In Enemy Hands

And if Sphinx had looked at her askance for being from Beowulf, she could just imagine how Honor's Graysons were going to approach her! She was pleased that Miranda, at least, seemed comfortable around her, because she'd already realized how critical Miranda was, despite her official title of 'maid', to the functioning of Harrington House and the entire steading. If someone that important to Honor hadn't been comfortable with her, Allison would have expended however much effort it took to put her at ease. As it was, she rather suspected she would find it easy to enlist Miranda as an ally and an accomplice when she began her assault on the rest of Grayson.

And, she thought almost dreamily, with Honor back in space, just think of all the time she'd have to do it right.

But that brought another point back to her mind, and she seated herself in the comfortable chair behind the desk and waved Miranda into the one facing her across the coffee table. Farragut flowed up into the Grayson woman's lap as soon as she was seated, and Allison smiled wryly.

'I remember when Honor first brought Nimitz home,' she said. 'You might not believe it to look at her now, but her growth spurt came late, and third-generation prolong slows things down even more. She was, oh, sixteen, I think, before she started shooting up, and when Nimitz first adopted her, he was almost as long as she was. But she insisted on carrying him everywhere. For a while, I thought his legs were going to atrophy completely!'

'Farragut isn't quite that bad, My Lady,' Miranda said with a smile, rubbing his ears while he purred loudly.

'No, he isn't,' Allison agreed. 'Or not yet, anyway. Treecats are a shamelessly hedonistic lot, though, so watch yourself.'

'I will, My Lady,' Miranda promised with a smile, and Allison tipped her chair back.

'I'd like you to do me a favor, Miranda,' she said. 'Well, two of them, actually.'

'Of course, My Lady. What are they?'

'The first is to cut back on the 'My Ladies,'' Allison said, and grinned impishly at Miranda’s expression. 'Oh, I'm not offended or anything. It's just that I've spent all my life as a commoner. I realize Honors gone and changed all that as far as you folks here on Grayson are concerned, but I keep wondering who you're actually talking to!'

Miranda gazed at her for a moment, then leaned back in her own chair and crossed her legs, cradling Farragut against her chest.

'That's may be harder than you think, M— Doctor,' she said finally. 'Your daughter is a steadholder, the first female steadholder ever, and the modes of address for steadholders and their families are part of the bedrock of Grayson's formal etiquette. Of course, we've had to make some adaptations. Before Lady Harrington, the only proper address for a steadholder was 'My Lord,' so that had to change, but getting people to change the rest of it...' She shook her head. 'Let's just say that Graysons can be a little stubborn, Doctor.'

'If it won't sprain your tongue, you might try 'Allison' or even 'Alley,' at least when there's just the two of us and we're off-duty,' Allison pointed out. Miranda colored slightly at her astringent tone, but then she smiled and Allison smiled back. 'And I do believe I've heard a little something about Grayson stubbornness from Honor. Which,' she added with some asperity, 'is a case of the pot calling the kettle black! But I figure if you're not any stubborner than she is, and if we start gradually and work at it steadily, we should have even Graysons properly reprogrammed in, oh, a century or so.'

Miranda surprised herself with a laugh, and Allison grinned at her. But then her grin faded, and she let her chair come upright to lean forward and rest her elbows on her new desk while she looked at Miranda intently.

'As for the second favor,' she said in a much more serious voice, 'I wonder if you could tell me why Honor left so much sooner than planned.'

'I beg your pardon, M— Allison?'

'You did that very well,' Allison complimented her.

'Did what?' Miranda asked.

'Sounded totally surprised by the question,' Allison explained, and this time Mirandas blush was dark. 'Aha! There was something, wasn't there?'

'Not really,' Miranda said. 'Or, at least, not anything she discussed with me.'

''Discussed'?' Allison repeated, and in that moment she sounded very like her daughter. They both had that habit of pouncing on the most important parts of any sentence, Miranda thought, and wondered exactly what she could, or, for that matter, should, say without violating her Steadholder's confidence. The fact that Lady Harrington had never actually said a word to her about it only made the decision harder, and she bent to press her cheek against Farragut's head while she considered it.

'My Lady,' she said finally, in a formal tone, 'I'm your daughters personal maid. As much as Lord Clinkscales, or my brother Andrew, I have an obligation to respect and guard her confidence from anyone, even her mother.'

The seriousness of her response widened Allison’s eyes. It confirmed her already high opinion of Miranda’s integrity, but it also suggested that there had, indeed, been a reason for Honors sudden departure. She'd suspected there must have, for she knew how much Honor had looked forward to welcoming her to Grayson and personally showing her around the clinic. The fact that Honor hadn't written to warn her that she would be away was only another sign that whatever had happened must have come up suddenly, but as she gazed at Miranda’s face, she realized that she wasn't going to discover what it had been from her daughter's maid.

'All right, Miranda,' she said after several seconds. 'I won't press you about it, and thank you for your loyalty to Honor.' Miranda nodded slightly, the gesture thanks more for the promise not to push her than for the implicit compliment, and Allison nodded back, then stood.

'In the meantime, however,' she said briskly, 'I understand we're supposed to join Lord Clinkscales and his wives for dinner this evening?'

'Yes, M— Allison. And I hope you won't be offended, but I simply wouldn't dare address you by name in front of Lord Clinkscales.' Miranda feigned a shiver of terror, and Allison laughed.

'Oh, don't worry about that, dear! I had something else in mind.'

'Oh?' Miranda cocked her head as her guests tone rang warning bells, and Allison smiled wickedly.

'Certainly. You see, I haven't had time to as much as try on a Grayson gown, so I'm going to have to choose something to wear from my Manticoran wardrobe, and I need advice.' A sort of wary consternation crept into Miranda’s expression, and Allison's smile grew broader and still more wicked. 'I'm afraid styles are just a bit different back home,' she went on in an artfully worried voice, 'but I did manage to find a few formal gowns before I left. Do you think I should wear the backless one with the V-neckline, or the one slit to the hip?'

Chapter Twelve

'Oh, stop moping, Mac! It's not like I'm abandoning you.'

'Of course not, Milady.' Senior Master Chief Steward James MacGuiness spoke with a most unusual lack of expression, and his formal choice of title was not lost upon his commodore.

Honor sighed mentally, eyeing herself in the bulkhead mirror as she adjusted her black beret. Nimitz sat on her desk, watching her preparations, and she felt his silent chuckle. He and MacGuiness were old and close friends, but the free-spirited treecat found the steward's periodic obsession with what he considered proper protocol hilarious. Neither Nimitz nor his person could ever doubt the depth of MacGuiness' attachment to Honor, but there was an undeniable edge of outraged professional jealousy in the steward’s emotions at the moment. The real reason for his formality, the equivalent, for him, of a screaming tantrum, was his indignation over the notion that someone else’s steward would be in charge of a dinner party his commodore was throwing. And, of course, the 'cat's link to Honor meant that she knew that as well as Nimitz did.