The Glittering Court Page 5

  “Sir?” prompted the guard.

  The world seemed to move in slow motion, and all I could hear for several moments was the hammering of my own heart. I was reminded of that precipice again, only now I was losing my footing. All it would take was one word from Cedric, one word to get me hauled back to my grandmother and Lionel. I didn’t doubt Cedric was clever enough to spin the situation to make himself sound innocent. And for all I knew, Cedric might think collecting a reward now was easier than earning a commission in Adoria.

  Cedric took a deep breath, and as if putting on a mask, he became the swaggering young man from before. “I saw Lord John Branson,” he said. He nodded toward me. “She was mending some fine lady’s clothes at his house when I retrieved her, though. Does that count?”

  “This is hardly a joking matter,” snapped the guard. But I could tell he was already losing interest in us, ready to move on. There were probably a lot of travelers trying to leave before curfew, and they didn’t want to be delayed by one unlikely carriage. A runaway noblewoman would be skulking out, not sitting with reputable businessmen.

  “You can go,” said the other guard. “Thank you for your time.”

  Cedric, still putting on a good face, smiled back. “Not a problem. I hope you find her.”

  The door closed, and the carriage started forward, finally moving at a steady pace now that we’d cleared the stops and starts of the city. I exhaled, all the tension melting out of me as I sank into the seat. I dared a brief glance at Cedric but couldn’t read his expression or intentions. All I could hope was that maybe, finally, I’d be free.

  Chapter 4

  The journey took all night, and I drifted in and out of sleep. My body wanted rest, but my mind was too keyed up, fearful I’d hear horses and angry shouts behind us. But the night passed uneventfully, the rocking of the carriage lulling me into more of a calm daze than a true sleep. I came fully awake when I heard Jasper say, “Ah, here we are.” The carriage’s steady gait began to slow, and I lifted my head, startled and embarrassed to realize I’d been resting it on Cedric’s shoulder. His cologne smelled like vetiver.

  My companions’ reactions were mixed. Tamsin’s face was eager, ready to take on this new adventure and seize what she saw as her destiny. Mira was more apprehensive, wearing the expression of one who had seen much and knew better than to trust initial appearances.

  Jasper helped each of us out of the carriage, and as I waited my turn, I had a momentary flash of panic at what I might find. I’d gone to a great deal of trouble last night, striving for a destination grounded more in my own fantasies than any fact. Cedric had wooed me with his pitch to Ada, but there was a very real chance I was about to walk into a situation far worse than a life of barley with Lionel. I could be walking into a life of sordidness and danger.

  Jasper took my hand, and I got my first good look at Blue Spring Manor. To my immediate relief, it looked neither sordid nor dangerous on the outside. Blue Spring Manor was a country estate, set out among the moors with no village or other community in sight. No one searching for me would casually pass by. It wasn’t quite as big as some of my family’s former holdings, but it was still old and impressive. The morning sun rose just beyond its roof, illuminating Tamsin and Mira’s awestruck faces.

  A middle-aged woman dressed all in black met us at the door. “Well, here they are, the last of them. I was worried they weren’t going to show.”

  “We had a few delays,” Jasper explained, glancing at Mira. “And some surprises.”

  “I’m sure they’ll settle in soon enough.” The woman turned to us with a stern expression. “I’m Mistress Masterson. I run the house and will manage your day-to-day affairs. I’ll also be in charge of teaching you etiquette—which I expect you to excel in. We’ve got one room left that’ll hold the three of you nicely. You can put your things away and then join the other girls for breakfast. They’ve just sat down.”

  She asked the Thorns if they wanted breakfast as well, but I barely heard their response. I was too busy processing Mistress Masterson’s comment about the three of us sharing a room. I’d never shared a room with anyone in my life. No—I’d never shared my rooms with anyone. No matter which residence my family had stayed in, I’d had a suite to myself. At most, I’d had a maid sleeping outside the door or in an antechamber to answer my summons.

  Cedric gave me a sharp look, and I wondered if perhaps my astonishment showed on my face. I quickly schooled my expression to neutrality and followed Mistress Masterson inside. She led us up a winding staircase that I had to admit was elegant. Bright paintings lined the house’s walls—some portraits of Thorn family members, and others hung simply for their beauty. I recognized a few of the artists and nearly slowed to study them in more detail before remembering I needed to keep up.

  The room Mistress Masterson took us to was decently appointed, with lacy curtains framing a window that looked down on the manor’s grounds. The room also held three claw-foot beds with matching dressers—but didn’t seem nearly big enough for any of that, let alone three occupants. Tamsin and Mira’s wide eyes suggested otherwise.

  “It’s so bloody big,” exclaimed Tamsin.

  “Language, please.” Mistress Masterson’s prim face softened a little as she looked us over. “You’ll soon get used to it, and if you’re lucky and study hard, you’ll likely have a room this size all to yourself when you marry in the New World.”

  Mira ran her fingertips lightly along the flowered wallpaper. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Mistress Masterson swelled with pride. “Nearly all of our rooms are wallpapered—we try to maintain high standards, just as good as the capital’s. Now, then. Let me take you down to the other girls. You can get acquainted with them while I speak with Master Jasper and his son.”

  We left our meager belongings in the room and followed her back down the staircase. The rest of the manor’s corridors bore the same décor, with old portraits and elegant vases scattered about. We entered the dining room, also beautifully done, sporting striped wallpaper and deep green rugs. The table was covered with a scallop-edged linen cloth and set with china and silver. Tamsin had attempted an unimpressed expression when we walked into the room but faltered at the sight of it.

  I immediately focused my attention on the table’s occupants, consisting of seven girls who fell silent at our arrival. They looked to be the same age as us and were all very attractive. The Glittering Court might claim to find girls who could learn to behave like nobler classes, but it was clear our appearances were a big part of the criteria that got us here.

  “Ladies,” said Mistress Masterson, “this is Tamsin, Adelaide, and Mirabel. They will be joining our home.” To us, she added, “Everyone else has just arrived within the last week. Now that you’re all here, we’ll formalize the schedule and of course work on overhauling everyone’s wardrobes. You’ll dress better than you ever have in your lives and learn to style yourselves as befits the upper classes.” She paused and looked me over. “Though your hair is already quite nice, Adelaide.”

  She urged us to sit down and then left to speak with Jasper and Cedric. Silence continued as everyone sized each other up or continued eating. I was surprisingly hungry and wondered when a servant would enter. After a few minutes, I realized no one was coming and that we had to do our own serving. I reached out to a nearby teapot and had the novel experience of pouring for myself.

  Breakfast was a selection of fruit and delicate pastries. Tamsin’s calculation and Mira’s apprehension couldn’t hold out against an array like that, and they reached eagerly for the serving plate. I wondered if they’d ever eaten such things in their lives. Both were thin. Maybe they’d never eaten much of anything.

  I purposely selected a fig-and-almond tart, something that required a little effort. It was traditionally eaten by being first cut into small, equally sized pieces, and I used the delay as an excuse
to study my companions. The first thing I noticed was a uniformity in their clothing. Sure, the dresses varied in color and fabric choices, but my guess was that they’d all gone through the outfitting process Mistress Masterson had spoken about. The dresses were pretty and flirty, as opposed to the more serviceable one I’d inherited from Ada. The fabric quality in mine was at least as good, however, if not better. Mira and Tamsin’s attire didn’t even warrant comparison to the rest of us, though I had to assume most of the girls had arrived in a similar state.

  The others also appeared to have had a few rudimentary etiquette lessons already, which they were trying to implement with varying degrees of success. They might be dressed and styled decently, but these were the daughters of laborers and tradesmen. A couple of girls managed the ten-piece silverware setting reasonably well. Others made no effort whatsoever and ate largely with their hands. Most fell in the middle, visibly struggling to figure out which utensil to use, no doubt trying to recall whatever Mistress Masterson had taught them in their brief time here. Tamsin, I suddenly noticed, was eating a fig-and-almond tart too. Unlike other girls who were simply lifting and biting it, Tamsin cut hers perfectly, with exactly the right tools. Then I realized her eyes were locked on my plate, imitating everything I did.

  “What are you?” one girl asked boldly. “Myrikosi? Vinizian? Surely not . . . Sirminican.”

  There was no question about whom she was speaking to, and all eyes swiveled to Mira. She took several moments to look up. She’d been nicely cutting her lemon roll but was using the wrong fork and knife. No one else knew any better, and I certainly wasn’t going to point it out. “I was born in the City of Holy Light, yes.”

  Santa Luz. The grandest, oldest city in Sirminica. I’d learned about it in my governess’s history lessons, how it had been settled by the ancient Ruvans centuries ago. Philosophers and kings had lived and ruled there, and its monuments were legendary. At least, they had been until revolution ravaged the country.

  A girl at the opposite end of the table regarded Mira with undisguised derision. “There’s no way you can get rid of that accent in a year.” She glanced around knowingly at some of the others. “I’m sure they need servants in the New World. You won’t need to talk much if you’re busy scrubbing floors.”

  This brought a few snickers from some, uncomfortable looks from others. “Clara,” warned one girl uneasily. I carefully set down my fork and knife, crossing them in a perfect X, as a lady did when pausing in her meal. Fixing a level gaze on the girl—Clara—sitting at the end of the table, I asked, “Who did your makeup today?”

  Startled by my question, she turned from smirking at her neighbor to study me curiously. “I did.”

  I nodded in satisfaction. “Obviously.”

  Clara frowned. “Obviously?”

  “Well, I knew it couldn’t have been Mistress Masterson.”

  A girl beside me hesitantly offered: “We haven’t been here long. Cosmetics haven’t been part of the curricu—curricu—”

  “Curriculum,” I said, helping her with the unfamiliar word. I glanced back at Clara before returning to my tart. “Obviously it hasn’t.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” she demanded.

  I drew out the tension by eating another piece before answering. “Because Mistress Masterson would have never directed you to use cosmetics like that. Red lips aren’t in style in Osfro anymore. All the highborn ladies are wearing coral and dusky pink. And you’ve applied the rouge in the wrong spot—it goes higher, up on your cheekbones.” That’s what I’d heard, at least. I’d certainly never applied my own cosmetics. “Where you’ve got it right now makes you look like you have mumps. You’ve got a steady hand on the kohl, but everyone knows you have to smudge it to get the proper look. Otherwise, your eyes look beady. And everything—everything—you’ve applied is far too dark. A light touch goes a long way. The way you’re wearing it now makes you look . . . how shall I put it . . . well, like a lady of questionable morals.”

  Two spots of color appeared in the girl’s cheek, making her badly applied rouge look even worse. “Like what?”

  “Like a prostitute. That’s another word for ‘whore,’ in case you’re not familiar with it,” I explained, using as formal a tone as my former governess would use while teaching Ruvan grammar. “That’s someone who sells her body for—”

  “I know what it means!” the girl exclaimed, turning even redder.

  “But,” I added, “if it’s any consolation, you look like a very high-class one. Like one who would work in one of the more expensive brothels. Where the girls dance and sing. Not like the ones who work down by the wharves. Those poor things don’t have access to true cosmetics at all, so they have to make do with whatever they can scrape together. Be grateful you haven’t hit that low.” I paused. “Oh. And, by the way, you’re using the wrong fork.”

  The girl stared at me openmouthed, and I braced myself for a backlash. It’d be no more than I deserved, but she’d certainly deserved my belittling. I didn’t know Mira well, but something about her resonated with me—a mix of sorrow shielded by pride. Clara had the air of someone who preyed on others frequently. I knew that type of girl. They apparently existed in both upper and lower classes, so I felt no remorse for what I’d done.

  Until her eyes—and those of everyone else at the table—lifted to something beyond me. A cold feeling welled up in the pit of my stomach, and I slowly turned around, unsurprised to see Mistress Masterson and the Thorns standing in the entryway to the dining room. I wasn’t sure how much they’d heard, but their shocked expressions told me they’d heard enough.

  No one acknowledged it, however, as Cedric and Jasper joined us at the table. Really, no one acknowledged much of anything as the meal progressed. I wanted to shrink into my seat but remembered a lady must always sit straight. The tension had been thick before, but now I could feel it pressing upon my shoulders. I regretted finishing the tart because then I had nothing to occupy myself or fix my gaze upon. I poured another cup of tea, stirring it endlessly until the Thorns rose to leave and Mistress Masterson formally dismissed us to our rooms.

  I was one of the first to hurry out, hoping if I escaped Mistress Masterson’s eye, she’d eventually forget about the scene she’d witnessed. Surely she had better things to worry about. The other girls turned toward the spiral staircase, but just as I was about to, a flash of color caught my eye at the opposite end of the foyer. Everyone was preoccupied going their own way and paid little attention when I turned from the stairs. At the far end of the great hall was the entrance to the drawing room, and beside it hung a painting of surpassing beauty.

  I recognized the artist as I drew nearer. Florencio. The National Gallery in Osfro also held one of his paintings, and I’d studied it many times. He was a Sirminican renowned for painting landscapes in his own country, and I was surprised to find one of his works in this country manor. Closer scrutiny made me think it was one of the artist’s earlier works. Certain techniques weren’t quite as refined as the gallery portrait. It was still exquisite, but those imprecise details might explain how the painting had ended up here.

  I admired it a little longer, trying to puzzle out some of his methods, and then turned around to go back to the staircase. To my astonishment, I saw Jasper and Cedric headed my way down the corridor. Neither had noticed me yet. They were too engrossed in their own conversation. I quickly stepped around a corner, cringing back into a small nook to the side of the drawing room’s entrance that was out of sight of the main hall.

  “. . . knew it was too good to be true,” Jasper was saying. “You had two chances. Two chances, and you blew them both.”

  “You don’t think you’re being a little extreme?” asked Cedric. His tone was light, laconic even, but I could sense the tension underneath it.

  “Did you hear the mouth on that girl?” Jasper exclaimed. “Atrocious.”

 
“Not really. She was quite polite about it all. No improper language.” Cedric hesitated. “And her grammar and diction are quite excellent.”

  “It’s not the language so much as the attitude. She’s bold and impertinent. The men in Adoria don’t want shrews for wives. They want mild, compliant young woman.”

  “Not too mild if they’re going to survive in Adoria,” Cedric said. “And she was defending Mira. I thought it was noble.” Well, that answered one question. They’d heard the whole exchange after all.

  Jasper sighed. “Oh, yes. Defending the Sirminican—that justifies it all. That one’s going to have to get used to being put down. Clara’s not going to be the only one to do it.”

  “I don’t think Mira’s the type who will ever ‘get used to’ being put down,” said Cedric. I thought about the dark glitter of her eyes and was inclined to agree with him.

  “Be that as it may, you’ve thrown away both commissions. You’ll be lucky to get anything for them in Adoria—unless you can get Adelaide to close her mouth long enough for us to marry her off. She’s pretty enough to snare some fool. The Sirminican is too,” Jasper added, almost grudgingly. “There’s nothing wrong with your eyes, I’ll give you that. It’s the rest of you I don’t know about. Letting you procure this year was a bad idea. You should’ve stayed here with your classes. Maybe a few more years would have taught you some sense.”

  “What’s done is done,” said Cedric.

  “I suppose so. Well, I have to finish up some paperwork, and then I’ll meet you at the carriage. We need to check on Swan Ridge.”

  I heard the sounds of Jasper’s footsteps departing and waited for Cedric to do the same. Instead, he moved forward, coming into my view as he looked at the same painting I’d admired before. I froze where I was, praying he wouldn’t look off to his side. After several moments, he sighed and turned to follow his father. And as he did, he caught sight of me in his periphery. Before I could draw another breath, he darted into my little alcove, trapping me between him and the wall.