They wandered a while longer while the Duchess calmed herself and fixed her face with the aid of a pocket mirror. When they had stayed long enough for appearance's sake, they smiled and murmured their way back to the carriage and went directly to the Marshal's house, where the Duchess insisted upon alighting from her carriage and walking away from it with Genevieve.
"I'll see you day after tomorrow," said the Duchess, giving Genevieve a hug. "Tell whoever it is to light a signal fire at the end of the Ramspize. She will guide by that."
"A signal fire," she agreed.
She went looking for Delia, finding her out by the stables, which Genevieve considered a more private place to talk than the house.
"Delia, I need to ask a great favor of you and maybe of John. I'll pay you well for it, but you mustn't ever speak of it to Father, for he'd be most annoyed."
Delia sat down on a convenient keg and looked interested while Genevieve described the plight of a servant girl of whom the Duchess was quite fond, who now worked for the Duchess's daughter, and of this poor girl's husband, who was inclined to be violent and vindictive, so the girl herself needed a place to bide with her child until it was weaned, at least. A secret place.
"I'll wager the Earl got her pregnant," grunted Delia. "That's who the Duchess's daughter is married to, Lord Solven, Earl of Ruckward, and that would explain all this secrecy and anger. Well, the Earl has a reputation for being a son of thunder, and it's not the first time he's bred a servant girl, so I can understand how the Duchess and her daughter feel. There's no covenants ruling what us common folk can do, so I can arrange for one of my cousins to meet this girl and her babe. I've family who lives down Southmarsh way, right near the Ramspize, including one old lady who could use some company."
"She'll arrive on Ramspize Point about the fifteenth, Delia. Someone needs to light a signal fire on the shore, to guide her where they're waiting. You'll need to go to Evermire..."
"I won't need to go anywhere. The Langmarsh men are returning home today, and my John's going with them, to pick up some things the Marshal wants brought from Langmarsh House. He'll find someone trusty who'll go to Evermire and fix it with my cousins. When he gets back, he'll tell me how he's managed it."
"Are you sure John won't mention it to anyone? It would be so dangerous for me, and for the girl..."
Delia snorted. "And me as well, Jenny. John might not care that much about the girl, or even about you, forgive me for speaking freely, but if I let him know it would endanger me, he'll not say a word. I promise you that."
"Thank you! Oh, thank you!"
Delia's mouth twisted ironically. "No thanks needed if, as I believe, the Duchess intends to pay for it. It would have to be her, for I know your father keeps you in short shrift."
Genevieve flushed. "It is her money, yes. A hundred royals for you and John, and another hundred for expenses, and still another to help keep the girl until it's safe for her to return home or she can care for herself. Do you think that will be enough?" She had considered this business of money during the drive home, deciding on this figure at least as a starting point.
"Fifty will do for expenses, including a bit for whoever goes to Evermire and sets it up, but it could take more than a hundred for keeping the girl, so the total is fair. What's her name?"
"Bessany Blodden." She passed over the six fifty-royal pieces she had taken from the bag. Delia took the coins, looked them over carefully, nodded her satisfaction, and pocketed them. "My lady," she said, flushing.
"Yes?"
"For you, I would have done it for nothing except expenses, but John and me, we're looking to buy a bit of land in Wantresse. A place to keep us when we're old, and any little money extra goes to that. I thought, since it was someone else's business..."
Genevieve laid her hands on Delia's shoulder and leaned forward to put their cheeks together. "That's all right, Delia. If ever I can, I'll put by a bit for your land. I've done you little enough good so far for all your years caring for me."
Delia flushed again, started to speak, then shook her head and turned away.
Genevieve went back to her own room and lay down on the bed to think first about Delia's land, for land was a matter of constant concern to the commons. Too much of it was owned by the nobles, far more than they could use. When she'd exhausted what she knew or felt about that subject, she considered what Alicia had asked her to do. The story she and Delia had made up between them seemed so plausible she could almost accept it as reality except for one oddness. Why did Lord Solven, Earl of Ruckward, mind if his young wife had a child? And, why was Alicia ready to risk her daughter's soul in this way, for certainly her daughter had taken an oath when she married the Lord Solven! A life in his service. Which didn't include running off!
But then, Veswees's remark about young mothers having a difficult time came to mind. And her noticing how few young mothers there were.
And many of the students at school had been motherless, as Genevieve herself was, the result of noble husbands insisting upon having an heir, or two, or three, with mothers dying in childbirth, because they were older. One would think the off-world doctors so much touted by the court would be able to do something about that. Why did so many noblewomen die? In the villages of Wantresse there were many young mothers. Most of the women servants at school had children that they chattered about and showed pictures of.
Was it because noble heirs had to be born at home, as the covenants required? Perhaps that was what Alicia was afraid of for her daughter. That she would perish bearing a child at home. But that would be safer than in a boat at sea! Surely that was more dangerous yet....
Someone rapped at her door, then opened it. The Marshal, her father, poking his head in, saying impatiently, "Genevieve? Aren't you well?"
"Quite well, Father. Just resting a bit before luncheon."
"Well, get up and put your court dress on. We've received a summons, you and I. The Lord Paramount wishes to meet you."
Delia helped her get into the wide-skirted, rigidly boned, high-necked casing that served as daytime court dress. As soon as they were full grown, all students at Blessingham's had court dresses made for their eventual presentations, and managing the voluminous skirts had been part of the curriculum taught by the dancing instructor. Being introduced to the Lord Paramount was a formality, and on formal occasions everyone wore court dress, each of the color assigned to his own rank, from the purple of royalty down to the brown of gentlemen. Only commoners of the lower sort wore red, for it was considered so improper a color that it was never used in clothing or decoration, at least not by those with any pretensions of class.
Once dressed Genevieve and the Marshal went uncomfortably by carriage to the palace at the appointed time, mid-afternoon, whereupon they were shown into an easeless anteroom where they waited on hard benches for several hours. Genevieve had had the foresight to bring a book, a practice Mrs. Blessingham had recommended for any appointment made by a member of a higher class who might keep people waiting to display his superior rank, and she spent the time patiently turning the pages.
Heretofore, however, the Marshal had only been summoned to court when needed to quell some crisis, he had never before been kept waiting, and he now reacted to this delay by growing angrier with every passing moment. By the time the footman summoned them into the throne room where the Marshal had been interviewed before, the Marshal was steaming.
The Lord Paramount was in no such agitation. He might not even have moved since the Marshal had last seen him, for he sat as he had then, robed in purple velvet, crown tipped slightly to one side, head leaning on his right hand, eyes half shut, an untidy scatter of booklets around him on the carpet and piled to either side.
"Marshal," he said, slowly sitting upright and opening his eyes. "And his lovely daughter."
"Your Majesty," murmured Genevieve, sweeping a proper courtesy, head bent, hair arranged high, long neck exposed. It was this exposure of the neck that conveyed subservience
. One was helpless in such a position. Which the Marshal perhaps thought of, for he bowed not nearly low enough. Her stomach clenched. He might well say something irretrievable!
"How are you settling in?" asked the monarch. "Yugh Delganor says you seem to have found appropriate lodging."
The Marshal, tight-lipped, said, "We were fortunate enough to do so, Your Majesty."
"Over on Belregard. Baron what'sits place. Good. Good. Happened to think that it was about time to decide how we're going to occupy the young lady's time. Have you grown bored yet, Marchioness? Being home instead of at school?"
Genevieve assumed the question was addressed to her, though the Lord Paramount was looking over her shoulder into the air. "No, Your Majesty. Things are still rather unsettled," she murmured.
"Well then, we'll give you a bit more time. Prince Delganor has asked that you be attached to his office when you're ready to take up your duties."
Genevieve managed a charming smile over gritted teeth as she asked, "May one ask what that would entail, Your Majesty?"
The Lord Paramount stared at the ceiling, as though trying to recall what exactly the Prince's duties were. "Ah, the Prince oversees the maintenance of the palace and the welfare of its people. As you might imagine, we get visitors from all the provinces, and the Prince usually relies on a few charming young people to show the little barons and baronesses around the place, escort them through the public parts of the palace, you know. The greenhouses, the galleries, the gardens-only in summer, of course-and the royal stables. That's a favorite, the stables. Children always like horses. So, when you're ready, he'll call upon you to do that." She said, "I imagine I'll need to familiarize myself with that duty, sir."
"Of course, of course you will, my dear, though it seems you already are, ah? Someone said you and the Lady Alicia were together in the greenhouses just this morning? Good. Good. Ask the Duchess. She'll show you around. She used to help the Prince, when she was younger."
He smiled, half drowsily, and leaned his head back on his hand. "That's all, Marshal. Glad you've settled in so well."
The Marshal bowed, Genevieve made the full court courtesy, remaining with her head bent for a long moment. There, on the carpet, lay one of the monarch's booklets, brightly colored, full of pictures of... things. Furniture. Golden dishes. Extravagant carpets. And there were a hundred such booklets scattered near the throne. Export catalogues. Some of them from planets whose names she knew from her reading in the school library.
Her father touched her elbow, she rose, they backed away from the presence and the tall doors were shut behind them. The Marshal took a deep breath, his face purple, as though about to explode.
"Any servant," he growled, as they went out into the hallway. "Any footman can escort visitors about!"
"It's all right, Father," she said hastily. "I don't mind."
His voice rose as he said, "To keep us waiting all that time! He could have had someone apologize for the delay!"
"Shhh," she said, aware that the approaching footman had his eyes fixed intently on them. "As you once pointed out to me, Father, this may be in the nature of a test. To see whether we are the type of people to cause difficulties."
His eyes widened. Slowly the blood drained from his face, leaving his usually ruddy skin quite pale, almost ashen as he mumbled, "So I did."
The footman preceded them on their way out, bowing and gesturing like a mime, obviously well pleased with himself, ears all but quivering. Genevieve remarked casually, "I'm delighted with the duty His Majesty has proposed. It will give me something interesting to do, and allow me quite a bit of exercise. I was amazed at the size of the greenhouses, and the galleries must be equally large. I didn't even know there were galleries."
"Nor I," he mumbled, allowing a waiting servant to place his cloak upon his shoulders. "I'm sure the duty will be very rewarding."
They descended the flight of marble stairs to find their carriage waiting. Inside, as they relaxed onto the cushions, the Marshal's face began to redden again.
The air solidified. Genevieve saw a dim room, stone walls, a cone of light, a dwarfish man crouched over a mechanism of some kind. She heard her father's voice coming from the mechanism: "Any footman can escort visitors about..." The dwarfish man looked up with a gleeful, vulpine expression.
And she was back in the carriage with her father just opening his mouth.
"Oh, Father," she cried, laying her fingers upon his lips. "It's so exciting! And wasn't the Lord Paramount wonderful! Imagine seeing him in person. Quite an honor. Really, quite an honor!"
He started to say something, but she leaned forward and put her hand sideways across his lips, gagging him, her eyes fixed pleadingly upon his own. He was at first angry, then puzzled, but at length he pinched his nostrils together, as though he smelled something unpleasant and turned away from her. She turned away also, but to search the carriage with her eyes, the corners of the joinery, the places the cushions met the frame, the buttons tufting the cushions, seeing nothing, turning back toward her father to see the angry question in his face.
She said, with a wide, false smile. "Aren't you excited, Father? I know you must be! Anyone who admires the Lord Paramount as you do would be."
After a long pause he said, "Very excited," in a solemn, rather aggrieved voice. "Oh, very excited indeed."
They said nothing more on the way home, though the Marshal stared at Genevieve in a way that made her quite uncomfortable. When they arrived at the house, they drove directly to the stable yard, from which her father fairly dragged her into the desolate garden. "What possible excuse can you offer for all that?"
"I... I just had the feeling, sir, that His Majesty might find it necessary to... listen to people he had invited to court. To hear what they said, whether they were loyal to him. I just had the feeling that... it would be a mistake to say anything at all negative."
"You had this feeling in our own carriage! And just how would he manage that?"
She thought of the scattered booklets by the throne, wondering if she should mention them. No. She didn't know what they portended, her father had paid no attention, but even he knew about doctors. Let her speak then of doctors.
"The Lord Paramount... the Lord Paramount and some of the nobles hire off-world people and buy off-world products, Father. Medical personnel and supplies, for example. We all know that. And when you fight on the Lord Paramount's behalf, I'm sure he gives you off-world weapons if you need them. People near to His Majesty, those charged with his security, are no doubt also given special tools to keep track of people. You would not necessarily be told of these things, just as they would not be told of the weapons you use."
"Which has nothing to do with spying on people!"
"I am sure such technology exists, Father."
"In our carriage?" he said mockingly.
His eyebrows were lifted, his lips twisted in the lofty manner that she dreaded. Still, it was important that she warn him... without telling him how she knew.
Keeping her voice as level as possible, she said, "Our carriage was there, at the palace, for several hours. And not only our carriage would be vulnerable. We had a lot of work done on this house, before our dinner party. And..."
"Ridiculous," he snorted angrily. "You're like your mother! Imagining things! Making up ridiculous stories!"
"Perhaps," she said submissively. "But, wouldn't it be a good idea to be careful?"
Now that he had a target for his wrath, he exploded. "Genevieve, you've never given me any real trouble, as your mother did all too often, and if you are wise you will not start now. I'm sure the Lord Paramount does whatever he needs to do to keep order, but you're ignoring who I am! I have always been one of his most faithful supporters! I have fought in his behalf, borne wounds in his behalf. Though his underlings may be thoughtless enough to waste half a day of our time on a mere triviality, His Majesty would never feel it necessary to spy on me!"
His face forbade her saying anything mo
re. She clenched her hands into fists and kept quiet. He went on in a more moderate tone, "You have pleased me with all you've done since we've been here, particularly since it is new to you and there is a good deal more to this business of being a courtier than I had been informed. I cannot allow you to go on in this spirit, however, seeing threats under every bush and around every corner! From now on, my dear, you will not concern yourself with your safety, or mine, you will not invent conspiracies to make me aware. I am always aware! Our covenants make the care of women the duty of their husbands and fathers. You can rely on my care and protection as you always have, and you are to set all such concerns aside. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Father," she said meekly, biting her tongue. He wasn't aware, he was blind to the dangers here in Havenor, but there was no way she could make him see. She knew he collected intelligence on the battlefield for she had heard him speak of its importance, but he ignored it here, where the battles were no less deadly. He thought the only enemies worth worrying about were the ones with weapons pointed at him, weapons he could see! How much more deadly the ones that were invisible!
Sheri Tepper - Singer From The Sea Page 15