The Mystic Marriage (45 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jeanne

“Toneke, you haven’t answered my question.” It was understandable, Jeanne thought, but she was attending to the conversation even less than she was attending to dinner. “Will you be moving your lodgings to the palace as well?”

“What? Oh, no, I wasn’t granted that mark of favor. And it may be a month before the new workshop at the palace is ready. I can’t wait that long to begin trial pieces for the commission. Most of the work will still be down on Trez Cherfis for now.” She toyed once more with the trout
à la genoise,
then let Tomric remove it with roasted lamb. The elaborate dinner had been meant to be a victory celebration. “Jeanne, would you mind if I went home tonight?”

Jeanne’s heart fell, but she reached out to cover Antuniet’s hand with her own. “Of course not, dearest. But—”

“I have that appointment with Maistir Marzik tomorrow about what space and facilities I’ll need for the new workshop. I need to have lists and sketches ready.”

It was so very much like the Antuniet she had fallen in love with. Jeanne lifted the hand to her lips and kissed it, first on the knuckles and then on the palm. She felt Antuniet shiver in delight and added another kiss, more slowly. “As much as I will miss your body lying beside mine tonight, your mind is already far away and better you should keep the two together. But do finish dinner first,” she chided. “Or my cook will be in despair.”

On the morrow, the news regarding Tionez provided distraction. Jeanne found her at home, as expected. Iaklin Silpirt was there before her, holding out a small squirming spaniel and exclaiming, “See what Tio gave me! She says it’s to keep me company now that she’ll be so busy.”

Tionez rose, saying, “Jeanne! I’ve been hoping you would call! I have such news.”

“So I understand,” Jeanne said, and kissed her briskly on the cheek. “A son, I hear. And I’m delighted you recovered so quickly. I know you feared to be languishing in the country for half the season.”

“Oh, that, yes. My mama-in-law thinks it’s almost indecent that I found the birth so easy when I have so little interest in the result.”

“But that’s not true!” Iaklin protested, struggling to hold the dog quiet as it squirmed on her lap. “I’m sure you love the child dearly.”

“Oh, I’m delighted to have given Iohen a son, but he’s such an ugly, mewling, puking little thing. The baby, I mean,” she added with a merry laugh. “Mama-in-law found me a wet-nurse: a country girl who dotes on him entirely. She keeps him quiet and content upstairs, and maybe in five or six years I’ll see the boy again when he can bow prettily and say ‘How d’you do, Mama.’”

Half of that was only to tease the disconcerted Iaklin. Jeanne perched on the settee next to her and resignedly accepted the offer to admire the spaniel more closely. It sat shivering in her lap and she absently fondled it in the soft spot behind the ears. Why was it that nervous women like Iaklin always ended up with nervous dogs?

“But you haven’t heard my news!” Tio broke in. “I’ve been invited to attend on the princess.”

Jeanne was startled, until she recalled the conversation in the gallery the day before. “Elisebet? Yes, I’d heard she suddenly had a large number of open positions. Whatever started it all?”

Tio shrugged. “Some to-do with poor Chustin on the road back to town. The next thing anyone knew, Mesnera Sain-Mazzi was giving notice to half the servants and dismissing six of Elisebet’s waiting women.”

“It’s a great honor,” Iaklin suggested. Jeanne could see something close to hero worship in the way she gazed at Tio. Pray God she was never too badly let down.

“More a badge of my dreary new respectability,” Tio said with mock despair. “That’s what motherhood brings me. At least she didn’t ask us all to move into palace apartments; I can’t imagine keeping a child in close quarters like that. I’ll mostly be there half-days unless it’s a special occasion, so I’ll have time to keep up all my visiting.”

“Perhaps the appointment is a compliment to your husband’s work,” Jeanne suggested. “Do you know what it was that happened on the road? I heard something about a horse—” She stopped herself, trying to remember which parts of Barbara’s story she was supposed to have known.

“It was when they stopped at Iser—you know the place, barely half a day’s travel left to go? Well, they were just leaving when Chustin became sick as a dog. They had to spend the night and didn’t that cause a fuss! Elisebet went wild, saying that he’d been poisoned. I doubt it was more than a bellyache—and who wouldn’t get them with her for a mother? He’s so wrapped in apron strings he can scarcely move.”

“And she gave her entire household notice over that?” Jeanne asked in wonder.

“It wasn’t the whole household,” Tio said with a dismissive wave. “Only some of those who were traveling with them: a few footmen and maids and a groom or two. And her waiting women, of course. That was the scandal.”

Iaklin gave a shudder. “To think that someone so close to you might—”

“Don’t be a ninny,” Tio said scornfully. “Even Elisebet didn’t accuse them of poisoning the boy. She was only angry that they hadn’t kept closer watch over him. As if a boy of fifteen would need or want such a flock of hens around him. When my brother was that age he was forever getting into scrapes and it did him nothing but good. It isn’t natural for a boy to be that much under his mother’s thumb. If she wants something to fuss over, she should get a dog.” She snapped her fingers and Iaklin’s spaniel leapt down to obey the summons. One more habit she shared with her mistress, evidently.

The next day Antuniet was once again tied up in planning with the
salle-chamberlain
but this time Jeanne wouldn’t be put off. “It’s such an enormous space!” she marveled as they were led inside. The master of facilities had chosen part of the old summer kitchens as the most appropriate location. They’d stood empty since the building of the new kitchens five years back and the old bakehouse had now been earmarked for Antuniet’s use, being already fitted to handle fire. Little had been done yet except the beginnings of clearing out the dirt and drifted leaves, but there were fresh chalk marks on the floor sketching out where the equipment would stand and where to build the new movable furnace with its clockwork bellows and the automated fuel feed that had Antuniet as giddy as a debutante with a new gown.

“It will mean less work in tending,” she explained, gesturing in midair to where the equipment would go. “A bin with the coal there—” she indicated an upper corner of the room next to the great chalked circle “—and a screw to deliver it evenly to the fire. That will save Anna the tedium of tending to it, and with more time for preparations we may be able to do a firing every second day.” She had passed over the question of where her other participants would find time in their schedules to spend one morning out of every two doing her bidding.

“And we’ll need the room for the twinned cibation,” Antuniet continued. “You’ll see on Tuesday. Even with only three primary roles, once we have six people in the old workshop we’ll scarcely have room to turn around.”

While Antuniet reviewed the plans and drawings with Marzik, Jeanne wandered around poking at this and that and trying to envision the bustling crush Antuniet had described. The cozy solitude of the summer was gone entirely. Not that the alchemy itself wasn’t fascinating, but…

“I think we’re done for now,” Antuniet said, touching her on the shoulder. “I don’t have anything else planned before dinner.”

There was a warmth in Antuniet’s words that stirred an echoing heat within her. Jeanne covered Antuniet’s fingers with her own and pressed them closely. “Alas, I do have something planned for us. We have an appointment with Mefro Dominique. You simply can’t go around in the same old thing now that you’re Annek’s alchemist.”

“Shh, don’t say that! It isn’t true; it’s only the one commission so far.”

Jeanne shrugged. “Now that you have hopes of becoming her appointed alchemist. It comes to the same thing. You need new clothes.”

“I’ve been saving up to have something made. There’s a dressmaker Anna knows who’s very reasonable. I won’t have time to do much tutoring now and I can’t sell any more of the lesser stones; that would get me in trouble. I can’t afford Dominique.”

“You won’t be paying for it, so don’t give it a second thought.”

“Jeanne, I don’t want…” The discomfort was plain in Antuniet’s voice.

“I know,” Jeanne said reassuringly. She didn’t want to have that argument all over again, however silly Toneke was being about it. “That’s why the bill will be sent to your cousin.”

“To Barbara?” Antuniet asked.

“Unless you have another cousin lurking somewhere. And before you ask, yes, I suggested it to her. But you have to grant that she has an interest in seeing you look presentable. The honor of Saveze and all that.”

Antuniet might still have been dubious, but once they were ensconced in the modiste’s shop, she fell under the musical spell of Mefro Dominique’s Caribbean-accented French, tactfully suggesting which of the newest styles would suit the maisetra best. “The young girls are all wearing overgowns of tissue and lace, but I think that would not do for you. You are too tall to be ethereal. And I remember you do not like the lace. The sleeves
treillagé
would be very becoming, I think. And with nothing but a bit of ribbon
à chevrons
on the hem.”

Jeanne did her best to keep her opinions to herself. Toneke was determined to choose always the plainest and simplest styles and that didn’t suit her own notions at all. “That might do for everyday,” she said, ignoring Antuniet’s muffled snort, no doubt contemplating that “everyday” meant working clothes. “But we’ll need something more elaborate for the end of the year.” To Dominique she explained, “Something suitable for the New Year’s court. Nothing outrageous though,” she added, thinking of the fanciful costumes that many affected.

“No,” Antuniet said firmly. “This one will do for the New Year and you may choose the fabric. For everyday balls and dinners—” She hesitated, then turned to the dressmaker. “Do you remember the last gown you made for me?”

“Yes, maisetra. The rose satin with the pleating?”

“Could you make that again? The gown was ruined in an accident and…and it was very special to me.”

Mefro Dominique turned to the girl who stood silently at her elbow. “Celeste, go look and see what we have left of the rose.” She shrugged apologetically. “My daughter knows the stock better than I do. Now for the other gown it should be velvet, I think. What do you think, Mesnera de Cherdillac? There is a dark wine color that I think might suit.”

Jeanne scarcely attended to the discussion of fabrics, assenting to whatever the other two said. Had that been meant as a peace offering over the gift? Or was it simply that the rose gown had been so perfectly becoming? It was so hard to tease meaning out of Antuniet’s words beyond the simple facts.

* * *

Antuniet’s prediction about the crush in the workshop when they began the next layering process hadn’t prepared Jeanne for the difference in mood, even from the previous spring’s work with Efriturik. Then she had felt an intimate part of the process; now she seemed to be in the way. Anna and Margerit were busy sorting out the supplies and equipment, while Antuniet explained the process and roles to their new assistant. Efriturik had brought his friend Charlin Mainek to be the double for his own role, and the presence of two young men had altered the mood of the assembly. She could hear the counterpoint as Efriturik showed off his own growing understanding of the process.

“It’s a bit like playacting,” he was explaining, “except that we
become
the properties of the materials, and then when we—”

“Playacting may not be the best explanation,” Antuniet interrupted, turning the instructions back to more practical matters. Charlin was listening bemusedly with an air of being introduced to his friend’s odder relatives. He was properly behaved in every way, but Jeanne suspected that Efriturik had given him a stern lecture in advance, for Charlin was stiffly and punctiliously polite in all his dealings with Anna. Still, the air was changed in subtle ways.

Jeanne shook off her mood when the working itself began. She’d hoped to partner with Antuniet as they’d done during the summer experiments, but the roles had been rearranged for the current formula. Now Antuniet and Anna mirrored Mercury as the transforming principle and she was paired with Margerit as the Queen to stand opposite to the twinned Kings. There was more interaction between the roles as well, adding and mixing the
materiae
with the solvents, packing the crucibles precisely with the seed crystals nestled in the mineral nourishment, all accompanied by the spoken parts that still sounded to Jeanne like a mummer’s play. But Antuniet was right. It wasn’t entirely playacting. There was a palpable change when Efriturik stepped into his role. Gone was the careless young man of the spring workings who had seemed always half-reluctant, as if his thoughts were on more active pursuits. Now when he took up the flask of solvent and intoned his lines as he dripped it slowly into the crucible, one could see the image of the prince he might someday be. Charlin’s twinned echo was just that: an echo, speaking the words and making the motions without that same essential presence. The complexity of the work made for an arduous day, and Jeanne wondered if young Mesner Mainek was regretting agreeing to what must have seemed like an idle game.

But Charlin, too, had hidden depths, it seemed, for when the crucibles were finally clamped, sealed and signed and positioned carefully in the furnace, he uttered a quickly muffled exclamation. After the closing of the furnace door, Antuniet asked him, “Are you sensitive, then? I hadn’t realized Efriturik chose you for specific talents.”

She likely hadn’t meant it to sound dismissive, but he took no note. “A little, but I’d been told we weren’t to be doing mysteries. What was that?”

Jeanne’s attention drifted off when Margerit joined in the explanation, comparing her own experience of
visitatio
with the alchemical manifestations. Would there never be time for a quiet word in private? Finally, when the men had left and Anna was dividing her time between tending the furnace and tidying the workshop, Jeanne asked, “Toneke, will your new gown be ready by the day after tomorrow? You remember Margerit invited us to the opera.”