by Jeff Wheeler
It was during the afternoon of one such ghostly walk along the manor’s balustrade that she saw a sky ship, a tempest, looming in the yard. She hoped it was Vice Admiral Fitzroy, although she doubted it would be. The cut and trim of the sky ship was different from the one she had seen him arrive in a month before. Father’s butler arrived at the front door, and soon she heard the noise of her father’s shoes clicking on the marble tiles. Sera paused, her hand still on the railing, and watched from above.
“Chancellor Erskine!” Father said eagerly, arriving at the doorway and pumping the man’s gloved hand vigorously. Sera had never seen the lord high chancellor before. He was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a well-cut coat and vest. His hair was windblown, with a lot of gray in it, and he had a goatee.
“Prince Regent,” Erskine replied with a bow. “I came as soon as I could.” Because of the cavern-like hall, the sound of their conversation reached her quickly.
“You are the Minister of Law as well as the lord high chancellor. I knew I could depend on you. My wife”—he almost spat out the word—“has hired an advocate to defend Seraphin’s rights. A man by the name of Mr. Durrant. I want him dismissed. Immediately.”
Chancellor Erskine sighed audibly. “I cannot exactly do that, Prince Regent,” he said with the hint of a whine in his voice.
“You are the lord high chancellor!”
“I am, Your Grace, and I serve at your pleasure. If it were up to me, I would snap my fingers and it would be done.” He did snap his fingers. Sera squeezed the rounded rail and listened with growing excitement.
“But alas, I am also the Minister of Law. Our empire is bound by traditions and precedents. Unfortunately, and it is unfortunate given the current estrangement between yourself and . . . ahem . . . your wife, she felt the need to seek her own counsel. I don’t know who recommended Durrant to her, but he’s a canny, savage sort of man. He grew in fame defending murderers from below—”
“Impossible!” Father shouted, his voice swelling with rage and disgust. “I’ll not allow such a man to enter my house and speak to my servants!”
The chancellor looked discomfited. He started to pace in the entryway. “Oh dear, oh dear,” he mumbled. “This won’t be pleasant. This won’t be pleasant at all.”
“What do you mean? Speak up, man!”
The chancellor looked plaintive. “Your Majesty, the Mysteries of Law must be upheld. Were you to attempt to overrule them, or even break them, it would put your position in jeopardy. You were selected to be prince regent because of your noble birth and because, quite frankly, you were deemed to be the sort of man who would uphold tradition. Why, if you were to forbid Durrant from speaking to anyone, including your daughter, the privy council might depose you.”
“Can they do that?” Father gasped, stepping backward.
“I’m afraid they can, Prince Regent. The laws were designed to prevent one person from having too much power. You have the right to declare no confidence in the prime minister you selected to replace Minister Welles. You can dismiss any of the other positions that rule the empire, my own included. But your rank could be revoked by that same power. And after such a short period, it would cause a scandal. It grieves me that I must be the one to explain this to you, my lord. Of course, my only desire is to serve your interests.”
Sera scrutinized the politician below and felt the man was more likely serving his own interests. Still, his words had awakened the flames of hope inside her. Her mother had begun to take action. Her life wasn’t necessarily over.
“But it is my house,” Father protested. “Surely I can bar entry to anyone I deem inappropriate!”
“Naturally!” said Erskine. “But you cannot prevent Durrant from speaking to those witnesses he must speak to in order to do his duty. You could, for example, send your servants to his offices below and hold the interviews there. At your expense, of course.”
The last comment was a particularly effective line of reasoning against her father, Sera knew. He hoarded his wealth and rarely parsed out funds for any reason, even good ones. Young though she was, she saw that the chancellor was manipulating her father. By positioning himself as a friend, not an adversary, he had deftly begun to guide her father toward the path of thinking that Erskine himself preferred.
“This is outrageous,” Father grumbled, scowling at the man.
“It is the law,” replied the chancellor helplessly. “Do you have any questions I may answer for you before Durrant arrives? When will he be coming?”
“He told me he’d be arriving before dinner and that his interviews may last into the evening. The audacity!” Sera could hear the desire for revenge in his tone.
“Advocates aren’t known for their sensitivity,” Erskine said, wincing. “He has been hired, no doubt, to protect your wife’s and daughter’s interests. I’ve heard that you canceled some of Seraphin’s tutors. Is that so?”
“Indeed. She was wasting her time and my money.”
“Ah, I see. That is truly egregious. Only a wayward child would do such a thing.” His censure lacked conviction, however, and Sera sensed the man was once again trying to placate her father. “You have the right to dismiss a tutor, a governess, whomever you wish. But you cannot legally deprive your daughter of an education. There are schools that will take in the lowest of the low from the worker class. No child who wants an education will be deprived of one.”
“Surely that is not true!” Father gasped.
“Oh, I assure you that it is. We in the Ministry of Law do not educate the masses on their rights, for surely it would overwhelm the empire to provide an ample education to every person, male or female. Imagine the chaos that would ensue! The expense!”
“It would be wrong to teach a guttersnipe,” Father said angrily.
“Indeed so. But Durrant knows of this law and will no doubt use it in your daughter’s favor.”
Father was pacing restlessly. Then he stopped and glared. “Who is going to pay for Durrant?”
“Ultimately, you will,” said Erskine with a sigh. He put his arm around her father’s shoulder. “No doubt he will educate your wife regarding her rights to her marriage portion as well. A portion that she has the ability to bequeath to her children.”
Sera almost squealed at the news. She gripped the banister so hard her fingers were burning.
“But how can that be!” Father complained. “Our funds have been united for many years. There are no separate accounts.”
“Oh, Durrant will separate them!” Erskine said with a chuckle, and, on earning a sharp look from her father, it turned into an adjusting cough. “As I said, it grieves me that I must be the one to educate you on the formalities of Law. You have always favored the Mysteries of Wind, which frankly I know very little about, so you did right to seek my advice. Be prudent, sir. You must hire your own advocate to defend your interests. If you would like recommendations now that you’ve dismissed Masters Eakett and Baggles, I would be happy to oblige.”
“Yes,” Father said, looking stunned and dazed. “Yes, I would. I thought, perhaps, that you would advise me.”
“Oh no! It wouldn’t be proper to do that, Prince Regent. I no longer have a private practice. It would be a sign of corruption. No, I had to sign a delegation of authority when I became the Minister of Law. Let me warn you, though. These proceedings will likely get very . . . messy. It’s a shame really. When word of your scandal reaches the ears of the populace, it will tarnish your family’s reputation.”
“My scandal?” Father blustered hotly. “It wasn’t my fault . . . this is madness!”
“I’m not sure what you mean, my lord,” said Erskine tonelessly. But Sera could see that he did.
“Nothing,” Father snapped. “Well, thank you for your time. I would appreciate a recommendation from you on another advocate.”
“I will be happy to provide several,” Erskine said. He patted Father’s back and guided him toward the front door. Then Erskine looked backward, hi
s gaze following the banister rail up to where Sera was crouching. A small, kind smile came to his mouth. He dipped his head to her.
Mr. Durrant was a wickedly funny man. It was as if he believed every person was corrupt and untrustworthy and felt duty bound to comment sarcastically on it. Although he was slight of build, he had a clenching grip that made Sera wince when they shook hands in greeting. Mother was in attendance for the first part of the meeting, but then Durrant asked to speak to Sera privately. He was balding on top, but the plenteous hair on the sides and back of his head had been combed in such a way as to form little curls. There was one little lock of hair that he had deliberately combed down to his forehead into a little curl—an open defiance of his balding forehead. He had a sad, somber mouth and was always folding his arms, as if his frail body could never get warm. The man looked older and more seasoned than her parents, an impression heightened by the saggy flaps of skin beneath his eyes.
The door shut, leaving Sera and Mr. Durrant alone together.
“So.”
He was gazing at her, arching one eyebrow and then the other as he sized her up. His lips pursed, and he clucked his tongue and shook his head.
“I understand,” he went on after a very long pause, “that you prefer to be addressed as Sera instead of your given name, Seraphin Fitzempress.”
“That’s true, Mr. Durrant. I know it’s a peasant’s—”
He winced and shut his eyes, holding up a finger as if her words had pained him. She immediately quieted.
After another lengthy pause, his heavily lidded eyes opened, and he stared at her. “Never, never, never explain yourself. Not to anyone, even to me. First, it will get you into trouble in the law.” He gave her a cunning smile. “Second, you owe no one an explanation. It’s none of their business. You are who you are, and that’s that. End of story. Point. End. Finished.” He gazed at her again.
Sera stared back at him with avid interest. His words hadn’t offended her. In fact, they’d stirred inside her a little delicious feeling of warmth. A feeling of independence. Had he been her tutor in Law, she could tell she would have learned plenty.
“What I have come to learn about you so far today, Miss Sera, is that you have an indomitable will. I spoke at great length with your governess, Hugilde. A remarkable woman. Very helpful. She misses you terribly. I’ve advised her not to seek other employment at present. I believe, in due course, she will return as your governess.”
“Do you indeed, Mr. Durrant?” Sera asked eagerly.
“I do, as much as I would also counsel you to put your trust in no man, myself included. But as your future estate is paying for my services, I render my advice freely. You choose what to do with it.” He folded his arms even more tightly. “Yes, I’ve spoken to your governess, your chambermaids, your mother, your tutors. Through their eyes, I have painted a little picture of you in my mind.” He scrunched his nose and cocked his head to one side. “You are twelve years old. But you ask questions that only the wise and aged would ask. You have, as I’ve heard it said, an old soul. You will make a fine empress someday.”
Sera blinked in surprise.
“I’ve startled you. Why?” he asked.
“This is not how I thought our interview would go,” she stammered.
“What? You were expecting me to waylay you with questions? Hardly. I already had the answers to my questions before I came here. This is about the succession. When your grandfather dies, a new emperor . . . or empress . . . will be chosen.” He yawned. “The prince regent has already proven himself a disgusting tyrant.” He shrugged. “No offense.”
“How is he a tyrant?” Sera asked.
“He has wrangled a higher stipend than his predecessor’s even though he only has one child to support and not many. He has deployed the military in several questionable ventures already. Mostly, I’m afraid, he is too apt to heed those who flatter the most. Tyrants do that, you see. Some on the council think that you might make a more promising ruler. You are too young to inherit the throne in your own right, and it’s clear that your father seeks now to disqualify you as the heir to the empire. You are, after all, his biggest competition. His brothers are both buffoons and so corrupted by bad business decisions and crippling debts that neither stands much of a chance at being chosen.” He reached up with one hand and twisted the little lock dangling across his forehead. “So let me be frank with you, Miss Sera. By defying your father’s wishes, I run the risk of his excessive wrath. I mean to become a thorn in his side. A blister. A canker. A wart. And I do it in the hopes that you will achieve your rightful place as empress and will find it, in the goodness of your heart, to reward me for my troubles and travails. There, now I’ve said it out loud. You can pretend to be shocked!” He gave her a wily smile.
Sera liked him. She liked him very much.
“So if you already knew everything about me before you came here,” she asked. “Why did you come?”
“Excellent question. I came to tweak your father’s nose. To prove to him that he couldn’t stop me without great trouble and even greater expense. And I came because you need someone who will answer your questions.” He spread his hands apart and gestured to her. “So ask them.”
Sera leaned forward. “Is it true that Father cannot prevent my education? That I would have the right to study at a school even if I had no money or connections?”
“It is absolutely true. There are laws dating back centuries allowing it, but we like to shroud things in mystery in order to keep control. Have you ever wandered down the hall and encountered a locked door and felt something behind it . . . something that beckoned to you? Why are there so many locked doors in the manor, Miss Sera?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
“Precisely!” he said, eyes blazing eagerly. “And that is the way they want to keep you. Locked out. If you are to become our empress, you need to know much more than you do now. Your tutors have tried to progress your knowledge from fact to fact, as they were taught.” He shook his head. “That is not how the Mysteries were explained in the past. In the past, even the very young could master them. And so can you. Why haven’t you mastered them yet, Miss Sera?”
She felt something bubbling up inside of her. “Because I’ve not been given—”
He winced again, wagging his finger at her. “Never, never, never explain yourself. Not to anyone, even to me.”
She looked deeply into his eyes. Her education had finally begun in earnest.
CETTIE
It is not uncommon for young people to test the boundaries imposed by society. Fashions may alter as quickly as hairstyles, for people are driven by their natures to seem unique. The young chafe at the rules and prohibitions against the trim of a bodice, the brim of a hat, the requirement to wear gloves when interacting with others, or how low one must nod to avoid seeming flirtatious. I like to quote a previous Minister of Thought, Master Driggs, who said: “No one person, however brilliant or well-informed in the Mysteries, can come in one lifetime to such fullness of understanding as to safely judge and dismiss the customs or institutions of his society. These customs are the culminations of the wisdom of generations of experiment in the crucible of history. A youth boiling with emotions will wonder why he—or she—should not give full freedom to his or her desires. Alas, we have learned from sad experience that if the young are left unchecked by customs, morals, or traditions, they may well ruin their lives before they mature sufficiently to understand this essential truth; desire is a river of living fire that must be banked, cooled, and channeled by copious measures if it is not to consume in a flood of burning chaos both the individual and society.”
—Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky
CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX
THE HARDINGS’ BALL
Cettie had never seen Fitzroy wear gloves until the night of the Hardings’ ball. Anna had insisted that Cettie don a pair herself, but she had demurred because Fitzroy didn’t wear them. Anna had laughed and said that he
always did for a ball; everyone did.
Anna, Cettie, and Phinia all wore short-sleeved gowns, but their silk gloves went well past their elbows. It was an unfamiliar feeling to wear them, and when Cettie looked at herself in the mirror, her hair done up in curls and ringlets with pins to fasten it in place, it felt as if she were looking at a stranger. None of the little ones at Miss Charlotte’s would have even recognized her. She was no longer so thin and wasted, her cheeks gaunt. She looked like one of the family, but everyone present would surely know about her background.
Anna had tried to reassure her that the Hardings were delighted to have her attend. It was not a high society ball, like those held at Pavenham Sky—the rules and strictures would not be enforced. Nonetheless, her stomach was fluttering as she waited with her ‘sisters.’ Fitzroy, Stephen, and Adam were getting the tempest from the docking yard, and Phinia boasted that it was Stephen’s first time piloting it—with supervision.
Phinia looked overeager for the event. While Anna’s and Cettie’s gowns were modest and simple, Phinia was preparing to enter society, so hers was more elaborate, and she’d fastened a large white plume in her hair.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Phinia tittered. “I’ve been to the Hardings’ balls so many times. Just think—in two more years, you both will be coming out.”
Anna rarely responded to Phinia’s light banter. She just smiled and nodded.
“Oh, doesn’t Mother look lovely?” Phinia said with a sigh. Cettie turned and saw Lady Maren coming down the steps, holding the banister as she took each one gingerly. Mrs. Pullman held her other arm as if to brace her. Seeing Cettie gathered among the girls, some of the lines on Mrs. Pullman’s face stretched, and although she smiled, there was a hint of a grimace to it.
Since Cettie and Fitzroy returned from their trip to the Fells, Mrs. Pullman had focused her energies on persecuting Anna instead. The youngest of Fitzroy’s daughters was scolded more, and so was Miss Farnworth, who had been chastened for being too easy on Anna. Fitzroy had not left since his return, and Cettie had the feeling Mrs. Pullman was biding her time, waiting for an opportunity like spiders waited in their webs. Even so, Cettie still had not brought herself to share the truth about the keeper with Fitzroy. Before he leaves, she promised herself. I’ll tell him before he leaves.