When he said, “No, that won’t do at all,” my heart sank into my toes. I castigated myself for mentioning the post; I should have waited, letting him get attached to the idea of recruiting Kudshayn, before I pointed out that I would have to breach my promise of secrecy to make that work.
But Lord Gleinleigh wasn’t finished. “If he is to come here, we must make the most of his time. The post is far too slow—and coming by ship would take him through the tropics, which I imagine would be terribly hard on him, even if he stays belowdecks. No, I shall arrange for a caeliger.”
My heart rebounded from my toes as if it wanted to pop right out through my skull. “You would pay for that?” A caeliger trip from here to, say, Eiverheim is one thing, but flying halfway around the world is quite another!
Lord Gleinleigh frowned at me. I have spent too much of my life around sailors, which is to say around a great many merchants, and Mother’s family are proud of being traders; I never quite learned that men like Lord Gleinleigh pretend money doesn’t matter. “For a scholar of Kudshayn’s stature,” he said, “anything less would be an insult.”
Kudshayn doesn’t think like that, of course. He’s even worse about money than I am, except with him it’s that he doesn’t think about it much at all. But it hardly matters, because Lord Gleinleigh has agreed to bring him!
I’m just so shocked that the earl himself suggested it. Given all his concern with secrecy, I was sure he’d be reluctant to bring another person in—especially a Draconean, when I doubt he’s ever met one face to face in his life. Instead it’s like he read my mind.
I will write to Kudshayn tonight!
From: Charlotte Camherst
To: Audrey Camherst
23 Pluvis
#3 Clarton Square, Falchester
Dearest Audrey,
As you can see, I am in Falchester! We arrived last week, and have been so busy since then, this is the first moment I’ve had to sit down and write to you. Is there no telephone where you are? Papa tells me Stokesley is not so very far away, just across the border in Greffen—please tell me you will come for a visit while I am here. I know you detest formal balls and such, but it would mean so much to me to have you with me for at least a few days.
If nothing else, you simply must see the dress I wore for my presentation at Court. It is a positive antique—not literally, because of course it had to be sewn for me specially, but it’s not much different from the one Grandmama must have worn when she was presented. Why must stuffy old ceremonies be carried out in stuffy old clothing? [. . .]
[. . .] But I don’t mean to bore you with talk of people you don’t know and don’t care about. I only brought up Lady Cossimere’s because I wanted to tell you the peculiar thing that happened that night.
At one point when I had stopped to catch my breath, I heard Lord Gleinleigh announced. So of course I immediately bolted for someplace I could get sight of the entrance, because I wanted to know what he looked like. I thought, well, if my sister is translating tablets for him, I should say hello. (There are still people here who insist that a lady should never strike up a conversation with a man she hasn’t been introduced to—can you believe it? Luckily I have Cousin Rachel on hand to deliver a withering stare as required.)
So I saw Lord Gleinleigh. But then I had to dance with Mr. Trunberry, and what with one thing and another a whole hour went by before I got a chance to even think about talking to Lord Gleinleigh, and then of course I had to hunt through the crowd. I finally found him up in the gallery that rings Lady Cossimere’s ballroom . . . talking to Mrs. Kefford.
I was as shocked as you are! And yes, I’m sure it was her. Don’t forget I was with you that day we went to meet Grandpapa for lunch—you remember, after he got the Synedrion to vote in favour of hosting the congress and wound up having that incredibly public row with her in the colonnade outside.
It shouldn’t surprise me that she was at Lady Cossimere’s. Everybody who is or wishes to be anybody comes to her parties, and Mrs. Kefford is undeniably somebody, even if I wish she weren’t. But talking with Lord Gleinleigh? And it looked like a proper conversation, too. I mean that they clearly knew each other, and if they were just discussing the weather, then I never knew rain could be so serious. It looked as if Lord Gleinleigh was trying to persuade Mrs. Kefford of something; he was very earnest and energetic, and she looked intrigued but also a little annoyed. I really wanted to get closer and listen in, but there was absolutely no way—especially not when there are so few girls as dark as I am at these events. Lord Gleinleigh was bound to recognize me as your sister, and Mrs. Kefford might have remembered me, especially since I would have had to get quite close to hear anything.
But isn’t that peculiar all on its own? I had no idea Lord Gleinleigh even knew Mrs. Kefford, let alone was on such close terms with her. I suppose he might have encountered her husband in the Synedrion, but they hold seats in different houses and are not known to be intimates. Or perhaps he and Mrs. Kefford met on the Continent; I hear he spends a great deal of time there, and she could save us all some headaches if she went to live in Ecraie permanently. (Well, it would save Scirland some headaches. But then the people of Thiessin would have them instead.) They both collect Draconean antiquities, so they might have met through those channels. But she’s positively vicious about them—the Draconeans, I mean; not the antiquities—and Lord Gleinleigh isn’t, not if he’s having you translate those tablets for him. I’m surprised he’s even willing to exchange a civil word with Mrs. Kefford, or she with him. If she didn’t spend so much of her fortune on antiquities, I would swear she was a Hadamist, even if I can’t imagine her running around in a red mask.
Now I’ve brought the mood down entirely with nasty speculation. And yet the only other thing I have to talk about is frippery and husband-hunting, so I will stop before I make anything worse. I remain, as always,
Your silly and frivolous sister,
Lotte
From: Audrey Camherst
To: Charlotte Camherst
24 Pluvis
Stokesley, Greffen
Dearest Lotte,
Never apologize for writing to me about frippery and husband-hunting. I might not have any interest in that for my own sake, but I care about it a great deal for your sake, because it makes you happy.
I used to not care, you know. I thought I was obliged, as Lady Trent’s granddaughter, to sneer at all things feminine and frilly. I made the mistake once of saying something about that in Grandmama’s hearing, and oh, did she ever set me down hard. She didn’t raise her voice. She only explained to me, very calmly, that if any obligation accrued to me as her granddaughter, then it was to acknowledge the right of any person to pursue their own dreams instead of the ones I felt they ought to have. By the time she was done, I wanted to crawl under the rug and die . But I’m glad she did it, because of course she was right. Grandmama pursued dragons instead of sitting quietly at home like everyone else thought she should; Papa went away to sea because he had no interest in dragons. If either of us is the true heir to Lady Trent’s legacy, it is you, dear Lotte, because you have rebelled by running into the arms of high society, while the rest of us run as fast as we can in the other direction.
There, have I made you blush? I hope so. I’m told it’s good for the complexion.