Daughter of Mystery (20 page)

Margerit held back a heated answer. She needed this. She needed honest words from someone who wished her only good and who knew the rules. And she knew how easy it was to send Barbara retreating back into stiff formality. “Of course I’m willing to work for it, I’d just prefer honesty.” She placed her finger on Amiz Waldimen’s name on the paper. “Her, I think, to begin with. I liked her. That makes it easier.”

Margerit soon found that the combination of Mesnera Arulik’s seal of approval and pure curiosity brought a welcome to nearly any drawing room suitable for her station. And once she set her mind to it, she found that laying siege to the scholars’ set was not as daunting as she’d feared. She had only to suggest to Aunt Bertrut that an afternoon visit to the Waldimens might be a suitable first step in society. She was less certain of seeing Amiz in more formal contexts; the concert had been a rare public outing for her. Then, with a mention to Amiz of the university in an offhand way, the next thing she knew she was being regaled with tales of what this professor had done, or how the alchemy scholars were hopeless bores but the theology students were the most fun to tease.

“Cheris is such a bluestocking,” Amiz said carelessly. “I think she actually does the readings. And Antuniet is determined to make a name for herself either in thaumaturgy or alchemy. But I just go to get out of the house and away from my sisters. You have no idea what it’s like with two older sisters still on the market. Well, no, you wouldn’t know. My mother swears I won’t have a dancing season until one of them is betrothed, but she doesn’t mind if I go to the lectures and amuse myself as long as I don’t commit the sin of falling in love with a scholar. Well, no chance of that—I’m not such a fool. But the boys don’t know that.”

Barbara’s strategy bore fruit when an invitation came later that week to join Amiz and some of her friends in the university district to take note of the schedule of lectures and debate the merits of the professors. Margerit was reminded that Amiz’s loose talk of “amusing herself” was limited to what might be done in the watchful presence of a sharp-eyed governess. Cheristien Riumai’s family felt the need to augment the watch over her morals with the protection of an armin in addition to the obligatory
vizeino
. The subtleties of hazard and protection in Rotenek society were only beginning to make themselves clear. Amiz’s family might be every bit as wealthy as Cheristien’s, but the money was new and there were older sisters competing for it. So she was protected against her own folly but was considered no temptation for the greed of others. Verunik’s family was old but their fortunes had dwindled. Her parents were likely to favor any suitor for her hand so there would be little advantage to seeking to compromise her. And there was little enough to tempt a wayward suitor. Nature had blessed her with mousy hair that stubbornly refused to curl and was drawn back in a severe style that brought unfortunate attention to her prominent ears.

In contrast to those two, Antuniet—not part of Amiz’s circle but thrown together with them by common interest—was shadowed by a dour swordsman. Evidently family pride demanded it, regardless of practical need, though she broke with tradition in disdaining female companionship for informal public gatherings such as these. Antuniet was older than the others. Past the age when the girl scholars were expected to put by their books and look for an offer of marriage. Margerit wondered if she ‘hadn’t taken’ as the saying went. It would be easy to see why. A straight blade of a nose lent a haughty expression and her black hair made no nod to fashionable curls, being pinned into a severe and practical bun. Her piercing eyes reminded Margerit oddly of Barbara, though there was no other resemblance. There was a depth of hardness in them as if no obstacle could daunt her. And perhaps she needed that hardness to pursue…what was it Amiz had said? Alchemy? Not a topic that could be passed off as a girl’s foolish fancy.

The temptations of dowries and inheritances bound by family honor were only part of the matter. That was brought forcefully to mind by the absence of the last member of Amiz’s circle from the university expedition. Margerit was confused at first by the whispers with wary glances at the coterie of escorts. Mari’s name had been on Barbara’s list, she recalled, but like several others she hadn’t yet crossed her path. Now she learned why.

“Her mother’s cousin! Who would have thought it?” Amiz exclaimed in response to Verunik’s whispered question.

Cheristien shrugged. “It’s the cousin more often than you might think. Usually they hush it up and pretend to a long-standing arrangement and all you ever know is that a wedding date is set.”

That could have been my story,
Margerit thought.

Cheristien continued, “The only reason it’s a scandal is because he’d been refused so publicly. His only family legacy is his army commission. They thought she could do better.”

“But she’d fallen in love?” Verunik asked eagerly. Verunik hungered for others to have the romantic adventures she was ill-suited for.

Margerit had wondered the same thing, but Cheristien made a scornful noise. “Hardly! I don’t think she’d given him a thought. But she was stupid and now she’s stuck with him.”

Margerit ventured to ask, “How was she stupid?” The others turned to her as if deciding whether to consider her inside or outside the circle.

Amiz was the one who answered. “It was his sister. Anywhere else, Mari wouldn’t have gone out unprotected. They were in negotiations with Mesner Pelnik and everyone was being very careful of her good name. But Lenze invited her over to meet a new dressmaker—sent her own carriage and everything. It was pure carelessness that she went out with just her maid. And then, when she got there, Lenze wasn’t there but Simun was. No need even for an abduction—Mari’d been there alone with him for six hours by the time they went searching for her.”

“Alone?” Margerit asked. “But there was her maid and the servants…”

Cheristien laughed scornfully. “Surely you don’t think they count!”

“But an armin would have counted?”

Antuniet commented for the first time after standing aloof from the gossip. “An armin would have gotten her out of there the moment Lenze failed to greet her.”

“Never trust a man’s sister,” Amiz said with a laugh.

Margerit saw a strange look pass between Barbara and Antuniet. Not only did Barbara know everyone in Rotenek, she had all manner of unknown history with each of them.

Amiz lowered her voice and said, “They say Pelnik’s sent his duelist to make the challenge.”

“To Simun?” Margerit asked, trying to sort out all the names.

“No, silly! To Mari’s father! For making him look a fool. It’ll only be to the touch, for the sake of his good name.”

Margerit gave up on making sense of it all. Perhaps she’d ask Barbara about it later, but for now there were decisions to make. Whether to follow Alessandro for a grounding in the humanists or to plunge directly into Mihailin’s lectures covering the modern philosophers. And further, whether to follow the standard course of study at all or to take full advantage of being officially invisible and follow her own whims. The university was a banquet in the grandest style and at the moment she had barely tasted the soup. There would be more than enough time to sort out her dining partners when that first hunger had been appeased.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Barbara

When they entered the East Gate, Barbara felt a deep tension drain from her body. Which was strange, she thought, for Rotenek presented more hazards and more difficulties than Chalanz ever could. But here she knew who she was, where she stood and what needed to be done.

The first week was over-full of renewing contacts and negotiating new relationships. Matters that had been long established and assumed under the late baron were changed now. There was assistance to be hired. She needed to review all the servants carefully. The temptations and penalties for betrayal were different now. It was even possible that some might consider that their deepest loyalties passed with the title and not with the household. Even familiar surroundings were changed: she had silently abandoned her old room for a smaller one up under the eaves. There was no lack of space on the main floor but she no longer felt comfortable occupying one of the family rooms. It had never truly been hers, only lent for her use. But Rotenek itself—that
was
hers and it was home.

In planning Margerit’s protection, Barbara had foreseen the conventional rituals of society and the more practical hazards of the university district. But her own venture into the scholar’s life had been a solitary matter and she found she hadn’t considered that for Margerit the two worlds would collide. Antuniet Chazillen’s presence among the coterie of girl scholars had been unsettling.

There was no question that Antuniet knew who Margerit was. She gave at least the pretense of polite indifference for now. Whatever her brother might have told her, she was not choosing to be Margerit’s open enemy. But Barbara was not yet ready to embrace the truce. She raised the issue as the carriage returned them to Tiporsel. “Maisetra, the name Chazillen should mean something to you.”

Margerit looked at her curiously. “There have been so many introductions! I’ll learn all the names in time.”

Barbara nodded to acknowledge the truth of it. “It’s the surname of the new Baron Saveze—Mesnera Antuniet is his sister.” She watched the implications sink in.

Margerit frowned a little. “She was perfectly nice. I rather liked her. Do you really think she’ll cause trouble?”

“Just remember what Maisetra Waldimen said: never trust a sister. Family will always come before friendship.” She was disturbed by the faintly mulish look that came over Margerit’s face. It wasn’t time to push the matter. She would put a word in Marken’s ear.

* * *

LeFevre suggested the next stop on Margerit’s grand tour of Rotenek society. “You must go to the opera,” he said at the end of one morning’s review of accounts. “Everyone goes to the opera. You have a box, you know.”

Maisetra Bertrut was clearly far more excited by the prospect than Margerit. While her aunt went into raptures over the prospect of seeing all of society and the music and the fine gowns and perhaps even a glimpse of the princess, Margerit suppressed a look of boredom. Barbara sighed inwardly. Margerit was impatient to move forward with her studies, but this wouldn’t do. The mask of a debutante was still important. Maistir Fulpi planned to stay into the new year and would be working tirelessly to promote a good match. If he thought it necessary, he’d drag her back to Chalanz. She must at least pretend to play the game.

The role of advisor was new and uncomfortable. The reflexes ingrained under the baron were to watch, to hold her tongue, to step in to smooth the way without ever criticizing the path. And so she waited for the right moment. In Rotenek they’d lost the habit of their bedtime conference to discuss the next day’s plans and needs. There had seemed to be more breathing space—less need to set a united front to the world. But now Barbara again tapped lightly on Margerit’s door in the last hours of the evening and slipped through without waiting for an answer.

Margerit’s eyes lit up as she entered. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve missed this. Maitelen, you can go—I can finish myself.” The maid nodded and slipped out.

Barbara gestured vaguely to the house around them. “Is it everything you expected?”

Margerit picked up the brush that Maitelen had been wielding and resumed tending to her hair. “I don’t know—I hardly knew what to expect. I suppose I thought…well, this is more comfortable than what I thought. We rattled around so on Fonten Street. But Barbara—” She left the brush hanging for a moment and her eyes were shining again. “To be here at last! Just walking through the square it was like I could hear the echoes of Romazzo and Rodulfus lecturing from the steps before the Chasintalle was built. And all the students bustling around in their robes like…like bees in a hive! There’s so much to learn—so much to know.” She gave a little laugh.

Barbara bent to a sudden impulse and took the brush from her hand to draw it slowly through Margerit’s chestnut curls. She wished she could prolong the moment but there was business to be done. “When you’ve chosen the lectures you plan to attend we should look through the library and see whether the baron had all the books you’ll want. I know something of what’s there of the older texts, but he didn’t collect the modern philosophers. You can fill in the gaps easily enough. There’s an entire street of bookshops off the Plaiz Vezek by the university.”

Margerit laughed again. “I asked Verunik what she planned for her reading and she just stared at me. I don’t think it ever occurred to her that she might actually learn something. I’ll need to be more careful to keep my disguise!”

Barbara saw her opportunity and put the brush down. “Yes, you will.”

The serious tone made Margerit turn to look at her.

“Maisetra, may I suggest that you pretend more interest in,” she thought how to phrase it, “in the more conventional attractions of a Rotenek season. Go to the opera and enjoy it. Go to the suppers and balls and concerts and talk of something other than philosophy. Let your uncle believe you’re open to his ‘good match’ but you want to take your time. You have the excuse of it being your dancing season…but only if you dance! You need his complaisance. It’s still well over a year before you can think about defying him, if that’s what you choose.”

Margerit sighed. “You’re right, of course. The opera it is. After we go hunting for books!”

* * *

Barbara would not for the world have given up the duty of escorting Margerit on her expedition to Booksellers Lane in the heart of the university district but she gladly left it to Marken to take the late night duties at the opera house. The place held ghosts for her and she wasn’t yet ready to face them. And so it wasn’t until their return, when he tapped on her door to report in, that she heard the details of what had passed there.

“It seems,” he began, “the young Baron Saveze has been confused about whether the opera box went with the title or not.”