Jenna Starborn (16 page)

T
hree more days passed with no additional mishaps or even significant events. I took Ameletta with me one of those days, more for her companionship than to gratify Miss Ayerson, and again we picnicked under the mighty oxenheart tree and read fables aloud. We did not encounter Mr. Ravenbeck on this particular outing, nor Gilda Parenon, nor anyone else. We had the whole park to ourselves.

That evening was yet another of those meals in which Mrs. Farraday seemed beside herself with excitement. She fluttered in late, took her seat, jumped up to go confer with the cook, returned, helped herself to the main meal, ran to the kitchen again, and, upon rejoining us, settled herself with a breathless little laugh.

“Oh, my! I don't know when I've been so flustered!” she exclaimed. “Jenna, could you pass me the potatoes, please? Yes, and the gravy, too. Ameletta, love, the meat platter. Careful—now—”

“Has something happened to upset you?” I asked, though she did not seem unhappy, just agitated.

“Upset me! No! Though the house may very well be turned upside down. Mr. Ravenbeck is returning tomorrow—and bringing a houseful of guests with him! I declare, the last time we had five or ten people staying here was—was—well, I can't recall!”

“Guests? Really? From Sollbrook Manor?” Miss Ayerson said, for I was incapable of framing the question.

“Indeed, yes, Bianca Ingersoll and her sister and her mother, and several houseguests who have been staying with
them
—Mr
.
Fulsome and Mr. Taff, I believe, and perhaps one or two more—it's very exciting, but I must confess to a little onset of nerves—”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” I started to ask, but my question was interrupted by a squeal from Ameletta, who had leaped to her feet upon the first mention of a party.

“Ooooh, may I dress up in my pearl-white dress and sit at the table with Mr. Ravenbeck?” she cried. “May I have luncheon with the ladies? May I stay up late every night and—”

“Ameletta,” Miss Ayerson reprimanded. “This is a party for adults. I am sure Mr. Ravenbeck will want to show you off once or twice, but he will not want you attending every event. You must be very good, or he will not want you present at all.”

“But last time Miss Ingersoll came to visit, the two of them took me to town in the aeromobile and we ate little pastries at the Mayfair Shop! And she said I was the most delightful child and she wished I was her very own! She will want me there, I know it!”

The last time Bianca Ingersoll had visited? When was that? How long had the stopover lasted? And how many other visits had preceded that one?

“That was when Miss Ingersoll came all by herself,” Mrs. Farraday said in an admonishing tone. “This time she will have many others to entertain, and she cannot be wasting her time on one little girl.”

“Never mind, Ameletta,” I said, as the child's face fell pathetically. “You and I shall have another picnic under the tree, and we shall dress up every night and hold our own parties in the schoolroom.”

“As for that, I think your attendance will be wanted once or twice, Jenna,” Mrs. Farraday said.

“Mine? I am hardly in a position—”

“Yes, and mine, and Miss Ayerson's,” Mrs. Farraday pursued. “Mr. Ravenbeck has always been very good about including those of us in the—the
intermediate
ranks at his gatherings. He knows it is a treat for us, and I do appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I have passed many interesting evenings here at Thorrastone Park when Mr. Ravenbeck had guests,” Miss Ayerson added helpfully.

“But I-I have nothing suitable to wear and I—I am not comfortable in grand company. I am sure he will allow me to be excused.”

“Well, he seemed most set on it before he left the house,” Mrs. Farraday said doubtfully. “He said, ‘Make sure both Miss Ayerson and Miss Starborn know they are to be included in our evenings, and do not let them come up with paltry excuses for denying themselves this enjoyment.' So you see, I am sure he wants you there.”

I felt as if mercury was running through my veins, quick and poisonous. It was true that I was never at ease around full citizens of any level in society, but I was even more terrified of spending an evening in the same room with Mr. Ravenbeck and the dazzling Bianca Ingersoll. Bad enough that I had had to stare at our two countenances, side by side; I certainly did not want him making the live comparison and coming to the inevitable conclusion.

“I will think about it,” I said faintly, and came shakily to my feet. “But I cannot believe he will insist.”

Miss Ayerson also stood. “You will see, Jenna,” she said, using my given name for almost the first time. “It will be very pleasant.”

T
he guests did not arrive for another full day and half, and during that period of time I worked as determinedly as I could to forget the summons I had received by proxy. I installed new shields in the generator room; I entertained Ameletta whenever I could; I provided some trifling help to Mrs. Farraday; and I spent a great deal of time looking over my limited wardrobe and realizing that I had not a single piece of clothing that would not disgrace me utterly.

Nearly everything I owned was plain, somber, and serviceable. I had a selection of cloth coveralls, which suited me admirably for working on the generators or strolling through the lawns; and several sets of tunics and leggings, which I considered good enough for my infrequent trips to town and other public outings. Neither of these could be worn in the social setting I would be facing in a few hours' time.

The wealthy citizens of the Allegiance wore a range of clothing so diverse and inclusive as to make it hard for any historian to come up with a standard style of dress for the era. At social functions, women could be seen in anything from bejeweled street-length velvet gowns to form-fitting transparent gauzes that moved with their bodies like second skins. If anything could be said to be the current fashion, it was color, the brighter the better. Since everything I owned was a dull hue like gray or navy, I could not have fit in even if I had had clothing in the proper cut.

The only thing I could possibly wear to the evenings Mr. Ravenbeck had devised was a gray silk pant suit that owned the quietest air of elegance. I had purchased it in a shop on Lora shortly after I accepted a position at the academy, and I had only worn it twice, to formal school functions. There it had been proper; here it would be disastrous. The top was high-necked and long-waisted, falling in loose folds halfway to my knees; its pearl buttons were simple but pretty. The pants themselves were more tailored than the tight-fitting cotton leggings I usually wore, though there was nothing particularly distinguished about them. A pair of unobtrusive black shoes, and I would complete my ensemble. And be laughed from the room, silently at least. Not that it mattered. Not that I thought I belonged there anyway.

How could a Goddess who knew I was the equal of every creature on the planet conspire to put me in a situation that would prove to me I was not?

 

 

H
aving given up on my wardrobe dilemma, I joined Mrs. Farraday in her task of assigning rooms to the arriving guests. Large as it was, Thorrastone Park did not boast more than a dozen bedchambers, and residents were already installed in some. She and I toured the remaining rooms to determine who should sleep where.

This was an education to me, for I had seldom been in this wing of the house. It was on the third story, directly above the main entrance, overlooking the most beautiful sweep of garden and lawn. The sunlight arrived here first every morning, slanting in sweetly past the curtained glass and giving each room a festive glow. Each room was decorated in its own theme—one very modern and stark, another very gilded and ornate, one an explosion of abstract colors, another a study in ivory and lace.

“This is the room I think we should put Miss Ingersoll in,” I said, when we had come to the latter.

“Why, and how did you know this is the room she prefers?” Mrs. Farraday exclaimed. “This is where we always put her.”

“It seems to suit the great beauty she was described to me as being,” I said. “And is very feminine besides.”

“And it is as far from Mr. Ravenbeck's room as it can be and still be in this hallway,” Mrs. Farraday added. “I know it is old-fashioned of me, but I always think company should be separated very carefully —the single women in one quarter, the single men in another, and the married couples and families all grouped together. But Mr. Ravenbeck doesn't care about that—none of these modern people do”.

“Mr. Ravenbeck's room is down this hall?” I asked, for I had not, till this moment, ever envisioned his sleeping quarters at all.

“Yes, and let us take a quick peek in there to make sure everything is in order.”

It was; the whole room was fresh, spartan, tidy as if no one had ever set foot to carpet or laid head on pillow. The furnishings were done in an indeterminate masculine hue, the bed was properly made, the bathroom gleamed as if every faucet and marble surface had been left untouched since the house was built. I spied no portraits on the walls, open books on the table, scattered items of clothing, stray shoes, crumpled letters. It was as if the man did not live there at all.

“Not a room which shows much of its owner's personality,” I remarked.

“He is here so little,” Mrs. Farraday excused him. “He cannot be expected to leave behind objects that hold much value to him.”

“Where does he leave those objects, then?” I demanded. “Where does he spend his time?”

She looked at me somewhat blankly. “Why—his other holdings—he has several other properties, you know....”

I glanced around the room again. “All of them, I would venture to say, as devoid of character as this one. I am not sure that Mr. Ravenbeck actually owns much that is of any value to him at all.”

“Nonsense, he has many fine and expensive possessions,” Mrs. Farraday said firmly as she ushered me back in to the hallway. It was clear she had no idea what I was talking about.

 

 

L
ate in the afternoon, the company arrived. Ameletta. and Miss Ayerson, giggling and whispering, had invited me to watch the arrival on the security camera monitors that were installed, though seldom watched, in a small room on the upper story of the mansion. Indeed, Miss Ayerson said, she believed Mr. Ravenbeck had had them disconnected when he inherited the property, for they had not been in use since she arrived. Although I knew Mrs. Farraday would not approve of such an illicit activity—and I knew I therefore should not participate in it—I could not resist indulging my curiosity in such a harmless way, and I joined the other two in stealth.

Miss Ayerson was fiddling with the camera controls when I entered the room. “I cannot get the focus adjusted—we shall see nothing but blurry faces and splotchy colors at this rate,” she remarked. “Here, Jenna, you are the technician. See if there is something you can do.”

“These are a far cry from nuclear generators, but I'll give it a try,” I said. Every dial and panel was covered in a layer of dust; I touched them with some caution. I could not help but wonder what images they would have shown us if they had been recording a few days back. The sinister image of Gilda Parenon making a destructive midnight visit to the house, perhaps?

“Well, I think-oh, I see what the—now maybe this will do it....” I muttered to myself as I jiggled a few connectors and twisted a few dials. Ameletta's shriek of excitement let me know before I looked back at the monitor that I had done something right.

“Look! Look! That is her, that is Miss Ingersoll. Isn't she just the most beautiful lady?”

I quickly turned my attention back to the screen, to see this beautiful lady entering the mansion on the arm of the master of the estate. She was dressed in a clinging silver sheath that was only a few shades icier than her champagne hair, and below the hem her ivory legs were bare and shapely. She was laughing carelessly at something someone behind her had said, but I saw her eyes dart with an appraising possessiveness around the treasures in the foyer. She knew that she was considered a likely bride for the owner of Thorrastone Park, and she was tallying up her inheritance.

“Oh! And her sister! Melanie! She is not quite as pretty as Miss Ingersoll, but she is very nice.”

“Is she older or younger than Bianca Ingersoll?” I asked.

“Younger by a year or two, I think,” Miss Ayerson replied. “Mrs. Farraday would know.”

Melanie Ingersoll was a darker, less vivacious version of her sister, with a vapid expression on her face, though I could not but help feel her lack of predatory interest gave her a few points in amiability. She was making an observation to the older woman beside her, a faded beauty who looked so much like Bianca she had to be the mother of the two. Like her eldest daughter, Mrs. Ingersoll seemed to be estimating the worth of the antiques and silver immediately on view in the hallway, and comparing them to pieces she had at Sollbrook Manor.