Excerpt
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Lena Austin
"Madame?"
Madge
Majesty looked up from her study of the papers spread on her lap and
across the seat of her beloved 1912 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Limousine.
"Yes, Hayden?"
"Madame,
Dunraven Castle is but perhaps half an hour away. You requested a
warning." Hayden had lasted years longer than any of her other drivers,
so he knew he was liked, but wasn't fool enough to take advantage of
that knowledge. Harpies were not creatures to take lightly.
"Hmm.
So I did." She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her leather
case. Wearily, she pulled on the gloves she'd laid to the side and put
on the ridiculously large hat with an immense array of feathers
decorating it. "There. I'm properly adorned." She huffed out an
unladylike breath, as much as her corset would allow. "I'd give a great
deal to be back in Greece where the fashions were sensible."
Hayden
quirked a smile at her. "But not warm, Madame. Wales in winter is
considerably chillier." As if to emphasize his point, the wind rattled
the Rolls with no respect for the craftsmanship that went into it.
"I'm
very sorry I agreed to be the Duke's hostess for this mystery party.
Why didn't I refuse and stay in our lovely townhouse in London, where I
could enjoy a party or write as I pleased?" Madge rubbed her chin
thoughtfully. "Ah, well, what's done is done. We'll make the best of the
weekend and be toasting our toes in front of the home fires soon
enough."
"I've never been to a mystery party, Madame. How does one throw a party for a mystery?"
"Very
simple. It's all in this box." Madge patted the locked strongbox beside
her. "There are clue cards and the basic plot for me to follow. This
one is perfect for a winter game, called The Santa Clause. Who wouldn't
love to murder a solicitor or two now and again?" She shrugged. "I
certainly would, upon occasion."
Hayden
retreated into silence and returned his attention to maneuvering her
precious new car through the few treacherous roads that Wales bothered
to have at all. The ex-thief was not fond of anyone who had anything to
do with the law. He was officially rehabilitated, but a mere ten years
of service as her driver didn't negate a lifetime of running from
authority. An extremely careful and quiet man by nature, he was -- in
Madge's opinion -- the perfect companion, much better than a twittering
peahen of a lady's maid.
The
car lurched and slid to one side on a patch of icy mud, throwing Madge
against the door. She bore it in stoic silence. Hayden wouldn't
understand how much they needed the money provided by this weekend of
enforced merriment. Everyone was writing books in this day and age, and
she wouldn't say the money she earned was paltry, but it certainly
didn't allow for a lavish lifestyle. In fact, if the truth were known,
Hayden was the only employee she could afford. Thus, while on their
jaunts -- often paid by those who wished for a bit of fame and glamour
to rub off on them -- Hayden served as chef, chauffeur, lady's maid, and
man of all work.
Since
it suited her to be knowledgeable about subjects many men hadn't even
the stomach for, Madge pulled out of her case one of the few books where
the great Sigmund Freud appeared to change his mind on the subject of
anxiety and inhibitions. Madge grinned to herself. She did love humor,
especially when humans meant to be serious. "Of course we all have
inhibitions, moronic little man."
Her
mumble caught Hayden's attention. "Why do you bother with that
mumbo-jumbo, Madame? He thinks everything has to do with sexual
congress!"
"Hmm,
yes, well, he does have certain prejudices, doesn't he? I'm not
aberrant because I enjoy sex, and I seriously doubt the way your mother
changed your nappies has anything to do with your homosexuality. Do be
forgiving, dear. He's hopelessly addicted to cocaine, and trapped in a
repressed society."
Sadly,
everything she said was true. "You'd know more about repressed
societies than I, Madame. I'm only a poor human, after all." Hayden gave
her one of his infamous Mona Lisa smiles -- a smile that showed no
teeth but implied much more than mischief while keeping well into
propriety. Bless him, he never stepped a toe out of line publicly,
unless called upon to do so.
Madge,
on the other hand, had no compunctions about showing her fangs, even
when she covered her retractable dagger-like talons with silk gloves.
The pointed ears peeking out of dark curls and her Grecian looks marked
her as a foreigner in a land notable for its snobbery, but Madge saw no
need to bother hiding herself. Well, all right, she hid the wings.
Blasted things got in the way if she didn't, but that was for her
convenience and not propriety. She was what she was -- an expatriate
harpy who told a good story and occasionally found cause to use her
bloodthirsty nature to solve a mystery.
The
irony was, no one ever thought to accuse her of the murders because
harpies weren't known for subtlety when it came to killing. Madge
acknowledged the legend with twisted lips, and didn't bother to remind
anyone that she was free and no longer the slave of the Furies.
Framed
by snow clouds the color of a pigeon's breast, Dunraven Castle hove up
from the surrounding hills like a fairytale. Beautifully situated and
scrupulously maintained by a trust none of the Duke's wastrel ancestors
could touch, it was a welcoming sight in the gathering gloom of dusk.
Thanks to the road conditions, if you dared call the deeply rutted mud
tracks by the same noble word the Romans used for their craftsmanship,
they were hours late. They'd missed tea in their haste to make up time,
and now her stomach rumbled audibly. "Have we time for a biscuit,
Hayden?"
"Was
that your stomach, Madame? Surely I thought we were about to have a
storm." Hayden pretended to study the sky very seriously. At the same
time, his hand reached back imploringly. "I'd love a bikky, thank you.
No doubt I've missed the servant's dinner, and I've no mind to make do
with a bit of cold chicken and some bread until morning."
Chuckling
wickedly because he knew she always insisted he sit with her at table,
forestalling any foolish matchmaking attempts, Madge handed him a large
shortbread biscuit from her hamper, and they munched companionably.
Finally, the car traversed the bridge atop the dry moat and passed
through the portcullis into the courtyard of Dunraven.
"Just do me one small favor, Madame?" Hayden did not move from the seat to open her door.
"So serious! Very well, what is it?" She thought she knew, but made him ask.
"Let's
try not to let this weekend become a real murder mystery?" His hands
gripped the steering wheel tightly, and she imagined under the proper
driving gloves of his profession, his knuckles were white. Poor thing,
he really had suffered at the last mysterious weekend, and had ended up
incarcerated for three days until Madge had proven to everyone's
satisfaction that another had committed the deed. For poor Hayden, it
had been a truly miserable occasion.
Madge
patted his shoulder. "Buck up, Hayden. I'm planning nothing more than a
game all weekend. After all, what could happen in the Duke's presence?"
