Daughter of Mystery (54 page)

Only one other incident broke the endless waiting: a chance encounter in the corridor outside the council hall—a short sturdily-built man who stepped out of her path too quickly for mere courtesy. She looked more closely. He peered back nervously from under bushy brows. It was the man who had held Arpik’s notes. Whose shadows had haunted her steps all through the previous winter. “Maistir Langal,” she said.

The man bowed carefully. “Baroness.”

“A question, if you would,” Barbara said, moving to block his path. He made a gesture of welcome though his expression belied it. “Why?” she asked simply.

A man in his business didn’t succeed by underestimating others. He passed over the obvious answer. “Arpik’s debts wouldn’t have been worth buying except that they came with one thing: the name of your true father. But knowledge isn’t proof. When Lumbeirt died without acknowledging you I saw my investment slipping away. I tried to find an excuse to have that clerk of his questioned…well, that’s past. But I’d been watching you. I thought there was one person in Alpennia capable of digging out the truth and as eager for it as I was. All you needed was prodding. Alas, you weren’t as curious as I hoped.”

“Curious enough,” Barbara said, “but I had other distractions. Why not simply approach me directly?”

“I didn’t know how strong the proof might be. A court would be more likely to believe you if the conclusions were all your own. It was only business. I hope you hold no grudge.”

Only business. Margerit’s safety, the casual threat to LeFevre…she couldn’t even begin to detail what she held against him. But she only brushed the hair back from her temple to bare the scar. “I hold a grudge for that. I won’t forget.”

It was the last answer to her mystery and like so many of the others it mattered nothing when it came. All that mattered now was concluding the council so she could follow her heart to Chalanz.

In the last week before Easter, a shift was felt in the city. In parlors and clubs a new idea took hold, carefully planted and tended. The charter stipulated that Prince Aukust would be succeeded by his heirs through the Princess Iohanna. But Iohanna had three living descendents and one of them had been both born and bred in Alpennia. The seal was set when Ambors, the elder of the Atilliet cousins, was convinced to put the case to the council.

“There is no bar, whatever custom may dictate,” he argued. “Consider this: we can fulfill the demands of honor and give our land a tried and tested ruler. And in time, when the choice comes before us again, other candidates will have gained in wisdom and experience and we will be the richer for that. I propose, for the consideration of the council, Annek Atilliet, once Duchess of Maunberg.”

For two days it was as foxes in the henhouse, but on the third day, when Ambors Atilliet repeated the proposal to complete the requirements of law, Prince Aukust responded, “If this is the wish of the council, I will abide by your will,” signaling the call for voting. Six hours later, the decision was sealed and the council released.

* * *

Barbara would have taken horse that moment if it weren’t too late to set out without risking her neck galloping through the dark. And LeFevre needed to know her plans first. She found him just closing his office and shared the news from the council.

“Who would have thought that such a useful decision could come from such a useless process,” he wondered. “Saving your presence, of course.”

“There’s little enough I had to do with it,” Barbara said. “I’m off to Chalanz in the morning. I’ll join you at Saveze when I may but—” She frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. She hasn’t answered any of my letters. There was time for something at least to make its way here.”

LeFevre took out the keys he had just pocketed and reopened the door. “Come in for a moment. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Barbara followed, waiting while he made a face and sighed and then fiddled with the keys again.

“I have never broken my word to someone I served. I never broke my word to the baron—you know that well enough. But I promised something to Maisetra Sovitre that I should not have promised and now I find my word is in conflict with both my duty and my heart.”

At Margerit’s name, Barbara was all attention.

“The day before she left Rotenek, Maisetra Sovitre requested me to purchase the Saveze mortgages in her name.” He held up a hand to forestall her response. “She specifically instructed me not to tell you. I was to purchase them and hold them as I would any other of her investments. Now why would she do that?”

All she could feel was the shame.
She went behind my back. Even after we’d talked.
“I forbade her to pay them off,” she said. “How dare she—”

“And by what right do you tell her what she may and may not do with her inheritance?” he countered.

Barbara was silent. There was no answer to that.

“I once told you that you two stood too closely to see each other’s hearts. But now I think you keep too great a distance. What does she fear so much that she had to flee to Chalanz? Why are you so afraid of her generosity?”

“I don’t want—”

He stopped her. “Don’t tell me. Tell her. Give her the gift of your deepest fears and pray that it’s not too late.”

* * *

It was said to be possible to ride from Rotenek to Chalanz in a single day, at midsummer with enough horses. The name Saveze could command sufficient horses but not the daylight, so it was mid-morning of the next day when she slacked pace at the edge of town and made her way to Fonten Street. Perhaps the haste was unnecessary but Barbara sensed that only rumpled clothing and a lathered horse would be acceptable attendants if she were to be granted an audience.

The house was quiet and hardly seemed inhabited. That was no wonder if it had barely been opened enough for two or three residents. She banged heavily at the knocker and then, after several minutes, again, impatiently. On the fourth knock an upstairs window came open and Maitelen shouted down, “You can knock till kingdom come but the maisetra’s not at home.” Then she saw who it was. “Oh! Wait, I’ll be there in a moment.”

The window closed again before Barbara could reply but in no more than a minute the door opened.

“She’s off at church, Barbara. Her uncle came by to take her hours ago. It’s the first time she’s left the house since she arrived.”

In the distance she heard the bells chiming and realized it was Easter. She’d lost count of the days.
Barbara
, she’d called her
.
So that piece of news hadn’t been spread yet. She envisioned Margerit sitting alone in the mansion, unspeaking, for nearly two weeks. In an instant she was back in the saddle and riding toward the sound of the bells.

Among the crowds gradually flowing from the church it was easiest to spot the Fulpis’ carriage and work her way toward it. And from there, Marken’s height was easy to spot, and where he was…

“Margerit!” she called, dismounting and pushing her way close.

Maistir Fulpi interposed himself, saying, “I’ll thank you not to address my niece in such a familiar fashion.”

Must I deal with this now?
Barbara thought but Margerit roused herself to the introduction.

“Uncle, I believe you have not yet met the new Baroness Saveze.”

“The…
what?
”

Barbara bowed formally as if it were a true introduction. “Barbara Lumbeirt, Baroness Saveze. Might I request a moment of Maisetra Sovitre’s time?”

He gaped at her, as did the aunt and cousins, but all melted back before her.

“Margerit, please, I need to talk to you.” And she certainly didn’t intend to say her piece here on the church porch before everyone.

“What do we have to talk about?” Margerit asked.

“You know very well.” She reached for Margerit’s hand and unexpectedly found herself confronting Marken.

“Marken, don’t be a fool,” she said hotly. “It’s me, Barbara.”

“I may be a fool, Mesnera,” he replied, “but I’m a fool who knows his duty. You don’t take the maisetra anywhere except she says so.”

“It’s all right, Marken,” Margerit said wearily. She turned and walked off toward the churchyard.

Barbara hurried after her, still trailing the horse, for no one had thought to take the reins from her.

When they’d gone far enough for privacy, Margerit said, “Well?” without facing her.

“Why?” Barbara asked. “LeFevre told me. Why did you do it?”

“Don’t worry,” she said bitterly. “I won’t sully your estate with my money. I bought the mortgages and I’ll keep them and that’s an end of it. You needn’t think you’ll have to throw it back in my face again.”

Barbara stood stunned, as if the horse had kicked her. “Is that what you think?”

Margerit turned on her with her fists balled at her sides. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes sparkled with anger. “What am I supposed to think? When you thought you were nobody, we could plan for the future. You promised me we’d find a way—that you’d always be at my side. But now you’re even too proud to accept my money—to accept your own father’s money—because my hands have dirtied it.”

Barbara reached out and took those hands and kissed each one in turn. How could she explain how very mistaken that was? “Margerit, I have
everything
now. I have my freedom and my name and my history. I have a title and a position that never figured anywhere in my wildest fancies. Even in rags and without a penny to my name I could go my own way now. But all you have is your inheritance. Your fortune is the only thing that stands between you and the demands of society—that opens the door to the life you were meant for. How could I be so selfish as to want to take any of that away from you, when it’s the only means you have of getting what you want?”

“A fortune can’t buy everything,” she said hollowly. “It can’t buy me you.” She pulled her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest as if she were suddenly cold. “I thought we would share one heart, one life. What is a purse beside that?”

Barbara closed her eyes and thought,
My deepest fears.
She looked again at Margerit without flinching. “No secrets—I promised you. But that’s what I’m afraid of: that you’ll buy me. When you offered to pay my debts, I felt…that you would own me again. I couldn’t bear that. I never wanted you to doubt that my love was given freely. I didn’t want people to see us and say, ‘There’s Margerit Sovitre’s kept woman.’”

She didn’t understand why Margerit began laughing, at first in surprise and then more hysterically. And though she didn’t understand, she put her arms around Margerit and held her tightly until the laughter passed through sobs and then at last to speech. Then Margerit too made a gift of her fears, finishing with, “And I didn’t care what name people gave me—I didn’t care what people like Aunt Bertrut thought. But I couldn’t bear to live only on the scraps of your life. To spend all my days play-acting and pretending we meant nothing to each other.”

“Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do,” Barbara said slowly, “but I only meant to protect you. Until the council was finished there was no way of knowing—”

“I don’t want you to protect me,” Margerit interrupted. “I want you to love me!”

Barbara chuckled and traced the line of Margerit’s cheek. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten too much in the habit of doing both to give either of them up. But that particular charade can be left behind.” And she told her the news of the court. “Whatever danger might still lie in that direction, notoriety will serve us better than caution. If you’re still willing, shall it be one heart, one life, one home and yes, since you will, one purse?”

The answer hardly needed to be spoken aloud. “Yes, for all my days.”

Barbara looked back at the waiting cluster of people by the Fulpis’ carriage. “I’m not ready to share you yet,” she whispered. She lifted Margerit up into the saddle and swung up behind her, encircling her waist in a secure embrace. She lifted a hand in Marken’s direction, giving their old signal that the watch had been transferred, then she urged the horse into an easy canter. It didn’t much matter what direction they went. All roads were open.

Chapter Sixty-One

Coda

Barbara Lumbeirt, Baroness Saveze, was an Eccentric. Those who had known old Marziel said it was inevitable. Those too young to have known him heard only the stories of how she had once been an armin and a duelist. She had even killed her man, they said, although in later days the tale twisted and grew until it had her dueling her predecessor in the title over a woman. Like many eccentrics, she never married, preferring the company of her own kind—and in her day that resulted in a number of very odd friendships indeed. The oddest was the one she shared lifelong with Margerit Sovitre, the scholar, who came to be called
Fil’misitir
, Daughter of Mystery.

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