Daughter of Mystery

by Jones, Heather Rose

  “Of course not,” he said hurriedly. “But Maisetra, you put me in a very difficult position. When I agreed to manage Barbara’s estate I had no reason to believe your affairs would be in conflict.”

  “I see no conflict,” Margerit said in the most matter-of-fact tone she could manage. “If it can be done, then do it. If it can’t be done, then tell me so. But I believe I have enough in the Genoan account to cover the whole. There need be no delay to free up the funds on that end.”

  “As you wish, Maisetra. I think rather than—but you may leave the details to me, if you like.”

  She thanked him and rose to go. At the door he stopped her, asking, “Maisetra, is there anything further I should know?”

  That was when she had to struggle the hardest for control. “Not without putting you in a very difficult position,” she replied and left before her resolve could waver.

  Chapter Sixty

  Barbara

  Instead of the usual daily packet from LeFevre, the man himself was waiting for her when the day’s council session broke at last for the evening. “There are a few papers I need you to review,” he began. “They might have waited but I wanted your instructions on another matter. Would you like me to forward your letters to Chalanz or will you be making other arrangements?”

  He held up the note she had sent for Margerit the previous day. The question made no sense. Her confusion must have been plain on her face for he explained, “The messenger brought it back from Tiporsel saying that Maisetra Sovitre had removed to Chalanz and that the note had been refused. So I wondered if I should simply send it on to Chalanz.”

  “Chalanz? There must be some mistake. She said nothing about…that is, we talked about where we might go after the season, but—”

  “So you knew nothing about this?” It sounded as if he were confirming what he’d already guessed.

  “Less than you do, evidently,” Barbara returned. “Didn’t she say anything to you?”

  His hesitation told her that Margerit had, indeed, told him something. He only replied, “She said nothing about leaving town.”

  “But?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “There were private business matters we discussed but I can no more share them with you than I would tell your own secrets. Maisetra Pertinek, no doubt, knows more than I do.”

  No doubt. But it was too late in the day for a social call and she’d already stormed that castle once and been repulsed by Bertrut’s defense. Her dignity could do without shouting in courtyards after dark.

  In the morning, her plans to ride out at the earliest acceptable hour were diverted when Duchess Annek accosted her on the way to the stables saying, “I wondered if you might spare me a moment of your time.”

  Barbara bowed in acceptance. Annek gestured the way to the palace gardens. She wondered at that. So this was not to be another formal solicitation but not a secret one either. The gardens were public enough for those who watched but not for those who listened.

  “I’ve been taking the time to read over the ceremony for that mystery—the one that caused all the trouble. Do you know—it wasn’t clear during the trial, but do you know who was most responsible for it?”

  Barbara chose her answer carefully. “The prince has said that—”

  “Oh nonsense, I’m not speaking of guilt or innocence. That mystery is something near to a masterpiece. And with care to tease out any other hidden surprises I think it might be well worth adding to the calendar. I had thought, from her performance that day, that your friend the Sovitre woman might be up to the task.”

  Was it a trap? For all that she discounted Elisebet’s threats, there was no reason to think Annek had any love for Margerit’s work. But the mystery had been a masterpiece and she wouldn’t steal the credit from where it belonged. “The whole guild worked on gathering the elements, but it was Maisetra Sovitre who wrote both the framework and the details.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked. “She seemed barely a child and she can’t have had any formal schooling in thaumaturgy. I know she said she did some work at Saint Orisul’s but I know their work and this has an entirely different flavor.”

  Barbara hadn’t realized the duchess was a connoisseur. “I’m certain because I was there. We worked together on some of the scaffolding—just the logical structures. I have no sensitivity for visions; it’s Maisetra Sovitre who’s the artist.” Was it wrong to take at least a little pride in her own part?

  “Ah yes. A very unusual armin indeed! I had heard that…well, people say all manner of things. I should like you to introduce her to me.”

  And that could have been either disaster or triumph, Barbara thought. It was danger enough if Elisebet thought Margerit a useful pawn. But if Annek showed favor to her? That might give Margerit enemies in her own right. It was a relief to be able to say, “It would be my pleasure, if it were possible, but she’s gone home to Chalanz at the moment. I don’t know when she returns to the city.”

  Annek gave a little shrug. “Ah well. Perhaps there will be an opportunity if the council—well, who can say.” They walked along a while in silence as Barbara waited to see if she were dismissed. “You haven’t spoken at all in council, I’ve noticed,” Annek said at last.

  “I think there’s no famine of speech there,” Barbara replied. “I find I can do better by listening than adding to the din. And I doubt anyone cares to know my opinions.”

  “I’m curious to know them. If I asked, would you tell me honestly?”

  Barbara weighed the chance that a truly honest answer would be valued. “Your Grace, if it were a matter simply of supporting you, there would be no question in my mind. My father held that Iohanna’s charter—your mother’s marriage contract—was a bond of honor for the Atilliets, however ill-advised. But Friedrich is a foreigner. In time, he might become Alpennian, but he isn’t now. Your family and this land sacrificed too much and suffered too long trying to keep foreign rule at bay.”

  Annek looked at her speculatively. “Now there is an interesting thought.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That you would support me yet not my son.”

  “I mean no slight to him,” Barbara said hurriedly.

  “You misunderstand me. How many of the Charteires do you think might feel the same?”

  Barbara confessed her confusion. “I fear you’ve gone beyond me.”

  “It’s no matter. This has been a very useful discussion.”

  * * *

  The visit to Tiporsel left no one satisfied. Barbara learned only that Margerit had, indeed, left for Chalanz. When might she return? Heaven only knew. Did she plan to remove the household there for the summer? No one could say. Had she left any letter or message? If there were any, they had been delivered. In frustration Barbara asked to speak to Ponivin or Charsintek in case they knew anything further but here Bertrut balked.

  “Mesnera, I have been instructed not to deny you entrance to this house, but I was given no commands to allow you to interrogate the servants.”

  Mesner Pertinek had lent his silent presence to the confrontation but now he took Barbara aside and offered some carefully couched suggestions regarding keeping one’s private amusements to their proper venues. It might have been meant as companionable advice. It might have been taken as offensive interference. But his fumbling efforts to discuss the poor taste of ruining the reputations of respectable young women—without actually naming Barbara’s supposed offense—were, in the end, merely ludicrous. It was to spare them both embarrassment that Barbara finally gave up.

  * * *

  Those who had looked for an early consensus from the succession council had long since given up hope. Those who had thought that rhetoric—whether reasoned or impassioned—would win the day had not accounted for the depth of loyalties that must be moved. And those who prayed that the competing deadlines of Easter and flood-tide would force the matter failed to foresee the unwillingness of the principals to force a vote they were unsure of winni
ng.

  Only one other incident broke the endless waiting: a chance encounter in the corridor outside the council hall—a short sturdily-built man who stepped out of her path too quickly for mere courtesy. She looked more closely. He peered back nervously from under bushy brows. It was the man who had held Arpik’s notes. Whose shadows had haunted her steps all through the previous winter. “Maistir Langal,” she said.

  The man bowed carefully. “Baroness.”

  “A question, if you would,” Barbara said, moving to block his path. He made a gesture of welcome though his expression belied it. “Why?” she asked simply.

  A man in his business didn’t succeed by underestimating others. He passed over the obvious answer. “Arpik’s debts wouldn’t have been worth buying except that they came with one thing: the name of your true father. But knowledge isn’t proof. When Lumbeirt died without acknowledging you I saw my investment slipping away. I tried to find an excuse to have that clerk of his questioned…well, that’s past. But I’d been watching you. I thought there was one person in Alpennia capable of digging out the truth and as eager for it as I was. All you needed was prodding. Alas, you weren’t as curious as I hoped.”

  “Curious enough,” Barbara said, “but I had other distractions. Why not simply approach me directly?”

  “I didn’t know how strong the proof might be. A court would be more likely to believe you if the conclusions were all your own. It was only business. I hope you hold no grudge.”

  Only business. Margerit’s safety, the casual threat to LeFevre…she couldn’t even begin to detail what she held against him. But she only brushed the hair back from her temple to bare the scar. “I hold a grudge for that. I won’t forget.”

  It was the last answer to her mystery and like so many of the others it mattered nothing when it came. All that mattered now was concluding the council so she could follow her heart to Chalanz.

  In the last week before Easter, a shift was felt in the city. In parlors and clubs a new idea took hold, carefully planted and tended. The charter stipulated that Prince Aukust would be succeeded by his heirs through the Princess Iohanna. But Iohanna had three living descendents and one of them had been both born and bred in Alpennia. The seal was set when Ambors, the elder of the Atilliet cousins, was convinced to put the case to the council.

  “There is no bar, whatever custom may dictate,” he argued. “Consider this: we can fulfill the demands of honor and give our land a tried and tested ruler. And in time, when the choice comes before us again, other candidates will have gained in wisdom and experience and we will be the richer for that. I propose, for the consideration of the council, Annek Atilliet, once Duchess of Maunberg.”

  For two days it was as foxes in the henhouse, but on the third day, when Ambors Atilliet repeated the proposal to complete the requirements of law, Prince Aukust responded, “If this is the wish of the council, I will abide by your will,” signaling the call for voting. Six hours later, the decision was sealed and the council released.

  * * *

  Barbara would have taken horse that moment if it weren’t too late to set out without risking her neck galloping through the dark. And LeFevre needed to know her plans first. She found him just closing his office and shared the news from the council.

  “Who would have thought that such a useful decision could come from such a useless process,” he wondered. “Saving your presence, of course.”

  “There’s little enough I had to do with it,” Barbara said. “I’m off to Chalanz in the morning. I’ll join you at Saveze when I may but—” She frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. She hasn’t answered any of my letters. There was time for something at least to make its way here.”

  LeFevre took out the keys he had just pocketed and reopened the door. “Come in for a moment. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Barbara followed, waiting while he made a face and sighed and then fiddled with the keys again.

  “I have never broken my word to someone I served. I never broke my word to the baron—you know that well enough. But I promised something to Maisetra Sovitre that I should not have promised and now I find my word is in conflict with both my duty and my heart.”

  At Margerit’s name, Barbara was all attention.

  “The day before she left Rotenek, Maisetra Sovitre requested me to purchase the Saveze mortgages in her name.” He held up a hand to forestall her response. “She specifically instructed me not to tell you. I was to purchase them and hold them as I would any other of her investments. Now why would she do that?”

  All she could feel was the shame. She went behind my back. Even after we’d talked. “I forbade her to pay them off,” she said. “How dare she—”

  “And by what right do you tell her what she may and may not do with her inheritance?” he countered.

  Barbara was silent. There was no answer to that.

  “I once told you that you two stood too closely to see each other’s hearts. But now I think you keep too great a distance. What does she fear so much that she had to flee to Chalanz? Why are you so afraid of her generosity?”

  “I don’t want—”

  He stopped her. “Don’t tell me. Tell her. Give her the gift of your deepest fears and pray that it’s not too late.”

  * * *

  It was said to be possible to ride from Rotenek to Chalanz in a single day, at midsummer with enough horses. The name Saveze could command sufficient horses but not the daylight, so it was mid-morning of the next day when she slacked pace at the edge of town and made her way to Fonten Street. Perhaps the haste was unnecessary but Barbara sensed that only rumpled clothing and a lathered horse would be acceptable attendants if she were to be granted an audience.

  The house was quiet and hardly seemed inhabited. That was no wonder if it had barely been opened enough for two or three residents. She banged heavily at the knocker and then, after several minutes, again, impatiently. On the fourth knock an upstairs window came open and Maitelen shouted down, “You can knock till kingdom come but the maisetra’s not at home.” Then she saw who it was. “Oh! Wait, I’ll be there in a moment.”

  The window closed again before Barbara could reply but in no more than a minute the door opened.

  “She’s off at church, Barbara. Her uncle came by to take her hours ago. It’s the first time she’s left the house since she arrived.”

  In the distance she heard the bells chiming and realized it was Easter. She’d lost count of the days. Barbara, she’d called her. So that piece of news hadn’t been spread yet. She envisioned Margerit sitting alone in the mansion, unspeaking, for nearly two weeks. In an instant she was back in the saddle and riding toward the sound of the bells.

  Among the crowds gradually flowing from the church it was easiest to spot the Fulpis’ carriage and work her way toward it. And from there, Marken’s height was easy to spot, and where he was…

  “Margerit!” she called, dismounting and pushing her way close.

  Maistir Fulpi interposed himself, saying, “I’ll thank you not to address my niece in such a familiar fashion.”

  Must I deal with this now? Barbara thought but Margerit roused herself to the introduction.

  “Uncle, I believe you have not yet met the new Baroness Saveze.”

  “The…what?”

  Barbara bowed formally as if it were a true introduction. “Barbara Lumbeirt, Baroness Saveze. Might I request a moment of Maisetra Sovitre’s time?”

  He gaped at her, as did the aunt and cousins, but all melted back before her.

  “Margerit, please, I need to talk to you.” And she certainly didn’t intend to say her piece here on the church porch before everyone.

  “What do we have to talk about?” Margerit asked.

  “You know very well.” She reached for Margerit’s hand and unexpectedly found herself confronting Marken.

  “Marken, don’t be a fool,” she said hotly. “It’s me, Barbara.”

  “I may be a fool, Mesn
era,” he replied, “but I’m a fool who knows his duty. You don’t take the maisetra anywhere except she says so.”

  “It’s all right, Marken,” Margerit said wearily. She turned and walked off toward the churchyard.

  Barbara hurried after her, still trailing the horse, for no one had thought to take the reins from her.

  When they’d gone far enough for privacy, Margerit said, “Well?” without facing her.

  “Why?” Barbara asked. “LeFevre told me. Why did you do it?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said bitterly. “I won’t sully your estate with my money. I bought the mortgages and I’ll keep them and that’s an end of it. You needn’t think you’ll have to throw it back in my face again.”

  Barbara stood stunned, as if the horse had kicked her. “Is that what you think?”

  Margerit turned on her with her fists balled at her sides. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes sparkled with anger. “What am I supposed to think? When you thought you were nobody, we could plan for the future. You promised me we’d find a way—that you’d always be at my side. But now you’re even too proud to accept my money—to accept your own father’s money—because my hands have dirtied it.”

  Barbara reached out and took those hands and kissed each one in turn. How could she explain how very mistaken that was? “Margerit, I have everything now. I have my freedom and my name and my history. I have a title and a position that never figured anywhere in my wildest fancies. Even in rags and without a penny to my name I could go my own way now. But all you have is your inheritance. Your fortune is the only thing that stands between you and the demands of society—that opens the door to the life you were meant for. How could I be so selfish as to want to take any of that away from you, when it’s the only means you have of getting what you want?”

  “A fortune can’t buy everything,” she said hollowly. “It can’t buy me you.” She pulled her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest as if she were suddenly cold. “I thought we would share one heart, one life. What is a purse beside that?”