She pulled on her jeans and sweater again, frowning-Should have asked Kara to get something out for me-then went back into the main room. The servants had pulled out a small dining table from somewhere, and it was set with silverware and a huge candelabra. “Wonderful!” she said. Kara and Brill were standing beside it, and Kara grinned uncontrollably. “Okay, sit down. Did anyone order any wine?”
Brill had, and the food, which she’d ordered up from the cavernous kitchens far below, was still edible. By the time they’d drained two bottles of a most passable red, Miriam was feeling distinctly tired and even Kara had lost her tendency to squeal, bounce, and end every sentence on an exclamation point. “Bedtime, I think,” she said, pointedly dismissing everyone from her chamber before pulling back the curtain on her bed, pulling out the warming pan, and burrowing inside.
The next morning Miriam awakened rapidly and-for a miracle-without any trace of a hangover. I feel fine, she realized, surprised. Pulling back the curtain, she sat up to find a maid sitting with down turned face beside her bed. Oh. I did feel fine, she amended. “You can send them in,” she said, trying to keep the tone of resignation out of her voice. “I’m ready to dress now.”
Kara bounded in. “It’s your walk with Lady Olga today!” she enthused. “Look what I found for you?”
Miriam looked-and stifled a groan. Kara had zeroed in on one of her work suits, along with a silvery top. “No,” she said, levering herself off the bed. “Bring me what I was wearing yesterday. I think it’s clean enough to do. Then pass me my underwear and get out.”
“But! But-”
“I am thirty-two years old, and I have been putting on my own clothes for twenty-eight of those years,” Miriam explained, one gentle hand on Kara’s back, propelling her gently toward the door. “When I need help, I’ll let you know.” Alone, she leaned against the cold wall for a moment and closed her eyes. Youth and enthusiasm! She made a curse of the phrase.
Miriam dressed quickly and efficiently, then exited her bedroom to find Kara and a couple of servants waiting by the dining table, on which was laid a single breakfast setting. She was about to protest when she took one look at Kara and bit her tongue. Instead, she sat down. “Coffee or tea, whatever’s available,” she said to the maid. “Kara. Come here. Sit down with me. Cough it up.”
“I’m meant to dress you,” she said miserably. “It’s my job.”
“Fine, fine.” Miriam rolled her eyes. “You do know I come from the other side?” Kara nodded. “If it makes you feel better, tell yourself I’m a crazy old bat who’ll be sorry she ignored you later.” She grinned at Kara’s expression of surprise. “Listen, there’s something you need to know about me: I don’t play head games.”
“Games? With heads?”
Ye gods! “If I think someone has made a mistake, I tell them. It doesn’t mean I secretly hate them or that I’ve decided to make their life unpleasant. I don’t do that because I’ve got other things to worry about, and screwing around like that-” she saw Kara’s eyes widen-Don’t tell me swearing isn’t allowed?-“is a waste of time. Do you understand?”
Kara shook her head, mutely.
“Don’t worry about it, then. I’m not angry with you. Drink your tea.” Miriam patted her hand. “It’s going to be all right. You said there’s a reception this evening. You said we were invited. You want to go?”
Kara nodded, slowly, watching Miriam.
“Fine. You’re coming, then. If you didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t make you. Do you understand? As long as you do your job properly when you’re needed, as far as I’m concerned you’re free to do whatever you like with the rest of your time. I am not your mother. Do you understand?”
Kara nodded again, but her entire posture was one of mute denial and her eyes were wide. Shit, I’m not getting through to her, Miriam thought to herself. She sighed. “Okay. Breakfast first.” The toast was getting cold. “Is Brill going to the party?”
“Yes, mistress.” Kara seemed to have found her tongue again, but she sounded a bit shaky. She’s about seventeen, Miriam reminded herself. A teenager. Whatever happened to teenage rebellion here? Do they beat it out of them or something?
“Good. Listen, when you’ve finished, go find her. I need someone to walk with me to Lady Olga’s apartment. When Brill gets back, the two of you are to sort out whatever I’m wearing tonight. When I get back I’ll need you both to dress me and tell me who everybody is, where the bodies are buried, and what topics of conversation to avoid. Plus a quick course in court etiquette to make sure I know how to greet someone without insulting them. Think you can manage that?”
Kara nodded, a quick flick of the chin. “Yes, I can do that.” She was about to say something else, but she swallowed it. “By your leave.” She stood.
“Sure. Be off with you.”
Kara turned and scurried out of the room, back stiff. “I don’t think I understand that girl,” Miriam muttered to herself. Brill I think I’ve got a handle on, but Kara-She shook her head, acutely aware of how much she didn’t know and, by implication, of how much potential for damage this touchy teenager contained within her mood swings.
Brilliana turned up as Miriam finished her coffee, dressed for an outdoor hike. Hey, have I started a fashion for trousers? Miriam rose. “Good morning!” She grinned. “Sleep well after last night?”
“Oh.” Brilliana rubbed her forehead. “You plied us with wine like a swain with his-well, I think it’s still there.” She waited for Miriam to stand up. “Would you like to go straight to Lady Olga? Her Aris says she would receive you in the orangery, then take tea with you in her rooms.”
“I think, hmm.” Miriam raised an eyebrow, then nodded when she saw Brilliana’s expression. No newspapers, no telephones, no electricity. Visiting each other is probably the nearest thing to entertainment they get around here when none of the big nobs are throwing parties. “Whatever you think is the right thing to do,” she said. “Where’s my coat…”
Brilliana led her through the vast empty reception chamber of the night before, now illuminated with the clear white light of a snow-blanketed day. They turned down a broad stone-flagged corridor. It was empty save for darkened oil paintings of former inhabitants, and an elderly servant slowly polishing a suit of armour that looked strangely wrong to Miriam’s untrained eye: The plates and joints not quite angled like anything she’d seen in a museum back home.
“Lady Aris said that her Excellency is in a foul mood this morning,” Brilliana said quietly. “She doesn’t know why.”
“Hmmph.” Miriam had some thoughts on the subject. “I spent a long time talking to Olga on the way here. She’s… let’s just say that being one of the inner Clan and fully possessed of the talent doesn’t solve all problems.”
“Really?” Brilliana looked slightly disappointed. She pointed Miriam down a wide staircase, carpeted in blue. Two footmen in crimson livery stood guard at the bottom, backs straight, never blinking at the two women as they passed. Their brightly polished swords looked less out of place to Miriam’s eye than the submachine guns slung discreetly behind their shoulders. Any mob who tried to storm the Clan’s holding would get more than they bargained for.
They walked along another corridor. A small crocodile of maids and dubious-looking servants, cleaning staff, shuffled out of their way as they passed. This time Miriam felt eyes tracking them. “Olga has issues,” she said quietly. “Do you know Duke Lofstrom?”
“I’ve never been presented to him.” Brilliana’s eyes widened. “Isn’t he your uncle?”
“He’s trying to marry Olga off,” Miriam murmured.
“Funny thing is, now I think about it, not once during three days in a carriage with her did I hear Olga say anything positive about her husband-to-be.”
“My lady?”
They came to another staircase, this time leading down into a different wing of this preposterously huge mansion. They passed more guards, this time in the same colours as Oliver Hjorth’s butler. Miriam didn’t let herself blink, but she was aware of their stares, hostile and unwelcoming, drilling into her back.
“Is it my imagination or…?” Miriam muttered as they turned down a final corridor.
“They may have been shown miniatures of you,” Brilliana said. She shivered, glanced askance at Miriam. “I wouldn’t come this way without a companion, my lady. If I was mistrustful.”
“Why? How bad could it be?”
