Crown of Stars

by Sophie Jaff

  “Well, we’re here,” he says. “For some reason I sort of feel like breakfast food.”

  “That’s because it’s morning in New York,” Lucas informs him sagely. He turns to Katherine. “Right, Kat?”

  “That’s right.” She glances at her watch. “It’s about six in the morning. Right now I’d be saying grumpy things to the alarm clock and waking you up.” She reaches over and rubs his head. “Time to wake up!”

  Lucas grins.

  Again she allows herself to believe that maybe this will be okay.

  She orders an avocado-and-crab sandwich, Sael gets bacon and eggs, and in a bold move Lucas orders fish-and-chips.

  “You’re the most English of us,” Katherine tells him.

  When their food comes, the piece of fish seems to be the size of his head. Lucas looks nervously at Katherine.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “You only need to eat what you want.”

  “And I thought the portions in America were big!” Sael winks at Lucas. “I’ll help you out.”

  Katherine sits back. She’s loving this exchange between them. Mostly they’ve been communicating by using her as a translator. Sael has been nervous. Little kids are not his normal target audience. Lucas likes Sael, but he’s shy.

  “So,” says Katherine after the initial attack on their food is over. “Who is this mysterious George?”

  Sael shrugs. “I’m not sure what his official title is, but he’s like an in-house facilitator. When the company hires people from overseas, his job is to make sure they can settle in as quickly and easily as possible. He also facilitates their transition into the company. Shows the new kid around the school, so to speak. A lot of organizations have them these days.”

  “That’s nice.” Katherine tries to sound neutral. Money. If you have enough money you don’t have to deal with anything.

  Perhaps Sael hears something in her tone, for he becomes a little defensive.

  “Well, it’s really to their benefit. They don’t want you wasting time with finding a place or dealing with all the admin cra—” He glances at Lucas. “Pain of moving. They’re paying you to work for them, so it’s in everyone’s interest.”

  Katherine imagines George to be a good-looking but painfully shy man. She sees him dressed in tailored suits, sort of like a modern-day butler. Maybe he’s gay, or maybe he develops a passion for her, but is too timid to ever act on it, like a late 1980s or early 1990s comedy. Maybe he’s endearingly plump and sort of looks like a rabbit. She looks up to see Sael yawning hugely.

  “The jet lag is taking over.” He smiles. “This is the most dangerous time. Nice full meal, sleepy weather.

  “Jet lag?” Lucas looks up, alarmed.

  “It just means when you’re flying between countries you might want to sleep in the day, but it’s best to sleep at night.”

  “When else would you sleep?” Lucas is curious.

  “Well . . .” Sael struggles. “You might want to take a nap beforehand.”

  Lucas is scornful. “Naps are for babies.”

  “I agree, and I feel like a big, big baby right now.” He yawns again, and Katherine finds herself yawning too. “Oh no! It’s contagious!”

  Lucas laughs at both of them.

  It was a joke, but now Katherine can’t stop yawning. Her eyelids feel like lead. Maybe I’ll just lie down and read for a little while, she compromises. Once on the bed, she negotiates with herself. I’ll just shut my eyes for a second. She shuts her eyes. Maybe Sael will come in. Maybe he’ll lie down next to me. Maybe he’ll see that I have my eyes closed and maybe he’ll very gently lean over and kiss my forehead, so lightly that I don’t wake. Maybe a wave of tenderness will wash over him and he’ll touch my hair . . .

  Katherine wakes. She lies there staring up at the ceiling with no sense of who, what, where, or how. Knowledge drifts back in little snatches and chunks. England. Traveling. There’s still some light—the sky is draining white—but very little of it. She looks at her watch to discover it’s already four p.m. She succumbed to jet lag after all.

  Rising, she walks to Lucas’s room. He might have fallen asleep too. You shouldn’t have slept so long, she worries, but maybe after the trip and the meal and the excitement it was all too much. You’ll wake him up gently, he’s bound to be grumpy. Katherine feels kind of grumpy herself. Her mouth is dry. She’s dying for water.

  She opens the door, but Lucas’s room is empty. His airplane lies untouched. The bear’s eyes gleam blackly back at her. Then she hears voices coming from downstairs. Sael sounds relaxed, happy. Lucas soft and sweet, and there’s another voice, a woman’s. Their laughter is coming from the kitchen.

  Sael is sitting at the dining room table, elbows up, clutching a mug of tea. Lucas is also at the table. He’s got his colored pencils out and appears to be making good use of his coloring book. A tall woman stands at the stove, her back to Katherine as she pours boiling water into the kettle. Katherine can see she’s slim underneath her snow-white shirt and black leggings. Her auburn hair is knotted in a casual bun, soft strands escaping. She half glances over her shoulder to makes a comment, and they all laugh again, like a family enjoying one another’s company at home on a rainy evening.

  Katherine has a strange impulse not to be seen. She turns to go back upstairs, but Lucas looks up and Sael follows.

  “Katherine!”

  There’s nothing for it now. She continues down the last few steps, feeling oddly nervous.

  “Hey.” She tries to sound casual, but instead sounds croaky. Her mouth is insanely dry. She coughs.

  The woman turns, and Katherine can see that she’s not much more than a girl, still in her early twenties. She comes over, hand outstretched, and Katherine takes in her loveliness: her flawless skin, high cheekbones, shining eyes fringed with dark lashes, and full-lipped laughing mouth.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, did we wake you?” She has a beautiful English accent, plummy enough to indicate true class.

  Katherine notes the “we” as she shakes her head.

  “No. But it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been sleeping anyway.” She turns to Sael and Lucas. “I can’t believe you guys let me sleep!”

  It’s a comment that’s supposed to sound lightly jovial, but it comes off as harsh, accusatory. Cranky. Lucas winces and looks down.

  Sael clears his throat. “We should have woken you, but you just seemed so tired and I thought in your condition . . .” He trails off. “Sorry,” he finishes.

  It’s not a big deal, she tries to say, but starts coughing.

  “Let me get you a glass of water,” offers the supermodel.

  Katherine wants to tell her that she’ll get it herself, but she can’t stop coughing. She sits down by Lucas.

  “Hey, kid,” she croaks in between coughs.

  “Hey, Kat.” His expression is one of apprehension.

  She tries to smile.

  The supermodel hands her a glass of water. “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” she says.

  Katherine downs half the contents of the glass. She can breathe again. The first thing to do is reassure Lucas.

  “Phew. Better.” Then she looks up at the gorgeous woman who happens to be in their kitchen. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Oh, I’m so stupid!” The woman laughs. “Forgive me, I’m George, or Georgie, whatever you prefer.”

  “George?”

  “Yes, it’s a bit of a blow. Christened Georgiana, I’m afraid, but I beg you not to call me that. Reserved only for my parents, or for my teachers, when I was in serious trouble. They would say, ‘Georgiana Benniton-Harris, get down off that desk and come here!’ It was awful!” She gives Lucas a huge, saucy wink. He laughs.

  “Oh.” Katherine’s imaginary butler stands in the corner, holding his immaculately packed suitcase with one hand and giving her a mock salute with the other, mouthing, Good luck with this one, my dear. “It seems we have you to thank for the flowers, and all the amazing pres
ents for Lucas.”

  “Thank you,” Lucas says, serious again.

  “Oh.” George waves their gratitude away with one slim hand. “It was my pleasure. I always think flowers make a place feel like home. Milk, lemon, sugar?”

  Home.

  “Milk, thanks.”

  Sael clears his throat. “Georgiana—”

  “Georgie! I beg you.”

  “Oops, sorry.”

  Lucas giggles; Sael smiles.

  “Anyway, Georgie—”

  “Thank you.”

  “—was just telling us about the house in more detail.”

  “Well, really you’ll meet Mrs. Bailey tomorrow, and you can go through everything with her. She’s the housekeeper we hired,” she says in an aside to Katherine. “She’s fantastic, very organized.”

  Mrs. Bailey, Katherine repeats to herself, imagining a plump, bustling mother-hen type of woman in a long dress, with an apron and a little cap. She’ll call us her “ducks,” and we’ll have cozy gossip sessions, and I can lay my head on her soft shoulder and weep. Then she thinks of her fantasy about George, and wonders how this dream will be destroyed.

  “Great.”

  “I just wanted to come over today and meet you all and work out when would be a good time to go through various options regarding doctors, schools, all that fun stuff, right, Lucas?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees.

  “Lucas, let’s not say ‘yeah,’ let’s say ‘yes.’” The words come out of Katherine’s mouth before she can stop them. She sounds like an uptight bitch.

  “Yes.” The word sounds small, his eyes are cast down.

  There’s an embarrassed pause; then Georgie turns to Katherine.

  “We were thinking that I could bring Sael to the company offices tomorrow morning and then come back and meet up with you and Lucas both in the early afternoon and take it from there. That way you could take it easy and get your bearings a little. Does that work?

  That “we” again.

  “Perfectly.”

  Georgie leaves soon afterward, and in her wake silence and awkwardness descend. The ease and lightheartedness of the day is gone. Sael turns on the television, maybe to bring back some noise into the house. It’s time for the BBC News broadcast, and Katherine notices there is less of a theatrical bent to the nightly news unlike the States. And the English accents make everything feel more official, more solid.

  She listlessly makes them a salad, an omelet, some toast. The meal has a sad Sunday-night feeling.

  “Kat, look.” Sael nods toward the couch, where Lucas has fallen asleep.

  “Oh man, he must be wiped.” Instinctively she bends to pick him up, but Sael stops her.

  “Let me carry him.”

  Katherine watches as he gently lifts Lucas up and against his shoulder. He is good with kids when he doesn’t worry too much. That’s lucky. She feels like crying.

  It must be the hormones.

  She follows him upstairs and into Lucas’s room. Together they take off his sneakers and socks and tug off his jeans. She debates about waking him up to brush his teeth and then dismisses it as madness. He can also have a shower tomorrow morning. He’s five years old, after all. It’s been a long day.

  “Night, Lucas,” she whispers. “I love you.” She kisses his forehead, hopes in his sleep he’ll hear her.

  Back downstairs in the kitchen, she starts tidying up the remnants of dinner.

  “I can do that,” Sael tells her. “No worries.” He rinses the dishes and places them into the dishwasher. “Not sure where the soap is. I guess the housekeeper will let us know tomorrow.”

  “I guess so,” she answers.

  They stand quietly now they have run out of things to do with their hands.

  “Long day.”

  “Yeah.” He turns and gives her a sharp look. “Or should I have said ‘yes’?”

  She winces. “I just realized how American we sound.”

  “Well, we are American.”

  She doesn’t want to fight with him, doesn’t know how to explain that she felt threatened, how she didn’t want them to seem like dumb hicks.

  “That’s true, we are.” Her voice is soft, placatory.

  They look at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

  “Anyway, she seems nice,” Katherine concedes.

  “She’s insanely organized. It’s amazing.”

  Of course she is. Katherine scowls inwardly, forcing herself to nod. It’s important to keep the peace when you’re so tired it’s easy to start a fight. “So, are you coming to bed?” She tries to keep the question light and not loaded.

  “I will soon, I still have some paperwork to do.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  “It’s not so bad. I prefer to try push through till ten or eleven, if I can.”

  “Unlike me.” She sounds harder than she means to be.

  He shrugs. “I’m not pregnant.”

  This is undeniable. She is pregnant. It’s the reason why Lucas and she are there. The fact of it seems to move Sael too.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks in a gentler voice.

  “I’m okay. A little tired maybe.”

  “Well, take it easy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

  He grins and she grins back at him.

  Sael, she wants to say, I miss you, don’t do the paperwork, come to bed with me. Let’s just hold each other in the dark the way we used to. Instead, she says, “Well, don’t work too hard.”

  “Okay.”

  “Night, Sael.”

  “Night, Katherine.”

  She stands there for a moment longer. Uncertain. Now would be the time to go to him, she thinks. Put a hand on his cheek. But he’s right, it’s been a long day.

  She turns and walks up the stairs.

  15

  Margaret

  When I wake, the day tastes different. The breeze is softer, sweeter. The light is brighter. But it is not just the day. As soon as I step within the castle walls, I can feel it.

  This cold, crenellated shell has become another world. There are servants everywhere. Running up and down the winding stone spiral stairs and along the passageways, delivering messages and carrying plates of food or baskets of soiled linen for the washerwomen. In the main courtyard, knights banter loudly over the crash and clank of swordplay. Eager squires cheer their masters on, and little pages squeal as they wield their wooden blades. The blacksmith’s iron rings out again and again. The stables echo with the snorts and neighs of horses.

  In the kitchens there is even more activity, with so many more mouths to feed. The head cook bellows, the spit boys sweat and turn the cranks, the scullions scour pots and platters. There is no time now for them to tease one another or scratch small drawings into the walls. We are all happy to be busy, for with his return Lord de Villias has brought a renewed sense of purpose. He carries within him the fire of regal youth, and it has ignited us all.

  I go to my vats and begin my work. As I have done nearly every day since I came to the castle, I stir and strain, call for more water, more malted barley. The tasks are still as backbreaking as they have always been, but today I marvel at how easy it feels and wonder at the change. I still sweat as I pour and stir and stoke the fire with new logs, but I am smiling and singing all the while. I am brimming, as full as an ale cup, with happiness.

  When Thomas runs in, he is breathing so hard he can scarce get the words out. “Margaret, come quick!” Before I can ask him he continues.

  “The cottage,” he gasps. “We are being expelled.”

  Suddenly, my cup is tipped over, its contents poured out.

  Sure enough, a stout, red-faced man stands firmly on the threshold. He only has one thing to say but makes up for it by endless repetition.

  “This place is mine.”

  “How can this be, you fool?” Frustration has driven Thomas’s good manners from him
. “You can see plain that we live here!”

  “It’s mine.” He remains stubborn. “It were promised to me.”

  “He is right.”

  Landon appears behind us. I did not hear him approach.

  “But how can this be?” I implore him.

  “You are to be moved,” he says shortly. Thomas opens his mouth ready to protest, but he continues. “My lord heard tell of your adventure last night when you returned home. He deems it dangerous that you should travel so far late at night as your duties so often keep you until after curfew.”

  Today he is brisk and businesslike.

  “He heard tell from you?” I hazard.

  Landon allows the ghost of a smile.

  “What adventure?” Thomas turns to me.

  “All in good time.” I brush him aside, for I am more concerned by what is happening now. “So where are we to go?”

  “Follow me.”

  Now that Landon is involved, we go meekly enough, hastily collecting our belongings and leaving our usurper to gloat over his new home. We walk back toward the castle on a smoother path, one that’s less isolated, and then Landon stops.

  “Here.”

  My mouth falls open. The cottage is perfect, with solid stone walls and a new, tightly packed thatched roof. He opens the thick oak door, which I notice has a sturdy iron bolt on the inside, into a room filled with light. There is a large cooking hearth, and it is already furnished with a wooden table and two benches, a spruce chest with an ornate iron lock, an ewer and basin, a stack of pewter plates, and pots and spoons and ladles of all different sizes. Thomas and I run about the chambers that open off each side of the hall, one for Rudd and Thomas and one for myself. Painted cloths decorate the walls in bright reds and blues. There are actual wooden bedsteads, and when I touch the coverlets—coverlets!—my fingertips tell me they are linen and not rough hemp. I doubt if Thomas or Rudd have ever slept upon a proper bed before, let alone one with a feathered mattress instead of one stuffed with straw.