Chapter 6

C HAPTER 6

When Cordelia woke, she had a moment of confusion. There were voices… but no, there weren't. She'd been dreaming. Perhaps she was still dreaming. The light was sea green and she was surrounded by it on all sides, and everything was soft, very soft, and very comfortable.

Am I dead? Is that why I'm so comfortable? The ground always looks very hard, but perhaps if you're dead and made of bones, it feels soft?

This was an interesting theory, but she lifted one hand and it was made of flesh, not bone, and then she remembered that she was in the curtained bed and there were two closed doors.

In fact, if Mother is in a room like this one, there might be four closed doors.

This was a staggering thought. Four doors! Cordelia could think anything and it wouldn't matter if it showed on her face. She could scowl and frown and glare and make terrible faces, and her mother would never know.

She attempted to make a terrible face, crossing her eyes and scrunching up her cheeks, whereupon the curtains opened and she yelped.

It was Alice. "I'm sorry to startle you, miss. Would you rather I knock on the door in the mornings?"

"I… uh…" Could she ask for that? Was that allowed? She took a deep breath. "That would be wonderful."

The maid gave no indication that it was a strange request. "I've brought tea, miss, and there's a tray coming up. It's a bit late for breakfast downstairs, I'm afraid."

"Oh no," said Cordelia, sitting up. "Did I oversleep?"

"Not at all, miss. No one expected you up so soon, after your trip yesterday." Alice smiled at her. "Properly dreadful it sounded, your carriage wheel breaking like that. And breakfast isn't formal, so no one minds if you miss it."

Cordelia relaxed a little. No one minds was not the same as your mother doesn't mind, but it was close.

The tray had more of the delicious rolls, along with a sliver of ham and a small dish of strawberries. Cordelia found that she was ravenous, but knew better than to agree when Alice asked if she should bring up more. I must be a good guest. No one must have cause to complain. She wiped her hands and asked, "What can I do to help clean up?"

The maid paused. "Beg pardon?"

"The room." Cordelia spread her hands. "I can help straighten it, if you tell me the way that you do things here."

Alice was silent for a long moment, and Cordelia began to get the same sinking feeling she had had when she realized that she had mistaken the butler for the lord of the manor. "That is…" she stammered, "if… if I'm supposed to…"

"No, miss," Alice said carefully. "You're a guest, and the Squire wouldn't hear of it. You leave that to us."

"Oh."

The older girl looked into Cordelia's wide, worried eyes and smiled. "I imagine they do things differently in your home. You'll find your feet here soon enough."

Cordelia discovered that she was twisting her dressing gown's belt between nervous fingers and stopped.

"Now I've laid out your gray gown," said Alice cheerfully, herding her into the dressing room.

My gray gown? I don't own a… oh. Cordelia eyed the gown in question. She'd always thought of it as blue, but there was no longer even a hint of color left to it. I suppose it's my gray gown now.

Alice was acting as if it was perfectly normal for guests to arrive with almost no clothes and what little they had to be threadbare and too short. Cordelia didn't know whether to be grateful or ashamed of the pretense. "Sit down here and I'll do your hair for you, miss."

Cordelia had never had anyone "do her hair" in her life. Was it painful? When her mother brushed it out, her scalp stung and smarted. But even that didn't compare to the fact that someone else was going to far too much trouble over her. Last night, and now this morning too?

"Please, you don't need to bother with me. I'm sure you have much more important things to do."

Alice cocked her head. "You've never been in a great house before, have you, miss?"

Cordelia could feel herself blushing. "I… no?"

The maid smiled, not unkindly. She reminded Cordelia of Ellen. "You didn't bring a lady's maid with you," she said, as if lady's maids were something that a normal person might carry around, like a handkerchief. "So when you come here, they'll assign a girl to take care of you. That's me."

"I don't want to be a bother," said Cordelia.

"You're not. I'd far rather be looking after a guest than turning beds or blacking grates. So you're not taking me away from anything. And before you panic," she added, her eyes twinkling, "I'll get a very generous extra wage for being your maid while you're here, miss. The Squire's very good to his people. So please don't feel guilty about it at all."

Cordelia swallowed. "I've never had my hair done," she admitted. She usually just braided it up. When she was young, her mother had braided it. Sometimes she still did, when she was in a certain mood. Cordelia had learned to sit very still while fingers crawled across her scalp like insect feet.

"It will be fine," said Alice soothingly, as if she were the master and Cordelia the servant. "I'll do up your hair so that not even the Archbishop himself could complain."

"Does he often complain about hair?" asked Cordelia weakly.

"Now that I don't know," admitted Alice. She reached her fingers to Cordelia's head and Cordelia tried very hard not to flinch away from the touch. She wanted to squeeze her temples and shriek but that would have looked terribly bizarre, so all she could do was sit and try not to look strange.

"I know the village priest is always talking about maidenly modesty, so I suppose the Archbishop would too, wouldn't he?" Alice said. Cordelia had lost her place in the conversation, but fortunately Alice continued on. "You have to figure that however much a priest is against something, an Archbishop is even more against it, don't you?"

She continued in this vein of small talk about nothing in particular for several minutes, while Cordelia slowly relaxed. Alice was very good at combing out hair without tugging and there didn't seem to be any hidden pitfalls in her conversation. She didn't even really seem to need Cordelia's input.

She was just starting to think that perhaps a lady's maid was not the worst thing that could befall one when there was a knock on the door and her mother's voice floated through. "Cordelia? Are you in there?"

Oh god, the door is closed! She nearly leapt to her feet in a panic, but Alice patted her shoulder as if she were a panicked horse and said, "I'll just go answer that, never you fear."

She went to the door with perfect confidence and opened it a crack. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I—oh." Her mother sounded nonplussed. "Is this my daughter's room?"

"Yes, ma'am. She's being dressed now, she won't be long."

"Oh bah, I don't mind about that." Her mother's laugh floated through the crack, pure and delightful and cruel. "I'm her mother, I've seen it all."

"Then you'll want to see her at her best," said Alice pleasantly. "I'll send her to you directly when she's ready."

Oh god, no… Cordelia bit down on her knuckle in horror. Alice was defying her mother. She would be punished. She would be made obedient, and she didn't know what was coming. It was like a mouse standing up to a starving wolf.

"I would like to see my daughter," said her mother, sweetness disguising the malice.

"Yes indeed, ma'am. Shall I tell her fifteen minutes? And may I suggest the Blue Drawing Room? It is more suited to a lady's breakfast than the main hall, and I will have the cook send up something delicate and suitable for you." Alice raised her voice just a little. "John Footman? Will you see that the Blue Drawing Room is ready to receive His Lordship's guests in a quarter of an hour?"

Perhaps being reminded that she was a guest in a great house changed her mother's plans. She could not very well destroy a maid on her first morning there, when they were staying on the Squire's charity, particularly not if she had her sights set on marrying the man. Let her go away, Cordelia prayed. Let her rewrite it in her head so that it's all her own idea. Please don't let her do something terrible to Alice.

She still had her doubts about the existence of God, but apparently someone heard her prayer. Evangeline said, "In a quarter of an hour, then," and Alice murmured an acknowledgment and closed the door.

"Phew," she said, turning back to Cordelia. "I don't know if that's what you wanted, but…"

"You sent her away," said Cordelia, in pure awe. "You made her leave. You… how …?"

"Ah," said Alice. She could not have been more than a year or two older than Cordelia, but she looked suddenly weary and mature beyond her years. "I thought that might be the way of it. When you heard her voice, you looked as if the hounds of hell were at your door." She paused, then added, somewhat belatedly, "Begging your pardon, miss. I don't mean to speak out of turn."

"I've never been able to get her to leave," said Cordelia. Belatedly she realized that she should perhaps have lied, that Alice might talk to someone who could talk to the Squire and fox the whole business of marriage, but she was not a quick thinker and she had never dreamed of anything so incredible as her mother backing down from a lady's maid.

"Some things are easier to have another person do for you." Alice smiled. "Like your hair. Here, let me finish these braids and we'll send you down directly. I suspect she wouldn't take kindly to people being late."

Her dress, Cordelia knew, was a sad shambles, but Alice draped a lovely shawl across her shoulders and she dared to hope that everyone would be too distracted by the shawl to notice. "One of the Squire's sister's," the maid said, "and she won't miss it, and wouldn't begrudge you the loan if she did." Cordelia looked at herself in the mirror, expecting to see the same colorless girl that she always saw, but the shawl was a deep sea green that brought out red highlights in mouse-colored hair and made her faded gray eyes seem to have a shimmer of turquoise.

"Oh!" she said, startled. "Thank you. I look… so much better."

"Ah," said Alice. She gave a little curtsy. "Keep me in mind, miss, when you marry and move to a grand house," she said, winking. "Always had an ambition to be a lady's maid, you know."

Cordelia was fairly certain that you weren't supposed to hug the servants—if they didn't like it, they wouldn't be able to run away, after all—so she waved her hands helplessly. " Thank you. So much."

"I'll be here this evening to help you take it down, miss," said Alice, "and to help with your bath." She patted Cordelia's shoulder again, a groom sending the nervous horse out of the stable, and then turned and busied herself with tidying.

A footman kindly saw her to the Blue Drawing Room and ushered her in. Cordelia knew that she was early, but her mother would likely be feeling thwarted, so it was best not to do anything to attract her ire. Perhaps she could find a way to deflect it.

The room looked empty at first. It was very grand and full of furniture, including two chairs pulled up close by the fire, and after a moment, Cordelia noticed that someone was sitting in one of those chairs. "Mother?" she asked.

"Probably not," said the woman in the chair. "It seems unlikely, at any rate. I'm old enough, but I do think I'd have remembered."

"Oh! I'm sorry—I was expecting—"

"Someone else," said the woman in the chair cheerfully. "Indeed. I'm Hester, the Squire's sister." She pushed herself to her feet, grabbing for a cane that leaned against the chair. She was middle-aged and round, with heavy hips, and her hair was shot with gray, but her smile was as young as Alice's. "You must be Cordelia. We met last night, but you were so tired, I've no doubt you don't recall."

"Yes, ma'am." Cordelia remembered her manners and curtsied deeply.

"And wearing one of my shawls, too," said Hester, amused. Cordelia turned red and started to pull it off, stammering. "No, no, my dear! I make you a gift of it. It looks far better on you than it ever did on me." She smiled, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. "When you reach a certain age, everyone gives you shawls as a gift. I have closets full of the things. It looks very fine on you. You must always wear that color, I think."

Cordelia swallowed. "You're so kind," she whispered. "Everyone here… you've all been so kind…" And they were being kind to a viper and her offspring, she knew, and did not dare say to anyone.

"Ah, well." Hester stumped across the room on her cane. "We're bored silly, that's all, and desperate for new faces. I shall leave you to your meeting with your mother. Do come and see me later, if you like. I don't get out as often as I would wish, and it's more fun to do embroidery with someone else to talk to. Or even to read aloud, if you would wish to."

"I… yes, I'd be happy to…" Cordelia was growing annoyed with herself for stammering so often. I may not be clever or brave or beautiful, but is it too much to ask that I can form a complete sentence?

"I'll see you then," Hester said, waving over her shoulder as she left.

" There you are," her mother said five minutes later, walking into the room as if she already was the mistress of it. She looked Cordelia over appraisingly. "Where did that shawl come from?"

"Lady Hester gave it to me," murmured Cordelia, wondering if it would be taken away from her, or if her mother would approve. There was no telling for something so far outside her experience.

"Good," said her mother. "She may take a liking to you, and that's useful. The old spinsters are the worst. They don't want to see their brothers married off and you can't distract them with a kiss or a fondle." She tapped her foot. "Yes. Good. See if you can't amuse her."

Cordelia nodded. She had no idea how she was supposed to do that, but Lady Hester had already suggested embroidery. Granted, she had no more idea how to embroider than how to fly. She did say I could read to her. I do know how to read.

Her mother was idly stroking the arm of one of the chairs, rubbing the nap of the velvet first one way, then the other. "This is a good house," she said. "Just wealthy enough to be worthwhile, and not so rich that anyone has snapped the old man up already. And he seems an easy enough nut to crack. He wants a mistress, not a wife, but I'll have a ring on my finger in a fortnight."

Cordelia swallowed. It sounded so cold-blooded when she said it. Does that surprise you? She is cold-blooded.

"You're… you're not going to…" She couldn't find the words and finally settled on "… do anything to them, are you?"

" Do anything?" said her mother archly. "Like what?"

Cordelia had no idea how to answer. Make them obedient was her first thought, but she didn't want to name it for fear of bringing it down on her own head. "I… I mean…"

Evangeline rolled her eyes. "No, silly, I'm not going to do anything. Not really. People notice if you go around tinkering with their heads too much, and if I compelled him to fall in love, it would break at the altar and he'd certainly notice that. I shan't risk too much until I'm safely wed."

This was not a great deal of comfort. Cordelia had far too much experience with the sort of things her mother did when she felt safe. She bowed her head and fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.

A footman arrived with a tray containing more food. Her mother waited until he had set it down, then dismissed him with a grand wave. Cordelia met his eyes, horrified by her mother's high-handedness, but he did not look offended. In fact, he winked at her, and that was sufficiently astonishing that she sat in silence until the door closed behind him.

She waited until her mother had helped herself before picking up another roll and applying butter.

"We'll dine with the family tonight," said her mother. "You must be well-mannered."

"Yes, Mother," murmured Cordelia.

"Use the correct forks and spoons and so forth."

Cordelia froze, the roll halfway to her mouth. "The… correct forks?" There was more than one fork? They only had five at home and Cordelia washed them carefully every night for use the next day. How many forks did a person need?

"God," said her mother, putting her hand to her forehead. "I've raised a little barbarian. Yes, silly child. Watch me before you eat, if you can't figure it out."

"Yes, Mother."

"And be charming. To the Squire particularly, and his sister if you can manage it." She paused in her incessant stroking of the velvet. "You do know how to be charming, don't you?"

Cordelia's look of panic must have been answer enough. Her mother sighed. "Really, dear, you might at least make an effort. This is important. "

"I… I haven't had dinner with many older men before…" She had been to the old preacher's house once, before he had died and been replaced by the young one. She did not think she had said more than three words during the entire meal. She racked her brain for advice from her etiquette book, but all she could remember was the line " The more pure and elevated your sentiments are, and the better cultivated your intellect is, the easier will you find it to converse pleasantly with all. " By those standards, Cordelia was distressingly aware that either her sentiments or her intellect were sadly lacking. Possibly both.

"Well. I suppose that's true." Evangeline tapped a finger against her lips. "Very well. Ask him about himself. Look interested in the answers. Don't contradict him. That sort of thing. You are not trying to attach him yourself, merely to look wholesome and girlish. And above all, don't be moody. It's terribly unattractive in a young woman, and it makes anyone think twice about wanting to live in the same house with them. Do I make myself clear?"

Cordelia had no idea what moodiness might entail, but she nodded anyway. "Yes, Mother."

"Good. Give me a kiss and then go." Her mother smiled. "I am going out riding with the Squire. I think that bodes well, don't you?"

"Yes, Mother," whispered Cordelia again, and slipped away.