“Did you feel it?” Serafina asked.
“I…I think so,” Luzie said. “In the last act, you mean?”
Serafina nodded. “I saw something in your face…”
“I felt the river. It was in the music, flowing through me. Is that what you see?”
Another nod. “Something like that. I think—” Now Serafina sounded worried. “I think we did something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish Margerit had been here. She might know.”
Luzie looked around. She hadn’t noticed that Maisetra Sovitre had been absent. It was no surprise, for she had enough concerns of her own, but it was disappointing. “Do you mean that you think we did something like a mystery? But I thought you said—”
“I’m not sure. There was something—” She shook her head in confusion. “When you design a mystery, the individual parts—they each have a power you can see. And when you put them together, it builds something different. But when a guild or a congregation comes together to celebrate it, that adds a force that wasn’t there before. When we wrote the music, I wanted it to reach out and touch the audience. To make them feel the story. But today, it was like they were part of the performance. Part of the celebration.”
“And what have we done?” Luzie asked.
“I don’t know.”
* * *
In an ordinary year, no one might have noticed it. Floodtide might start with a difference in color in the middle of the Rotein, an odd calmness or ripple in the currents, but then would come the slow inexorable rise along the banks until the steps at Saint Nikule’s were covered, and the chanulezes filled their channels until the rivermen, poling up them, might have to duck when passing the bridges, and the waters would turn muddy and rank as the banks were scoured of a year’s accumulation of silt.
In an ordinary year, the streak of muddy water in the center of the current would not have been considered enough of a sign to sound the bell in the Nikuleplaiz. But it had been three years since there had been an ordinary year. The city was eager for any sign at all that their luck was changing and the world was returning to its course. In the week after Easter, when the rivermen called out that first sign of floodtide, the idlers in the Nikuleplaiz chalked up marks on the stones of the river steps and called them out as each mark was dampened and washed away. One mark, two, three, but not a fourth. Yet it was enough of a sign that the priests raised a bucket and wetted Nikule’s feet, though it was early in the season to despair of a true flood.
The city gave a sigh of relief and told each other that soon all would be well.
* * *
Luzie watched her roster of students dwindle as families packed and made summer plans. That was the unfortunate part of attracting a higher class of student, for only the wealthiest of the burfroi families followed the custom of leaving Rotenek for the entire summer at floodtide. There would be no music classes in the college’s summer term. Still, there would be a breathing space between the exodus of family from her house at the finish of the opera and before the boys arrived home from school. The lighter summer schedule would give her time to work on the full orchestration for Tanfrit. Count Chanturi had pledged himself to see that it was performed at the opera house in the fall. Each time she allowed herself to think of that, it was slightly less terrifying than the last.
Charluz broached the subject of holiday plans as they gathered in the parlor two evenings after the floodtide bells had rung. “We haven’t made arrangements for a trip just now, but Elinur and I thought we might take the waters at Akolbin at the end of May. Issibet said she might be interested. We could make it a general outing. Hire a house for a week. What do you think?”
Luzie did a few calculations. A week in Akolbin and a week total in travel, plus the hire of a house, but it would be a chance for Alteburk to hire a few extra girls in to do the summer cleaning. And even if her sons turned their noses up at so stuffy a thing as “taking the waters,” it would be a pleasant change.
“Yes, I like that idea. Serafina?”
There was a silence that drew all attention. Serafina looked around at them and then down at her hands. “No, I won’t be here.”
“Oh,” Luzie said in disappointment. “Do you have plans with Maisetra Sovitre?”
“I’m going back to Rome.” She stood and left the room.
Luzie gave the others a puzzled glance as Serafina’s footsteps tapped up the stairs, but they only shrugged so she rose and followed.
The door was open, which seemed enough of an invitation.
“Serafina? Serafina, what’s wrong?”
She was crying, sitting in the dark on the edge of the bed. Luzie sat down beside her but Serafina shrugged off her awkward embrace.
“That letter I received, back before Easter. It was from my husband, from Paolo. He’s back in Rome. I didn’t tell you because…” She shrugged.
“Oh.” Luzie had found it easy to forget that there was a husband. “You could write to him. Tell him about the academy. He’s managed without you for what, three years now you said? That’s hardly a marriage.”
Serafina sniffed and felt around for a handkerchief until Luzie pressed her own into her hand.
“It doesn’t matter how long he’s been gone. He expected me to be there when he came back. And I wasn’t. He’s told the bankers not to pass on my allowance. I have enough left to return to Rome, but no more.”
Luzie bristled. “How dare he!”
“He’s my husband. It’s his money. And beyond that, I owe him obedience. For as long as he hadn’t commanded my return, I could pretend he wouldn’t care what I did. But now?” She shrugged again.
There was no answer to that.
“What if Maisetra Sovitre gave you a salary at the academy. You do some teaching, it would only be fair. And—” Before the impulse could pass, she added, “And your room, that is…I need the rent, but you could share with me and I could rent to someone else.”
“Do you love me?” Serafina demanded.
It sounded like the plea of a drowning woman. Would it be so terrible a sin to say yes? To say whatever it was that Serafina needed so desperately?
“Does it matter that much?” Luzie searched Serafina’s face. It gave nothing away. “No, I don’t,” she said at last. “Not that way. But every other way—”
“I don’t belong here. I knew that when I saw you with your parents and your brother. You were all…I never belonged here. I’ve never belonged anywhere.”
Now Luzie held her tightly despite her protests. “Hush, hush. When must you leave?”
A gulping breath. A stifled sob. “I’ve already talked to Mesnera Collfield. She’s traveling south to Turin at the end of May, collecting samples. I can accompany her that far, then I only have to make it to Genoa and take a ship. I’m sorry I’m being so foolish. I always knew it would come to this.”
Luzie rocked her gently. Knowing never made anything easier.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Barbara
Mid-May, 1825
The proclamation of floodtide had taken them by surprise at Tiporsel House, but few of their plans were so dependent on the social calendar as to be upset by it. Barbara wrote ahead to discuss her plans for Turinz; Saveze would need to wait for the end of summer this time. Margerit’s summer would be little different from the spring. But there was one member of the household for whom the end of the Rotenek season drew a sharp line.
Barbara saw her from the library windows, looking out over the gardens sloping down toward the river. Another spring when there had been no need to repair water damage in the lower gardens. This time, the gardeners hadn’t taken the trouble to move the more valuable plants. Iulien Fulpi was making use of the solitude at the bottom of the garden in company with her maid. They sat on the marble bench near the small private landing—the one Barbara had always thought of as her own. The rolling current of the river provided a soothing place for sorting out tangled thoughts.
&nb
sp; From the way the maid—she pulled the name out of memory: Rozild, the one Tavit had mentioned—from the way she was passing a steady supply of handkerchiefs and hovering closely, it was easy to tell Iuli’s thoughts were not happy ones. Iuli made a sharp gesture and Rozild pulled back hesitantly, then returned up the path toward the house.
Barbara had been even less delighted at Iuli’s arrival last fall than Margerit had been, but it was undeniable that the girl had claimed all their hearts. She might be willful and a trifle too adventurous, but Barbara found it hard to fault anyone for that. Iuli had done her part. She’d followed Margerit’s rules—as far as they knew. She’d studied hard, behaved herself when taken out into society and had been surprisingly cheerful when there had been no time to hold the promised ball in her honor. Margerit had planned it for the brief second season between Easter and floodtide, but in the end there had been none.
And now Chalanz demanded her return—Chalanz and the agreement with the Fulpis. Back to the summer season of a provincial resort. It hardly seemed reason for tears. Iulien wasn’t another Margerit to disregard balls for books. She had arrived on their doorstep uncertain what she was seeking. Had she found it here at Tiporsel House? Barbara remembered the Fulpi household well, but not fondly, from that first season when she had come into Margerit’s life. A perfectly respectable family, comfortably situated, well thought of by their neighbors. What dreams did Iulien have that couldn’t be realized there?
Margerit had escaped Chalanz by the caprice of the old baron, when he used her as a means of diverting his fortune from Estefen’s hands. Iuli had no similar key to the door. Not yet. If she were older and no longer on her father’s purse, her undeniable talent for writing might possibly bring enough for a genteel poverty and the limited freedom that came with it. Was that what she wanted? It would be four more years until Iuli was of legal age. Four years before she could even think of petitioning a court to declare her to stand on her own purse, should she care to weather the talk that would cause. Barbara found it hard to imagine her taking that path. Iuli had slipped into the life of Rotenek like a hand into a glove, but it was an elegant kidskin glove, not the mended woolen mitts of an impoverished scribbler.
If the four “f”s were what gave one a foothold in society—family, fortune, friends or fame—only two of those mattered to an unmarried girl of good birth: family and fortune. Even fortune was no use if family stood in the way. It didn’t matter that Iuli had become family here at Tiporsel, joining the tightly-knit group bound by kinship and love that Antuniet teasingly called her saliesin, after the ancient feudal households. It was so strange to think of having one. She had grown up believing herself an orphan and, even before she gave her heart to Margerit, she had accepted that her life was unlikely to include marriage and children. And now her saliesin had increased with Brandel and little Iohanna Chazillen. It could be large enough to include Iulien Fulpi as well.
The thought, when it struck her, seemed so obvious she wondered it hadn’t occurred to Margerit as well. Barbara looked out the window to where Iuli still sat forlornly on the marble bench and pulled the bellcord. To the maid who answered, she said, “If Maisetra Sovitre is still in the house, please ask her to join me. Send in some tea and then see we’re left alone.”
* * *
They consulted with LeFevre first, of course. There was nothing worth knowing about inheritance law that he couldn’t recite from memory, complete with volume and section number. Yes, it could be done, if Fulpi agreed. And then they took the risk of laying the matter before Iulien herself, knowing the heartbreak it would mean if her father said no.
“He may refuse,” Margerit cautioned, seeing the hope leap in Iuli’s eyes. “He may feel I have no business even proposing such a thing. But if you would like, I can make the offer.”
Barbara had expected Iuli to agree immediately, to seize her chance to stay in Rotenek. She watched the girl’s initial excitement slide sideways into thoughtfulness.
“Would this mean that you were adopting me?” Iuli asked. “That you would become my mother, and not—”
Margerit shook her head. “No, of course not. But I would take you on my purse. That means I’d support you and be responsible for you, and that certain legal rights over you would transfer from your parents to me. It would mean you could live here with me. And in exchange for that, I’d settle the Zortun estate on you as a pledge for your dowry. That means it would come into your hands if you marry and is fixed as an inheritance if you don’t. That’s not something I do lightly! Much of the food on our table comes from Zortun. And so,” she teased, “I’d be quite strict about suitors.”
Iuli didn’t smile at the joke. “Do you think that’s what my father would care about? The dowry?”
If he didn’t, he was a fool, Barbara thought. That was the whole point of making the offer. Nothing else would be a strong enough temptation to overcome Fulpi’s scruples. But it wouldn’t be kind to say that to Iuli’s face, even if she put the matter into the best light: that Fulpi’s duty as her father was to see to her future. “You needn’t decide immediately. Think about it. Your father won’t be here to fetch you home until the end of the month.”
“I want to,” Iuli said solemnly. “Cousin Margerit, I want to so much. But I don’t want my father to think I was unhappy. That is, I was, but it wasn’t because of him. And I want…I want to be able to go home. I don’t want him to cut me off like he did you.” Her voice grew tight. “Do you think he might do that?”
Margerit hugged her. “Of course not. The only reason he forbade me from visiting was because he wanted to protect you. He’ll do what’s best for you. We just thought this might help him decide that staying in Rotenek was for the best.”
“Then yes,” Iuli said. “Yes. Ask him.”
* * *
The road to Turinz was becoming more familiar: the long stretch along the woods at the border, the way Sain-Mihail kept peeking through the hills before the road curved to meet it, the scar of Mazuk’s canal standing as a reproach. Water filled it now, and there were tracks along the towpath indicating use. So he’d found his investors. Perhaps that part of their past could be forgotten. Even so, she hoped to avoid any meeting with him on this trip.
There had been rumors of highwaymen in those wooded hills—a legacy of the recent crop failures. Tavit, in one of his too frequent moments of caution, had insisted that she ride inside the coach. Watching Tavit and Brandel enjoy the long miles of fine weather on horseback turned her mood sour when they encountered nothing to rouse any sort of alarm.
They arrived at the manor late in the evening, but Akermen had everything ready for their comfort. And in the morning he stood ready to ride the bounds with her. It would be a brief visit, little more than a survey and a few days of hearing petitions.
“Maistir Tuting tells me the rents are better than we’d hoped,” Barbara noted as they took a path along the edge of the vineyards toward the first of the villages within the title-lands.
Akermen only nodded. He seemed on edge. Did he think she expected miracles?
“Don’t push matters too quickly,” she cautioned. “There’s no benefit in the long term if the tenants don’t share the gains, and we need to weather these current storms first.” A poor joke, she realized as the words left her mouth.
“Yes, Mesnera.”
It was difficult to know Akermen’s opinions from so few words. Barbara knew how it must be: they hadn’t yet had time to develop trust, and the power was all in her hands. But Tuting’s praise hadn’t been hollow. She’d seen the numbers and given them to Brandel to review as well. Now she encouraged Brandel’s questions. Perhaps Akermen would open up more as an instructor.
The young estate manager visibly controlled his impatience with Brandel’s quizzing, but he began to expound further on the state of the land. Perhaps next time she would send Brandel here on his own. Not to make decisions—he was not at all ready for that—but to observe and report back. She broke in
on Brandel’s questions to mention the possibility.
Akermen returned to a brief, “As you wish.”
That was a habit she would need to break. She needed someone with opinions and the confidence to pursue them.
Barbara returned to her probing of Akermen in the quiet end of an afternoon when the villagers had exhausted the petitions and grievances they had a right to bring before her.
“What do you think needs to be done in the next year?” she asked. “What changes would you make?”
He eyed her closely, clearly still judging how much candor she desired. “You had mentioned repairs to the manor.”
She nodded wordlessly, waiting to see where that thought took him.
“I think it might be done. There are men standing idle with half the harvest ruined. Since no miracles are in the offing, if you accepted labor in place of rent—”
“But I’ve forgiven that share of the rents.” Barbara interrupted.
“I mentioned it only as a possibility,” he said stiffly.
Barbara mulled it over briefly and shook her head. “Cheap labor, but stone is never cheap. And the warehouse fires in Rotenek have made seasoned lumber dear even this far away.”
“There’s lumber to be had from Terubirk where they’re clearing for the ironworks.”
Barbara looked at him sharply. Evidently his proposal was more than idle thought. But she had no interest in a project that would rely on Baron Mazuk’s cooperation or would put money in his purse.
“I’ll keep it in mind for the future, but not this year. There’s time enough. I have no plans to do more than visit at the present,” Barbara said. “Perhaps in another few years…” She looked over at where Brandel was frowning over the correspondence he’d been set.
Akermen followed her gaze and his face went bland once more.
With her neighbor on her mind, Barbara noted, “So Baron Mazuk is building at last, and I saw the canal is in operation. I hope you’ve had no trouble with him.”
Mother of Souls: A novel of Alpennia Page 43
