Margerit puzzled over that for a few moments. “It seems a dreadfully complicated way of saying that’s what he thinks.”
“Dread probably had something to do with it,” Barbara said with dry humor. “We’d be a lot poorer today if he’d been less cautious and more dead.”
It was hard to grasp that level of caution. Thaumaturgy had been an accepted field of theology for centuries. She looked to see if Barbara were teasing her but the armin’s lean face was animated only with interest. Margerit turned a few more pages. “There was a question I had once…about the relationship of miraculous visions and the visual manifestation of mysteries. Sister Petrunel didn’t think it was an important distinction but there was a hint in that bit of Fortunatus she gave me that he—”
Barbara took the heavy volume from her and cradled it easily in one arm, turning to a section marked by one of the scarlet silk ribbons. “This may be what you’re thinking of.” She read a bit of the Latin aloud and then skipped through the next page, summarizing in translation.
“Yes, that was it,” Margerit said. “Because he seems to be saying that a miraculous vision is extrinsic—that it comes from God or the saints and you may see it or not as it pleases them—but that there are some who possess an intrinsic ability to perceive…things…I’m not sure how to describe it. Something that exists for everyone but that not everyone can perceive. Like a sound that some people are deaf to.”
Barbara smiled slightly. “And that’s the sort of thing that got him in trouble: the Mechanistic Heresy. His student Pezzulin did end up getting executed for it. He summed it up that there were Doers and Seers—actors and vidators—more traditionally, those whose prayers the saints heed and act on and those who could tell which people’s prayers were heeded. And he thought that if only the two could be harnessed together, then in celebrating the right mysteries we could create reliable miracles at will. But it doesn’t much matter whether miracles are unreliable because God works by His own laws or because we have no reliable way to distinguish between the true miracles and the lucky chance of a charlatan.”
Margerit had been watching the other woman closely as she talked. The impassive stillness she had found so daunting at their first meeting was entirely gone. Here was a mind and a curiosity that matched hers step for step. She frowned slightly and sighed. “It just seems so unfair.”
Barbara grinned. “What? That logic alone can’t explain the universe?”
“No, that…that all your learning and philosophy is wasted.” She saw Barbara’s face twist in a frown and scrambled to find words for what she meant. “We might have been sisters when we were born, but fortune has made such a difference between us. Why should you be punished for what your father did?”
Barbara reacted as if she had been struck. “He told you. Everything.” Her tone was flat and expressionless. She stood up to leave, then turned on her angrily. “How dare you think to pity me! The only difference between us is that you will be owned by a husband instead. And what will your philosophy and learning mean then if all he wants you for is to breed his children? Or for the price of your dowry,” she added bitterly. She pulled the book away roughly and closed it with a clap. “I have been given permission to keep this book with me, if you please,” she said stiffly and left before Margerit could answer.
Aunt Bertrut had started awake at the snap of the book and as the door closed she said, “What did that peculiar creature want? I think it’s outrageous the way the baron keeps her. If he wants to have his mistress close, that’s one thing, but to parade her around in breeches—”
“You don’t understand anything,” Margerit said sharply and then hurried out into the hall, quaking at her own impertinence. She was always having to apologize for her quick tongue, which was strange because it seemed as if she rarely had the nerve to answer back at all. She accosted the footman by the front door. “Did you see where Barbara went? I need to speak with her.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say, Maisetra,” he said, although his eyes darted toward the stairs. Further comment was cut off by the sound of a carriage in the drive. At what he saw from the window beside the door he hastily jerked three times on a bell-pull saying, “Pardon me, Maisetra.” A tone sounded somewhere deep in the house.
The doors were opened just as a fashionable young man was climbing the steps. Margerit stepped back into the shadows by the library door hoping to avoid his notice. How Nikule would envy the cut of that coat! With his dark brooding features and careless manner she recognized here the sort of image for which her cousin strove.
“Is my uncle at home?” the visitor barked at the footman. “What’s that you say? He’s not at home? How convenient for—” Margerit tried not to shrink as his eyes fell on her. “And how curious that he seems to be at home for everyone except me.”
The butler had joined them in the entry hall, no doubt summoned by that distant bell. “I’m afraid the baron is currently engaged with Maistir LeFevre. I expect he will be finished shortly, however there are other visitors before you.” He nodded vaguely in her direction so she had no choice but to step forward and curtsy in greeting.
“But how charming,” the stranger said, shrugging off his greatcoat for the footman to catch and turning toward her. His manner had turned abruptly from temper to an oily smoothness. “My uncle has become quite the connoisseur.” Margerit knew she was being mocked but she also thought she might have been insulted. She let him take her hand and raise it to his lips. “Will no one introduce me to this ravishing creature?” he said to the room at large.
Margerit heard her aunt come out of the library behind her and felt acutely embarrassed to be caught in such a position. From halfway up the stairs came Barbara’s voice, sharp and cold. “She’s your uncle’s goddaughter, Estefen, not a toy for your little games.” Margerit noticed in some puzzlement that Barbara was now wearing her blade. She hadn’t worn it before in the library.
Estefen laughed and pressed her hand with his fingers. “Enchanted! But come, that’s hardly a proper introduction.”
“It’s not my place to make introductions,” Barbara said, descending the rest of the way to the hall. “That wasn’t an introduction, it was a warning.”
Estefen turned to confront her and Margerit managed to pull her hand free and slipped back a few paces. His voice turned ever more silky. “You exceed your mandate, Babs. There’s no threat to the baron here. You can’t slice me open just for being friendly to his guests.”
Barbara pretended to ignore him and addressed her. “The baron has finished with his business and is ready to see you.”
Estefen said, “Ah, then I shall escort her up.” He took her hand again and tucked it under his arm but Barbara blocked his way to the stairs.
“I shall escort her up,” she said stonily and Estefen laughed as if it had all been a game as he released her arm.
Margerit slipped past Barbara up the stairs and waited for her at the landing. “I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier,” she began, but Barbara wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Maisetra,” she said flatly. “I spoke too freely. It is I who should apologize.”
When they reached the door of the baron’s chamber, Barbara touched her arm to pause her for a moment. “He finished with LeFevre some time ago. I hoped to let him rest a while, but…” She glanced back toward the stairs and Margerit realized it had been a deliberate rescue and no coincidence. “Don’t stay long today. He’s tired. From arranging business. If he hadn’t commanded it…” The apologetic tone was gone. This was the baron’s armin speaking. Margerit nodded silently.
* * *
He was pale—very pale. And his hand shook slightly when he raised it in greeting. Impulsively, Margerit knelt at his bedside and pressed the chill fingers to her lips.
“You should rest,” she murmured. “I can come another day.” Whatever she might think of his motives, her heart melted at the old man’s condition.
“No, no, stay,” he replied. “There will not be many more days. Come, sit here and talk to me. Tell me about something pleasant.”
She was bewildered but willing and spoke admiringly of his library. It was the pleasantest thing that came immediately to mind. From there, when he urged her to continue, she recounted the discussion with Barbara over the nature of miracles, saving only the quarrel at the end.
“Ha!” he exclaimed. “I thought you might suit each other.” And in the next moment he ordered, “Leave me now. Come back some other day.”
She went to the door, wondering if she should call someone. In the passage, Barbara was waiting and stopped her as she headed for the stairs, but this time she was deferential. “Would you be willing to engage in a small deception?”
Margerit frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Estefen—the baron’s nephew—is…a stubborn man. But if he thinks you’re still with the baron, he won’t try to press the matter. It will give him a little more time undisturbed. Would you be willing to leave by another way? I’ll have someone fetch your aunt.”
“Of course,” Margerit said hurriedly.
She waited in a back hallway, enduring curious stares from several passing servants until Aunt Bertrut was escorted to her by a distinguished middle-aged man she hadn’t seen before.
“Margerit, what on earth is this about?” she asked sharply. “This…this Mefroi LeFevre only told me to come with him and say nothing.”
Margerit briefly explained the subterfuge.
The man nodded and said, “I do apologize for spoiling your visit. I’m afraid there were business matters that couldn’t wait.”
The estate manager, Margerit concluded, for he looked bookish, with thick spectacles perched in the middle of a round good-natured face. He gazed at her overlong with frank curiosity, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to work out. She felt herself blushing and when he saw that he apologized again. Aunt Bertrut took it amiss, muttering about impertinent clerks who were no better than they should be, and dragged her away before she could wonder further.
* * *
Margerit’s evening was claimed by a small dinner party. Uncle Mauriz’s business associates had the attraction of a son several years older than her and a daughter also newly out in society. There would be no dancing, but the promise of music and cards made an excuse to lure other young people. Margerit had known most of the guests since girlhood and had yet to find a one with whom she could enter into any serious sympathy. Yet one of these men would shape her future.
It was just a light informal supper—nothing elaborate—but the protocols of seating still ruled, so Margerit found herself between Maistir Palmir, an elderly bachelor, on her left and Cheristien, the son of her hosts, on her right. The older man had no conversation when it came to debutantes. He offered a remark on the weather then turned to more serious matters on his other side.
Cheristien had never previously considered her worthy of notice, for which she forgave him. A man just at the start of making his own name needed to distance himself from the company of mere children. And it was amusing to see him pretend to have suddenly noticed her maturity—as if she were now years older than when they’d last crossed paths. He asked whether she’d enjoyed her coming-out ball, whether she’d been invited to many parties yet and what she’d found to amuse herself lately, given that the weather was still so dreary.
In a spirit of mischief, Margerit answered, “I had the most entertaining conversation today at my godfather’s house, about the distinction Fortunatus makes between intrinsic and extrinsic miraculous visions.”
He stared at her blankly for a moment then burst into such loud laughter that heads turned half the table away. “Oh, but that’s droll! Have you been rehearsing that line all day in hopes of a chance to use it? Who told you to say that?” He gestured across the table to his sister. “Helen, I think I must forbid you to go out walking with Maisetra Sovitre or she’ll teach you to talk like a bluestocking or an eccentric and you’ll scare away all your suitors!”
Margerit stared down at her plate, torn between embarrassment and anger. Yes, she’d said it to provoke him, but how dare he treat scholarship as a party trick? Or rather, treat a woman’s scholarship as such.
“Now, now,” he said more kindly. “You’ve had your fun and I’ve had mine. No offense taken or intended.”
But for the rest of the meal she answered his conversation in monosyllables until he grew tired of it and confined himself to his other dinner partner. And though the company was pleasant, as such things go, she was hard put to pretend enjoyment. When the evening had run its course and they were private in the carriage going home, there was a long scold to endure from both aunts and an even more terrible stony silence from her uncle. And the worst part of it was that they meant it kindly. They were right that it was no way to attract a husband. And that was the bargain after all.
* * *
Aunt Bertrut would have returned to the baron’s house the next day but Margerit protested that, despite what he had said, he should be allowed a rest before being pestered by company again. Her aunt hadn’t seen how frail he looked. They compromised on sending a footman to inquire discreetly and he returned with the information that his excellency was unwell and could not see visitors.
“But surely that isn’t meant for you, Margerit,” Bertrut said.
“Aunt, have pity. He’s ill and may be dying.”
“Then all the more reason to fix his interest in you while you still can,” she said.
Margerit was appalled but held her tongue. She means well, she thought. She didn’t intend it to sound so selfish. Perhaps in a few days when he’s stronger.
* * *
He never was stronger. A carefully accidental pass by Fonten Street a few days later discovered that straw had been laid down in the street to quiet the wheels of passing carriages so as not to disturb the invalid. And the next morning the cook hurried back from the morning marketing with the news that the old baron had died.
“And they say he’s to be buried here at Saint Andire’s and not back in Rotenek or at Saveze,” came the gossip from the kitchen. “It should be quite the spectacle.”
The cook was mistaken. The funeral was a quick and quiet affair. Rumor said it was attended only by his household—that even his nephew had been left in ignorance until he was in the grave. So for the desired spectacle the gossips of Chalanz were forced to wait for the reading of the will. If he had been half as wealthy as common report had it, the simple listing of his bequests could provide speculation for a year. And even more than the funeral, it was curious that he had specified that the reading was to be held here in town and not in the capital.
Margerit wasn’t surprised to receive an invitation to the reading. Bertrut was eager to know if she would receive more than a token bequest but Uncle Mauriz squashed expectations. “He’s hardly taken notice of you before. Pray he leaves you something of value and not a useless memento.”
For her own part, Margerit’s thoughts turned to Barbara. Did she mourn the old man? Would she return to Rotenek? Would they ever have another chance to discuss Fortunatus or what poets they both admired beyond Pertulif? She looked for the duelist when walking in Axian Park, but if she still rode out it was not at the hours for fashionable exercise.
Chapter Eight
Barbara
LeFevre had hired a room at the civic hall for the reading of the baron’s will. Barbara couldn’t help but recall the last time she had entered it, at the baron’s side and watching the signs of his final failing. Her eyes followed each set of arrivals. That instinct would long survive the baron. Ponivin and Charsintek and a handful of the other upper servants had come to represent the staff and were enjoying the novelty of being served rather than serving. Barbara watched out the window to see the arrival of a scattering of local notables who had received invitations indicating that they were remembered in some way. They wouldn’t expect anything substantial—
a token to ensure their presence so they could bear witness in any ensuing disputes. The prince’s magistrate was in attendance for the same reason, although the token left to the crown was traditionally more substantial. It served the purpose of ensuring enforcement of the will’s provisions, as it would be forfeit if they were broken. Of course there were other recipients who could not attend due to the distance. A whole scattering of connections and relations back in Rotenek. Of those, only Estefen could be expected to show.
There was Margerit, dressed in a deeper mourning than was properly called for. Perhaps the gown had been made for a different loss and was being reused. She was surrounded by a cloud of relatives. Barbara recognized the uncle from the ball, his mouth pursed as if in perpetual distaste, arm in arm with the delicate woman from the riverside park. At his other side, a girl who—from the resemblance to the woman—must be a daughter and so Margerit’s cousin. And there was the other aunt—the cheerful-looking woman who had accompanied Margerit’s visits. LeFevre greeted them enthusiastically as they entered, showing them to seats near the front of the room. No one was ready to settle yet, with the reading scheduled for noon. The newly-arrived party dispersed among their neighbors, sharing greetings and the news of the day.
Barbara had turned back to the window, watching for one particular arrival. LeFevre had sought her out that morning with an unexpected request. “I fear that Estefen will be trouble,” he’d said. Barbara expected the same—not knowing the details of what form his disappointment would take, but of course LeFevre wasn’t free to elaborate yet. “You would do me a favor if you would…stand prepared for any unpleasantness.”
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