by Jeff Wheeler
“I could have been one,” the girl answered smartly.
“Long ago, perhaps,” Fitzroy said. “There are too many royal cousins for our line to ever have preference. And the little one—who is about your own age, Cettie—is Felicianna. She’s quiet and a little shy. We call her little Anna.”
“How do you do?” Stephen said, bowing to Cettie. The guarded, distrustful look was still there. She didn’t know how to respond to such a pleasantry.
Fitzroy released Phinia and then led Cettie over to the couch.
“Maren, here she is,” he said in a gentle voice.
Despite her illness, Lady Maren appeared quite a bit younger than her husband. She looked scarcely older than Stephen, although she had wrinkles around her eyes. She wore gloves, as was the custom, and clenched a silk kerchief, which she brought to her mouth every time she coughed. Her very curly hair was held back by a headband.
Lady Maren’s eyes had a feverish cast to them, but she smiled at Cettie in a pleasant, kindly way. “So you’re the little girl he helped last night,” she said in a whisper-like voice. “I’m so sorry, dearest, for the life you lived in the Fells.” She reached out with her other hand, holding her palm up and inviting Cettie to put her hand there. She did, hesitantly, but genuine warmth seemed to exude from the woman. Lady Maren squeezed her hand, but it was a limp, weak squeeze. “You are welcome here at Fog Willows. You’ll be safe here from those who hurt you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Cettie said gratefully. Her hope was rekindled.
Fitzroy looked pleased and sidled over to his youngest, who was trying to burrow into the couch cushions. He tousled her hair. “Come and say hello to our guest, Anna.”
The youngest shook her head no, but she gave Cettie a shy smile.
Behind them, Cettie could hear the others talking.
“You’ve got to get that last turn right,” Stephen said, scolding his sister. “It’s left, then right, then back.”
“That’s exactly what I did!” Phinia returned defensively.
“No, you went right, then left, then right. You have to get it perfect, Phinia. You should ask Father to send someone up for lessons, or perhaps he can send you to one of the better dancing schools in the City before you go off to study. I don’t want you to embarrass me.”
“Always worried about yourself,” Phinia quipped. “I just turned fourteen. No one is expecting perfection.”
“Yes, they are,” Stephen shot back. “There was a girl who was shunned because she stumbled during a dance. Neither she nor any member of her family was ever invited back to a ball again. I’m not trying to frighten you, Phinia, but I’ve seen it happen.”
“Who was it?” Phinia challenged.
“Ardis Wimpole.”
“Ardis Wimpole is a goose.”
“And she’s a goose who doesn’t get invited to any more balls. You may act like you’re sixteen, but you’re not.” He pitched his voice lower. “We’ll practice again when Father is gone.”
The family then assembled for a generous breakfast in a connected dining room. The sumptuous spread made Cettie tremble. Pangs of hunger made her want to cram as much food into her mouth as she could, but the almost bored way the Fitzroy children ate revealed that such fare was typical. Cettie savored a buttered roll, enjoying the airy dough and the warmth that spread all the way down to her belly. There was some talk and chatter during breakfast, but none directed at her.
Before too long, the meal ended, and Fitzroy did leave the room, mumbling about needing to get back to his duties, and Cettie found herself abandoned in the sitting room, not knowing what to say or what to do. Lady Maren, seeming to recognize her uncertainty, asked Cettie to sit down on the couch with her and watch Phinia and Stephen dance together. She said the governess would be coming soon to begin lessons. Once again, the music sprang to life out of nowhere. Cettie felt a tingling shoot down her spine.
“Ugh, why won’t they play ‘Genny’s Market’?” Phinia complained.
“They play what they play,” Stephen said in exasperation. “You can hear the counts, can’t you? Five, six, seven, eight . . .” The two held hands and began a series of intricate steps and sways that was completely baffling to Cettie. The dancing was much more complicated than the boisterous peasant dances of the Fells.
“You’ll get used to it after a while,” Lady Maren said. “I used to love attending balls. Back when they were not so formal.”
“I’ve never been to one,” Cettie said in a small voice. She knew they were popular in the wealthier quarters of the Fells, and even more so in the City, but she’d only heard stories about them.
“Of course not. But you will, dearest.” She stroked Cettie’s hair. “This must all feel very strange to you. Do you have any questions?”
“Where does the music come from?” she asked, looking around. If she had to guess, the sound seemed to be emanating from the wainscoting on the wall by the fireplace, but she had yet to locate any apparent source.
“It’s one of the Mysteries,” Lady Maren said.
Cettie sighed.
“Why the frown?”
Cettie hadn’t realized she’d made one. She quickly smoothed her features—wanting to be agreeable to the family. It was the only way they’d keep her.
“That’s what everyone says. I just don’t understand what it means. In the Fells, everyone thinks it is magic.”
Lady Maren nodded sympathetically. “Yes, there is a bit of superstition where you come from. It’s not magic, Cettie. It’s an understanding of certain laws and powers. And since it is quite difficult to explain how the Mysteries work, we use that word with the uninitiated. Some knowledge, important knowledge, requires a price to be paid before it is learned. The secrets must be guarded. But they can be learned. Have you ever been to the City?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve never left the Fells. Not that I can remember.”
“Here in the north, sky manors don’t float directly above the Fells the way they do in the City. No, the manors are spread out and much smaller. There is less worry about them falling here if one of them fails.”
“Does that truly happen?” Cettie had heard people speak of it, but it had always seemed more like a myth than a genuine possibility.
Lady Maren nodded her head. “It can, but the risk is small. People who live below the City do dread it. They must trust that those who live above them know how to keep that giant rock floating. It’s been there for generations. The floating part is called Lockhaven, but some of us just call the whole thing the City because it’s all connected, and zephyrs are constantly going up and down. In the City, there are many wonderful musicians. They have trained and practiced long and hard to master their various instruments. When all the instruments are brought together, it is called an orchestra. Do you know that word?”
“No, ma’am,” Cettie answered.
“That’s all right, Cettie. Do you see that instrument?” She pointed to a big box with gold trim and white and black keys. “That is called a clavicembalo, or just a cembalo for short. It’s basically just a harp that was laid flat. When you strike the keys hard or soft, it plays music. It’s an ingenious invention. When I went to school, I studied music.” She smiled brightly, the shadows under her eyes fading a little as the memory swept her away. “Now, here is what I want you to imagine, Cettie. There are many orchestras in the City. They each have maestros, and they practice and play all day long and then perform at night. What you are hearing—right now—is one of those orchestras. Even though it is far away, we can still enjoy their music up here. Stephen and Phinia love to dance. I used to join them, but I’m so tired now.” Her voice began to soften, and Anna crept closer, looking at her worriedly.
“How does the music get here?” Cettie asked.
Lady Maren smiled. “That is the part I cannot tell you. It is one of the Mysteries. But if you are good and obedient, when you reach Phinia’s age, you will be sent to learn them, just as she will be sent. Stephen kno
ws some of them already.” A dark look clouded her face. It immediately roused Cettie’s curiosity, but she knew better than to press. Mrs. Pullman was correct about one thing; she was lucky to be here. Then Lady Maren’s look changed, softening. “Ah, here is Mrs. Pullman with the governess, Miss Farnworth. Punctual as ever.”
Miss Farnworth, who looked to be in her early twenties, had long blond hair and a gentle smile. Phinia begged for just one more dance before the instruction started. The governess’s gaze shifted to the lady of the house, indicating the decision was hers.
Before Lady Maren could answer, Mrs. Pullman approached her and took her hand. “How are you feeling, my lady?”
“Tired still,” came the reply. “Is Cettie all settled, then? Which room did you put her in?”
“She’s staying with me, ma’am,” said Mrs. Pullman in a sweet way. “I didn’t want any of the servants to mistreat her.” She gave Cettie a burning look, as if daring her to disagree. “Was she quiet as a lamb, ma’am? Or does she ask too many questions?”
“I don’t mind. Thank you, Mrs. Pullman. Do let them finish one more dance. And, Miss Farnworth, please be sure to spend some time with Cettie as well. After Phinia leaves for school, you’ll have two pupils to teach instead of one.”
“Yes, Mrs. Pullman,” Miss Farnworth said, and smiled at Cettie.
Mrs. Pullman then nodded at them all, sparing a final glance for Cettie, and left the room to see to her other responsibilities.
Cettie sat quietly on the couch and watched the brother and sister dance the final round. She liked to observe people, and she was quick to pick up on nuances and patterns. The dances they were performing were not random at all. Each song seemed to have a unique series of movements associated with it. Sometimes there was clapping to the rhythm. Sometimes the clapping came after a twirl. There was a method for each, but it would take time and study for Cettie to memorize them.
After the dance finished, they moved to the part of the room equipped with desks, tables, and chairs, and Miss Farnworth started on Phinia’s lessons first. Stephen was quick to criticize his younger sister and constantly tried to show off the knowledge he had already received at school. But Phinia would not be bullied by his airs and liked to tease him back and challenge what he knew. They seemed to relish arguing. Anna did not say anything at all unless directly addressed. Eventually, Lady Maren fell asleep on the couch while the tutoring went on.
The afternoon stretched on, and Cettie found herself struggling to stay awake on another couch, reading a primer that Miss Farnworth had given her. Her days had always been so busy and full of chores that she’d had very little rest. She must have dozed off, because suddenly Stephen and Phinia were standing before her. Lady Maren had apparently left earlier, for her couch was vacant.
“Look, she’s fallen asleep! How adorable!” Phinia said, laughing at her.
Stephen smirked. “She must be tired of sitting still for so long.”
Miss Farnworth was trying to teach Anna something at a nearby table. Her tilted head indicated she could hear the exchange, but she did nothing to intervene. Rather, she pointed to the page again and whispered for Anna to keep reading.
Cettie flushed and blinked herself awake. Anna ignored her lesson and shot daggers at her older brother with her eyes.
“I’m only teasing,” Stephen said, although his look denied it. “So you come from the Fells?”
Phinia elbowed him. “Papa said he’s trying to get your deed. We have a very good advocate. The very best. His name is Master Sloan. He’ll get your deed signed away.”
“Father doesn’t want her deed,” Stephen said, his eyes narrowing. “I heard him tell Mother he’s going to try and adopt her.”
“Won’t that be nice?” Phinia said with a gleam in her eye. “How lucky you are, Cettie. I adore your name. Is it short for something? Is it a nickname?”
“I don’t know,” Cettie answered, feeling badgered by the two of them. She wished Lady Maren were still there.
“It must be short for Celestina. Or Celestine perhaps. You will need to learn how to talk like us, if you want to be part of this family.”
“Do you think she can?” Stephen asked in a snide tone. Then he smirked again. “I’m only joking, of course.”
It was unfair of them to belittle her this way, to make her feel the awkwardness of her position even more keenly, but she was worried enough about her precarious state that she didn’t want to retaliate.
“I know how to talk,” Cettie said, a little defensively. She’d always had a reputation for speaking well. “My papa taught me.”
“Oh, and who was your papa?” Stephen asked. “A brick maker?”
“He was the captain of a hurricane,” Cettie answered, feeling more self-conscious by the moment.
Stephen and Phinia stared at her for a moment and then both burst into giggles. The sound made her ears burn. She clenched her fists in the fabric of the new dress.
“That’s a lie,” Phinia taunted after she recovered herself. Then she gave Cettie a disdainful look. “Only an admiral or a vice admiral can pilot a hurricane. We should know.”
The sting of being wrong brought a wave of humiliation.
“Come on, Phinia,” Stephen said, giving Cettie another ugly smirk. “We don’t want to interrupt the little girl’s lessons. As if she’ll get them long. Mrs. Pullman thinks she won’t last a week.”
Cettie saw in Stephen’s eyes the same disdain she’d noticed from the keeper. Now there were two of them determined to persecute her.
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE DARK
The immense Fitzroy estate was full of household servants, men and women who wore gray-and-blue livery and spent the day cleaning and tidying and serving the family. After the lessons, Miss Farnworth and Anna gave Cettie a tour of the mansion. Despite being shy, Anna held Cettie’s hand in a gesture of friendship as she led her around. From one of the spires they climbed, Cettie could see the land all the way beneath the estate, and the perspective gave her the queer sensation that they were really atop a mountain and not hovering over the valley below. It was beautiful, but it almost made her stomach revolt. Not even the tallest building could have reached the underside of Fog Willows.
When evening came, the entire place started to glow again, though there were no candles. The light just appeared all at once, shining from behind frosted glass in the ceilings and walls. Cettie again felt that shivering sensation go down her spine, a prickle of awareness that made her giddy inside. Without asking Anna, she knew this to be another of the Mysteries.
The family spent the evening together reading books in the sitting room. There were shelves and shelves of books. Cettie couldn’t read very well—what little she knew, she’d taught herself from the news journals the fish came wrapped in—but Anna had offered her encouragement. If she studied the primers from Miss Farnworth, Anna had said, she would soon be able to read every book in the sitting room. They were, after all, Anna’s old primers, and she’d developed her skills the same way. Cettie studied the primer, trying to ignore Stephen and Phinia, who were neglecting their books in favor of making gestures and rude faces at each other, trying for a laugh or giggle. Fitzroy and Lady Maren sat together on the sofa.
At some moment in the evening, the lights began to dim of their own accord—as suddenly as they’d turned on—and Fitzroy folded his book closed and asked that his children go off to bed. As they bid one another good night, Cettie heard Phinia murmur that her papa looked very tired because he’d spent the previous night in the Fells. She shot Cettie an accusing look, and her brother offered a wry smile.
“Good night, Cettie,” he said, but his tone was still not very welcoming.
Although Cettie was exhausted, she remembered her orders from Mrs. Pullman. She would not be able to retire until the keeper did. Earlier, Mrs. Pullman had made it sound as if she were taking care of Cettie herself, though she knew the older woman did not care to make her comfortable. As she walked d
own the now-abandoned corridor, the lights grew a shade dimmer, giving way to shadows. A little prick of worry stabbed her heart.
It was such a tall corridor, with its beams and struts and fanciful designs wrought by master craftsmen. She knew very little about the upper class, but she did know that estates like Fog Willows were inherited and had been passed down for generations. Fitzroy himself had once walked these corridors as a lad her age.
Cettie reached the kitchen and found the cook—she couldn’t remember her name—still at work in the dimming light, trying to arrange some bread to rise in bowls. She offered to help, but the cook shooed her away with a disgruntled air, so she continued toward the steps at the back of the kitchen. It was dark in the turret, and she touched the wall with one hand to keep her way as she slowly ascended the steps, dreading the coming meeting with Mrs. Pullman.
The door at the top of the steps barred the way. Mrs. Pullman had told Cettie to wait at the stoop for her to finish her duties, saying the door would not open for anyone save the keeper. Not daring to test the handle, Cettie sat there, growing more and more sleepy with each moment. There was no way of knowing how long she waited, but she eventually fell asleep and was startled awake by the sound of shoes slapping up the steps. She rubbed her bleary eyes and saw light chasing away the shadows in the tower.
Mrs. Pullman appeared around the bend of the turret, holding a chain in one hand. A small square lantern was attached to it, the frosted glass like that of the walls of the mansion. Her eyes were deep and wary, and the wrinkles in her face bunched together when she saw Cettie waiting for her.
The tall, prim woman frowned. “So you did as you were told,” she said in her drawn-out way of speaking. “I’m surprised. I expected little tricks. Well, these walls have ears, child. They tell me what I wish to know. You behaved today. You made no fuss, even when the master’s children snubbed you. As they should.”
The words came as a shock. Had Mrs. Pullman spied on her personally, or had she simply interrogated the servants, like Miss Farnworth? If she could spy on her, then Cettie would have to be very, very careful in what she said and did.