Excerpt from Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Illustration by Chloe Cushman/National Post

The banquet table was buffed and gleaming, the cutlery polished, napkins pressed, the grand room bathed in the golden colouring of the numberless white candles. The three couples were likewise gleaming and pristinely groomed; they sat upright, nodding politely to one another but speaking little, their conversation stilted and faceless, dealing mostly in governmental gossip. The Baron and Baroness chatted lightly to their guests, but the others wouldn't be drawn out, and Lucy, in delivering the soup, could read a justifiable concern on the faces of the hosts, for the mood was restrained to the point of creating unease, and the evening was in danger of foundering. But, as the second course was served, and the wine began to pour, the group relaxed, and the banter became freer. By the conclusion of the third course the party was gay verging on raucous, heads tilted back in mad laughter, the Count's complexion red-going-purple as he spit up some partially chewed morsel of food. The more they drank, then did the traits of the individuals become ever more vague, and now the party took on a single presence, and there was at the edges of this small society an accrual of unkindness, even menace.

Lucy thought he noticed, then was sure he did, that the Count was watching Klara each time she entered the room. At the start he did this only in stolen snatches, but as the evening progressed his attentions became more overt, so that whenever she came near he made it a point to initiate some slight contact — to touch her wrist when she took up his empty plate, or to stroke her back as she passed by. When he touched her, she froze, and her face was empty, plain; but Lucy knew she was oppressed by the Count's attentions, and each time it occurred, his stomach pitched. At one point, when Klara had left for the scullery, the Count asked the Baron, "Where did you find that one?"

"Oh, she's just a village girl."

The Count found this fascinating. "So she's not in your employ?"

"Not typically, no. But we hadn't the time to hire full staff, and so we're just getting by in the meantime. Why do you ask? Are you unhappy with her?"

"Quite the opposite!"

"My husband is enamoured, I think," the Countess explained.

"Ah," said the Baron, nodding. "Well, one could hardly blame you. Though I think you may have some competition in young Lucy, here."

The group turned to stare at Lucy, who had been standing at the rear of the room, mutely seething.

"Is that a fact?" said the Count.

"See how he draws up when she comes near," said the Baron, smiling fondly at Lucy. "Take note of the forlorn look in his eye when she departs. Obviously he has given himself over to her, heart and soul." He laid his hand on the Baroness's. "It is something which only one in love could identify."

The Count was watching Lucy. "Well, lad, how about it? Sabres at dawn?"

He was merely making sport, and yet there was an undercurrent of true violence at play as well. You had but to look at the man to see he'd never in his life asked twice for anything he desired. What would it feel like, Lucy wondered, to push a blade into a person? Would it be quick, as when you sliced your hand through a ray of light, or slow, and heavy, like an oar through water? Either way, at that moment he really did want to run this Count through, and so in reply to the query he said, "At dawn, by the light of the moon — just as you wish, sir."

The celebrants thought this very fine, and they laughed a long while about it. The Baron himself stood and saluted Lucy, and the Baroness clapped her white gloves in his direction. Lucy bowed to the group and left the dining room to find Klara standing on the other side of the door, flushed and beaming, for she had been eavesdropping, and had heard Lucy's response to the Count's challenge. Lucy was taken up by an uncommon boldness, and he kissed her there, listening to the swish of her uniform against her skin. A moment of this, and she stepped back, watching him with a look of wonderment. A nameless resolution formed in her eyes, then she led him by the hand, away from the dining room and into the cavernous space of the ballroom, closing the door behind them.

Excerpted from Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt. Copyright © 2015 by Patrick deWitt. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.