Singer from the Sea (11 page)

The day before they left, Genevieve slipped away from the busy company of packers and folders to sneak down through the cellars of Havenor to that same remote, deep-pooled cavern where her mother had taken her. She shut the doors behind her, as her mother had always done, and then she memorialized her mother by doing the things her mother had taught her to do. Though the exercise was itself uncomfortable—she had become unpracticed—she was comforted that she still remembered how.

The journey to Havenor was made by carriage, with wagons behind bringing Genevieve’s clothing, books, and other belongings. Their route took them down the hill road to Sabique, and thence northward along the Reusel road, which climbed easily but steadily toward the pass leading into the cupped valley of High Haven. Five outriders accompanied them, to help with the wagon in the likely event of snow or the less likely one of brigands. Though brigands were endemic in Dania—stealing women seemed to be their main occupation—they rarely crossed the Reusel into Wantresse.

Genevieve had chosen to bring her own maid, the Lang-marshian woman who had tended her since she was a child: ruddy, red-haired Della whose strong arms had comforted Genevieve as they had her own children, long since grown and scattered. Genevieve, behaving most unlike herself, had insisted to the Marshal that she would have Della, not a maid hired in Havenor, since Della’s husband was one of the horsemen accompanying the Marshal. Della cared more about joining her John than going for any other reason, and Genevieve was well aware of this. Since
Genevieve preferred a known quantity to an unknown one, however, the arrangement satisfied them both.

The journey was accomplished before the first snows, just before, the last miles of it beset by freezing squalls that blew scattered needles of ice into their faces. From the top of the pass above Sabique, High Haven lay before them: a wide dun grassland with ivory Havenor set distantly upon it, like a fancy cake upon a platter. For a moment the sun broke through, and Havenor became an ephemeral toy, a play city full of sugary towers and icing plazas, all glittering in the cold light, and for that moment Genevieve regarded it with something like hope.

They spent the night uncomfortably at the only available inn. On the morrow, as they came closer to the city, Genevieve found the view less auspicious than she had hoped. The chill wind had driven everyone indoors, leaving the streets untenanted, dim and dreamlike behind shifting veils of snow. As they went through the residential area, Genevieve regarded the stern lines of city houses on either side of them with dismay. Their faces were shut up tight, the windows lidded with heavy curtains, the iron-bound doors locked-lip and stern. These forbidding visages became even more dour when they turned onto a broader boulevard where the houses were farther separated and set deeply behind walled and gated gardens beneath bare, black-branched trees. Dusk had come by this time, and though the wind had ceased, the snow was falling hard.

“The houses go on forever,” Genevieve murmured in dejection. “Miles of them. It’ll be dark soon.”

“The end of a trip is always the longest part,” soothed Della. “I’m sure we’re almost there.”

She spoke the truth, for they soon turned between great granite pilasters and heard the tall iron gates shriek open on corroded hinges. From there was only a short way to the house, where they pulled up as the last light left the sky. Della and Genevieve alit to be greeted by Halpern, the butler, while the wagon continued around to the stable yard and the protection of the carriage house.

The interior of the house was scarcely less cold than the courtyard, each cavernous room as gloomy and lightless as a tomb. Not even Genevieve’s apartment, on an upper
story toward the back, had any feeling of welcome. The dirty windows overlooked a weed-filled wilderness of garden, the drapes were stiff with dust, and the died stove was cold.

Della had better luck in the rooms she would share with her husband on the ground floor, for they were kept cheerfully warm by the stoves in the adjacent kitchen. It was there that Della brought Genevieve, to seat her in a chair before the fire and help her rub feeling back into her hands and feet while Halpern set people to fueling the tiled stove in her room, dusting out, sweeping up, warming the linens, and making up the bed.

“My Lady Marchioness,” he said, his brow beaded with cold sweat. “No one told me you were coming. Your father did not mention it.”

“Let it go,” murmured Genevieve. “Don’t apologize. I’m here now, so we’ll start from where we are.”

“Your Ladyship is very gracious.”

“My Ladyship is very tired,” she said, smiling at him. “Let’s not waste time on things not said or done, Halpern. Let’s do what we can to make ourselves comfortable.”

“And where’s the Marshal?” Della demanded angrily of her John. “Here’s Jenny, frozen half solid, and not even a fire in her room.”

“Gone hunting, so he said,” muttered John. “And he didn’t tell us you’d be coming today. Or at all! He depends on others to do his day-to-day thinking for him, he does, and the one who does it lately, his equerry, that Colonel, he’s not taken up residency here, not yet.”

When the Marshal returned a day or so later, having been invited to hunt stag with a party from the court, he was surprised to find the new arrivals still in confusion as they tried to settle in.

“Ha,” he said to Genevieve, when she confessed that things were not yet in order. “I’ve set up a camp for a thousand men with less fuss than this.” He then proceeded to unsettle the entire menage even further by announcing their schedule for the near future: several formal dinners, including one only ten days hence; innumerable courtesy calls with Genevieve over the next several days; attending a command performance of the Royal Orchestra; and an
ambitious program of familiarization with the city. Since the cook was newly hired and did not have the kitchen yet to her liking and since the place itself needed a good deal of work before welcoming guests, Genevieve, as putative mistress of this establishment, was more than merely set back.

“I’ve never done any such thing,” she cried to Della. “At home, Father never entertained! Oh, a few old friends, but that was different. I’ve learned how at school, I’m quite competent to handle it, given time and a certain local knowledge he has given me no time to learn! Where does one hire temporary help? This house, Della. It’s filthy! Some of the draperies are in rags!”

Della stood with her hands on her hips and her lower lip thrust out, as she did when in deep thought. “There’s nothing for it, my lady, but do it somehow. Have you friends here from among the ladies you knew at school? Any at all?”

There probably were acquaintances in Havenor, though she did not know for sure. At the moment Genevieve could think of only one person she knew to be in the town and was inclined to trust, though she hesitated to call him her friend. “I have met Father’s equerry, Colonel Aufors Leys. He struck me as the kind of person who would do everything he could to be helpful. Though he is expected to move into this house at some point, he is now in rooms at an inn, though I’ve no idea … No, wait. I saw Father writing it down.”

“Write the Colonel a note,” Della suggested. “I’ll get John to take it, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Aufors came at once, let himself in by the side entrance, as requested, and in the small dining room he, Della, and Genevieve held a council of war.

“I am so thankful you have come, Colonel.”

She looked so uncomfortable that he decided at once on a soothing informality. “If we are to work together, my Lady Marchioness, you may call me Aufors. I grant you it’s an odd name, but I came by it legitimately, through a rogue of a great grandfather.” He turned a radiant smile on her that blocked her throat as though she had been eating feathers.

“Well, Colonel,” said Della, with an assessing glance at Genevieve that told her the girl was for the moment speechless. “The Lady Marchioness finds the place to be dirty, and a bit shabby to boot. The carpets are worn, more than even I’d allow. The furniture needs cleaning of a kind no new household can manage. Professionals, I’d say.”

“Footmen,” murmured Genevieve. “If we’re to entertain, we’ll need footmen, and I have no idea where to get temporary help, or even to get the flowers we’ll need. And Father has recently hired the cook, I don’t know her at all well, but I have heard she’s dissatisfied with the kitchen. I have this terrible image in my mind of burned roasts and fallen cakes. I know the butler, Halpern, no better than the cook and the other locally hired staff, though it is my understanding Halpern came with the house. If Father had given me a little time, I daresay I could have managed nicely, but all this being dropped out of the sky on my head just baffles me.”

Aufors noted it all down. He went to meet with Halpern and the cook, sent a few written inquiries to friends via several hastily obtained messengers, and went over the house before returning to Genevieve. “Here is the name of a man who does professional cleaning and has enough help to do it quickly, and here the name of a decorator who also works quickly and without chatter. Halpern, the butler, approves both choices but thinks they may respond more quickly for you than they would for him, as the Baron who inherited this house has allowed the place to fall into disrepute both as to its maintenance and as to its prompt payment of accounts.

“The flowers will have to come from the greenhouses at court. It would normally take several weeks to get an allocation, but they have a plethora, and I have a friend who’s made a friend of the gardeners.

“Your cook does not like the kitchen—and one can quite see why—but minor changes will do for now and she will rise to the challenge. I told her she is probably the only one in the city who could do so under such circumstances. I’ve explained to Halpern what’s toward, and he’s so grateful someone is doing something about the house—I gave you all the credit for that, Genevieve—that
he’ll turn cartwheels if you suggest it. It would be appropriate for you to give him carte blanche in hiring whatever additional help he needs for this first dinner, starting with two or three men to clean up the gardens. I’ve talked with the man who used to be head gardener here—he’s taken a position at a large establishment nearby. He says it’s too late in the season to do anything at all decorative, but he suggests trimming the topiary, raking out the paths and the flower beds and mulching them evenly so they’re less an eye-sore. He’s committed to his current employer, but for a small commission he’ll find a trustworthy crew to take care of this immediate matter for us. Meantime, call on me for any needs whatsoever, such as escorting you this morning to these various tradesmen.”

“They should come to her,” sniffed Della.

“No, Della, Aufors is quite right,” she replied. “My going to them will give them dignity and increase their desire to be helpful.”

Della went along with them, for propriety’s sake, and the three of them spent the morning going here and there, before returning to the house to await return visitations from those whose help they had just solicited. By evening, all was developing nicely: contract workers would arrive on the morrow, the cook was making shopping lists, and the butler was doing a hasty inventory of the cellars and the plate.

Aufors departed toward evening, after looking over the Marshal’s invitation list and shaking his head.

“My Lady, …”

“If I am to call you Aufors, you must call me Genevieve.”

“Genevieve, I respect your father deeply for he is a great soldier. He has, however, no idea what is involved in keeping an establishment or even what is involved in keeping him comfortable in the field. When he is not immediately engaged with a problem, he seems to go inside his head somewhere, thinking of … oh, old battles, perhaps. He simply doesn’t notice what’s going on! I think he assumes it happens spontaneously: food on his table, water in his basin, clean clothing for him to put on. At
Langmarsh he has people who have cared for him since he was a boy, but I doubt he has any idea of what they do.

“If he is to succeed here in Havenor, he must be brought out of himself and made aware. We do not know how long he is to be here, at court, or what his role will be. However long, whatever role, the rules must be observed. I’ve learned only a few of them. One of them is that enemies are not invited to the same affairs, and your father has already done this.” He pointed out the offending entries on the invitation list.

“I know some of the rules are silly, and I know they have to be learned the hard way, for people do not spontaneously tell you what they are. You must find someone to guide you rightly, and you’ll need the Marshal’s help, or, failing that, his forbearance. Plead with him to be a little less hasty!”

Though she doubted pleading with her father would do any good whatsoever, she nodded her thanks, too full of them to put in words. When the Marshal arrived, late in the evening, after a day of meetings and irritations, he found the place still buzzing like a disturbed hive.

“What’s all this?”

“You have invited thirty people to dinner eight days from now,” Genevieve answered in the calm voice she had been practicing for the past hour. “We are preparing for that event, and for whatever other events will follow.”

“You don’t need all this fuss, surely. I thought Colonel Leys might help you with introductions and so forth, the day of the first dinner.”

She forced herself to smile rather than snap at him, which to her own surprise, she very much wanted to do. “If we had waited until the day, Father, you would have had nothing to feed your guests. The house would have been dirty and unwelcoming. Nothing could have been well done. Some of the things the cook needs will take seven or eight days to obtain, and certainly we could not clean the house in less than that.”

“Really?” he appeared astonished. “It seems clean enough.”

“To one accustomed to camping in the open, it may well do. The dirt and wear and cobwebs are glaringly
obvious in a good light, however, and when one has guests, one lights up the house. This is a rule in Havenor, one of many, I am told. If we do not yet know the rules in Havenor, then we must find them out in advance of your issuing future invitations. I fear we have already made several faux pas.”