Tess of the Road

by Rachel Hartman

  In her vagary, she nearly ran into Countess Margarethe. “Steady on,” said the countess, hat plumes bobbing, holding her goblet out of range so it wouldn’t drip on her dress. “You’re Tess Dombegh, are you not?”

  “Yes, milady,” said Tess, carefully giving full courtesy, pleased to have attracted the unexpected attention of such a highborn and fashionable personage. Countess Margarethe was equal in rank to Count Pesavolta, the ruler of Ninys, so she was practically a princess in Goreddi terms. Considering that Pesavolta had exiled or executed most Ninysh nobles over the rank of baronet, Margarethe was a rare bird indeed.

  The plumed hat had obscured the view from above, but now at close range Tess saw that the countess kept her tightly curled hair very short and that it was the color of a copper coin, a shade lighter than her skin. Her gaze was unsettlingly frank and intelligent, and she stood with one foot slightly extended as if to show off her boots, which were highly polished and devastatingly pointy.

  “I’m told you’ve studied a bit of natural philosophy,” said the countess incongruously.

  “I’m sorry—what?” said Tess, who had not anticipated this line of conversation at all.

  “And that you were particularly keen on megafauna,” the countess persisted.

  Saying megafauna, though Countess Margarethe could not have known, was tantamount to slapping Tess’s face. Her cheeks grew red as if she’d truly been hit. “What are you getting at?” Tess said shakily.

  “I’m mounting an expedition through the Archipelagos and as near the Antarctic as we can manage,” said the countess. “Departing as soon as the spring thaw reaches Mardou and we can sail.”

  When Tess did not respond to this information, Margarethe smiled up at her confidentially. “I’m inviting you to come with us, Tess.”

  Tess felt a kind of vertigo, as if the floor had been pulled out from under her.

  “My uncle’s ship is large,” the countess continued, clearly unaware that the person in front of her was hurtling down a mental hole. “You won’t be in the way. There would be plenty of work you could assist with, to say nothing of new skills to learn—cartography, navigation, languages, zoology. Seraphina says you’re a clever girl, and that—”

  “Seraphina made you invite me,” said Tess, apprehending the truth, or leaping to a conclusion, at least.

  “She’s not in a position to make me do anything,” said Countess Margarethe, bristling. “But we discussed you, yes. She despairs that you’ve been painted into a corner, left with only two choices in life, governess or nun. That’s nonsense, of course. There are always more options, but sometimes we need a hand up. I’m offering you a place on my ship because I can.”

  Seraphina had undoubtedly told the countess why Tess had only two options, laying Tess’s shame out bare, and now the woman pitied her. Sickness and rage rose in Tess’s chest. “I don’t need your charity,” she muttered.

  Countess Margarethe scowled deeply. “What charity? I intend to make you work.”

  But Tess was hardly listening. She was glaring across the crowded room at Seraphina, seated in a tall chair beside Queen Glisselda, laughing and chatting. The prince consort returned from a refreshment quest with a goblet for the Queen and a tumbler of barley water for Seraphina. The Queen gestured adamantly and Prince Lucian nodded. Seraphina seemed to demur, but that didn’t stop the prince from surreptitiously rubbing her back.

  Countess Margarethe swirled the wine in her glass. “Would you like some time to think about it?”

  It was going to be hard to say the words as if she meant them, but Tess brought all her stubbornness to bear. She had a duty. She loved her sister. “I can’t go. I want to stay here for Jeanne’s sake. She needs me.”

  Countess Margarethe’s scornful expression cut her. “That’s a grand ambition.”

  “That’s virtue. And responsibility. Some of us have a strong sense of both, and don’t go gallivanting after every selfish whim,” said Tess, her face livid, her heart breaking.

  The countess didn’t say another word. She turned on the heel of her fine boot and stalked off.

  Tess had other horrible things to say; she was nearly bursting with them, like a kettle left on the boil with a cork in its spout, ready to scald whoever came too near. At the same time, she was appalled at herself. She should scurry after the countess and apologize—but how could she face it? Anyway, it was Seraphina’s fault for trying to fix the unfixable. She should know better than to meddle.

  Tess wandered off in search of more wine and found it easily, found lots of it, found that it doused the fire to embers, dulled the kettle’s shrilling whistle to a low, self-pitying whine.

  There was no escaping the party until late. At least it wasn’t the usual Goreddi nightfest; Tess was not going to last all night. This was all done Samsamese-style, in deference to Duchess Elga—the noonday service, followed by feasting and dancing and the happy couple “going upstairs” after sundown (Tess laughed at the euphemism). The party would continue until about midnight, with the showing of the bridal sheets, a barbarous custom to Tess’s mind, but not as barbarous as the Samsamese rite they were omitting, the Breidigswaching.

  Jeanne had been so horrified when Duchess Elga had described it—and her fear last night…Tess had been cruel where she should have been sympathetic. She knew that fear. She should apologize. Her shame was running very deep tonight indeed.

  Through a fog of alcohol, Tess spotted the hulking form of Richard’s youngest brother at the edge of the dance floor, and he distracted her from her purpose. She chuckled, remembering how Richard had volunteered “Jackie” in absentia for Heinrigh’s Breidigswaching and made a lewd joke about it. It was funny because priests were celibate—or some were. Depended on the order. Tess had half a drunken notion to go up and tell Jacomo the story; he was so priggish that the story would surely horrify him, and that would give her some gross approximation of joy.

  Priggish, or piggish? He was lucky to be so tall, so his fat could spread out evenly and pretend to be nothing but soft edges all around.

  As she was making her way toward Jacomo, he was joined by Heinrigh, and the two stood conversing with their heads together. Tess was struck by an even more hilarious idea: if Jacomo’s nickname was “Jackie,” what must they call Heinrigh? “Heinie”? It had to be; it was a law of nomenclature. This gave her the giggles, which forced her to slow her steps until she could regain her composure.

  She was near enough the brothers to overhear them talking. “Look, I don’t want to dance with her, either, but people will talk if we don’t,” Heinrigh was saying.

  “Let them,” drawled Jacomo. “I care not a fig. Anyway, surely I have some kind of priestly exemption.”

  “Not yet, you don’t,” said Heinrigh laughingly. “Anyway, priests dance all the time, even in Samsam, so Mother couldn’t fault you—and she could fault a newborn kitten.”

  “I didn’t mean exemption from dancing,” said Jacomo, sneering down at his older but shorter brother. “I meant a moral exemption. She’s not a nice girl.”

  “She drinks a lot, I noticed,” said Heinrigh, shaking his pumpkin head.

  “Oh, it’s far worse than that,” said Jacomo obliquely, looking around. Tess sensed he was looking for her and stepped behind a pillar where she could still hear them. Her cheeks blazed. What could he know? They’d been so scrupulously careful.

  “If you know something about the sister or the family, you should have mentioned it to Mother,” Heinrigh was scolding. “Before the wedding, obviously. It’s rather too late now.”

  “That’s why I didn’t mention it till now,” said Jacomo. “Richard introduced me to Jeanne months ago. I’m convinced he loves her. I could have spoiled the betrothal before it began, but I couldn’t bear to.”

  “What a soft touch you are!” scoffed Heinrigh. “I had no idea.”

&nb
sp; “Only to a point,” said the young priest. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t dance with the objectionable sister.”

  “You’ve certainly got my curiosity going,” said Heinrigh. “What can she possibly have done to earn the permanent censure of a not-so-holy priest-to-be?”

  “I’d rather not say,” said Jacomo dryly. “It makes no difference now, anyway.”

  It mattered to Tess, however. Lord Jacomo surely knew everything—Will, the baby, everything. She leaned her head against the column, willing her trembling to subside. She found another glass of wine, and while it dulled the edge of panic, it also dulled her memory, which proved unfortunate.

  The evening became a patchwork of things she could remember and things she could not. She danced determinedly, merrily, stumblingly, as if to show those brothers she didn’t care, other people found her worth dancing with, she was fine. Her mind, though, tumbled the same thoughts over and over: she’d almost ruined Jeanne’s prospects just by existing. How could she stay as governess to Jeanne’s children if one of the brothers-in-law knew all about her? Jacomo wouldn’t live at Cragmarog—he’d have a church somewhere—but he’d be home for holidays and family occasions, and she couldn’t bear the idea of his knowing smirk across the dinner table.

  A smirk was nothing. He could make her life miserable any number of ways.

  These brothers! She hated them all. Richard, for being perfect enough to marry Jeanne; Heinrigh, for seeming friendly while being ready to think the worst of her; and Jacomo, for knowing and judging. The young men were very close in age, less than a year between each of their birthdays, what Goreddis called “Ninysh twins.” It was funny because the Ninysh were amorous. Tess, being half Ninysh and an actual twin, found the term a bit offensive—and anyway, in the case of these brothers, they were surely Ninysh triplets.

  Jacomo looked oldest, being tallest, which had turned out to be lucky. Tess, the taller twin, had to pass herself off as the younger so that Jeanne should reasonably be married first. Tess had worried that no one would fall for this, but the Pfanzligs had already set the precedent. Jeanne had gone to court first, everyone who mattered knew her longest, and it was that easy.

  So you’re the elder twin. You’ve deceived us.

  Tess scoffed. “Not about anything that matters. It’s not like Lord Richard’s marriage contract specifies ‘the elder Dombegh twin,’ and we’re planning to pull the old switcheroo in the bedroom tonight.” She swayed a bit on her feet, grinning absurdly. “Although wouldn’t that be a laugh. Jeanne goes behind the screen to change, and changes into me.”

  Tess’s dance partner stopped cold, and the next sarabanding couple in line nearly ran into them. “If your family would lie about something this trivial, what else haven’t we been told? Is your sister truly a virgin?”

  “Wha—? Of course she is,” said Tess, horrified by the question. Nobody could doubt Jeanne’s virtue. Nobody. Who was this doubting lout?

  She’d been dancing with Lord Heinrigh, but he’d become regrettably blurry, so she hadn’t realized. She’d been thinking thoughts but had ended up speaking them aloud. How had that happened? What had she told him?

  “I’m not a romantic like Jacomo,” said Heinrigh, his congenial face congealing into a scowl. He squeezed her arm painfully. “I don’t care if Richard loves her. This isn’t about Richard. This is about our family, and the deceit you’ve been spinning around us.”

  “Oh no,” said Tess, the world swirling around her like it was rushing down a drain. “Please. Don’t punish Jeanne for my sins. Don’t ruin my family. This marriage is going to save Papa, and send the little boys to school, and make Mama smile again, and…”

  But she was speaking to the empty air. Heinrigh had flounced off, in search of the duke and duchess.

  * * *

  All the yelling happened in the third parlor, the peach-colored one nobody liked, far from the guests. Duchess Elga stormed back and forth before the cold hearth, terrible in her rage; the duke was solemn and stern. Lord Richard sat on the couch with his arm around a weeping Jeanne. Mama and Papa found opposite corners of the room to stand in.

  Jacomo and Seraphina took the last chairs, leaving Tess nowhere to settle. She staggered around and vomited in a vase.

  Lord Heinrigh, buzzing like a hornet, demanded of Jacomo: “What else do you know?”

  “This isn’t enough for you?” said Jacomo wearily, running a hand over his double chin.

  “You implied there was worse! You have a duty to your family.”

  “You weaseled it out of her, you hero. I’ve nothing to add.”

  Tess was too drunk to appreciate what he wasn’t saying. She lay down on the floor; the room did not stop spinning.

  “Why would they lie about something this trivial, if not to cover up something worse?” Duchess Elga’s shouts seemed to travel through water to reach Tess’s ears. The ensuing discussion arrived from afar; words lapped over her in waves.

  The only argument she heard distinctly was Seraphina’s: “My father’s first instinct is to be thorough and change the records. That’s how he kept me safe. He didn’t need to, here, and shouldn’t have, but putting Jeanne forward was the right decision. Tess isn’t temperamentally suited for marriage. I mean, look at her.”

  Tess was crawling toward the window. She leaned out and vomited into a bed of tulips.

  There was more yelling; Tess shut it out, concentrating on the cool night air upon her face. It was the only thing keeping her from catching fire.

  Richard apparently pleaded eloquently for his bride, and since the ceremony had already gone forward, the marriage stood—provisionally. The wedding night still had to be fulfilled, and if at the end Jeanne’s purity was in doubt, the whole thing might still be declared null and void.

  To ensure there was no cheating, the duchess invoked her terrible Samsamese right of Breidigswaching. She would have stood over the bed like a vulture, watching everything herself, but Jacomo (one of the cooler heads in this crisis, though he glowered like a bulldog) interceded and volunteered, and everyone agreed that maybe the duchess’s righteous rage would only make things more unpleasant than they already were.

  From the distaff side of the marriage, Seraphina offered, but Jeanne tearfully requested Tess, and their parents decided this was a just consequence. Tess, to her everlasting regret, was given a cup of tea and time to sober up a little. This entire mess was her fault, and they weren’t going to let her forget.

  The bride and groom climbed the decorated staircase at midnight, in the Samsamese fashion; Tess and Jacomo were secreted up another, darker stair.

  She was directed behind a carven screen, unadorned rosewood full of small perforations shaped like four-leaf clovers. The grand canopied bed was visible through them if she squinted. Tess resolved to look that way as little as possible, turning her gaze instead to the distressingly narrow bench where she was to sit. She was still drunk enough that the world wobbled, and the gilt bench seemed to buckle under the weight of her stare, as though it might tip at the slightest provocation and send her sprawling.

  She edged toward it, one hand ready to wrestle her farthingale into submission, the other hand—the one with the teacup—extended for balance. The bench cringed as she sat gingerly, like a sparrow on a fence.

  Fat Jacomo plunked himself violently beside her. The bench was springy and bounced; Tess barely kept all her tea in the cup, and nearly went over backward.

  Tess regained her balance and glared at Jacomo. He’d had every opportunity to reveal her shameful history to his parents. Maybe he’d kept quiet for Richard’s sake, or maybe he meant to make her suffer. He could hold his knowledge over her like an axe, keeping her ever in fear of the day it would fall.

  She made an ugly face at him. Jacomo ignored her, drawing his beetling brows and squinting at the scene beyond the screen. His fleshy mouth puck
ered in distaste.

  Tess couldn’t help it; she looked. Richard, doublet off, his pleated shirt hanging loose around his trunk hose, led Jeanne by the hand across the room. She’d been undressed by maids (this was no longer Tess’s job, nor would it be again in this lifetime; that door had closed) and wore only a white linen shift. She followed her new husband reluctantly, glancing back at the screen with a look Tess knew only too well.

  Does it hurt terribly?

  “Just lie back and think of anything else,” Tess muttered into her teacup.

  “Don’t talk,” said Jacomo, turning his baleful gaze on Tess. “I don’t want to hear a peep from you. It’s your fault we’re here.”

  “No, indeed. It’s your vile brother’s,” said Tess, unable to stop herself from poking the bear with a stick. “Or your harridan mother’s.”

  “Mother was pleased with this marriage and satisfied with the bride’s virtue,” said the student-priest, folding his fat arms over his fat chest and leaning back until his shoulders rested against the wall. “You had to blab to Heinrigh. You couldn’t stay quiet a few hours longer for your own sister’s sake.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve done or would do for my sister’s sake,” hissed Tess. Her fingers clenched around her cup, as if she might dash its contents in Jacomo’s face.

  “I know more than you suppose.” He had the gall to smile.

  Tess snorted unattractively. “Whatever you imagine, it can have no reflection on Jeanne.”

  “My mother would disagree,” he said, leering nastily. “Does the name ‘Lord Morney’s Little Bit’ mean anything to you?”

  In fact it did not. Something inside her unclenched slightly. Maybe Jacomo didn’t know anything after all. “ ‘Little Bit’ sounds equine. Are you referring to his horse?”