The Falconer (Elizabeth May) Read Online Free PDF

the whisper of the engine and the flapping of the coach’s wings as we slice through thick clouds.
    The coach is still silent as we land in Charlotte Square. Lady Cassilis’s coachman helps me onto the street and shuts the door behind me. Lady Cassilis pulls the window aside, inclining her head towards me in silent dismissal. Clearly she has not forgiven me.
    I nod back and – petty creature that I am – smile only at Catherine. ‘Goodnight, Catherine.’
    ‘I’ll see you at luncheon,’ Catherine says. ‘Sleep well.’
    Lady Cassilis huffs and pulls the window shut.
    The coachman and I step onto the pavement in front of my house. A tall, white building of neoclassical design, Number Six is the largest residence in the square. Nine windows grace its front façade – something my father is particularly proud of, despite how blasted expensive the window tax is in this country – with stone columns between the six upper ones. It’s dark inside, except for the sliver of light between the curtains of the antechamber.
    A cold breeze picks up and ruffles my hair. I shiver and tighten the stole around my shoulders as the coachman escorts me up the steps and deposits me at the door.
    The door is always unlocked so I have no need to ring for a servant. ‘Thank you,’ I tell him. ‘You can leave me here.’
    The coach’s engine starts with a shrill whistle and a chug as the wings along the side of the machine flap thrice. With a groan, it lifts off the cobblestone street. Warm steam blows towards me as the vehicle slowly ascends, disappearing into the thick rain clouds.

Chapter 5
    B oisterous laughter erupts from the basement as I step into the antechamber; the kitchen staff must be relaxing after their duties. All the other quarters are empty, since my father is rarely at home.
    A wee lantern on the far wall is lit, casting dark shadows around the hall. I flip the switch to turn it off and climb the staircase to my room, past the portraits of my ancestors. The painting of our family used to hang at the top, until my father put it in one of the other rooms after my mother died. The hook that held it is still there, stark against the light wallpaper.
    In my room at last, I pull the lever by the door to turn on the lighting mechanism. Gears along the ceiling click and purr. Hanging lights attached to the overhead beams flicker, then brighten.
    My room resembles the interior of a ship. The walls are panelled in teak, with small bulb lights between the wood panels. The helm from a Scottish schooner is mounted on the far wall, framed by maps of the Outer Hebrides and strung sea-glass my mother and I gathered from beaches on our various holidays.
    The room has been built to my precise specifications. My mother used to sit for hours sketching the plans with me. This had been another of our projects, just one among many. It wasn’t until after she died that I hired the crew to have it built, and even contributed a few hidden aspects of my own.
    As usual, it’s a mess. My current attempts at engineering weapons to kill faeries are littered on the mahogany work table in the centre of the room. The rest of my arsenal is hidden in a locked trunk next to the red velvet settee.
    Wearily, I move to sit and pull off my slippers when there is a knock at the door. ‘Aye?’
    The door opens and my maid peeks inside. ‘May I come in, Lady Aileana?’
    ‘Of course.’
    Dona closes the door behind her. My father hired her three weeks ago to dress and help prepare me for social events. No older than fifteen, Dona is a shy lass with light blonde hair tucked under a linen cap. A fair bit shorter than me, she frequently has to stand on her toes to comfortably reach the topmost buttons of my dresses.
    I stand, and Dona slips behind me and immediately sets to work unbuttoning my dress. If she weren’t here, I would be tempted to rip the intolerable thing off and toss it across the room.
    ‘Did you say something, my lady?’
    ‘Hmm?’ God,