The Glittering Court (4 page)

Presuming no one thought to check on my headache tonight, I'd have until morning before my absence was discovered, at which point I'd hopefully be long gone into the country. And that was assuming, of course, that Ada didn't get cold feet and come back—if she'd even left the city. If things were on track, she'd have already bought passage with some group of travelers heading north.

There were a lot of “if”s in this plan, a lot of things that could go wrong.

The rocking carriage made its way through the city, into parts I'd never seen before. I was terribly curious about it all, but as the evening deepened, I could see less and less by the glow of the gas lamps used to illuminate the streets. The carriage finally came to a halt, and I heard a muffled conversation. Moments later, the door opened, and a girl my age stood framed in the doorway, her fiery red hair shining even in the twilight. She shot me a calculating look and then, like me, climbed in without benefit of a stool. Only she managed it better. She shut the door, and the carriage continued on its jerky ride.

We sat there, sizing each other up in silence as we moved down the cobblestone streets. Light from outside lamps came and went, creating a flickering show of shadows inside. When that intermittent
illumination came, I could see that her dress was even plainer than mine, threadbare in some places. At last, she spoke, her voice tinged slightly with a working-class accent: “How'd you get your hair like that? All those curls lying just so?”

It wasn't a question I'd expected. It also seemed blunt until I realized she thought we were of equal social rank. “It's naturally wavy,” I said.

She nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I can tell, but the way those curls are all arranged so perfectly . . . I've tried that myself, like the highborn ladies do? I think I'd need half a dozen hands to do it.”

I nearly said I
had
had half a dozen hands helping me and then bit off the words. I'd thought I was so clever changing into Ada's dress, but had gone off on this adventure with the same elaborately styled hair I'd had from this morning—which my maids had helped curl and pin in the latest fashion, cascading all around my shoulders. I gave my companion a tight smile back.

“Someone helped me,” I said. I thought about Ada's backstory and tried to make it my own. “Since it's a, uh, special occasion. I worked as a lady's maid, you see, so I have friends who are really good at this kind of thing.”

“A lady's maid? Well, that's bloody lucky. I wouldn't want to leave that post. Explains why you talk so well—you'll have a leg up on the rest of us.” She sounded impressed . . . and also a little envious.

“It's not a competition,” I said quickly.

There was another fleeting flash of light from outside, showing me a wry expression on her face. “The hell it isn't. How we do and how well we learn affects who they offer us to as wives. I'm going to be a banker's wife. Or a statesman's. Not some farmer's.” She paused to reconsider. “Unless he's some dirty rich plantation owner, where I can order around the servants and the household. But an ordinary farmwife? Sweeping floors and making cheese? No, thanks. Not that any old farmer could afford one of us. My mother heard from one of her friends that the Glittering Court got a marriage price of four
hundred gold dollars for one of their girls. Can you even imagine that sort of money?”

Vaguely, I recalled Cedric talking about suitors making “offers.” The contract had further elaborated how the Glittering Court's agents made a commission off each girl's marriage price. Cedric might have spoken in lofty tones about his new nobility providing a service to the New World, but it was obvious this was a huge money-making venture for the Thorn family.

The other girl was regarding me strangely, waiting for a response.

“I'm sorry—you'll have to forgive me if I sound scattered. This was all kind of last-minute,” I explained. “The family I worked for was dismissing most of their staff, and so when Ced—Master Cedric was looking for girls, someone referred me to him.”

“Oh, you're one of his, huh? I heard about that too,” my companion said. “He hasn't ever recruited before, you see. His father's one of the best procurers, and Master Cedric made a big deal about how he could be just as good, so his father let him pick a couple of girls. Caused a big family stir.”

“You sure do know a lot,” I said. She'd apparently received a more extensive pitch than Ada and me.

“I was delivering laundry to their house,” she explained. “My mother washes clothes, and I helped her. But no more.” She held up her hands and studied them, but I couldn't get a good look. “I'm not meant to be a laundress. I'm never washing anyone's damned clothes again.”

Her ambition radiated off her. I wasn't sure if that sort of initiative would be useful to me or not, but when in doubt, I'd found friendliness was usually the best course of action.

“I'm Adelaide,” I told her warmly. “It's so nice to meet you, Miss . . . ?”

She hesitated, as though deciding if I was worth the next piece of information. “Wright. Tamsin Wright.”

The carriage began to slow, bringing us to our next stop. Both of
us dropped the thread of our conversation as we waited to see who would enter next. When the door opened and revealed a girl standing outside, Tamsin's breath caught. At first, I thought the poor lighting was distorting the newcomer's appearance. Then, I realized the tawny hue of her skin was natural. It was almost like caramel. I recalled the driver saying we were going near the Sirminican quarter. It was one of the poorest districts in the capital, and I could just make out a few dirty, run-down buildings in the distance. I knew by reputation that it was overcrowded with refugees from Sirminica, which had been locked in civil war for the last few years. Once, it had been a great nation, and its monarchy had even intermarried with ours. Rebels had recently overthrown the royal family, and now the country was generally avoided as a chaotic war zone. This girl waiting by the coach's door, with her lovely skin and luxurious black hair, bore all the signs of being one of those refugees.

She was also stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful.

The driver had hopped down to admit her, giving her a wary look as she stepped forward. She carried herself with dignity and, after glancing between Tamsin and me, settled in on my side of the carriage. Her dress was even more worn than Tamsin's, but a shawl around her shoulders, stitched with intricate embroidery, was exceptional.

Recalling his slurs, I wondered if the driver had come down to ensure she didn't rob us blind. When he continued waiting by the open door, I realized more was happening. Soon, two male voices carried to my ears—one of which I recognized.

“—pretty enough, I suppose, but you have no idea how hard it's going to be to sell a Sirminican.”

“That's not going to matter—not over there.”

“You don't know ‘over there' like I do,” came the biting reply. “You just threw away your commission.”

“That's not—”

The words were abruptly cut off when the two speakers reached the carriage's doorway. One of them, an older man in his forties, had
only the faintest touch of silver in his brown hair. There was a dashing look about him, and he bore enough resemblance to Cedric Thorn to make me realize this must be his father, Jasper.

The other man joining us was, of course, Cedric Thorn himself.

My mouth went dry as our gazes locked. Even while being chastised by his father, Cedric had swaggered up to the carriage with that same self-assured ease I'd seen previously. Now, he came to an abrupt halt, so suddenly that he nearly tripped over his own feet. He stared at me like I was an apparition. His mouth opened to speak and then shut abruptly as though, perhaps, he didn't trust himself.

Jasper beamed when he saw Tamsin, oblivious to the silent drama occurring between Cedric and me. “So lovely to see you again, my dear. I trust your pickup was fine?”

Tamsin's earlier calculation and wariness vanished as she returned his smile. “Oh, everything's been lovely, Mister Thorn. The carriage is beautiful, and I've already made a new friend.”

His eyes fell on me, and I had to drag myself away from Cedric's pinning gaze. I noticed that Jasper, at least, regarded me with approval. “And you must be our other lovely companion. Ada, right?” Jasper extended his hand to me, and after several awkward moments, I realized he expected to me to shake it. I did, hoping my unfamiliarity with the gesture didn't show. “You, I have no doubt, will have men beating down our door in Adoria.”

I wet my lips, having difficulty finding my voice. “Th-thank you, sir. And you can call me Adelaide.”

Somehow, that comment seemed to snap Cedric out of his daze. “Oh. Is that what you're calling yourself now?”

“It's an improvement,” I said pointedly. “Don't you think?”

When Cedric didn't answer, Jasper nudged him. “Stop delaying. We need to get going.”

Cedric studied me a beat more, and I felt as though we both stood on a precipice. He was the one who'd determine which way we tipped. “Yes,” he said at last. “Let's go.”

Jasper entered ahead of him, sitting beside Tamsin and taking up most of the seat on that side. Obligingly, the Sirminican girl scooted over on our side, creating extra space. Recognizing the cue, I moved as well. After a slight hesitation, Cedric sat down beside me. It still made for close quarters, and our arms and legs touched. My grandmother would have been scandalized. He barely moved, and I could feel that his body was as rigid as my own, both of us tense as we came to terms with this new situation.

Most of the subsequent conversation was carried by Jasper and Tamsin. I learned the Sirminican girl was called Mira, but she said as little as Cedric and I did. I commented once on the beauty of her shawl, and she drew it closer. “It was my mother's,” she said softly, her words laced with a Sirminican accent. There was a sadness in her voice I understood, one that stirred up an ache in my chest that had never entirely gone away. Without knowing anything else about her, I instantly felt a connection and asked her no more.

When the carriage came to a full stop after about twenty minutes, Jasper looked up with satisfaction. “Finally. The gates. Once we're outside the city, we can get some real speed.” We could hear agitated voices on the other side of the carriage door, and as the delay increased, Jasper's expression grew annoyed. “What's taking so long?” He opened the door and leaned out, calling to the driver.

The driver hurried to the door, two gate guards behind him. “Sorry, Mister Thorn. They're checking everyone leaving. Looking for some girl.”

“Not some girl,” corrected one of the guards harshly. “A young noblewoman. Seventeen years old. A countess.”

I stopped breathing.

“Who are these girls?” demanded the other guard, peering inside.

Jasper relaxed. “Certainly not countesses. We're with the Glittering Court. These are common girls, bound for Adoria.”

The guard was suspicious, studying each of us in turn. I wished again I'd thought to change my hair.

“What's this girl look like?” asked Jasper conversationally.

“Brown hair and blue eyes,” said one of the guards, his gaze lingering fractionally longer on me. “Same age as this lot. Ran away earlier this evening. There's a reward.”

I almost felt indignant, since I liked to think my hair was more of a
golden
brown. But it was a common enough description that it could apply to half the girls in the city. The vaguer, the better.

“Well, we've got a Sirminican, a laundress, and a housemaid,” said Jasper. “If the reward's big enough and you want to pass one of them off as a countess, be my guest, but I assure you, we've seen where they come from. Hardly posh conditions . . . although, Cedric, weren't you in some noble's house today? Isn't that where you got Adelaide? Did you hear anything?”

The first guard's gaze locked onto Cedric. “Sir? Where were you?”

Cedric had been staring straight ahead this whole time, perhaps hoping a lack of eye contact would render him invisible.

“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.