“Oh.” Marius gave a weak smile. “It seems strange to find something I can do that you can’t.”
Hetta raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t rest on your laurels for too long, brother mine. I imagine I’ll be wanting you to teach me if I’m to stay up here.”
There was too much understanding in Marius’s eyes. It was the first time Hetta had alluded to her new role and the changes it would mean for her.
“I know this isn’t what you imagined,” Marius said quietly as they went down to the garage.
“What either of us imagined. Glad to have me as your overlord?” Hetta said sardonically.
Marius gave a true smile at this. He looked her up and down, and some measure of peace came over him. “Time will tell.”
14
Unpleasant Conversations
The past twenty-four hours had been difficult, but they paled into insignificance as Hetta contemplated the handset in front of her. She took a deep breath, raised the receiver, and dialled the number of the Sun Theatre with fingers that trembled only slightly. The phone rang four times before it was picked up, and her heart stuttered in the pause between each one.
“Hello?” a cool young woman’s voice answered, familiar but not recognisable from so few syllables.
“This is Henrietta Valstar. I need to speak to Mr Bradfield.” Hetta remembered belatedly that she should say ‘Lord Valstar’.
“Hetta!” The woman’s voice instantly warmed. “It’s Angela! I was so sorry to hear about your father, but we’ll be glad to have you back. You won’t believe what Sally-Ann managed to do to her dress! But Brad’s just come in. Wait here.”
There was silence on the other end of the telephone before Hetta could reply. She could make out the faint background noises of people talking and moving around, but nothing distinct until Bradfield picked up the phone.
“Hetta! I didn’t think to hear from you before your arrival.” There was a note of caution in his voice that became overt in his next words. “Is anything the matter?”
“Brad—” Hetta said, and then had to pause to collect herself. In what was now an obvious oversight, she’d neglected to mentally prepare some kind of speech for Bradfield, and her mind had gone blank. The temptation surged in her to say that nothing was wrong at all; that she would see them all tomorrow; that she’d merely wanted to check everything was well.
Her pause had become noticeable. “Hetta?” Bradfield repeated uncertainly.
“I won’t be coming back,” Hetta said in a rush. The words hurt as they left her lips, and she wanted immediately to recall them. “I mean, I will, to get my things, but not for the show.”
She could imagine Bradfield so clearly in her mind’s eye, the way his forehead would crease as he frowned, his mouth tightening as the meaning of her words penetrated. Around him would be the chaotic mill of the stage crew, the actors, and the seamstresses, colour and laughter and cheap wine. She yearned so badly to be back there with them all, laughing at Arthur’s bad accents and Sally-Ann’s dramatics and feeling part of a world where she knew what she was doing; where she fit.
“You mean you need more time up there?” Bradfield sounded desperately keen for an affirmative.
“No,” Hetta said. “No—I—” She swallowed. “I’m the new Lord of Stariel.” She let out a little laugh. “If you can imagine something so ridiculous.”
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line. “I see. There’s no chance you could—but, no, I suppose not.”
“I don’t know how long it will be before I can leave Stariel for any length of time. The estate is in some chaos at present.” Now that the worst had been revealed, Hetta found her voice growing steadier. “But I hope to make it down to Meridon later in the year, perhaps. I’m so sorry, Brad. I never meant to put you in such a bind.”
“Nonsense,” Brad said staunchly. “And, I suppose, congratulations.”
At this, Hetta broke. “If you knew how badly I wished things were otherwise—”
“Don’t, Hetta,” Bradfield interrupted her. “Your duty is with Stariel now. But I hope that you will still consider me a friend?”
“Gods, Brad, you’ve no idea! Try if you will to stop me descending upon you in all my glory as soon as I can. And you’re welcome at Stariel, you know. Always.”
“Be careful, or I might just take you up on that,” Bradfield said, although there was a smile in his voice. “Might come in handy, having a lord as a friend.”
Hetta found herself dabbing furiously at her eyes with her handkerchief, but she laughed through her tears, trying not to sound like she was dying inside.
She could sense Brad’s thoughts turning through the phoneline, considering his next course of action. He might sincerely mourn her departure from the company, but he was cursed with the kind of mind that did not cease to consider consequences because of mere emotional considerations. Sure enough, after a few moments, he began:
“I don’t suppose you know anyone—” But then the awkwardness of asking her to help find her own replacement caught up with him and he broke off.
She laughed again, this time more genuinely. “You’re the absolute worst, Brad. Here I am suffering under the greatest shock of my life and you’re already mentally compiling a list of possible replacements for me! You could at least pretend to be too overcome for such cold practicality for two minutes!”
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Bradfield said. Then, more fervently, “I’ll have a damnable time replacing you. Just how many master illusionists do you think there are wandering around Meridon free as daisies?”
“None,” Hetta told him primly. “You shall be forced to settle.”
“I will.” He sounded resigned. “Gods dammit, Hetta, I will miss you something fierce!”
“You had better. Oh, very well—there’s a journeywoman illusionist called Ida Winters who might be willing to fill in for you at short notice.”
“A journeywoman!” Brad groaned. “Heavens preserve me. Has she worked stage shows before?”
“No, but she’s very willing to learn.” It was hard for female illusionists to find work; Hetta was sure that Ida would move mountains if necessary to take advantage of the opportunity. After all, Hetta had. The thought was a sharp spike of ice in her belly, but she concentrated instead on how happy her illusionist friend would be at this chance. Ida had been in a depressive mood lately, despairing of ever putting her training to use. It was, however, difficult to feel particularly generous at the thought of giving her life’s dream to someone else, no matter how much she knew Ida would appreciate it.
She gave him Ida’s contact details, and he made her promise to have dinner with him when she came to pack up her belongings. Their conversation grew more stilted after that. She knew Bradfield wasn’t quite sure what to say now that Hetta had delivered her bombshell and was anxious to get onto resolving what was for him a very pressing issue. It was a relief to replace the receiver in its rest. Yet the sound of Bradfield’s voice had taken her away from her present self for a little while, and it was a shock to have to readjust to the world as it was again.
She dabbed at her eyes to be sure they were quite dry and smoothed her hair back into place before she left the gatehouse.
“Oh, Hetta,” Marius said as she came back to the car, and guilt flickered in his eyes again. Hetta was too tired to call him on it. Instead, she deliberately turned the conversation to less painful topics.
The kineticar was a handsome black creature that looked entirely too modern for an estate apparently falling into rack and ruin. But how like her father, Hetta thought despairingly, to purchase the latest toys but decree that the elektrification and telephone wiring that had only gotten as far as the gatehouse must be put off.
“Have you met our new guest?” she asked as they began the drive back.
Marius had. “Although I’m not entirely clear on what, exactly, we are supposed to do with her. And Gregory is entirely too infatuated.”
&
nbsp; “You’re immune to her charms, then?”
Marius averted his eyes, and some emotion she couldn’t identify passed quickly over his face. “She’s a pretty young thing, I’ll admit,” he said without inflection. “And innocent as a kitten—I can see why that would raise a man’s protective instincts, but still, Gregory is insufferable.”
“Love makes us all insufferable, I think,” Hetta said mildly.
“Love,” Marius said grimly, “has nothing to do with it. Greg’s too young to tell love from infatuation.”
“Have you ever been in love, Marius?” Hetta asked, suddenly seeing her brother in a different light. His romantic entanglements hadn’t held much interest for her when she’d been younger, but it now occurred to her that she’d never known him to show a preference for anyone. Had that changed while she’d been away? Had he been disillusioned in love? He was, she thought with a sudden jolt, old enough that in a man who wasn’t her brother, she might have expected him to be married with children.
“Not the sort that you’re imagining, sister mine.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “And yourself? Fallen in love with your damned theatre director, I hazard?”
Hetta burst out laughing. “No. We’ve always been good friends, but even if I were interested in more, I am decidedly not his type.” More than that she would not say. Bradfield’s secrets were not hers to share.
A silence fell. Hetta looked back in the direction of the village as they drove. Stariel-on-Starwater wasn’t visible at this distance and angle, but she felt it looming there, another thing that would need to be dealt with at some point. If she concentrated, the village pressed against her land-sense, like something very light brushing her skin.
“Did Father ever talk about his land-sense with you?” Hetta asked as they slowed to come into the converted garage next to the stables.
Marius looked startled. “I hadn’t even thought about it, but I suppose now—”
But Hetta was already shaking her head. “It doesn’t feel any different to me than before.”
“Father never spoke of it, much,” Marius said. “I suppose I just assumed that the connection sorted itself out, when you were chosen.” He made a flailing gesture with his left hand.
“I admit I did too,” Hetta said. “I was expecting something more dramatic. But now I’m wondering if it takes time to, I don’t know, settle in?”
Marius shrugged as well. He parked the car, turned off the ignition, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before replying. “I could have a look in the family histories for you.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Marius shot her a brief, searching look. “You’re worried something’s wrong. That the bond didn’t take as it should.”
Marius had always had an unfortunate habit of having flashes of insight precisely when they would be least convenient. Hetta considered dissembling, but eventually gave him an honest reply. “Yes. It may be that nothing at all is the matter—this might be perfectly normal, for all I know. But I would rather not find out that something has gone wrong with the bond from, say, Aunt Sybil.”
Marius gave a short laugh, then reached to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hetta. I won’t spread it around. And it’s not as if me poking about in the library will make anyone suspicious.” A touch of sadness crept into his voice.
“Would you still want to go back to your studies? I know Father prevented you from continuing.”
Marius blew out a long breath. “I don’t know. It’s been such a long time—I have tried to keep up my interest, but it’s been hard without access to the books and mentors I need.” He looked at her fondly. “And I could hardly leave you in the lurch here.” Before Hetta could deny that she needed him to stay, he held up a finger. “But maybe, once things are more settled here.” He gave another laugh, this one far less bitter. “How strange, to no longer feel potential destiny looming over me.” He seemed to realise what he’d said from Hetta’s expression. “Sorry. I know it’s not fair for me to revel in my freedom when you’ve just been unwillingly bound. But you’ve had years of liberty that I haven’t.”
“I know,” Hetta said softly. She was glad that Marius seemed to be taking his new status rather well. There was an air of anticipation about him that she hadn’t seen before.
“You know,” Marius said slowly, “the one person Father might have talked to about his land-sense is Jack.”
“The thought had occurred.” She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.
Marius leaned forward, eyes fierce. “He’ll come around. I know Stariel’s not what you wanted, and it’s not what you deserve, but I think that Stariel is lucky to have you for its lord.”
Hetta had to blink rapidly at the sudden prick of tears this vote of confidence caused. “Thank you. I don’t know if you’re right or not, but I hope so.” She sighed. “Let’s go find Jack.”
15
Cryptic Advice
Jack wasn’t anywhere to be found, and Marius’s optimism didn’t make a dent in the atmosphere of the house. Aunt Sybil simply treated any space Hetta filled as if it were empty. Since this was an improvement over her usual manner, Hetta made no effort to persuade her to abandon her cold shoulder. Lady Phoebe fluttered anxiously around, trying to pretend that everything was perfectly normal and that no one was displeased with anything or anyone. It was exhausting watching her do this, and Hetta retreated to her father’s study to mull over the accounts further.
One of the maids brought her afternoon tea and simply shrugged when Hetta asked if she’d seen Wyn.
“Down in the village, like, dropping off the kiddies that brought us sloe berries today, my lord,” she said. “They find the kineticar such a treat! Then he’ll be helping Cook, I’ll be bound; the kitchen-maid is still poorly. I’ll tell him you want him, when I see him.”
Hetta had thanked her, a little taken aback at the notion that she apparently had the power to summon Wyn as she pleased. That power was quickly shown to be imaginary, for Wyn didn’t appear, and when she went in search of him, he was so legitimately busy that she couldn’t reasonably interrupt him.
Hetta examined Miss Gwen in more detail at supper that night. She seemed a little fatigued, but she remained polite and grateful. There was nothing in the least alarming in her appearance, except for the odd notion Hetta got, after watching her for a length of time, that her manner was a little too perfectly ingenuous to be quite genuine. But, Hetta reflected, perhaps that was only natural given the situation.
Grandmamma didn’t come to the meal. Hetta went in search of her after supper and found her in the stillroom, muttering darkly as she tied up fresh bunches of herbs and hung them. The stillroom’s smell transported Hetta back in time. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was so strong that it took a while to adjust when one first entered. Hetta had spent many evenings helping Grandmamma here. The herbs hung just above head height for a lady, which meant Hetta had to stoop to avoid walking into some of the lower-hanging bunches.
Her grandmother thrust a large bunch of rosemary across the workbench at her. It had been a long while since Hetta had dried herbs, but her fingers remembered, and she automatically took the stems between her fingers and began twining a cord around them.
“We missed you at supper, Grandmamma,” she said.
Her grandmother gave an unladylike huff and hung her rosemary with unnecessary vigour, so that instead of the hook slotting neatly into the wire affixed to the ceiling for that purpose, it fell to the ground. Hetta hurried to pick it up. Grandmamma looked slightly mollified as Hetta handed it to her.
“I won’t sit at table with that creature.”
“I was meaning to ask you about that, actually. Will you tell me why you dislike Miss Gwen so much? Have you met her before?”
Grandmamma’s eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, deepening the wrinkles in her cheeks. “I know trouble when I see it,” she said eventually.
It was fortunate that Hetta was
accustomed to her grandmother’s opaque ways, or she might have grown frustrated at this inexact answer. Grandmamma set much stock in what she called ‘portents’ and Aunt Sybil called ‘superstitions’. Then, in one of the abrupt changes of subject that was entirely typical of her grandmother, she said, “You’ve no plans to leave the estate, do you?”
“Leave?” repeated Hetta, surprised. “Well, I must go down to Meridon and arrange for my belongings—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t retrieve my belongings? Are you afraid I’m going to fill the house with truckloads of modern gewgaws? I will have you know that I own only a modest number of gewgaws, and certainly not enough to fill more than my own room.”
Her grandmother waved this away as if it were entirely irrelevant. “Yes, yes. Of course you must tidy your affairs up. But not yet. Promise me you’ll wait until we’ve seen off Miss Gwen, at least. You cannot be leaving while we have guests.”
Hetta wasn’t sure why this should be the case, but it was unlike her grandmother to make such a forceful request.
“Are you worried that Gregory is too taken with her?” Hetta pressed. Grandmamma was very fond of all her grandchildren, and it was possible that her reaction to Miss Gwen grew from this.
“Gregory is the least of my concerns. What worries me is that she could come here at all, if my suspicions are correct.”
“What do you mean?” Hetta asked, frowning.
Grandmamma considered her. “Talk to that lad of yours.”
“You mean Wyn,” Hetta said with a sigh.
Her grandmother gave her an approving look. “That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, Henrietta. You’re not missish about straight-talking. And yes. Talk to Wyn.” She rolled her lips like she’d swallowed something sour.
“Do you know where he’s got to?”
“Checking the defences, I’ll be bound.”
Hetta stared at her, baffled. “Checking the defences? This isn’t a fortress, and unless I’m quite mistaken, we’re not under siege. Nor do we live in medieval times.”
The Lord of Stariel Page 10
