The Glittering Court
Page 18
I knew much of this, as it was a hot topic in noble drawing rooms—one to be marveled at and then dismissed as something “other people” did. I started to push the door open but stopped when I caught sight of Mira, listening avidly, her eyes focused on Mister Bricker. Alanzans were a big faction in Sirminica.
But instead of pondering if she’d encountered them, I found myself admiring her beautiful profile. It was impossible not to. Her quiet, fearless manner made her mysterious and alluring in a way few could match. Certainly not me. Were those striking eyes holding a dark secret? Had she been Cedric’s mistress?
That ugly feeling started to rise up within me again, and I banished it as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. I took my seat, hoping the scent of vetiver would soon fade from my dress.
Chapter 6
I saw little of Cedric in the months that followed. with so many other things to keep me busy, it was easy to push him off to a place in the back of my mind. I filed other things there—like the memories of my parents, and how worried my grandmother must be—and made a point of visiting that mental place as little as possible. It was only on occasional late nights, when I’d lie restless in bed, that I’d allow myself a peek at those dark corners of my mind.
My tenure at the Glittering Court soon became the happiest time of my life to date, excepting when my parents were alive. Despite the regimented schedule, the endless drills and classes, I felt a freedom I’d never known. I moved around the manor with a lightness in my chest, heady with the feeling that I could do anything and had the world at my fingertips. Certainly, I was scrutinized, but nowhere near the levels of Osfro.
That wasn’t to say I didn’t still face some challenges.
“Hey, are you ready to— What have you done?”
I looked up as Tamsin and Mira entered the kitchen. Even though we’d now spent nearly eight months learning the ways of upper-class ladies, Mistress Masterson wanted us—or some of us—to remember our humble roots. That meant occasional household chores, such as the dishes I was currently washing.
They hurried over to my side, peering at the copper kettle I was attempting to wash. “Is that bleach? That is bleach! I can smell it.” Without waiting for a response, Tamsin grabbed the kettle and dumped its contents into a tub of wastewater. “What were you thinking?”
“Something got burned in it, and scrubbing wasn’t working. I saw you use bleach to get out that stain from your dress the other day, so I thought—”
“Stop,” said Tamsin. “I don’t want to hear any more. I can’t hear any more.”
Mira picked up a cloth and rubbed the inside of the pot. “It came out, and the bleach wasn’t in long enough to cause damage.”
I felt triumphant. “So it did work.”
“Soaking in water, followed by a lemon scrub, would have done the same with a lot less risk.” Tamsin took one of my hands and held it up. One side was red from the bleach. “Deepest hell. Go rinse them off. You’ve got the best hands of all of us. Don’t ruin that.”
Tamsin’s own hands showed the signs of having scrubbed laundry since childhood, and it vexed her to no end. She was constantly applying moisturizers in an effort to undo—or at least minimize—the damage.
Mira took my apron and hung it up while Tamsin gave me a quick inspection. “No other harm done. The dress is intact, and I daresay that’s the nicest chignon I’ve ever seen you do. Did someone help you?”
I patted my hair, affronted at her suspicious tone. “We share the same room. Do you think someone sneaked in and helped me?”
“It wasn’t me,” said Mira, seeing Tamsin’s gaze fall on her. “Adelaide’s come quite a long way. I saw her fold a blanket the other day, and there were almost no creases in it.”
I pushed the kitchen door open, and the other two followed me. “Oh, stop, both of you. It’s our off day. It wouldn’t matter if I did have sloppy hair.”
Tamsin narrowed her eyes in thought. “No, something’s going on. Mistress Masterson wouldn’t have ordered us to the ballroom otherwise. This is usually the day she has it cleaned.”
My slowness on the dishes had made us the last to arrive, but we weren’t late yet. Even if we were, I didn’t think Mistress Masterson would have noticed. She was busy directing one of the house servants to set up large tables on the far side of the room. In the middle of the ballroom itself, we were met with the astonishing sight of blankets spread across the floor and our housemates sitting on them.
“What’s going on?” I asked Rosamunde.
She glanced up at us from her blue-flowered quilt. “No idea. Mistress Masterson just told us to sit down and wait.”
Puzzled, my friends and I made it across the room to an unoccupied blanket, an enormous fuzzy one with red and yellow stripes. Around us, the other girls’ conversation buzzed as they too wondered what was happening. Tamsin groaned. “Damn it. I knew I should have worn my church dress.”
“You think we’re having a service in here?” I asked.
“No. But I think this is a test. A pop quiz. Maybe how to entertain and throw a get-together on short notice.” Tamsin pointed to the entrance. “Look. Here comes food.”
Three men in plain workmen’s clothes entered, hauling large platters that Mistress Masterson directed to the tables. As she uncovered them, I could tell even from this distance that they contained finger sandwiches and fruit. The workmen left and returned with a second load of food, as well as plates and linen napkins. I’d thought Tamsin was paranoid, but there was no doubt we had much more food than our coterie needed. After the tables were filled, the workmen left and didn’t return. Mistress Masterson stood by the doorway, an expectant look on her face.
“Damn it,” Tamsin repeated. She took a deep breath. Her eyes grew as steely as those of a general preparing for battle. “Okay. No problem. We can do this. We can do this better than the others because none of them have realized what’s happening. We’ve got an edge. Think back to our lessons on greeting strangers at a party. All the acceptable topics. Weather. Upcoming holidays. Animals are all right too. No religion. No politics, unless it’s in support of the king and his latest policy. Always look dignified—who knows what kind of posh guests the old lady’s dug up? Keep your posture good and—”
That crafty countenance dissolved into disbelief, and Tamsin let out a very undignified shriek. In a flash, she was on her feet, sprinting across the room. And she wasn’t the only girl. Others were on the move as well, and the buzz turned into an outright cacophony of chaos and excitement. Turning my gaze back to the entryway, I saw strangers entering, strangers who could hardly be called posh. My housemates lost themselves in the crowd, swept away in a flood of hugs and tears.
“Their families,” said Mira softly. She and I were the only two still sitting down. A smile spread over her face as we watched Tamsin throw herself against the chest of a big, burly man with a red beard. A thinner woman stood smiling beside him, and three red-haired children hovered nearby. Two, a girl and a boy, looked to be in their mid-teens. The third was a young girl only a few years old. Tamsin swept her into her arms as though she weighed nothing and then tried to simultaneously draw the other two into a hug, resulting in laughs and confusion. There was no guile on Tamsin’s face. No cunningness or sizing up the situation. The tight control she always maintained was gone, her emotions pure and raw. There was a lightness about her that made me realize that, until that moment, I’d never truly comprehended just how much weight she carried.
But instead of pondering if she’d encountered them, I found myself admiring her beautiful profile. It was impossible not to. Her quiet, fearless manner made her mysterious and alluring in a way few could match. Certainly not me. Were those striking eyes holding a dark secret? Had she been Cedric’s mistress?
That ugly feeling started to rise up within me again, and I banished it as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. I took my seat, hoping the scent of vetiver would soon fade from my dress.
Chapter 6
I saw little of Cedric in the months that followed. with so many other things to keep me busy, it was easy to push him off to a place in the back of my mind. I filed other things there—like the memories of my parents, and how worried my grandmother must be—and made a point of visiting that mental place as little as possible. It was only on occasional late nights, when I’d lie restless in bed, that I’d allow myself a peek at those dark corners of my mind.
My tenure at the Glittering Court soon became the happiest time of my life to date, excepting when my parents were alive. Despite the regimented schedule, the endless drills and classes, I felt a freedom I’d never known. I moved around the manor with a lightness in my chest, heady with the feeling that I could do anything and had the world at my fingertips. Certainly, I was scrutinized, but nowhere near the levels of Osfro.
That wasn’t to say I didn’t still face some challenges.
“Hey, are you ready to— What have you done?”
I looked up as Tamsin and Mira entered the kitchen. Even though we’d now spent nearly eight months learning the ways of upper-class ladies, Mistress Masterson wanted us—or some of us—to remember our humble roots. That meant occasional household chores, such as the dishes I was currently washing.
They hurried over to my side, peering at the copper kettle I was attempting to wash. “Is that bleach? That is bleach! I can smell it.” Without waiting for a response, Tamsin grabbed the kettle and dumped its contents into a tub of wastewater. “What were you thinking?”
“Something got burned in it, and scrubbing wasn’t working. I saw you use bleach to get out that stain from your dress the other day, so I thought—”
“Stop,” said Tamsin. “I don’t want to hear any more. I can’t hear any more.”
Mira picked up a cloth and rubbed the inside of the pot. “It came out, and the bleach wasn’t in long enough to cause damage.”
I felt triumphant. “So it did work.”
“Soaking in water, followed by a lemon scrub, would have done the same with a lot less risk.” Tamsin took one of my hands and held it up. One side was red from the bleach. “Deepest hell. Go rinse them off. You’ve got the best hands of all of us. Don’t ruin that.”
Tamsin’s own hands showed the signs of having scrubbed laundry since childhood, and it vexed her to no end. She was constantly applying moisturizers in an effort to undo—or at least minimize—the damage.
Mira took my apron and hung it up while Tamsin gave me a quick inspection. “No other harm done. The dress is intact, and I daresay that’s the nicest chignon I’ve ever seen you do. Did someone help you?”
I patted my hair, affronted at her suspicious tone. “We share the same room. Do you think someone sneaked in and helped me?”
“It wasn’t me,” said Mira, seeing Tamsin’s gaze fall on her. “Adelaide’s come quite a long way. I saw her fold a blanket the other day, and there were almost no creases in it.”
I pushed the kitchen door open, and the other two followed me. “Oh, stop, both of you. It’s our off day. It wouldn’t matter if I did have sloppy hair.”
Tamsin narrowed her eyes in thought. “No, something’s going on. Mistress Masterson wouldn’t have ordered us to the ballroom otherwise. This is usually the day she has it cleaned.”
My slowness on the dishes had made us the last to arrive, but we weren’t late yet. Even if we were, I didn’t think Mistress Masterson would have noticed. She was busy directing one of the house servants to set up large tables on the far side of the room. In the middle of the ballroom itself, we were met with the astonishing sight of blankets spread across the floor and our housemates sitting on them.
“What’s going on?” I asked Rosamunde.
She glanced up at us from her blue-flowered quilt. “No idea. Mistress Masterson just told us to sit down and wait.”
Puzzled, my friends and I made it across the room to an unoccupied blanket, an enormous fuzzy one with red and yellow stripes. Around us, the other girls’ conversation buzzed as they too wondered what was happening. Tamsin groaned. “Damn it. I knew I should have worn my church dress.”
“You think we’re having a service in here?” I asked.
“No. But I think this is a test. A pop quiz. Maybe how to entertain and throw a get-together on short notice.” Tamsin pointed to the entrance. “Look. Here comes food.”
Three men in plain workmen’s clothes entered, hauling large platters that Mistress Masterson directed to the tables. As she uncovered them, I could tell even from this distance that they contained finger sandwiches and fruit. The workmen left and returned with a second load of food, as well as plates and linen napkins. I’d thought Tamsin was paranoid, but there was no doubt we had much more food than our coterie needed. After the tables were filled, the workmen left and didn’t return. Mistress Masterson stood by the doorway, an expectant look on her face.
“Damn it,” Tamsin repeated. She took a deep breath. Her eyes grew as steely as those of a general preparing for battle. “Okay. No problem. We can do this. We can do this better than the others because none of them have realized what’s happening. We’ve got an edge. Think back to our lessons on greeting strangers at a party. All the acceptable topics. Weather. Upcoming holidays. Animals are all right too. No religion. No politics, unless it’s in support of the king and his latest policy. Always look dignified—who knows what kind of posh guests the old lady’s dug up? Keep your posture good and—”
That crafty countenance dissolved into disbelief, and Tamsin let out a very undignified shriek. In a flash, she was on her feet, sprinting across the room. And she wasn’t the only girl. Others were on the move as well, and the buzz turned into an outright cacophony of chaos and excitement. Turning my gaze back to the entryway, I saw strangers entering, strangers who could hardly be called posh. My housemates lost themselves in the crowd, swept away in a flood of hugs and tears.
“Their families,” said Mira softly. She and I were the only two still sitting down. A smile spread over her face as we watched Tamsin throw herself against the chest of a big, burly man with a red beard. A thinner woman stood smiling beside him, and three red-haired children hovered nearby. Two, a girl and a boy, looked to be in their mid-teens. The third was a young girl only a few years old. Tamsin swept her into her arms as though she weighed nothing and then tried to simultaneously draw the other two into a hug, resulting in laughs and confusion. There was no guile on Tamsin’s face. No cunningness or sizing up the situation. The tight control she always maintained was gone, her emotions pure and raw. There was a lightness about her that made me realize that, until that moment, I’d never truly comprehended just how much weight she carried.
