Jenna Starborn

by Sharon Shinn

  “Ameletta,” Miss Ayerson reprimanded. “This is a party for adults. I am sure Mr. Ravenbeck will want to show you off once or twice, but he will not want you attending every event. You must be very good, or he will not want you present at all.”

  “But last time Miss Ingersoll came to visit, the two of them took me to town in the aeromobile and we ate little pastries at the Mayfair Shop! And she said I was the most delightful child and she wished I was her very own! She will want me there, I know it!”

  The last time Bianca Ingersoll had visited? When was that? How long had the stopover lasted? And how many other visits had preceded that one?

  “That was when Miss Ingersoll came all by herself,” Mrs. Farraday said in an admonishing tone. “This time she will have many others to entertain, and she cannot be wasting her time on one little girl.”

  “Never mind, Ameletta,” I said, as the child’s face fell pathetically. “You and I shall have another picnic under the tree, and we shall dress up every night and hold our own parties in the schoolroom.”

  “As for that, I think your attendance will be wanted once or twice, Jenna,” Mrs. Farraday said.

  “Mine? I am hardly in a position—”

  “Yes, and mine, and Miss Ayerson’s,” Mrs. Farraday pursued. “Mr. Ravenbeck has always been very good about including those of us in the—the intermediate ranks at his gatherings. He knows it is a treat for us, and I do appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

  “I have passed many interesting evenings here at Thorrastone Park when Mr. Ravenbeck had guests,” Miss Ayerson added helpfully.

  “But I-I have nothing suitable to wear and I—I am not comfortable in grand company. I am sure he will allow me to be excused.”

  “Well, he seemed most set on it before he left the house,” Mrs. Farraday said doubtfully. “He said, ‘Make sure both Miss Ayerson and Miss Starborn know they are to be included in our evenings, and do not let them come up with paltry excuses for denying themselves this enjoyment.’ So you see, I am sure he wants you there.”

  I felt as if mercury was running through my veins, quick and poisonous. It was true that I was never at ease around full citizens of any level in society, but I was even more terrified of spending an evening in the same room with Mr. Ravenbeck and the dazzling Bianca Ingersoll. Bad enough that I had had to stare at our two countenances, side by side; I certainly did not want him making the live comparison and coming to the inevitable conclusion.

  “I will think about it,” I said faintly, and came shakily to my feet. “But I cannot believe he will insist.”

  Miss Ayerson also stood. “You will see, Jenna,” she said, using my given name for almost the first time. “It will be very pleasant.”

  The guests did not arrive for another full day and half, and during that period of time I worked as determinedly as I could to forget the summons I had received by proxy. I installed new shields in the generator room; I entertained Ameletta whenever I could; I provided some trifling help to Mrs. Farraday; and I spent a great deal of time looking over my limited wardrobe and realizing that I had not a single piece of clothing that would not disgrace me utterly.

  Nearly everything I owned was plain, somber, and serviceable. I had a selection of cloth coveralls, which suited me admirably for working on the generators or strolling through the lawns; and several sets of tunics and leggings, which I considered good enough for my infrequent trips to town and other public outings. Neither of these could be worn in the social setting I would be facing in a few hours’ time.

  The wealthy citizens of the Allegiance wore a range of clothing so diverse and inclusive as to make it hard for any historian to come up with a standard style of dress for the era. At social functions, women could be seen in anything from bejeweled street-length velvet gowns to form-fitting transparent gauzes that moved with their bodies like second skins. If anything could be said to be the current fashion, it was color, the brighter the better. Since everything I owned was a dull hue like gray or navy, I could not have fit in even if I had had clothing in the proper cut.

  The only thing I could possibly wear to the evenings Mr. Ravenbeck had devised was a gray silk pant suit that owned the quietest air of elegance. I had purchased it in a shop on Lora shortly after I accepted a position at the academy, and I had only worn it twice, to formal school functions. There it had been proper; here it would be disastrous. The top was high-necked and long-waisted, falling in loose folds halfway to my knees; its pearl buttons were simple but pretty. The pants themselves were more tailored than the tight-fitting cotton leggings I usually wore, though there was nothing particularly distinguished about them. A pair of unobtrusive black shoes, and I would complete my ensemble. And be laughed from the room, silently at least. Not that it mattered. Not that I thought I belonged there anyway.

  How could a Goddess who knew I was the equal of every creature on the planet conspire to put me in a situation that would prove to me I was not?

  Having given up on my wardrobe dilemma, I joined Mrs. Farraday in her task of assigning rooms to the arriving guests. Large as it was, Thorrastone Park did not boast more than a dozen bedchambers, and residents were already installed in some. She and I toured the remaining rooms to determine who should sleep where.

  This was an education to me, for I had seldom been in this wing of the house. It was on the third story, directly above the main entrance, overlooking the most beautiful sweep of garden and lawn. The sunlight arrived here first every morning, slanting in sweetly past the curtained glass and giving each room a festive glow. Each room was decorated in its own theme—one very modern and stark, another very gilded and ornate, one an explosion of abstract colors, another a study in ivory and lace.

  “This is the room I think we should put Miss Ingersoll in,” I said, when we had come to the latter.

  “Why, and how did you know this is the room she prefers?” Mrs. Farraday exclaimed. “This is where we always put her.”

  “It seems to suit the great beauty she was described to me as being,” I said. “And is very feminine besides.”

  “And it is as far from Mr. Ravenbeck’s room as it can be and still be in this hallway,” Mrs. Farraday added. “I know it is old-fashioned of me, but I always think company should be separated very carefully —the single women in one quarter, the single men in another, and the married couples and families all grouped together. But Mr. Ravenbeck doesn’t care about that—none of these modern people do”.

  “Mr. Ravenbeck’s room is down this hall?” I asked, for I had not, till this moment, ever envisioned his sleeping quarters at all.

  “Yes, and let us take a quick peek in there to make sure everything is in order.”

  It was; the whole room was fresh, spartan, tidy as if no one had ever set foot to carpet or laid head on pillow. The furnishings were done in an indeterminate masculine hue, the bed was properly made, the bathroom gleamed as if every faucet and marble surface had been left untouched since the house was built. I spied no portraits on the walls, open books on the table, scattered items of clothing, stray shoes, crumpled letters. It was as if the man did not live there at all.

  “Not a room which shows much of its owner’s personality,” I remarked.

  “He is here so little,” Mrs. Farraday excused him. “He cannot be expected to leave behind objects that hold much value to him.”

  “Where does he leave those objects, then?” I demanded. “Where does he spend his time?”

  She looked at me somewhat blankly. “Why—his other holdings—he has several other properties, you know....”

  I glanced around the room again. “All of them, I would venture to say, as devoid of character as this one. I am not sure that Mr. Ravenbeck actually owns much that is of any value to him at all.”

  “Nonsense, he has many fine and expensive possessions,” Mrs. Farraday said firmly as she ushered me back in to the hallway. It was clear she had no idea what I was talking about.

  Late in the afternoon, the company
arrived. Ameletta. and Miss Ayerson, giggling and whispering, had invited me to watch the arrival on the security camera monitors that were installed, though seldom watched, in a small room on the upper story of the mansion. Indeed, Miss Ayerson said, she believed Mr. Ravenbeck had had them disconnected when he inherited the property, for they had not been in use since she arrived. Although I knew Mrs. Farraday would not approve of such an illicit activity—and I knew I therefore should not participate in it—I could not resist indulging my curiosity in such a harmless way, and I joined the other two in stealth.

  Miss Ayerson was fiddling with the camera controls when I entered the room. “I cannot get the focus adjusted—we shall see nothing but blurry faces and splotchy colors at this rate,” she remarked. “Here, Jenna, you are the technician. See if there is something you can do.”

  “These are a far cry from nuclear generators, but I’ll give it a try,” I said. Every dial and panel was covered in a layer of dust; I touched them with some caution. I could not help but wonder what images they would have shown us if they had been recording a few days back. The sinister image of Gilda Parenon making a destructive midnight visit to the house, perhaps?

  “Well, I think-oh, I see what the—now maybe this will do it....” I muttered to myself as I jiggled a few connectors and twisted a few dials. Ameletta’s shriek of excitement let me know before I looked back at the monitor that I had done something right.

  “Look! Look! That is her, that is Miss Ingersoll. Isn’t she just the most beautiful lady?”

  I quickly turned my attention back to the screen, to see this beautiful lady entering the mansion on the arm of the master of the estate. She was dressed in a clinging silver sheath that was only a few shades icier than her champagne hair, and below the hem her ivory legs were bare and shapely. She was laughing carelessly at something someone behind her had said, but I saw her eyes dart with an appraising possessiveness around the treasures in the foyer. She knew that she was considered a likely bride for the owner of Thorrastone Park, and she was tallying up her inheritance.

  “Oh! And her sister! Melanie! She is not quite as pretty as Miss Ingersoll, but she is very nice.”

  “Is she older or younger than Bianca Ingersoll?” I asked.

  “Younger by a year or two, I think,” Miss Ayerson replied. “Mrs. Farraday would know.”

  Melanie Ingersoll was a darker, less vivacious version of her sister, with a vapid expression on her face, though I could not but help feel her lack of predatory interest gave her a few points in amiability. She was making an observation to the older woman beside her, a faded beauty who looked so much like Bianca she had to be the mother of the two. Like her eldest daughter, Mrs. Ingersoll seemed to be estimating the worth of the antiques and silver immediately on view in the hallway, and comparing them to pieces she had at Sollbrook Manor.

  “They’re all quite lovely,” Miss Ayerson said with a certain wistfulness. I had scarcely ever heard her speak with anything other than complete indifference, so this change of tone caught my attention. I looked up at her with a little smile.

  “In the eyes of the Goddess, we are just as beautiful and certainly as valuable,” I said, “although I admit at the moment I am having a hard time convincing myself.”

  She smiled back, gave the tiniest of shrugs, and said nothing.

  “Look! Mr. Taff—and Mr. Fulsome—oh, and Mr.—Mr.—I cannot remember his name, can you, Miss Ayerson? He came here that one time with Miss Ingersoll and he took you and me riding in his convertible craft—”

  “Mr. Luxton, I believe,” Miss Ayerson said coolly. “Joseph Luxton. He must be one of the houseguests Mrs. Farraday mentioned.”

  Joseph Luxton was a man so good-looking it was almost sinful. He had lustrous black hair and chiseled features, with lips so full and dramatic that they could only be called sultry. His eyes-startling in such a dark face-were an electric green that seemed to create an energy of their own. They could have powered every generator in the underground facility and still singed our skin if they turned our way. Though he would never look our way; he was bored even with the exalted company he was keeping, as his slouching posture and half-sneering expression attested.

  “Oh, my,” I said comically, and gave Janet Ayerson another rueful smile. Again, she returned my expression and gave a little nod. Not much more we could say in front of Ameletta, but our glances spoke volumes. “With that so near at hand, one wonders what the attraction is for Miss Ingersoll in other quarters.”

  “I have often thought the same thing,” Miss Ayerson replied.

  The other two men in the party had passed under my camera view before I had gotten much chance to study them. They appeared good-natured enough, if not particularly intelligent, and I would have had a hard time telling them apart without a little study. Both were fairhaired and fair-skinned, athletic, well-cared for, smiling. More than that I could not determine.

  “Well! And this is the company we shall be keeping this evening!” I said as I turned back to my fellow watchers once the parade was over. “Offhand, I cannot think of a single thing I could have to say that would interest any of them in the slightest.”

  “You need not worry—they will talk to each other and not realize you are at the table,” Miss Ayerson said with a touch more dryness than she was used to exhibiting. “Mr. Ravenbeck will from time to time address a remark to you, to let you know that he at least realizes you are a human being, and you will answer, and then you will become invisible again. But it is still entertaining to listen to them talk and, later, to play games. I would not miss it.”

  “Oh, no!” Ameletta breathed. “I would not miss it for the world!”

  I would have gladly missed it—except a certain perversity of spirit had cropped up in me as the afternoon had worn on and told me that I should attend this dinner, attend it, enjoy it, and learn from it. If I truly believed I was as good as any other man or woman at the tableif my religion and my philosophies were not to fail me at some more critical juncture in my life—then I needed to prove it to myself and not shy away from a convivial evening because of wholly unmerited feelings of inferiority. I might not be Bianca Ingersoll’s equal in looks, liveliness, or social standing, but I was willing to bet my intellect surpassed hers. And I could match her, atom for atom and soul for soul, on the Great Mother’s delicate scales, and I would not be found wanting.

  Miss Ayerson and I had agreed that she and Ameletta and I would go down to dinner together so that we could provide one another other moral and physical support. Accordingly, I dressed in my gray silk suit and set a small pearl barrette in my hair and then waited patiently in my room for the knock to fall on the door. It came precisely at the agreed-upon hour.

  I opened it to find Ameletta, as expected, in her pearl and ivory dress, her blond hair caught in a butterfly flurry of ribbons. But Janet Ayerson looked as I had never seen her look before. Gone was the quiet, scarcely noticeable black tunic; in its place was an embroidered crimson jacket over a long, pleated silk skirt of the same color, and on her pale face she had brushed the lightest combination of cosmetics.

  “Janet!” I exclaimed, startled into using her given name, though she had been experimenting with mine for the past few days. “You look magnificent!”

  She looked self-conscious as well, but I could tell my genuine approval pleased her. “Hardly that,” she said, with a semblance of her usual calm. “But it is the best I could do. You look very nice as well.”

  “I look dreadful,” I said with a grimace. “But I am glad one of us at least shows some elegance. Ameletta, you look charming. How pretty your hair is!”

  “Miss Ayerson styled it for me,” she replied. “Oh, please, can we hurry downstairs?”

  Janet and I laughed, and we made some haste as we went down the hallway and the main stairwell. The group was to gather in a midsize drawing room adjacent to the formal dining room so that we could all go in to dinner together. Not surprisingly, my party was the first to arrive.
Janet convinced Ameletta to sit quietly beside her on a pretty little love seat and practice the words to a poem she had been taught, as a way to distract the girl from impatience. I wandered idly through the room, inspecting the art on the walls as if I had never seen the prints before.

  Thus we were separated by the width of the room when the first of the grand visitors arrived. Mrs. Ingersoll and her daughter Melanie swept in together, followed by Mr. Fulsome and Mr. Taff. I turned to greet them, and Janet and Ameletta came to their feet, but we might have been pieces of animatronic sculpture for all the heed they paid to us.

  “My dearest, it is not worth worrying about. You shall have the surgery done, and you will be recovered by the Dominion Ball, and it will not matter at all,” Mrs. Ingersoll was saying to her daughter. The two looked like a study in the life cycle of a rose, for Melanie wore a bright fuschia dress, short and sparkly, and her mother wore the same color, several degrees paler, in soft pleated folds like discarded petals.

  “But, Mother, if I have the surgery even next week I shall still have a swollen face by the time of the ball and I cannot possibly go out in public looking like that.”

  “Have it after the ball, then. The bump is so small, no one will notice—”

  “What, that little nudger on your left nostril? I didn’t notice a thing till Bianca mentioned it to me,” was the gallant remark of the man I had decided was Mr. Taff.

  Melanie whirled on him with a muffled shriek. “Bianca told you about it? What did she say? Oh, that spiteful cat—”

  “Just that you weren’t satisfied with the work at the Roberson Clinic. She thought the doctors were inferior and the PhysiChambers substandard. I’m thinking of having a little mole removed myself,” he added by way of extenuation, “and she just thought it would help me decide between that and the Hopeton Clinic.”

  Melanie had her hand over her nose, where the offending knot was located. “Oh, if she told you, she told all of you—I’m so embarrassed—”