Daughter of Mystery (11 page)

This time it was Margerit who broke step and paused. “It isn’t fair.” Once again, Barbara shrugged but this time remained silent. She’d never had the luxury of expecting the world to be fair.

* * *

For the first time, she came to the house on Fonten Street as if a stranger. As if it were no longer home. And what must Margerit be thinking as she came to the top of the steps and looked up at the carved stonework looming over her? Barbara saw her hesitate and raise her gloved hand to lift the knocker.

“You needn’t knock, Maisetra,” she said quietly. “It’s your house.” She reached past her to try the knob and pushed it open. It should have already been opened for them. Footsteps heralded a startled footman rushing into place. Margerit shrank a little before his curious stare and Barbara touched her arm lightly for reassurance. “Maisetra Sovitre would like to see Maistir LeFevre,” she said firmly. “If you would let him know.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he stammered. He gave Margerit a quick bow, almost as an afterthought, murmuring, “Maisetra!” and turned to hurry back down the hallway.

Margerit drew a deep breath. Barbara repeated, “It’s your house. These are your people now. Don’t be afraid.”

With a brief nod, perhaps to convince herself, Margerit followed the servant down the corridor. LeFevre met them at the door to his office, bowing curtly with a quizzical expression. “Luzek, if you please!” He signaled the footman to take her coat and bonnet. “Maisetra, I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon. Your uncle should have sent a message with the change. I’m afraid I’m not entirely prepared…”

“I didn’t…that is, my uncle hasn’t shared his plans with me,” Margerit said. “I’m here on my own account.” Barbara saw LeFevre shoot her a questioning glance but she gave the faintest of shrugs. It wasn’t for her to explain. Margerit continued, “If it’s convenient for you, I would like to know more about my inheritance and…and everything.” Her voice trailed off as confidence faltered once more.

“But of course!” he replied promptly, as if it were utterly expected, but he glanced behind him with a frown at the paper-strewn desk. “Perhaps…could you give me, oh, half an hour to set things in order? Barbara could show you over the house. I think you’ve only seen the smallest part of it. I’ll have tea brought in and—will you be staying for luncheon?”

Margerit shook her head. “Oh, I shouldn’t. I don’t want to cause a fuss. You weren’t expecting me.”

Barbara cleared her throat and softly repeated, “Your house.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” LeFevre said kindly. “I think the staff would be insulted if you were here and gone so quickly. And Monsieur Guillaumin would be in complete despair if you give him no chance to exhibit his skills. But perhaps you have another engagement?”

“No. That is, if you think it would be proper, I’d be happy to stay. And,” she looked questioningly back over her shoulder as if looking for guidance, “perhaps it would be best to begin by meeting the housekeeper and the butler. That is, I’ve met Mefroi Ponivin, but not in a formal way. Do you think…?”

“If you wish,” Barbara said, with a nod of approval.

The footman had returned from disposing of the coats and was sent ahead to warn the downstairs. On arriving in the servants’ common room they found two dozen or more liveried figures arrayed in near-military order at the sides of the room and into the kitchen at the far end. If Margerit were daunted, she hid it well. Barbara could tell she was struggling to fill her role but Ponivin stepped in to make the introductions and eased the way. The butler had shed the stiff formality the baron had preferred and put on a warmer avuncular face. It was still a mask for now, she knew. Ponivin had grown old in Saveze’s service and his heart would not be so quickly re-given. From the common room Barbara led Margerit all through the house, ending up in the corridor running past the baron’s rooms. “You’ve seen these, of course. They haven’t started clearing things out yet. With no guests, we’ve really only used the south wing this season—it makes things easier for the housekeeper. When there are visitors, they normally go into the north wing, but the rooms are all in covers at the moment. Maistir LeFevre has a room off the office that he uses. He never lets the baron—let the baron put him in the guest wing.”

“But this is a charming room!” Margerit exclaimed as they passed an open door at the end of the corridor. “I thought you said there were no guests?”

Barbara hesitated. “This room…that is, the baron being ill, it was necessary, in case he should need me. He has permitted me to use this room.” It wasn’t entirely a lie—only by implication. The room, of course, had been hers as long as she could remember. But she saw it in a new light, comparing the tall ceilings and rich bed hangings to the cramped simplicity of Margerit’s own chamber. To cover the awkwardness she crossed to the open wardrobe and began tidying the drawers so they would close, quoting, “
The changing season scatters blooms across the meadow.
I apologize for the mess. Maistir LeFevre had some of my things sent over to Chaturik Square last night. He had no idea what…how long…”

As she shoved a group of hanging garments aside, Margerit leaned in past her to draw out a gown of a sky-blue silk. “How beautiful! But is this yours?” she asked doubtfully.

Barbara flushed. “I don’t always wear breeches, you know,” she said quickly. Then she reddened further and said, “Forgive me, Maisetra. I spoke out of place.”

Margerit let the skirt fall. “It’s all so strange.”

Barbara closed the wardrobe doors and turned the latch. “I think Maistir LeFevre will be ready for you now, if you please.”

Chapter Thirteen

Margerit

LeFevre had cleared the desk of papers, but instead of ensconcing himself behind that fortress he had moved two chairs near the small hearth. A tea tray sat on the low table between them and was crowded on either side by rolled parchments and bundles of documents, all tied up in scarlet ribbons. Margerit settled gratefully into the cushions and LeFevre pulled his own seat a little closer while Barbara poured two cups of tea and then stood back in silence.

“What is it that you wish to know?” LeFevre began. “I’m sure you have a great many questions.”

Margerit took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. They were shaking too much for her to dare the teacup yet. “I would like to know what my inheritance is. What properties do I own? What are their incomes? What are their expenses? How are they managed and by whom? Who are the people? What are my responsibilities to them, by law and by custom? What other incomes are there and how will they change with my godfather’s death? And…well, that will do to begin.”

She dared to look up when she had finished. LeFevre was frowning at her, the teacup untouched in his hand. He pursed his lips and thought a while before answering. “You know, Maisetra Sovitre, that all this will be managed by me and by your guardians until you are of age. You needn’t fear that you’ll be pestered by accounts and clerks.”

Another deep breath. She hated how her speech turned stiff and formal, betraying her discomfort. “Maistir LeFevre, all my life my aunts have instructed me in the importance of managing a household. In knowing how to do sums and accounts. How to make a quarter’s income cover the bills so that my husband will neither want for the pleasant things in life nor be importuned by creditors and tradesmen seeking payment. I know this is no basis for managing a great estate but how could the management of great things be less important than the management of small ones?” She pretended to more confidence than she felt by picking up the china cup and lifting it to her lips briefly. “I know my uncle will be happy to see to all of my business matters but I wish to know what they are and to understand them.” When she dared to look over at LeFevre, she saw a smile so broad it was nearly a grin.

“You surprise me at every turn. Perhaps the late baron was not—well never mind. I think we shall deal together very comfortably, Maisetra,” he said. “Now, let us begin with the properties.” He rose briefly to bring a bundle of papers and a ledger book from the desk and handed items to her one at a time as he listed them. “There is, of course, this house. And Tiporsel, the house in Rotenek. At the moment, they share a staff for the most part—long-time employees of the late baron. I think it would be good for you to keep both properties, for now. There is the estate at Zortun. It’s a purchased estate, separate from what went with the title. It supplied a good deal of the late baron’s table—definitely to be retained—and his cellar as well. The family that manages it are trustworthy people. You needn’t concern yourself with that one.

“There are several other properties that you may want to sell. A hunting lodge on the lake at Feniz. A townhouse and several warehouses in Genoa. And that brings us to—” He opened the ledger. “You own two ships that operate out of Genoa. These you should sell—offer them to their current captains first. The late baron had a talent for choosing cargos and destinations. Without that talent, you might as well be betting on horse races. I know I don’t have the talent.

“Now there are another six ships in which you have a silent interest—your partners are responsible for the management. Keep those: the income is not enormous, but it’s as steady as any and your agent in Genoa will see to your interests.

“The majority of your income will be from investments and a number of smaller properties. The baron had instructed me to do a certain amount of consolidation lately. His affairs were much more complicated five years ago. Most of your funds are with Escaferd’s, which is secure as long as the peace continues to last. A certain amount is scattered in foreign holdings for at least some protection in that regard. There are several other minor sources. I’ll draw up a list for you but there are no decisions to be made on that score at the moment.

“Obligations…there are a number of institutions and individuals for whom the late baron was a patron. Some you may wish to continue, some you may not. We can review them in detail at a future time. He provided substantial support to the convent of Saint Orisul which is located adjacent to the Saveze title-lands. I believe you have some connection with that establishment yourself?”

Margerit frowned in thought. “My governess, Sister Petrunel. She was from Saint Orisul’s. But I think—that is, I was told my mother attended the convent school there for a while.”

LeFevre nodded and smiled. “Then I’ll assume you’ll be continuing the patronage. It’s not as if the new baron is likely to do so. There is also a school for orphans in Rotenek that the baron was generous to.”

He ran his finger down a list in the ledger. “Several artists: two painters and a sculptor that he made gifts to on occasion, although I believe he supported them more in sending commissions their way. A banquet given every feast of Saint Perinerd for the…but no, that had its own bequest so you needn’t concern yourself. This one—” Unexpectedly he blushed. “Your godfather was the patron of an opera dancer, but of course that connection won’t be continued.”

Margerit found herself giggling, although it was more from embarrassment at imagining…no, it wasn’t to be pursued.

A discreet cough brought her attention back. “I’ve drawn up a list of once-given charities from the past several years. There wouldn’t be the slightest expectation for you to revisit them unless you choose.”

He closed the ledger and passed it over to her. Margerit left it lying in her lap. “There’s a great deal to consider,” she said. She wanted to ask about Rotenek—about the plan that had only just begun to form in her mind—but she wasn’t sure how.

“Well, it’s much too soon to settle anything today. If you’re interested—truly interested—we can work on the details together over the next several weeks. If your guardians permit, of course, although the final decisions are in my hands. If you find that your curiosity is satisfied by this much, then you can leave it to me. And if I have interpreted Ponivin’s look from the doorway correctly, then lunch is ready to be served.”

* * *

The table was spread in a small parlor overlooking the gardens. When the weather warmed a bit more, the beds would explode with blooms. It was as if the house had been designed for a private audience at the coming of spring. The main public rooms had no particular vistas. The best views all seemed to be from cozy spaces like this one.

There were three places set at the table and Margerit wondered momentarily if her uncle had arrived early. “Ah,” said LeFevre, catching her confusion. “It was sometimes the late baron’s habit—when dining informally in private—to include Barbara at his table. Since I am joining you, the kitchen may have assumed…”

Barbara broke in, “I’ll go and tell them.”

“No,” Margerit said quickly. “Please—if my godfather thought it proper, then I see no harm. That is, I’d like you to join us.” Barbara looked for a moment as if she might demur, but then relented. Margerit thought back to their conversation on the walk over. Had she once again asked Barbara to cross a line she’d prefer to preserve? Would she get a true answer later?

Margerit knew enough of the workings of a kitchen to know that the baron’s chef had worked a small miracle to set the table before them. It had been barely more than an hour since she’d arrived on the doorstep yet he’d turned out a bit of ham in a delicate
ragout de champignons
, a fricassee from a fowl that must have been boiled for a different purpose entirely, a clear soup with spring herbs and some crisp apple fritters. By the time they had come to the
créme de marrons
, Margerit had found the courage to pursue what she’d fallen short of before. “I wondered,” she asked in as casual a tone as she could manage, “what I may and may not do with my inheritance.”

LeFevre cocked his head to one side as if amused. “Well, as you learned yesterday, you may not give it away without your guardian’s permission. But I suspect you had something smaller in mind?”

Margerit bit her lip thoughtfully. Smaller in expense, perhaps, but how much would that mean? Best to test the waters with something trivial. “What if I wanted to hire my own lady’s maid? Could I do that?”