Daughter of Mystery (53 page)

“There,” Barbara pointed, where the land fell away toward the Rotein. “You can see the old course of the river in the shape of the farms. The castle here was abandoned when it no longer commanded the passage of ships. That would have been in Domric’s day, long before the rise of the Atilliets. Rotenek was just a market town then—though it had the cathedral, of course. But Domric made it his capital and built the first palace. Do you see—”

Margerit turned Barbara’s face toward her and kissed her, as if they hadn’t had their fill of kisses on the journey. “I didn’t come here for a history lesson. I chose it because Verunik said the place had something of a reputation among lovers.” She ran her fingers through Barbara’s unruly hair, dislodging the pins and pulling it loose to fly about their faces in the breeze. She drowned in the pale blue of those eyes and drank them in until intoxicated.

A lifetime would have seemed too short and they had only a few hours. Then Barbara twisted her hair back up into place and fastened it haphazardly with what pins they could find. They descended to the waiting party at last, Margerit saying, “I have a surprise for you.”

The bundles and baskets had been unpacked and the grooms pressed into service as footmen to set out a formal dinner, served around a small folding table. A cold ham, an assortment of fruit tarts, some plump pigeons roasted
en croute
. Until the breeze turned chill and the sun began setting low they laughed and talked of inconsequentialities. On their return, the hot blood of the morning had changed to a clinging for warmth as the dusk closed in outside.

“I wish every day could be like this,” Margerit sighed.

“You’d find it lacking after a while unless you found a way to fit the library into the carriage.”

Margerit laughed at that but then turned wistful. “In the fall, perhaps I’ll attend lectures again?” It became a question as she spoke, wondering how it might fit with Barbara’s plans.

“Of course you must!” Barbara insisted.

“I wish—” She turned what she’d meant to say into, “I wish the river would rise and give us an excuse to get away for more than just one day.”

Barbara shook her head. “Until the council’s done there’s no escape for me. Flood-tide would just be one long debate. But I thought perhaps—” She shifted on the seat to hold Margerit closer. “When the vote is taken and the season is over, LeFevre and I need to go down to Saveze. I was hoping you might join me.”

“Of course!” Margerit replied immediately. “Do you plan to spend the whole summer there? I’d need to plan what to do with the household.”

“I don’t know. I need to find out what condition the land is in—what might need to be done to bring it up to its best. When Marziel dug it out from under the last time, he had his trading ventures and the opportunities that the war brought. I’ll need to start more slowly.”

“Barbara,” Margerit said impulsively, “this is silly. Why don’t I just pay off the mortgages?”

Her response was immediate and vehement. “No! No, don’t even think of it.”

“But—”

“Please Margerit, I don’t want to discuss it. I don’t want your money. Let it be.”

Margerit tried to keep herself still although her heart was pounding.
I don’t want your money.
As if there were something tainted about it. As if anything beyond clothing and carriage rides would stain the name of Saveze. She shifted to hide her momentary discomfiture, grateful for the dark, but she didn’t trust herself to speak and so she raised one of Barbara’s hands to her lips to excuse the silence.

* * *

Though she’d returned from the outing with all good intentions, a long sleepless night brought back the doubts. She needed time to think. Time alone without Aunt Bertrut fraying at her nerves. Without sweet notes and brief glances eroding her resolve. Time away from anyone who knew enough to ask questions to which she didn’t know the answers. Time to test whether she could not, in fact, live without her.

There was no hope for any rest, so when the girl came in silently at dawn to build up the fire she rang to be dressed and went downstairs to begin making arrangements.

“Aunt Bertrut,” she announced when her aunt joined her in the morning room, “I’m going to Chalanz for a while.” And then before Bertrut had a chance to express triumph or even approval she continued, “I won’t be moving the household yet. I don’t know how long I’ll be there and there’s no reason to turn everyone topsy-turvy. I won’t be taking my own coach, I’ll hire one for the journey, so if the floods come while I’m gone you can travel as you please.”

“But you can’t go alone!” Bertrut managed to slip into a moment’s pause.

“I’ll have Marken for protection. For propriety I thought I’d go ask at the
Orisules
school down by the university. The sisters are likely to know some respectable woman who wants to travel in that direction. When I get to Chalanz I’ll have Maitelen so you needn’t worry on that account.”

“But when will you—”

“I don’t know. There are a few affairs I need to take care of first. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, if possible.” And that was that. After urging her to it, there was little room for her aunt to protest.

Beyond setting things in motion for the journey, there was really only one matter to arrange. Enclosed with her daily letter to Barbara, she sent LeFevre a note that she would see him in his office on a matter of business that afternoon, if it were convenient.

Facing LeFevre across his desk, she came quickly to the point. “I would like you to arrange for me to buy the Saveze mortgages. All of them.”

He seemed unsurprised, as if he’d been expecting the request. “That is certainly possible, although it can’t be done instantly. I should say a week or two. We’d want to conclude things quietly, so it’s best not to take too long about it. Are there any particular requirements that Barbara—”

“Barbara knows nothing about this and she isn’t to know. Promise me that.”

“Ah.” That had startled him. “Then what do you—”

“I want to buy the mortgages and simply hold them.”

He shuffled the papers on his desk in his old nervous habit. “I can’t advise it. You may make your own decisions now, of course, but I would hope you still value my advice and I can’t recommend this.”

Margerit didn’t care to argue. She wasn’t sure how long she could maintain her mask. “Is it that you consider the Saveze mortgages to be a poor investment?”

“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 winning.