Saline sat and smoothed out her dress. “Thank you.”
“I can pull out my own chair,” Louise pointed out. “Why do I need you to do it for me?”
“It’s a way of saying you’re welcome here,” I said. I pulled out a chair for her, then motioned for her to sit down. “And also a way of saying that I will be a good host.”
Louse raised her eyebrows as she sat. “You’ve done this before?”
“Yes.” The memories weren’t very pleasant, even when the dinners had gone perfectly. “There were times when I would be paired with an older lady, who could be quite demanding.”
Saline winced.
“Hah,” Louise said. “And then what?”
“There’s a bottle of wine on the table.” I picked it up and undid the cork. “It’s not wine, of course, but we’ll pretend it is. Would you do me the honour of taking a glass?”
“Of course,” Saline said.
I poured her a glass of cranberry juice, then offered the bottle to Louise.
She frowned. “What if I don’t want wine? You might be trying to get me drunk for nefarious reasons.”
“It’s customary to take a little,” I said. “But if you don’t want to drink, don’t drink.”
I poured her a glass, then sat facing her. “It’s also customary to make small talk with your partner before the food actually arrives,” I continued. “These conversations are about nothing in particular - some people babble endlessly about the weather, others will show off their knowledge of the vintage. Sensitive matters are not discussed at the dinner table.”
Saline took a sip. “Ah, I believe this was laid down a thousand years ago, a truly magnificent vintage. Ripe, full-bodied, full of flavour, mature ... and a lot of other words I don’t really understand. Babble, babble, babble.”
I chuckled. “There’ll always be someone with a far greater knowledge of wine than you,” I told Louise. “Don’t try to bluff them. It’s a sign you’re faking it.”
“I could learn everything I needed to know about wine from books,” Louise pointed out, sardonically. “Couldn’t I?”
“Not quite.” I met her eyes. “It’s one thing to know the words, but quite another to practice. And you’ll find it quite difficult to cheat.”
I shrugged. “But outside the real wine snobs, you probably won’t have to worry about it.”
“Thank the Ancients,” Louise muttered.
“Once everyone is seated, the servants bring the first course,” I explained, as I stood and reached for the tureen. “In all the best households, the very first course is almost always soup. Families compete to see who can produce the most extraordinary recipe - last year, House Bolingbroke served turtle soup - but we’re having chicken. The servant will bring a bowl and serve you at your seat - if you don’t want soup, simply leave your napkin on top of your place.”
Louise frowned. “Why can’t I simply refuse?”
“It’s rude not to take food when it’s offered,” Saline said, quietly. “By putting your napkin in plain view, it’s a clear sign they shouldn’t be offering you soup.”
“And so offense is avoided,” I continued. I served the soup, then sat back down. “Don’t touch your spoon, let alone your soup, until everyone at the table has been served. Seeing as we have ...” - I grinned - “tuck in.”
“I don’t even know which spoon to use,” Louise complained.
“As a general rule, work from the outside in,” Saline said. “There’s a set of cutlery for each individual course. The servants will take them away as the meal progresses.”
I nodded. “From now on, you’re only permitted to leave your seat in the event of a major emergency,” I said. “My governess always told me to make sure I went to the toilet before I went to dine. Leaving the table early is almost always bad news.”
Louise looked appalled. “What if it is bad news?”
“Then people will be talking about it for years,” I said, bluntly. “And ... well, unless you have a very good excuse, you won’t be allowed to return.”
I sipped my soup, gingerly. “Eat carefully,” I added. “People will be watching your table manners.”
“Joy.” Louise scowled. “Do I really have to learn all this?”
“It depends.” I met her eyes. “If you want people to like you, and to want to help you, you have to appeal to them. And aping their manners is a good way to appeal to them.”
“If you say so,” Louise grumbled. “What do we do when we finish our soup?”
“If you want more, place your spoon by the side of your dish,” I said. “If you’ve had enough, place the spoon in the dish. The servants will remove it.”
Louise grinned. “I’m being served by the Head Boy,” she said. “What a great honour.”
“You’re more than welcome,” I said. “There generally isn’t conversation during the first two courses. If someone talks to you, be polite but vague. They’re being very rude and people will notice if you reply.”
“That’s rude too,” Saline said. “And if someone touches your leg, feel free to kick them.”
Louise looked at me. “Does that happen?”
“It shouldn’t,” I said. I let out a long breath. “But it can.”
I cleared my throat. “There’s normally a gap between courses, which can be filled with conversation. If you want more wine, simply signal one of the servants. As we don’t have time” - I stood - “I’ll take the bowls and spoons now.”
Saline winked. “How very rude.”
“True.” I nodded to her. “If someone is still eating, you have to wait for them to signal they’re finished. And you’re not allowed to hurry them along.”
I collected the bowls and placed them on the trolley. “When a formal dinner is announced, you’ll receive a menu with a list of food selections,” I added. “You send it back with your choices outlined. The staff will make sure you get what you want.”
“And you’ll also get a dance card, if there’s dancing afterwards,” Saline commented. “If someone asks for a dance, you pencil them in ...”
“I’ve seen them,” Louise said. “What if you don’t want to dance with a gentleman?”
“You tell him that the dance card is full,” I said. “And yes, you are allowed to lie. He may not take it that well, but ... you don’t have to dance with him.”
“That’s good, at least,” Louise commented. “Why don’t we see dance cards here?”
“We do,” I said. “You just don’t see them.”
Louise reddened. I felt a twinge of guilt. “If you spent more time at the formal dances, you’d see them. You’d have one.”
“Why don’t you?” Louise scowled at her hands. “You could go to the dances.”
“I’m betrothed,” I reminded her. “Right now, I could not go on the dance floor without Cat - even if she didn’t dance herself, she’d have to be there. And I don’t want to go without her.”
“It wouldn’t mean anything to her,” Louise said. “Would it?”
I cocked an eyebrow at her as I served the next course. “Wouldn’t you object if your betrothed was dancing with another woman? And you weren’t even there to still the gossip?”
“I’d understand they were dancing - and dancing alone.” Louise reddened. “I wouldn’t expect them to get married on the spot.”
“But people would talk,” I told her. “If you do the wrong thing, in public, people will talk about it. Yes, they’ll talk. And if I danced with you, at a dance Cat didn’t attend, people would talk. And it would cause a great deal of embarrassment for both of us.”
“Stupid,” Louise muttered.
I sat down. “Again, you have to wait until everyone is served before you eat. But this time you’re allowed to use magic to keep your food warm until everyone is served.”
“And, if you’re a very honoured guest, the lord of the manor may serve you personally,” Saline added. “Be polite if he does.”
Louise frowned. “Is that lik
ely?”
“It depends.” I considered it for a moment. “If you’re marrying his son, for example, he will probably serve you himself. If not” - I shook my head - “you probably wouldn’t be allowed to sit at the high table. That’s for the guests of honour.”
We ate in companionable silence for long minutes, savouring the food. Louise seemed to like it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it had come from the school’s kitchens, rather than a master chef. Rose had told me, once, that she hadn’t understood why so many students complained about the food at school until she’d eaten with Cat’s family. The food there was so much better than school food that there really wasn’t any comparison.
And expensive, too, I reminded myself. I’d heard stories about Lady Younghusband, who’d promised her guests a very expensive dinner. At the culmination of the feast, she’d taken a pearl from her earring and swallowed it. The food could be awful and no one would complain, as long as it was expensive.
“There can be any number of courses,” I said, “but a typical dinner normally consists of three; starter, main course and pudding. By the time the pudding comes around, most guests are full. But you should find room for the pudding.”
I stood, collected the plates and placed the pudding bowl on the table. “Unlike the other courses, you are allowed - and expected - to serve yourselves. The ladies eat first, in strict order of seniority. If you don’t know the order, don’t worry. Someone will tell you.”
“And I’ll be right at the bottom,” Louise guessed. “Right?”
“Not always,” Saline said. “It depends on your connection to the Great House.”
Louise eyed me. “Explain.”
I passed her the spoon. “If you marry someone with a high rank - Francis, for example - you will share his rank as long as you remain married to him. If you have children, you will keep the rank for the rest of your life. If you actually start out with a higher rank, you’ll give it to your husband instead.”
“Really?” Louise scowled. “How does that work?”
“If Francis married Alana, he would be treated as an Heir Primus,” I said. “But if Francis married you, you’d be treated as a Cousin.”
“Madness,” Louise said. “How do you keep it all straight in your head?”
I shrugged. “Arguably, we don’t. There are a lot of Grande Dames who don’t talk to each other because of something that happened when my father was a little boy. And then ... there are sometimes disputes for one reason or another. A few pointless and petty arguments over who should take the lead ... I suppose it saves us from fighting over something real. A decent event organiser can make thousands of crowns by making sure that enemies don’t have to sit together.”
Saline giggled. “They don’t always succeed,” she said. “I remember when Lady Johanna and Lady Constance were forced to sit together. They nearly hexed each other at the dinner table!”
“That would have been bad,” I said. I grinned at Louse’s shocked face. “You can chat about anything over pudding, although it isn’t meant to be too serious. After dinner, the real conversations begin.”
“And all the real deals are made,” Louise said. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. “And all of us are excluded.”
“I thought you were planning to join,” I said. “You have to learn to play the game by the rules if you want to win.”
“And yet, we don’t know what the rules actually are.” Louise’s voice was very quiet. “Both for the real world and for the Challenge.”
“We figure it out by trial and error,” I said. “And these practice dinners” - I waved a hand at the table - “help us figure out what we’re doing wrong without public embarrassment.”
I stood, again. “Once the pudding is finished, the guests normally move into the smoking rooms. The important guests, the movers and shakers, go into one room. Everyone else goes into the other. Kids are excused, if they wish to go; everyone else has to stay, unless they have a pressing engagement. Again, it’s a good idea not to leave too early. People will talk.”
Louise scowled. “Do they do anything else?”
“No,” Saline said. She helped me pick up the dishes and stow them under the trolley. “They talk and talk and talk ...”
“I get the idea,” Louise growled. She shook her head, slowly. “Is it just me or ... or is most of High Society absolutely useless?”
Saline looked offended. “Hey!”
I considered the question for a long moment. She had a point, as uncomfortable as it was to admit it. There were a lot of aristocrats who seemed to do nothing but attend parties, make catty remarks and generally look down their noses at anyone who didn’t have good breeding or the right connections. But ... there were also aristocrats who did good, from my father to Cat’s father to ...
“They’re just like anyone else,” I said, fully aware that Father would be angry if he heard me saying it. “A certain percentage of them are useless, but not all of them.”
I led the way back into the sitting room. “We can talk about more serious matters now,” I said, pretending not to notice the look of boredom on Louise’s face. “What would you like to talk about?”
Louise let out a long sigh. “How many of these dinners do we have to attend?”
I shrugged. “If you want to get anywhere in society, you’ll have to attend dozens ...”
“Hundreds,” Saline corrected.
“... And if you don’t attend, or if you make a fool of yourself, people will judge you harshly,” I continued. “And then ...”
The door opened. Alana stepped into the room. Her dark face was unreadable as she looked at me. I felt an odd little shiver running down my spine. She looked as if someone was in trouble. I had the nasty feeling it was me.
“Akin,” she said. “A word? Outside?”
I nodded and stepped through the door. “Alana? What ...?”
Alana met my eyes. “You need to go to Room 14-6B, now. You really do.”
I felt ... I wasn’t sure how I felt. Room 14-6B was near the sports complex, right on the other side of the school. To go there, now ... why?”
“Why?” My mouth felt dry. “What’s ...”
“Go,” Alana said. “I can’t say anything else.”
She looked so much like Cat, in that moment, that I didn’t bother to argue. I turned and hurried down the corridor, passing a pair of students on their way back to the dorms as I picked up speed. Most of the students would still be outside, if they weren’t in the library or trying to earn a little extra credit. Room 14-6B hadn’t been abandoned, but it might as well have been. It wasn’t used very often. I’d used it as a study room once, during a group project, but I’d never had any formal classes there. It was ...
I heard a sound as I approached. Instinctively, I slowed, slipping forward as quietly as I could. The sound grew louder as I reached the door and peeked inside. Francis stood there, his arms wrapped around a girl ... they were kissing. They were kissing and ...
I couldn’t help it. I gasped.
Chapter Twenty-Two
For a long moment, we all stood as still as statues.
I stared, unable to take my eyes off them. Francis was kissing ... Francis was kissing Lindsey! He was doing more than kissing, too. Her shirt was unbuttoned - I caught a glimpse of more bare flesh than anyone other than her husband should see - and his hands were up her skirt, stroking her bottom. I could see him ... Lindsey let out a yelp, jumping back from Francis so quickly she almost tripped over herself, and threw a hex at me. The sword was in my hand almost before I knew it, cutting the spell out of the air with casual ease. Her eyes were wide with horror as she hastily buttoned up her shirt to cover herself. Beside her, Francis gave me an odd little smile.
I tried not to look at her, even though I didn’t dare turn my back. Lindsey was beautiful, with long auburn hair and ... and ... I felt a flash of envy, mingled with horror. Francis was dating Lindsey? Francis shouldn’t be dating Lindsey. She was be
trothed! What was he thinking?
“I ...” Lindsey stared at me as she hastily buttoned up her shirt. Guilt was written all over her face. If I hadn’t caught them in the act, I would have known what they were doing. “I ...”
She stumbled forward, hurrying past me and out into the corridor beyond. I glanced after her, then turned my attention back to Francis. I felt the sword trying to pull me forward, an alien bloodlust demanding that I behead him without delay. It took all of my willpower to force myself to return the sword to the scabbard, cutting off the effect. And yet, it still seemed to be pushing at me. I wanted - it wanted - blood.
(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride Page 22