by Jeff Wheeler
Upon reaching the landing, Lady Maren embraced Phinia, who kissed her mother’s cheeks. Anna greeted her in kind, and Cettie followed, planting a small kiss on her cheek as she’d done before. Feeling the glare of Mrs. Pullman, she pulled back quickly and felt a twinge of self-consciousness.
“You all look so beautiful,” Lady Maren said, smiling. “I’m grateful I’m well enough to attend the ball tonight. I haven’t always made it to the Hardings’ ball, but I have fond”—her expression slipped just slightly—“memories of them.”
Mrs. Pullman stroked her lady’s arm. “If you need to come home to Fog Willows early, you do that, my lady. The younger girls can come home with you.” Her eyes narrowed just a little, and she cast a subtle glance Cettie’s way.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin their fun,” Lady Maren replied, oblivious to the undercurrent in Mrs. Pullman’s comment. “I used to be able to dance all night long at Gimmerton Sough.”
“Will you dance with Papa tonight?” Phinia asked excitedly.
“I plan to,” Lady Maren said, pleased, swishing her skirts. “Your father is an excellent dancer.”
A shadow loomed from the great windows, and everyone turned excitedly as the tempest approached, except for Cettie, who dreaded the thought of coming home early. No, she would stay as long as Fitzroy did. The tempest lowered to the edge of the landing and then dipped too low and nearly disappeared. Phinia giggled at Stephen’s botched arrival as the servants pulled open the doors and escorted them out. Cettie glanced at Mrs. Pullman over her shoulder. The imperious keeper of the house stood in the doorway with her arms folded.
A ramp was extended, and the family was escorted one by one across the plank. Cettie was the last to cross, and Fitzroy held out his black-gloved hand to her. She found she didn’t like wearing gloves—it added a new and unwelcome separation between them—but the thought was quickly tossed out by the ascent of the tempest.
Cettie watched as Fog Willows dropped away, her stomach thrilling with the sensation. They had all worn wraps for the journey. Fitzroy took Lady Maren belowdecks, but the children all stayed to watch the view. Stephen stood at the helm, wearing a light blue jacket and black breeches and boots. He cut a fine figure and almost looked like a man grown. Adam stood behind him, wearing a brown-striped vest beneath his black coat. Both boys looked serious and thoughtful.
Fitzroy returned a little while later and kept casting nervous glances at his eldest at the helm. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Cettie could see him chafing with discomfort. She approached him, and he must have heard her step, for he turned and greeted her.
“Are you anxious about your first ball, Cettie Saeed?” he asked her, smiling wryly at his use of the nickname that Raj Sarin had given her.
“Why should I be?” she replied. “I’m too young to dance.”
“That is true, although the Hardings have been known to forgo propriety on occasion. And I’ve seen you dance on occasion, Cettie. You do it very well.”
“Thank you,” she said. “May I ask you something?” she added quietly. The question was burning inside of her.
He turned his full attention from the helm to her. “Of course.” Since they’d returned from seeing his advocate, he had been more restrained, as if the weight of his many burdens was crushing him.
“This is a small thing, really. I don’t mean to pry.”
“You can ask me anything, Cettie. What is it?”
“You’re wearing gloves. You never do that.”
He gave her a small smile. “Are you sensing an inconsistency in my character?” he asked.
She flushed. “I probably shouldn’t have asked.”
He shook his head. “Of course you should. I am grateful that you did. Much of what we do, we do without thinking. We do out of habit. I wear gloves at balls out of habit, but there is another reason, and I don’t mind explaining it. At Fog Willows, I do as I please. You know I don’t condone all the restrictive fashions of the day. They have gotten extravagant in recent years. Things were much simpler before Stephen was born. But some people are quite accustomed to them, and they’ve become uncomfortable touching hands. It shows too much intimacy, if you will. At a ball, there are forms that require multiple partners as you work your way through the line, like ‘Mulberry Lane.’ I can choose my partner or set for the most part, but I’d rather not make someone else uncomfortable needlessly because of my opinions on the dictates of fashion. Especially a lady.” He gave her a little bow. In a teasing tone, he said, “Do you deem the reasoning for my inconsistency acceptable, Cettie?”
“I do,” she replied, smiling.
The Hardings were some of their nearest neighbors, but it still took some time for them to arrive at the Hardings’ estate, Gimmerton Sough. It was a much smaller manor. Each one, she had come to learn, had its own unique structure. Gimmerton Sough looked like an ancient castle that had been plucked out of a river or moat. In fact, the stone on the lower portion was a deeper mottled gray, perhaps the result of centuries of high and low tides. The castle was made up of two main sections connected by a double-arched stone bridge. One end was narrow, rounded, and featured a tower and a flag. The other was much larger and seemed to be the main part of the estate. There were crenellations on the walls around the castle, everything was set at an angle, and the stone was uniform in color. The fortress was only two stories high, but there were huge, towering windows interspersed symmetrically along the walls. What was most interesting about it was its location: the manor was nestled in a floating pond.
Other sky ships had already moored at the estate, and many hovered over the waters of the pond. A small green park stretched to the entrance, and Cettie saw a zephyr unloading a few passengers onto the lawn. It was still late afternoon, but the tradition was to have a large dinner in the ballroom before it was cleared away for the dance.
Cettie gripped the handrail, nervous about her first foray into society.
After landing and disembarking, Cettie and Anna held hands as they entered the estate. They were greeted boisterously by Sir Harding and his wife, and the ruckus in the ballroom quickly drowned out Cettie’s concerns. Music filled the hall—light, airy notes from strings and horns. She was used to the sounds now and could even name the composers of the pieces she heard. Ten other families had joined in the gathering, each one coming from their own floating manor. She had heard their names before, but hadn’t met many of them in person. Fog Willows did not receive many visitors.
During dinner, Cettie was amazed at the expensive porcelain dishes and the sumptuous courses served in them. In her mind’s eye, she could imagine all the little children at Miss Charlotte’s who had so little to eat. There would be leftover food from this feast—tons of it. Did any of it go down below? Was it thrown away?
After the meal was done, the servants began to clear away the dishes, and the tables were moved to open the hall for the dancing. Most of the older youth clustered together, and Cettie noticed that the Hardings’ daughter, who wore a stunning gown that made her look older than sixteen, was very attentive to Stephen. Phinia and Adam joined the thicket of young people, too, but Anna and Cettie wandered the hall and listened to the different conversations as they passed.
Abruptly, the noise and chatter ended, and a hush fell over the room.
Cettie tried to see what had caused the sudden reaction and noticed an elegant couple was standing in the doorway to the ballroom. All eyes were fixed on them, and it was obvious their arrival was both unexpected and astonishing. Not even a whisper broke the silence.
The butler thumped his staff on the floor, a formality that had been overlooked for all the other guests.
“Admiral Robert Lawton and Lady Corinne Lawton of Pavenham Sky,” the butler announced.
Even in the Fells, Cettie had heard about the grandeur of Pavenham Sky. The Lawtons were considered the wealthiest couple in the empire. His success in business following his military career had exceeded everyone’s wildest expecta
tions. Whenever a venture or risk was to be made, he was part of it—and while others lost, the admiral never did.
Sir Harding and his wife, Shanron, were the first to greet the couple. The Lawtons did not look impressed, but they thanked their hosts for the invitation, explaining that they’d decided to come on short notice.
The music began to play, and the young people came together on the dance floor. Sir Jordan tried to make his new guests comfortable, but they seemed disinterested in what he had to say. They gazed around at the tapestries, the floor, with looks of impassive judgment. Admiral Lawton was tall and slender with a serious face, thinning hair, and a large, thick mustache that entirely covered his upper lip and most of his bottom lip. His suit was gray with light silver trim, paired with a silver necktie. His wife, Lady Corinne, was a haughty-looking woman with dark curly hair pinned high on her head, just visible beneath the crown of a turquoise hat with ribbons and plumes of matching color. Her scarves and fancy jacket matched her hat, and even her gloves were turquoise. The only skin visible on her person was that of her smooth cheeks. She looked older than Lady Maren, and her husband was much older than her. She had a proud mouth and watchful eyes.
“They’ve never come before,” Anna whispered to Cettie as she observed the newcomers. “The Hardings invite them every year because they are important, but I’ve never heard of them coming. Not once.”
“Why do you think they did?” Cettie whispered in response.
“I’ve no idea,” Anna said. “Look, Papa is talking to the admiral now. He made his fortune in the Ministry of War and then put it to use in the Ministry of Law. He’s the one who gave Papa his rank, even though he had resigned his commission. He respects Papa, I think. But I’m surprised Lady Corinne came.”
“Why?”
Anna pitched her voice lower, but Cettie could still hear her above the music. “They haven’t been to a ball together for years and years. The last one was in Lockhaven, before my parents married. Mama broke a rule and was shunned from society after that.”
“A grudge can last that long?”
Anna nodded, eyes wide. “It can last forever.”
The ball continued, and servants rushed around serving drinks and platters of fruit and pastries. All the families came to pay homage to the Lawtons. The two were gracious, but Cettie noticed that they didn’t seem to engage in any deep conversation.
“With all the dancing, it gets so warm in here,” Anna said, lowering her wrap down to the crook in her arm where Cettie’s arm had linked with hers. “We won’t be invited to dance for certain. No one would deliberately risk offending Lady Corinne.”
The young men and women were all enjoying themselves, but the air of boisterousness that had prevailed earlier had dimmed. Cettie watched the dancers with a pang of envy. She would have danced her heart out if given a chance, regardless of what Lady Corinne or Admiral Lawton thought of her.
At the next dance, Fitzroy escorted Lady Maren to the row to join in “Sky Ship’s Cook,” which was a particularly lively number. The clapping became more pronounced when he joined the dance, and the mood lightened.
Anna sighed wistfully. “I would so love to dance.” Cettie squeezed her hand. They’d practiced this dance together at home, and they could both do a passable job of it.
The beautiful music came from the walls, just like it did at Fog Willows. They stopped a servant for porcelain cups filled with punch and stood by the wooden panels from which the music emanated. It provided the best view of the hall.
Cettie felt the sounds rising from her feet and filling her with an even stronger urge to join the dance. At least they could see the whole room from their vantage point, though the music masked what they were saying. Some of the matronly women were gathered together on lounge chairs, gossiping merrily while their husbands traded quips by the fireplace. The Lawtons stood to the side, aloof from everyone else, not participating yet seeming perfectly comfortable not doing so.
Cettie saw Sir Harding’s mother, a normally jovial woman whose gray hair was arranged tidily beneath a feathered hat, lean toward another woman. Cettie thought if she just strained her hearing enough, she’d be able to hear what the old woman was saying. It was a whimsical thought, but for a moment, she believed it was possible. A drowsy, lulling feeling came over her. The room began to fade, the noise hushing as she fell inside herself. Something awoke inside of her, an awareness—a feeling—that tickled down her spine. She felt herself swaying slightly, as if a small breeze from the sky beyond the stone walls had penetrated and moved her.
And in that daze-like state, she did hear the old woman’s voice, clear as a bell, as if she had been standing at her left shoulder.
“And you know what I think, Mrs. Simmons?”
“Tell me what you think, Mrs. Harding,” asked another proper voice with much eagerness.
“I think, Mrs. Simmons, that Fitzroy hunts for the child’s mother because he secretly believes she’s the girl he loved and lost to the Fells.”
“Do you really think so, Mrs. Harding?”
“I do indeed. He never recovered after losing her. Lady Maren has been a consolation, dear thing, and I adore her for finally seeing Fitzroy’s true worth compared to that scoundrel she once humiliated herself for.” Her words were delivered breathlessly, and Cettie felt the awareness that she was eavesdropping on a very private conversation. She thought she should pull herself loose, but she couldn’t. She burned with curiosity.
Somehow she knew they were talking about her life.
And they didn’t know that she could hear them.
CHAPTER TWENTY–SEVEN
THE HARDINGS’ FALL
Cettie felt a thrum of power deep within her skin, exuding from her pores. As she listened to Sir Harding’s mother talk, she felt herself connecting with the estate. She was aware of the music coming from the walls. She felt the subtle jets of air that rose from the slats in the floor, trying to cool the ballroom full of energetic dancers. She felt the wood and the stone, the polished marble and the glass. Everything spoke to her, almost as if she’d come awake and could hear the very house speak. The feeling was almost impossible to describe. It was overwhelming, and it made her dizzy and excited and intrigued all at once. The Mysteries were speaking to her. She had typically only felt malevolent forces, like the tenement ghosts or the beast in the fog at Dolcoath, or slight twinges and nudges when the Mysteries were invoked by someone else. This feeling was different—brighter and more peaceful.
“Well, the man Maren loved was a scoundrel,” said Mrs. Simmons. “He married that other girl for her wealth, and she wrung out his heart. If his aunt hadn’t kept supporting him, he would have been lost to the Fells years ago.”
“I know,” Mrs. Harding said emphatically. “But she won’t cut him off. I’ve heard my son say that the man still pines after Maren, that he considers his marriage a mistake. He would run off with her if given a chance, the devil! But Lady Maren wouldn’t do that, even if she were tempted. Look at them dance. It cheers my heart to see it.”
Cettie was so absorbed in their conversation she didn’t hear Anna talking to her until the other girl tugged at her arm.
“What’s wrong, Cettie? Are you unwell?”
She was jolted back to herself with such suddenness the room started to tilt and sway around her. If Anna hadn’t been holding her arm, she might have stumbled. Her energy seemed to wilt, and a dreary fatigue made her feel like fainting.
“I think I’m all right,” Cettie said, reaching for something to hold on to. Her knees buckled.
“You’re not well,” Anna said with concern and helped her to a nearby chair. “It is very warm in here. Are you feeling faint? Do you want to go home?”
“No!” Cettie said forcefully. Her stomach clenched with queasiness, and she was afraid she’d retch on the polished floor. But she was even more afraid of Mrs. Pullman.
“Let me fetch you something to drink,” Anna said.
“Not the punch,”
Cettie said anxiously, clutching her stomach. The thought of the sickly sweet juice made her feel even worse. Anna hurried off to intercept a servant, while Cettie gripped the arms of the chair, trying to stay upright.
The song ended, the dancers bowed to each other, and the room began to bubble with conversation again. Stephen was talking to the Hardings’ daughter, who eagerly listened to his every word. Phinia was searching for another dance partner before the music could start up again. As Cettie watched them, her vision began to narrow, as if black curtains were veiling her eyes, and she gripped the edges of the chair harder. She saw Admiral Lawton and Lady Lawton standing aloof, ignoring Lady Harding’s attempts to engage them in conversation.
Lady Lawton wasn’t listening to her host at all. Her eyes were fixed on Cettie. She said nothing, just gazed at Cettie with her impassive, unfriendly eyes.
Anna arrived. “It’s water,” she said, offering the glass goblet. Cettie gratefully drank from it and felt her dizziness start to fade.
Suddenly, the lights in the ballroom began to flicker. At first Cettie thought she was back at Fog Willows and it was the signal that it was time for bed. But the gasps of alarm from the dancers indicated the situation was not normal.
A strange, sinking feeling rippled through the hall.
“What was that?” Anna gasped in concern, gripping Cettie’s chair.
The lights flickered again and began to dim. A sinking feeling, the kind she’d felt in the sky ships, jolted her stomach. Could the estate be falling?
The ballroom door opened, and a woman came rushing in, her face pale with panic. The sinking feeling stopped, and the lights instantly became brighter. The feeling of being connected to the manor swelled inside Cettie again, despite her weakness. The feeling was almost overpowering in its intensity. The music stopped, and the lights were dimmed, although this time it was done deliberately.
