as she is a member of my family and there is no more sharing of blood between you.”

“You will not put Diana through that perverted ceremony. Tell your ‘ children ’ that she belongs to you if you must, but you will not take her blood or that of her child.”

“I will not lie to the souls in my care. Why is it, my son, that secrets and war are the only responses you have when God puts a challenge before you? They only lead to destruction.” Hubbard’s throat worked with emotion. “God reserves salvation for those who believe in something greater than themselves, Matthew.”

Before Matthew could shoot back a reply, I put my hand on his arm to quiet him.

“Excuse me, Father Hubbard,” I said. “If I understand correctly, the de Clermonts are exempt from your governance?”

“That is correct, Mistress Roydon. But you are not a de Clermont. You are merely married to one.”

“Wrong,” I retorted, keeping my husband’s sleeve in a tight grip. “I am Philippe de Clermont’s blood-sworn daughter, as well as Matthew’s wife. I’m a de Clermont twice over, and neither I nor my child will ever call you father.”

Andrew Hubbard looked stunned. As I heaped silent blessings on Philippe for always staying three steps ahead of the rest of us, Matthew’s shoulders finally relaxed. Though far away in France, his father had ensured our safety once more.

“Check if you like. Philippe marked my forehead here,” I said, touching the spot between my brows where my witch’s third eye was located. It was slumbering at the moment, unconcerned with vampires.

“I believe you, Mistress Roydon,” Hubbard said finally. “No one would have the temerity to lie about such a thing in a house of God.”

“Perhaps you can help me, then. I’m in London to seek help with some finer points of magic and witchcraft. Who among your children would you recommend for the task?” My request erased Matthew’s grin.

“Diana,” he growled.

“My father would be very pleased if you could assist me,” I said, calmly ignoring him.

“And what form would this pleasure take?” Andrew Hubbard was a Renaissance prince, too, and interested in gaining whatever strategic advantage he could.

“First, my father would be pleased to hear about our quiet evening at home on the eve of the New Year,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Everything else I tell him in my next letter will depend on the witch you send to the Hart and Crown.”

Hubbard considered my request. “I will discuss your needs with my children and decide who might best serve you.”

“Whoever he sends will be a spy,” Matthew warned.

“You’re a spy, too,” I pointed out. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Our business here is done, Hubbard. I trust that Diana, like all de Clermonts, is in London with your approval.” Matthew turned to leave without waiting for an answer.

“Even de Clermonts must be careful in the city,” Hubbard called after us. “See that you remember it, Mistress Roydon.”

Matthew and Gallowglass spoke in low voices on our row home, but I was silent. I refused help getting out of the boat and began the climb up Water Lane without waiting for them. Even so, Pierre was ahead of me by the time I reached the passage into the Hart and Crown, and Matthew was at my elbow. Inside, Walter and Henry were waiting for us. They shot to their feet.

“Thank God,” Walter said.

“We came as soon as we heard that you were in need. George is sick abed, and neither Kit nor Tom could be found,” Henry explained, eyes darting anxiously between me and Matthew.

“I’m sorry to have called you. My alarm was premature,” Matthew said, his cloak swirling around his feet as he took it from his shoulders.

“If it concerns the order—” Walter began, eyeing the cloak.

“It doesn’t,” Matthew assured him.

“It concerns me ,” I said. “And before you come up with some other disastrous scheme, understand this: The witches are my concern. Matthew is being watched, and not just by Andrew Hubbard.”

“He’s used to it,” Gallowglass said gruffly. “Pay the gawpers no mind, Auntie.”

“I need to find my own teacher, Matthew,” I said. My hand fluttered down to where the point of my bodice covered the top of my belly. “No witch is going to part with her secrets so long as any of you are involved. Everyone who enters this house is either a wearh , a philosopher, or a spy. Which means, in the eyes of my people, that any one of you could turn us into the authorities. Berwick may seem far away, but the panic is spreading.”

Matthew’s gaze was frosty, but at least he was listening.

“If you order a witch here, one will come. Matthew Roydon always gets his way. But instead of help, I’ll get another performance like the one Widow Beaton gave. That’s not what I need.”

“You need Hubbard’s help even less,” Hancock said sourly.

“We don’t have much time,” I reminded Matthew. Hubbard didn’t know that the baby was Matthew’s, and Hancock and Gallowglass hadn’t perceived the changes to my scent—yet. But this evening’s events had driven home our precarious position.

“All right, Diana. We’ll leave the witches to you. But no lies,” Matthew said, “and no secrets either. One of the people in this room has to know where you are at all times.”

“Matthew, you cannot—” Walter protested.

“I trust my wife’s judgment,” Matthew said firmly.

“That’s what Philippe says about Granny,” Gallowglass muttered under his breath. “Just before all hell breaks loose.”

“If this is what hell looks like,” Matthew murmured the week after our encounter with Hubbard, “Gallowglass is going to be sadly disappointed.”

There was, in truth, very little fire and brimstone about the fourteenyear-old witch standing before us in the parlor.

“Hush,” I said, mindful of how sensitive a child that age could be. “Did Father Hubbard explain why you are here, Annie?”

“Yes, mistress,” Annie replied miserably. It was difficult to tell if the girl’s pallor was due to her natural coloring or some combination of fear and poor nutrition. “I’m to serve you and accompany you about the city on your business.”