“I promise to try and keep myself safe.”
“That isn’t quite the same thing, you know,” he said, but my kiss stopped any other objections he might have had.
SIX
Lord Hilford’s visit — A vow never to be birdbrained — Preparations for departure
True to his word, Jacob wrote to Lord Hilford that very afternoon. This began a week of nervous waiting, wherein I replayed every interaction I had ever had with the earl. He seemed to tolerate, even appreciate, the company of his granddaughter Natalie, who had something of a mad streak in her; surely that boded well for my own chances? But I was not family—and so my thoughts went, round and round, dragging up every factor, every ounce of information that might influence his decision.
When a letter came notifying us that he would call at our house on his way to Falchester in a week’s time, I did not know what to make of it. Jacob gave me the letter to read, and I pored over every word, but it said nothing of Jacob’s unusual request. Was he favorably inclined to it? Unfavorably? Had he even received our letter? I dreaded that last prospect; how awkward it would be to bring it up if he had no prior warning!
Nonetheless, he was coming, and we had to prepare. I made certain the house was ready to receive its visitor, devoting far more of my time and energy to domestic tasks than I ordinarily did. (I fear I drove the maids quite to distraction with my interference.) I carefully selected the gown I would wear, when the time came. I reminded myself to be on my best behavior.
I tried not to invent contingency plans for what I would do if he said no. That way lay all manner of schemes that would turn my husband’s hair grey with fright.
Lord Hilford arrived in a comfortable carriage pulled by a splendid pair of matched greys. I praised the horses as he entered our house, using it as a source of comfortable small talk while we were out in public places. It helped me to hide my nerves.
“You are here to see my husband, I imagine?” I said when he was done handing his hat and gloves to the footman.
“Hmmm,” the earl said. “I rather think I had better speak with you both.”
This made my heart skip a beat. “Please, have a seat in the drawing room,” I said, indicating the way, as if he could somehow lose his orientation in our smallish front hall. “Jacob will be down in a moment. Would you like tea?”
Fortunately my husband was prompt; I might have died of nerves else. He greeted Lord Hilford, and when everyone was settled in with tea and biscuits, the earl cut straight to his point.
“I received your letter, Camherst,” he said to Jacob, “and read it over two or three times. Rather surprising to me, you must understand. Eventually I decided the only sensible way to handle it was to come here and speak to you in person—you and your wife both. If you don’t mind?”
Jacob made sounds of demurral, and as he did so, I realized Lord Hilford was asking permission to question me directly. I sat bolt upright in my chair as the earl turned his sharp-eyed attention to me.
“Mrs. Camherst,” he said. His booming voice was almost too much for our small drawing room. “Let me see if I understand. You wish to accompany us to Vystrana, where you imagine you will keep your husband’s notes—or mine as well; the letter was a trifle unclear—provide us with accurate drawings, and otherwise be some manner of assistant to us in our studies and daily living?”
I had expected this question, and so even under his gimlet eye, I did not squirm. “Yes, my lord.”
“Your husband’s a sensible enough fellow. I can’t imagine he’s neglected to describe to you the sorts of hardships and difficulties we’re likely to suffer.”
“I am well aware of them, my lord. Both from my husband, and from my own reading.”
He took a sip of tea. It hid his lower face from me momentarily, which I think might have been his intent; I could not tell what he thought of my statement. “You are a well-read woman, I take it.”
“As much as I can be.”
“Hmmm. I’ll want to pick your brain on that more later. In the meantime, though—you know the difficulties, apparently in good detail, and despite that, you still wish to be a part of the expedition.”
There was no room for prevarication, for the kinds of social niceties that might have softened the blunter edges of my desire. All I could do was say, “Yes, I do.”
He eyed me for several heartbeats. I fought not to reach for my tea and avoid his gaze thereby.
“Well,” Lord Hilford said abruptly, turning to Jacob, “that seems clear enough. Either she’s birdbrained and you failed to make the situation clear to her—in which case she’ll be entirely your problem; I wash my hands of her—or she knows precisely what she’s letting herself in for. At the very least, she might be a civilizing influence. Might even be of some use—in which case I take full credit for bringing her along, and commandeer her services in filing my own notes. I stuff them in a box most days; makes for a devil of a time finding anything when I need it.”
I vowed on the spot to show no behaviour that might possibly be construed as birdbrained, from then until the end of time.
“You—you’re certain?” Jacob stammered, glancing from me to Lord Hilford and back again.
“Don’t go questioning me, Camherst, unless you want me reconsidering my decision. Make sure she knows what she needs to before we get to Vystrana; fat lot of use she’ll be filing notes if she can’t tell a hatchling from a lizard. But I doubt that will be a problem.” Lord Hilford’s eyes twinkled at me, so briefly I might have imagined it.
We rushed to thank him, but he waved it all off with one hand. “My plans are all being turned on their heads anyway; what’s one more change?”
“What do you mean?” Jacob asked.
Lord Hilford’s good humour was overshadowed by a scowl. “Politics. The tsar of Bulskevo has decided again that he doesn’t like Scirlings. Which is a problem, when we’re dependent on him for iron … but that is neither here nor there. What matters is that the boyar of Ziveyjak—which is where I captured that albino runt—is a boot-licking court toady who won’t do anything the tsar might frown at. So I’ve been refused permission to return to Ziveyjak next year.”
“Oh no!” I said, dismayed. “Will the expedition be delayed, then?”
“And wait for the tsar to like us again? He’d change his mind before I got halfway to Vystrana. Damned temperamental man—my apologies, Mrs. Camherst.” Lord Hilford waved one hand, dismissing the tsar. “No, I’ve found a new location. Stroke of luck, actually; a Chiavoran colleague of mine put me in touch with a Vystrani fellow called Jindrik Gritelkin, who went to university in Trinque-Liranz. Gritelkin has invited us to come to his village.”
“Doesn’t his boyar mind?” Jacob asked.
Lord Hilford shook his head. “Not all of them swear off contact with foreigners every time the tsar gets up on the wrong side of the bed. And Gritelkin’s a razesh—sort of a local agent for the boyar. He can settle things for us. But we’ll have time enough to talk about this later. It’s late in the day; I should look into finding a hotel—” We pressed him to stay, and he acquiesced. I summoned servants to get him situated in a guest room, and told the cook to plan for one extra at dinner.
That was the first of several dinners Maxwell Oscott took at our house during the months we spent preparing for the Vystrani expedition. Whether he dined at our house, or we at his, we talked of little else, and the earl made good on his promise (or perhaps threat) to pick my brain about my readings. Initially I tried to gloss over details, downplaying my interest into something a little more acceptable, but he had a knack for getting people to talk, and in truth—as perceptive readers might have noticed—I have a difficult time resisting the chance to discuss my passions. The incident with the wolf-drake I successfully kept to myself, but before that first night was out, Lord Hilford knew about both my childhood interest in Sir Richard Edgeworth’s work and my recent endeavours on the Great Sparkling Inquiry. He spoke approvingly of my anatomical draw
ings, and showed particular engagement with my notion that sparklings were not insects, but diminutive wyvern cousins. We argued the point with great enthusiasm through the following months.
I did not get on so well with Thomas Wilker, Lord Hilford’s assistant and protégé. To be honest, we rather scorned each other. Mr. Wilker tried very hard, but with imperfect success, to hide the Niddey accent of his birth; he was the son of a quarryman who used to supply Lord Hilford with fossils of strange animals, and I thought him a bit of a tufthunter, eager to attach himself to a man who could help him climb into Society. For his own part, he did not think much of my scant learning, and clearly only forebore to complain out of deference to his patron’s decision.
Fortunately, he and I were rarely in each other’s company, as our spheres of preparation for the expedition were entirely separate. Mr. Wilker and Lord Hilford undertook the work of planning the expedition itself, arranging transportation, lodgings, scientific equipment, and permissions from a variety of foreign officials. To me fell the duty of renting out our Pasterway house, stabling our horses, and arranging references for the servants who would not stay on. Jacob’s task was a sobering one: he set his business affairs in order, which included meeting with his solicitor to make certain his will was prepared. The perils we faced were unfortunately quite real.
By far the least pleasant aspect of our remaining time in Scirland, though, came from the society gossips.
Before the news became public, Jacob and I had a sober conversation about what we could expect by way of reaction from acquaintances and strangers alike.
“I don’t particularly care what they say,” I admitted to him one afternoon in late Fructis as we walked in the garden. “I have the chance to go abroad and see dragons; I do not think anything they say could steal that happiness from me.”
Jacob sighed. “Isabella, my dear—I am sure it feels that way now, when you are to go see dragons, but do remember that we will be returning to Scirland when the expedition is done. If you snub society ladies now, you will have to face them again later.”
“Perhaps I could bring back a dragon to frighten them with. Just a small one, nothing extravagant; Lord Hilford has caught them before.”
“Isabella—”
I laughed and twirled a few steps down the path, arms wide in the sunlight. “Of course I’m not serious, dear. Where would we keep a dragon? In my sparkling shed? It would make a dreadful mess, and undo all my careful work.”
Despite himself, Jacob laughed. “You’re like a little girl who’s been told for the first time that she may have a pony.”
“Ponies!” I dismissed these with a snort. “Can ponies fly, or breathe particles of ice upon those who vex them? I think not. Ponies, indeed.”
“Perhaps I shall tell the society gossips that you have become deranged,” Jacob mused, “and that I am installing you in a sanatorium for your own safety. I’m sure they would believe that.”
“Tell them I am deranged; tell them I am dead; tell them I have run off to be a dancing girl in Chiavora. I don’t care.”
Jacob paused to straighten a late rose I had bent in my exuberant passing. “We have not been married for so long; perhaps I can pass it off as an overly affectionate attachment to you, that I still cannot bear for you to be parted from my side.” He paused for reflection, twirling between his fingers a blossom that had come off in his hand. “It would not be far from the truth.”
I came back to his side and planted a kiss on his cheek. “No, I have it. I will put it about that I would not let you go because I do not trust you to be faithful away from me.”
“Who would entice my eye to stray? There’s a dearth of Chiavoran dancing girls in Vystrana.”
“Then say I’m to keep you civilized. You needn’t mention the drawings and suchlike at all. Say that, in addition to being gap-toothed, pockmarked, and weak-chinned, the Vystrani peasant girls haven’t the slightest idea how to keep a gentleman in the style to which he is accustomed. I will be there to make certain they polish your shoes and don’t brew tea out of your tobacco.”
“What a pity it is that you haven’t shown any interest in charitable work before now. You might be going to teach them their letters, or campaign for better working conditions.”
“Only thirty sheep per shepherdess; any more is quite inhumane.”
I pray you pardon me a moment of sentimentality when I say that I adored my husband’s laugh. Light and melodious, it was all the better when I startled it out of him, and this may go some way to explaining why I so often tried to do so. Partly that was my own nature, of course—but who could fault me for indulging it when I loved its reward so much?
Jacob set his hands on my waist and spun me in the center of the path, so that my skirts swung out behind me and damaged the roses still further. “Civilization it shall be. Do try to keep quiet about the dragons, my dear. Talk to Miss Oscott of them if you must, but allow me the public pretense that we are being more well behaved.”
I took especial care to maintain that pretense with my family—even with Andrew, who was only half joking when he asked whether Lord Hilford would notice if he clubbed Mr. Wilker over the head and took his place. Papa, I later learned, suspected much of the truth, but for Mama’s sake we did not speak of it; she was concerned enough for my safety.
Having done so little traveling in my life, I imagined our luggage for the trip would be akin to that which I packed when Mama and I went to Falchester for my first Season, with fewer evening gowns and more in the way of practical wear. Foreign travel, for those who may not know, more closely resembles moving house. In addition to clothing, scientific equipment, and the materials for my sketches, we brought with us various accoutrements of our daily lives that we hoped would make our lives abroad more comfortable: saddles, lamps, writing desks, and one armchair which Lord Hilford apparently took with him wherever he went. I overheard him advising Jacob to bring with him a good supply of coffee—“As it can’t be got for love or money in Vystrana, and the stuff they drink would be more suited to scouring rust from horse tack.”
We journeyed together down to the coast at Sennsmouth: myself and Jacob, Lord Hilford and Mr. Wilker, and a variety of friends and relations, including Andrew. I had never been to the port city before, and much entertained my companions by exclaiming over all the new sights, of which the grandest by far was certainly our steamship, the Magnolia.
It was a measure of Lord Hilford’s wealth that we would travel in such style. When I was born, everyone assumed steam engines would be ubiquitous in the future; but that was before the iron deposits in Scirland were found to be all but exhausted. Coal we still had in abundance, but to build the machines themselves, we had to engage in expensive trade with other lands—or, often as not, try to colonize them, which was the origin of our misadventures in Eriga and elsewhere. To travel in a steamship was, in those days, still a rare and wondrous thing.
Rare and wondrous—and new enough that it was quite prone to trouble. The Magnolia carried sails, for use if the engine should fail us. “Just as ancient ships sometimes carried oars,” Mr. Wilker said. He had what I saw as a regrettable habit of showing off his learning. “In case the wind should fail.”
“We had best hope the engine and wind don’t fail together,” Jacob said. “I don’t see oars anywhere.”
Our route would take us around the Cape of De Vrest and through the Sea of Alsukir to the port of Trinque-Liranz in Chiavora, from which we would go north into the Vystrani highlands. Andrew came on board to help settle me in the cabin I would share with Jacob, which lay in the forward part of the ship, along the starboard side. “I hope you aren’t prone to seasickness,” he said, peering out the porthole that was the room’s only source of natural light.
“How should I know whether I am or not?” I replied, hanging a few of my dresses in the tiny wardrobe. “I’ve never been to sea before.”
Andrew had gone to Thiessin last year, as a reward for completing university at
last. “I advise not being seasick, if you can avoid it. Not a pleasant experience.”
While he continued to potter about the small room, peering into the ingenious little cabinets with which its designers had supplied it, I sank onto one of the two narrow beds. When at length Andrew noticed me sitting there—when he noticed the expression on my face—he became awkward. “Buck up, old girl; seasickness isn’t that bad.”
I took a steadying breath, not certain whether it was tears or a hysterical laugh I was trying to hold back. “Oh, it isn’t that. A touch of nerves, nothing more. And a realization that I will not see anything familiar for some time—not my house, not my family, not Scirland itself.”
He patted my shoulder. “You’ll have Camherst, won’t you? Surely that counts for something. I’m sure he’ll take care of you.”
How could I have explained it to him? My fear was not that I would not be taken care of; it was that I would need to be. That my inexperience, my provincial upbringing, would render me little more than a child who had somehow convinced her parents to bring her along to an event she would not enjoy in the slightest. Oh, yes, I believed I would enjoy dragons—but in between me and the great beasts lay a tremendous number of things unknown, and therefore frightening.
This worry may sound ludicrous to those who know the later parts of my life’s story, but there on that steamship, at the tender age of nineteen, it was a terrifying thought indeed.
Despite that terror, I took Andrew’s hand in my own and squeezed it, making myself smile at him. “I’m sure. And just think of the stories I will have to tell when I return!”
We made a grand sight that sunset, steaming our way out of the harbor at a slow but deliberate pace. Andrew and various other well-wishers stood on the jetty that thrust out into the sea, from which they waved farewell. I waved in response until we drew far enough away that they retired back into Sennsmouth, vanishing among the houses; then I stood on the deck for some time more, watching Scirland dwindle steadily behind us. Around me the crew conducted their duties, and I tried to stay out of their way, until the light was quite dim and Jacob came to take me below.
A Natural History of Dragons: A Memoir by Lady Trent Page 7
