“How well did you know the Old Dark Man?”
Mirami frowned, her nose wrinkling, as at a bad smell. “I could not say I knew him at all. No one ever really knew him. He was there, in the Old Dark House, as far back as I can remember. For some reason, I think my mother had left me in his care for a time, and then something happened to her. He had promised her he would care for me and he did. I had the usual serving people around me. At first I had a nursemaid, then a governess, and a teacher and a riding master—though the riding master soon gave up on me! I do not like horses! The Old Dark House itself was dreadful, of course, he cared nothing for beauty or comfort, but I had the little carriage house, and it was quite nice. Later, he exacted a price for my upbringing. I paid it over time. It seemed worth it, and I thought I would forget the unpleasantness. I do, most of the time.” She leaned forward and touched Alicia’s knee gently. “But I miss having a friend, Alicia. Chamfray said it was my fault that you and I were not friends. I hope we can be.”
Alicia lifted her cup, letting it hide her surprise as she made the lightning decision to respond in kind. “Oh, Mother, I’m so glad!” The words were too quick, too unrehearsed to be wholly believable, but evidently their very spontaneity made them sound convincing—at least to Mirami, who began to chat. They “chatted” for some time. Alicia had on occasion listened to other people “chatting,” but she was certainly not accustomed to doing it herself, and she found it difficult—much more difficult, actually, than killing people. One had to listen to idiocy, sometimes about people one did not know or care to know, and respond to idiocy with idiocy. One repeated oneself a lot, over and over. The other person or persons repeated themselves, over and over. No information was actually exchanged. What had the beekeeper at Kamfels called it? Hive noise: the buzz that went on in the hive, meaningless as breathing, but no less significant.
By the time they parted, Alicia was tense with the strain of it, but Mirami seemed well pleased. She had taken Chamfray’s advice. Alicia would be her new friend. If she had to kill off her new friend at some point, it would still have been comfortable to have had a friend for a while. Dutifully, she reminded herself of something else Chamfray had said: if Alicia was to be a friend, Mirami must not be so critical of her. One didn’t criticize friends. Not where they could overhear.
Alicia went back to her own rooms and became lost in concentration over the emergence of a totally new idea. Mirami was a very beautiful woman, yes. She was also fifty—no, fifty-five years old. Alicia was at least equally beautiful, and she was seventeen years younger. Mirami had been a very young bride. If Alicia said she was thirty-two, no one would dispute it. Also, during those strange childhood journeys to the Old Dark House she had had the advantage of being instructed by the Old Dark Man in matters that went far beyond how to poison people and how to make sure one had a male child. Alicia—since her father had died—had often resented being female, but at this moment she was glowingly grateful for being a woman so that neither Chamfray nor the Old Dark Man himself had contributed to her birth. She actually felt pleased and satisfied at that. These were unfamiliar though interesting emotions, not unlike the satiety she felt after a slaughter. If Mirami could be believed, Alicia might be able to make her own place in court society without having to be alert to observe anti-poison precautions at every moment. If Mirami could be believed! It would be foolish, of course, to believe her much, or for long. It would be unforgivably stupid to take what she said at face value, though one might act as though one believed her for a day, perhaps a few days, if one was careful.
And, of course, a lot depended upon whether Justinian was totally beyond reach! If he were, if Alicia’s marriage to Justinian were no longer possible, Mirami could change her intentions in a moment. Although . . . Wasn’t it possible Alicia might make another, loftier conquest that could prove easier and much quicker than Justinian? Couldn’t Wold be obtained later on, in some other way? Well, easy enough to find out!
When in company at court, she had almost always dressed in subdued colors, so as not to be noticed with particularity, so as to fade into the crowd. Today, she went into closets she had not used in years and brought out youthful gowns she barely remembered. She sent for dressmakers to modify and retrim her garments so she could appear in the bright colors the queen had mentioned. She summoned the queen’s hairdresser and had her own hair arranged loosely, girlishly. Standing before her mirror, she decided that over her underclothing she would wear only the dress, no jewels. No jewels at all. Not at her neck, not at her wrists, not in
