The Worcester Hunt Ball
Millbank Manor, May 1980
The Hunt Ball is one of those social occasions which I particularly enjoy. Even though I have stepped down from being Master of the Worcester at the moment, the committee still uses my home for the Ball, and it gives me a chance to entertain in a manner which is closer to that of my youth. The old hall doesn't see enough good entertainment any more.
On this occasion, I was circulating and acting the perfect host when my eye was caught by two of the new arrivals. Miles Collier I knew fairly well. I had kept in touch with the family - on and off anyway - since his many times great grandfather had seconded me that afternoon at King's. However, his companion was unfamiliar to me. What puzzled me, though, was the fact that I felt I ought to know her.
As I glanced over towards them, I saw that Miles seemed to be indicating in my direction, and after a hurried exchange of words, which seemed to be initiated by the woman, they started walking towards me.
"Robert," Miles said as he reached me, "may I have the privilege of introducing you to a friend of mine... Annabel Clarke. Annabel, may I present Robert de Lacy, Duke of Worcester. Our host for the evening."
"Enchanted," I replied, taking her hand and kissing the back of it - an old fashioned gesture, perhaps, but one I had always favoured.
"I have heard a lot about you, Your Grace," she commented as I released her hand.
"All good, I hope?" I replied. The usual form answer to that particular statement. It's strange, but looking back on it now it was a very ordinary start to a passionate, and somewhat stormy affaire de cœur.
"If you'll excuse me," interrupted Miles. "I've just spotted Squire Wells by the fireplace, and I need to speak with him," he explained, and with that he was gone.
I watched his retreating back for a moment, then turned back to my companion. She had long, raven black hair, pale grey eyes, and a fine featured visage. In addition, the long blue velvet dress she was wearing suggested a figure that a supermodel would be proud of. All in all she was a truly stunning woman, and on first sight I was strongly attracted to her. Even now I cannot explain what it was about her that made me react differently towards her than I have towards most of the other women I have known.
"It would appear that Miles has left you in the lurch, Ms Clarke," I said, quietly.
"Annabel."
"Alright, Annabel...Can I get you a drink?"
"Thank you, Your Grace. I'd like that."
"Please, either Robert or, if you insist on being formal, Worcester. Do I look old enough to be called "Your Grace"?" I smiled, but I was a little surprised when she momentarily looked unsure. However, her brief flash of uncertainly was very quickly gone, almost as if it had never been.
"A drink would be good...Robert," she finally answered, so I took her arm and we walked across to the drinks table under the Minstrels' Gallery. I took a Scotch while she settled for a glass of white wine.
"You have a wonderful house," she commented after a few moments, "how old is this hall?"
"The old house, of which this is by far the largest room, was built by one of my ancestors in about 1600," I answered, "I could give you the full tour if you are interested?"
"If it wouldn't be taking you away from your guests."
"They can wait for a few minutes."
I spent the next ten minutes or so showing my companion around the old wing, from the music room at the north side of the ground floor, to the old library and dining room to the south. She seemed at least superficially interested, especially as we walked along the first floor balcony that connected the rooms at either end of the hall. As is usual on such occasions, we made polite conversation and spoke about irrelevancies. However, there was an air about her that made me feel uncomfortable - as if there was something I should have realised about her, and yet was missing. Finally, as we were walking back down the main staircase in the new wing, I realised what at least part of it was.
"Why did you want Miles to leave us so abruptly?" I asked.
She looked surprised at the question. "What do you mean?"
"I saw you come in with him, you talked for a while, asked him to point me out to you, and then got him to bring you over to introduce you to me. This seems to imply that it was you, not him, who instigated the introduction."
"Do you always play the detective?" she asked, a little annoyed. At what, I wondered? The fact that I was questioning her, or the fact that I had caught her out?
"Only when I'm curious. My background is in investigative magic and forensics, not detection," I replied, "so why did you arrange the introduction?"
"I just wanted to meet you, nothing more," she answered, but I wasn't convinced.
"Ms Clarke," I replied, trying to hold down the anger that I could fast feel rising within me, and knowing that if this went on for too long I would lose it, "I do not like being taken for a fool, so kindly refrain from treating me like one. What do you want?"
"I have heard a lot about you, Duke Robert, but most of it implied that you were, at least, a gentleman," she replied, and I could see my building anger reflected in her own. "Why have you decided to interrogate me?"
"I have not. Believe me, if I had, you would know." Our first conversation, and it was turning into our first argument. "I just want the truth, that is all."
"Okay, okay," she exclaimed, finally backing down. "Yes, I came here with Miles for the specific reason of meeting you. I read a lot, and your name has come up on occasion in interesting and unexpected places."
"May I ask where?" I asked, taking several mental deep breaths and consciously trying to calm myself.
"Magical, forensic and alchemical journals, mainly, although your predecessors are mentioned in various of the military histories of the period from 1780 to about 1865. The de Lacys have a colourful history."
"So do many of the older noble families, especially the ones of Norman descent such as my own."
"But the majority of the other families are not practising mages. It is rare for the Talent to run so strongly through an aristocratic house, and for so long. I believe the Dukes of Worcester have all been credited as Masters since your namesake, the first Duke Robert, graduated from King's College Cambridge back in the early 1700s."
It was true, of course. Andrew, like myself, had shown an aptitude for magic and had attended King's in his own right some years after I had left. However, my companion's comments disturbed me. I had been under the impression that I had covered my tracks well down the years - after all, I had long before decided that it was improbable that anyone would check too deeply into my family - and yet I strongly suspected that the woman in front of me had pieced together more than she was saying. The questions were how and why.
"I am interested in why a Duke, a member of the House of Lords no less, should bother to be a practising magician: and not just a minor one, either, but a Master in your craft. Some of the papers you have written are excellent, and your reputation as a forensic sorcerer precedes you. In addition, I believe you hold a commission in the army. And all this by the age of...what...thirty-four, thirty-five? Shall we say you've piqued my curiosity."
"Ms Clarke..." I began as she laid out the charges.
"Annabel, remember."
"Where is this leading?"
"Who says it's leading anywhere?" she asked, and a mischievous grin flashed across her face.
"As I said, don't take me for a fool," I warned, "however, for now have it your way...I should be getting back to my guests in any case. Perhaps we can continue this another time?"
"Oh, I intend to," she replied, and headed back down the corridor towards the old hall. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, leaned against the wall and watched her go. After a short while, I heard footsteps coming down the passage behind me. I looked back the way we had come, to see Andrew approaching.
"Problem, Robert?" he asked, amicably, as he joined me. We gave up referring to each other as father and son a long time ago - after all, he is only about twenty years younger than I am, which is very little over the space of 300 years, and we look more like brothers anyway.
"I don't know. What do you know about a woman named Annabel Clarke?"
"The name's familiar," he replied, and paused for a moment to think, "isn't she some kind of journalist?"
"Journalist?"
"You know, the investigative reporter type."
"Damn," I cursed softly and turned back to him, "then in answer to your question: yes, I think there's a problem."
"Anything I should know about?" he asked as we walked back towards the old hall.
"It would seem that Ms Clarke has set her sights on unearthing the secrets of the de Lacy family, and the current Duke in particular."
"And she'll fail. After all, it's happened before and we're still here."
"Not in a long time," I replied, thinking of the Great Detective's investigations around the turn of the century. My relationship with Holmes had improved one hundred-fold once we were working with each other, not against each other. And then there was Gray's enquiries, during the Second World War.
"True, but it's probably too early to worry yet. Who knows, maybe you'll be able to persuade her that there's nothing for her to discover," he replied, whereupon he paused for a moment, before continuing. "You know, it's been quite a while since I've seen that look on your face."
"What look?" I asked, startled, turning towards him as we paused at the top of the steps that led down from the new wing into the old hall.
"The wistful one," he replied, grinning, "I suspect Ms Annabel Clarke has had more of an effect on you than you might care to admit."