Daughter of Mystery (40 page)

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing dreadful, I promise you. More a case of bad taste. It’s—” He looked more embarrassed than concerned. “I’ve learned some unfortunate things about this evening’s planned entertainment.” He looked over at Barbara again and Margerit was certain she was the source—or at least the inspiration—for that knowledge. “It seems the songs to be performed this evening are…somewhat pointed in commenting on the suitability of various persons for positions of responsibility. To attend might be taken for support for those opinions. I don’t believe Mesnera Arulik intended to put Margerit in an awkward position. The choice of music was changed quite suddenly.”

Margerit was vexed. For all that she would have preferred to stay home, it seemed a silly reason to withdraw at the last minute. “No one cares what I think about politics. Won’t it look just as odd to stay as to go?”

Aunt Bertrut looked back and forth between the two of them. “Your uncle knows best in these matters. We can always say you’ve caught a small chill—that’s easy to believe. We’re only thinking of your good name.” More cheerfully, she added, “I’m disappointed too, but we can have a cozy dinner at home instead.”

It wasn’t disappointment but the sense of being driven in harness. Now go; now stop. She frowned. “I’ll take supper in the library, if you don’t mind.”

She expected Barbara to join her there after they’d both changed to more domestic clothing. The supper tray came with soup and cold meat and whatever else the cook could manage on short notice, but without Barbara. It was taken away an hour later and still no Barbara.
How dare she use Uncle Pertinek to control which parties I might and might not attend?
She found herself reading the same passage for the third time and shut the book. Where was she? Barbara couldn’t have had other plans for the evening—not when she’d been expecting to escort them to the concert. One of the lamps guttered and she got up to trim the wick. She put a hand on the bell pull then turned away again. That wasn’t how she wanted it to be. A cold finger ran down her spine. When Aunt Bertrut had painted her picture of sitting alone with her books and writings, it hadn’t touched her because in her mind Barbara was there at her side.

She snuffed the lamps, taking a candle to light her way to bed.

* * *

The morning dawned clear and dry. Her mood felt washed clean with the streets. There were no lectures today and she’d told Hennis she could work until midday.

With Giseltrut’s help, they finished polishing the
turris
against plague. Hennis sent the other off to the guildhall to copy out the changes but asked her to stay a moment.

“I’ve been thinking. When we discussed the design of the towers, we decided not to include protection against invasion and foreign armies. We had good reasons at the time, but I’m not so sure now. I was thinking…could you sketch out—not to include necessarily, but just to consider—a tower against foreign invasion?”

Margerit considered the problem. “It shouldn’t be too difficult, but I’ll need to think about the symbols and the best patrons.”

He pulled out a small sheaf of papers. “Here are some ideas. I don’t have the same talent you do, but I think you might find them a useful starting point.”

Margerit took the pages and looked through them with a pleased grin. “This will certainly help. I think—” She shuffled back to the beginning of his notes. “Yes, Ainell for protection against invaders. But why Saint Viz?”

“It’s part of the echoing layer,” Hennis explained, “representing foreign armies as wild beasts attacking.”

Margerit nodded absently, continuing on. “Then the patrons of the major passes and Nikule…to cover the river as entrance? An odd choice.”

“The idea is more for his protection against robbers—to turn away pillaging and those who come seeking what isn’t theirs.”

“Yes, this should work,” Margerit concluded. “I can have a draft for us to try in a couple of days. Do you think the rest of the guild will want to add it?”

He shrugged. “We can only suggest it. But it will help if we have the text prepared.”

* * *

They were so close to being ready. Another week, perhaps. A couple more days if they added the new material. Only a few of the members had been following the whole text; most knew only the parts they’d helped to polish. That would take more time. The fluency of the celebrants made a significant difference in the shape of the
fluctus
. Though as Ainis noted there was nothing to say that the saints might not respond to a sincere though awkward petition.

She was still counting through the calendar in her mind when the footman who relieved her of her coat mentioned that Barbara would like to speak to her in the library, if that were convenient. She glanced questioningly at Marken, but he only shrugged as he left for whatever occupied his off-duty hours.

Barbara had a restless look as if she’d been waiting impatiently for some time. “Maisetra, I need to talk to—” She stopped and said bluntly. “You need to stay away from the guildhall and the guild for a while.”

The words didn’t even make sense. And why the formality here? Where they always left such things behind? “What do you mean?”

“I’ve learned—” Again the hesitation. “I’ve been following Lutoz and Perfrit and some of the others. They’ve been meeting with Estefen. Regularly. And when they meet, they talk about two things: the guild and the succession.”

Margerit still didn’t follow her. “Everyone’s talking about the succession.”

“I wish I could trust it was only that but I fear something deeper is at work. And I don’t know if the trap is aimed at you or if you’re only meant to be spattered with someone else’s mud. But you need to stay well away from the guild until matters are more settled.”

Margerit’s mind went back to the heady successes of the morning’s work. Barbara wanted to take that away? When they were so close to finishing? And for fears that she couldn’t even put a name to? A hot anger rose in her.

Barbara continued, “Margerit, this isn’t forever. But for now you must—”

“No! Don’t say ‘must’ to me!” In her own ears her voice rang icy and brittle. “You are neither my guardian nor my governess. You forget your place!”

As soon as the words left her, she wished them unsaid. But the strength of Barbara’s reaction shocked her. Her face went as white as bone. Then, after long seconds of deep silence, she sank smoothly to one knee and bowed her head. Margerit’s first impulse was to laugh at the absurd melodrama of the scene; the second was to beg her pardon. But then the anger returned and she turned away without speaking and left the room, pushing past Aunt Bertrut who had come to investigate the shouting.

Chapter Fifty

Barbara

The tapping sound of Margerit’s shoes echoing down the hall filled her ears, drowning out the sound of Maisetra Bertrut approaching, saying, “What under heaven?”

Barbara rose and walked past her, stumbling half-blindly down the back stairs and out into the gardens. Her only recognizable thought was to find a place to be alone. She came at last to the marble bench tucked away down near the river’s edge. It had been her refuge many times before. She sat down crosswise, tucking her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly to keep the pain from bursting out. Periodically her mind darted forth to examine the nature of that pain and then retreated into numbness again.

Several hours must have passed because, when the sound of voices intruded, she roused enough to notice that the sun was low and she should be feeling chilled. She looked up at the two approaching servants. They must have been sent to find her but she wasn’t ready yet for human contact. She snarled an oath in their direction and they retreated.

Time passed and another figure neared. Without looking up, Barbara recognized the footsteps as LeFevre and so she ignored him, hoping he too would go away again. Instead he sat down next to her, allowing long minutes of silence to stretch between them. When at last he spoke, he said, “Only love can hurt so badly.”

Barbara raised her head with a wild and wary look.

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” he asked.

“Does she—?” Barbara looked back over her shoulder toward the house.

He shook his head. “The two of you stand too closely to be able to see each other’s hearts.” LeFevre sighed heavily. “It wouldn’t do any good to tell you that this storm will pass. In time things will be better.”

“Better?” Barbara said bitterly. It was tempting to say that death would be better than this but even in the depths of her black mood she didn’t believe it. And armins who started talking that way about death tended to come to bad ends. Her eyes bored into LeFevre’s face, trying to see the things he would not—could not—tell her. He’d been keeping the baron’s secrets since before she was born. He would say so much and no more.

A more immediate thought came to her. “What are you doing here?” She nodded indicating the garden rather than the house itself.

He shrugged and made a dismissive gesture. “I came by with some papers. They sent me out to find you because…well, because Margerit refused to speak about what passed between you two and no one knew what to do and because they thought you would be unlikely to kill me.”

That, at least, cracked a smile out of her as it had been meant to.

“All will be well in time,” he repeated. “In less than half a year the terms of the baron’s will will be complete. Many things will be easier then. For now, just do your best to keep her safe.”

“And if she won’t let me?” Barbara uncoiled herself abruptly from the bench and stood.

“Oho! So that was the quarrel?”

“No!” And then, “Yes, that was the quarrel, but not—”

“Not the reason you’ve been hiding out here for hours.”

Barbara bristled at the word “hiding” but didn’t contradict him. She took a deep breath and tried to find that place inside where she was a professional and nothing more. The air was full of damp rising from the river and she could taste the coming change in the seasons. “I do my best, but she doesn’t make it easy.”

LeFevre quirked an eyebrow. “And the baron did?”

“The baron could take care of himself. Mar—Maisetra Sovitre doesn’t know what the dangers are.”

“And doesn’t care to be reminded of that by you, of all people.” He rose as well and they began walking back toward the terrace. Before they reached the steps he asked softly, “Whatever she said to you…is it forgivable?”

Barbara struggled to keep her composure from crumbling again. Her heart cried no! But her mouth said, “It must be, I suppose. But I don’t know if I can—”

“Then forgive her if you can,” he interrupted. “And protect her because you must. And remember, if there seems no other hope in sight, take her to Saint Orisul’s. What seems impossible today may become clear tomorrow if you can keep yourselves safe until that day. And if you take refuge with the
Orisules
I’ll know where to find you.”

Again that odd urgency. “Do you know anything that might send us fleeing into sanctuary?”

He shook his head. She couldn’t tell whether his oath bound him or whether he was as much in the dark as she was.

She slipped up the back stairs to wash her face and make herself presentable once more. And then there was one excuse and another to avoid descending until the odd stillness from the rooms below brought her back to the moment.
The Pelnik’s ball—was it that time already?
She rushed down to the empty hall and accosted a footman. No, the Maisetras had left already, nearly an hour before. She calculated quickly: foot would be faster than any other method, a change of coat only and she could pass in that venue. What was Margerit thinking to go out unprotected at times like these?

A quarter hour later she presented herself at the back entrance to the
salle
and slipped along the edges of the rooms looking for a familiar face. She spotted Marken first and felt the tension drain away. So, at least she’d had that much sense. She followed his gaze out through the crowd and spotted Margerit where she was dancing with some forgettable young man. In less haste, Barbara worked her way around to the colonnade where the armins were loitering. She disliked the layout of this room. The back of the colonnade gave way to a row of curtained alcoves overlooking the gardens. A favorite for assignations but the hidden spaces always left her neck prickling.

Marken acknowledged her arrival with a sideways look and a grunt. “They said you weren’t feeling well.”

Barbara shook her head, “I’m well enough.”

“Can’t be,” he replied. “If you were feeling well you wouldn’t have abandoned your charge.”

“I didn’t—” Barbara began hotly, but it was true in its essence. “I’m here now.”

He shrugged. “As you please, but I’m on duty for the evening.”

It would be too much if he turned against her as well. She settled herself in by the next pillar and turned her gaze to the dancers. Watching Margerit as she moved down the line, the ache in her gut was still there but duller, more faded. How had she allowed things to go this far? That a simple rebuke could tear her world apart? When the couples moved through a turn she thought Margerit’s eyes met hers—thought she saw a blush on her cheek—but no doubt it was only the exertion of the dance. The hour stretched on eternally.

A rustle of silk behind her barely impinged on her consciousness but the spicy scent of a familiar perfume brought her back to herself. The one person she least wanted to speak to in her current mood. “Vicomtesse,” she said without turning.

“Barbara.” It wasn’t her usual teasing tone. “A word, if you please.”

“I’m on duty.” She heard a rude noise from Marken’s direction and sighed. Well, since he was there…She gave him the hand signal for a transfer of responsibility—he had the grace not to comment—and followed Jeanne back into one of the half-curtained alcoves. The glow of the candles in the hall reflected in the dark glass of the window like stars lending barely enough light to see each other.

“What’s wrong,
chérie
? I see it in your face…and hers. What has she done to you?”