Daughter of Mystery

by Jones, Heather Rose

  As she shoved a group of hanging garments aside, Margerit leaned in past her to draw out a gown of a sky-blue silk. “How beautiful! But is this yours?” she asked doubtfully.

  Barbara flushed. “I don’t always wear breeches, you know,” she said quickly. Then she reddened further and said, “Forgive me, Maisetra. I spoke out of place.”

  Margerit let the skirt fall. “It’s all so strange.”

  Barbara closed the wardrobe doors and turned the latch. “I think Maistir LeFevre will be ready for you now, if you please.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Margerit

  LeFevre had cleared the desk of papers, but instead of ensconcing himself behind that fortress he had moved two chairs near the small hearth. A tea tray sat on the low table between them and was crowded on either side by rolled parchments and bundles of documents, all tied up in scarlet ribbons. Margerit settled gratefully into the cushions and LeFevre pulled his own seat a little closer while Barbara poured two cups of tea and then stood back in silence.

  “What is it that you wish to know?” LeFevre began. “I’m sure you have a great many questions.”

  Margerit took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. They were shaking too much for her to dare the teacup yet. “I would like to know what my inheritance is. What properties do I own? What are their incomes? What are their expenses? How are they managed and by whom? Who are the people? What are my responsibilities to them, by law and by custom? What other incomes are there and how will they change with my godfather’s death? And…well, that will do to begin.”

  She dared to look up when she had finished. LeFevre was frowning at her, the teacup untouched in his hand. He pursed his lips and thought a while before answering. “You know, Maisetra Sovitre, that all this will be managed by me and by your guardians until you are of age. You needn’t fear that you’ll be pestered by accounts and clerks.”

  Another deep breath. She hated how her speech turned stiff and formal, betraying her discomfort. “Maistir LeFevre, all my life my aunts have instructed me in the importance of managing a household. In knowing how to do sums and accounts. How to make a quarter’s income cover the bills so that my husband will neither want for the pleasant things in life nor be importuned by creditors and tradesmen seeking payment. I know this is no basis for managing a great estate but how could the management of great things be less important than the management of small ones?” She pretended to more confidence than she felt by picking up the china cup and lifting it to her lips briefly. “I know my uncle will be happy to see to all of my business matters but I wish to know what they are and to understand them.” When she dared to look over at LeFevre, she saw a smile so broad it was nearly a grin.

  “You surprise me at every turn. Perhaps the late baron was not—well never mind. I think we shall deal together very comfortably, Maisetra,” he said. “Now, let us begin with the properties.” He rose briefly to bring a bundle of papers and a ledger book from the desk and handed items to her one at a time as he listed them. “There is, of course, this house. And Tiporsel, the house in Rotenek. At the moment, they share a staff for the most part—long-time employees of the late baron. I think it would be good for you to keep both properties, for now. There is the estate at Zortun. It’s a purchased estate, separate from what went with the title. It supplied a good deal of the late baron’s table—definitely to be retained—and his cellar as well. The family that manages it are trustworthy people. You needn’t concern yourself with that one.

  “There are several other properties that you may want to sell. A hunting lodge on the lake at Feniz. A townhouse and several warehouses in Genoa. And that brings us to—” He opened the ledger. “You own two ships that operate out of Genoa. These you should sell—offer them to their current captains first. The late baron had a talent for choosing cargos and destinations. Without that talent, you might as well be betting on horse races. I know I don’t have the talent.

  “Now there are another six ships in which you have a silent interest—your partners are responsible for the management. Keep those: the income is not enormous, but it’s as steady as any and your agent in Genoa will see to your interests.

  “The majority of your income will be from investments and a number of smaller properties. The baron had instructed me to do a certain amount of consolidation lately. His affairs were much more complicated five years ago. Most of your funds are with Escaferd’s, which is secure as long as the peace continues to last. A certain amount is scattered in foreign holdings for at least some protection in that regard. There are several other minor sources. I’ll draw up a list for you but there are no decisions to be made on that score at the moment.

  “Obligations…there are a number of institutions and individuals for whom the late baron was a patron. Some you may wish to continue, some you may not. We can review them in detail at a future time. He provided substantial support to the convent of Saint Orisul which is located adjacent to the Saveze title-lands. I believe you have some connection with that establishment yourself?”

  Margerit frowned in thought. “My governess, Sister Petrunel. She was from Saint Orisul’s. But I think—that is, I was told my mother attended the convent school there for a while.”

  LeFevre nodded and smiled. “Then I’ll assume you’ll be continuing the patronage. It’s not as if the new baron is likely to do so. There is also a school for orphans in Rotenek that the baron was generous to.”

  He ran his finger down a list in the ledger. “Several artists: two painters and a sculptor that he made gifts to on occasion, although I believe he supported them more in sending commissions their way. A banquet given every feast of Saint Perinerd for the…but no, that had its own bequest so you needn’t concern yourself. This one—” Unexpectedly he blushed. “Your godfather was the patron of an opera dancer, but of course that connection won’t be continued.”

  Margerit found herself giggling, although it was more from embarrassment at imagining…no, it wasn’t to be pursued.

  A discreet cough brought her attention back. “I’ve drawn up a list of once-given charities from the past several years. There wouldn’t be the slightest expectation for you to revisit them unless you choose.”

  He closed the ledger and passed it over to her. Margerit left it lying in her lap. “There’s a great deal to consider,” she said. She wanted to ask about Rotenek—about the plan that had only just begun to form in her mind—but she wasn’t sure how.

  “Well, it’s much too soon to settle anything today. If you’re interested—truly interested—we can work on the details together over the next several weeks. If your guardians permit, of course, although the final decisions are in my hands. If you find that your curiosity is satisfied by this much, then you can leave it to me. And if I have interpreted Ponivin’s look from the doorway correctly, then lunch is ready to be served.”

  * * *

  The table was spread in a small parlor overlooking the gardens. When the weather warmed a bit more, the beds would explode with blooms. It was as if the house had been designed for a private audience at the coming of spring. The main public rooms had no particular vistas. The best views all seemed to be from cozy spaces like this one.

  There were three places set at the table and Margerit wondered momentarily if her uncle had arrived early. “Ah,” said LeFevre, catching her confusion. “It was sometimes the late baron’s habit—when dining informally in private—to include Barbara at his table. Since I am joining you, the kitchen may have assumed…”

  Barbara broke in, “I’ll go and tell them.”

  “No,” Margerit said quickly. “Please—if my godfather thought it proper, then I see no harm. That is, I’d like you to join us.” Barbara looked for a moment as if she might demur, but then relented. Margerit thought back to their conversation on the walk over. Had she once again asked Barbara to cross a line she’d prefer to preserve? Would she get a true answer later?

  Margerit knew enough of the workings of a
kitchen to know that the baron’s chef had worked a small miracle to set the table before them. It had been barely more than an hour since she’d arrived on the doorstep yet he’d turned out a bit of ham in a delicate ragout de champignons, a fricassee from a fowl that must have been boiled for a different purpose entirely, a clear soup with spring herbs and some crisp apple fritters. By the time they had come to the créme de marrons, Margerit had found the courage to pursue what she’d fallen short of before. “I wondered,” she asked in as casual a tone as she could manage, “what I may and may not do with my inheritance.”

  LeFevre cocked his head to one side as if amused. “Well, as you learned yesterday, you may not give it away without your guardian’s permission. But I suspect you had something smaller in mind?”

  Margerit bit her lip thoughtfully. Smaller in expense, perhaps, but how much would that mean? Best to test the waters with something trivial. “What if I wanted to hire my own lady’s maid? Could I do that?”

  LeFevre looked surprised. “You don’t have your own maid? But…I’m sorry. I don’t know how these things are done in—” He faltered, clearly looking for a tactful way to say “ordinary households.”

  Margerit shook her head. “No, it wasn’t thought necessary.” The word covered so many things left unsaid. “Could I hire one?”

  Now it was LeFevre’s turn to frown thoughtfully. “Well, of course—in fact, it should be arranged soon. But I think it would be best to leave that to your aunt or to her housekeeper perhaps. Unless you mean to set up your own household, which would be a different matter. But a maid of your own, that would be more than reasonable.”

  Margerit thought about following up on the household idea but it seemed too large a jump. What sort of extravagance might give him pause. “What if I wanted to order a dozen new gowns and,” he hadn’t reacted, “and a new carriage and—”

  He threw up a hand to stop the tumult of images. “I would remind you that you already own a carriage. Several, in fact: a traveling coach and a town chaise, and in Rotenek there’s a light landau better suited to the narrow streets. I’m sure that your guardians will consider a new wardrobe to be entirely suitable. I’ll set up an account for your everyday expenses. Your guardians can administer it for you. Or you could simply have the bills sent to me.” He cleared his throat softly. “I would, however, suggest that you defer to Maisetra Fulpi in matters of dress. She’ll know the difference between what you can afford and what it’s suitable for you to wear.”

  Margerit felt her face burning. This wasn’t at all the direction she had meant to go, sounding as if she cared only for silks and carriages. Her frustration showed in her voice at last. “You speak of what is reasonable and what is suitable. What if I wanted to do something entirely unreasonable and unsuitable? What are the boundaries of what I could do if my guardians didn’t approve?”

  LeFevre seemed to wake up at last to the serious intent of her questions and answered very carefully. “So long as you are under age, those boundaries are small indeed. When you come of age, then it’s a question of what you’re willing to give up to do it. The baron’s will gives you complete control of your fortune on that day.”

  Margerit’s heart leapt when she heard that. She’d expected her inheritance to be tied up for years or until she married.

  He continued, “But the law isn’t the only matter you need to consider. I can’t really give you an answer unless I know what you plan to do. An unsuitable marriage? Foreign travel? The case may not be as dire as you think. Again, I’d need to know more.” He stopped short of asking directly.

  Margerit was still uncertain how far he would go beyond amused curiosity. The next question tumbled out before she knew she wanted the answer. “Whose man are you?”

  LeFevre blinked slowly but not, it seemed, in astonishment. His face had gone very still and bland. “I beg your pardon?” he asked softly.

  Margerit scrambled for the question she thought she was trying to ask. “Who are you…to me? Another guardian? A property manager? Or a clerk? Do you answer to me or I to you? Or do you answer to my guardians? What were you to my godfather? Do you answer to him still?”

  A light kindled in LeFevre’s eyes that told her that at least some of the questions had been the right ones. His answer was as careful and precise as the previous one had been. “In matters concerning the late baron’s will—in all senses—I am his man, both by contract and by oath. Some of those matters involve you; some do not. All of those matters come before anything else I might do.

  “However, one part of the baron’s will is that I shall manage the inheritance he left to you until the specified term is fulfilled. In that, I answer not to your guardians, nor to you, nor—I should point out—to any husband you may acquire, but only to my understanding of good and prudent management. Management of monies and properties, that is. It isn’t my business to manage any other part of your life. However,” he repeated, this time with quiet intensity, “whatever is left to me of discretion and loyalty, when all else is done, I am free to offer to you, if you would have it.”

  It was a gift carefully hedged about and bound up but Margerit thought it more valuable for that. In return she offered him her dream. “I want to study philosophy and theology at the university in Rotenek.”

  He nodded without speaking and steepled his fingers before his face in a few minutes of quiet consideration. “Is this a plan of long standing?” he asked at length.

  “How could it be?” she replied with a smothered laugh. “Before yesterday I might as well have wanted to…to become empress of Russia! I know that women are allowed to enter the lectures and libraries—my cousin Nikule told me—even though they can’t take a degree. He seemed to think it wasn’t quite the thing but he thinks that about a lot of things. Is it really something that is done? Could I do it?”

  LeFevre quirked one corner of his mouth in a half-grin. “You’d do better to ask Barbara about that. She could tell you far more than I can.”

  Margerit looked over at Barbara where she had been sitting silently throughout the conversation. She nodded. “I’ve attended some lectures—when it was convenient for the baron, of course. There are difficulties, but none that can’t be overcome.”

  “There are, in general, three types of women who attend university lectures,” LeFevre continued. “There are the poor-scholars, who attend under scholarship to become teachers and learn what is allowed them of a clerkly trade. Needless to say, that wouldn’t do at all for you. There are the Eccentrics.” His tone made it more of a title than a description. “They have the money to buy a place, the time to indulge their interests and the social standing to do as they please. If you had been born to the nobility, you could claim a place as an Eccentric. To be sure, they’re mostly older single women: widows, those who failed to marry or never cared to. There are a few matrons who achieved Eccentricity after marriage but none, I think, who achieved marriage after Eccentricity. But what they all have in common is a position in society that can’t be taken from them and there you are at a disadvantage. Fortune can open the doors of society to you but only if you’re careful to play the game. I don’t think your guardians would allow you to behave in a way that closed those doors again.

  “But there’s a third case,” he added hastily as her face fell. “It’s a fashion among certain silly young ladies to play at being scholars. They attend the lectures in academic robes of satin and lace, flirt flagrantly but safely with the ordinary scholars, mingle more freely than otherwise with the well-born dabblers and generally grow bored with the whole exercise after a few terms. The dozzures put up with them because their parents pay outrageously for the privilege. The serious students despise them as a distraction. But society considers it as harmless a diversion as riding to the hunt or playing piquet. So a serious young woman might find entrance both to society and scholarhood by disguising herself as a silly dilettante. If it happened that your uncle approved of you living in Rotenek, then there might be the op
portunity…” He let the suggestion trail off and sink in.

  As if summoned, Margerit heard her uncle’s voice distantly through the halls. She looked anxiously over at LeFevre and said, “Don’t tell him.”

  He frowned a little, but nodded. Barbara hurriedly pushed her chair back and stood as the footman came in to notify them that Maistir Fulpi was waiting in the office.

  * * *

  Margerit could tell he was startled to see her but he didn’t seem angry. Was he only concealing it for policy’s sake? How much had changed in their relationship? How much was yet to change?

  “Does your aunt know you’re here?” he asked sharply.

  “I told her I was going out,” Margerit answered, which was no answer.

  LeFevre rescued her by adding, “We’ve been having a very pleasant discussion about the generalities of the baron’s will. You and I can move on to the details.” He turned back to her with a polite bow. “It has been a lovely morning and I hope to see you again soon.” And then a nod to Barbara as he addressed her: “I had almost forgotten—Donati came by this morning. I told him to expect his regular fee while matters are being settled, but perhaps you could send him word about new arrangements for your practices.”

  Barbara murmured, “I don’t yet know what might be arranged.”

  “Easy enough,” LeFevre replied.

  Margerit saw what seemed to be a warning glance from Barbara, but LeFevre ignored it as he turned to her uncle. “Arrangements will need to be made for Barbara’s practice sessions with her fencing master. Is there a large enough space in your house? If needed she could continue them here. Some convenient transportation could be arranged.”

  “That will not be necessary,” he said shortly. And when LeFevre seemed confused as to which part of his question was being answered he continued, “In keeping with His Excellency’s will, that woman may keep the title of armin, but I think I will be making other arrangements for my niece’s necessary protection.”