Jenna Starborn (7 page)

“But what is he
like?”
I pressed. “Is he kind? Cruel? Indifferent? Patient? Peremptory? Does he like to laugh, or is he a silent man? What are his opinions and philosophies?”

“He is kind—very kind,” she said somewhat randomly; clearly she had never before been asked to analyze her employer for his merits. “And—yes!—he is intelligent. I cannot follow half his conversation, but I listen and smile.”

“I assume he has several estates?”

“Oh, yes. Perhaps eight.”

“How often is he at Thorrastone Park?”

“Not more than three or four times a year. He does not stay long, of course, for he must oversee his other holdings as well. But when he is here, the house becomes quite lively, for he and the other property owners get together to discuss the progress of the mines and the political situation—all sorts of things that I never really bother my head with.”

I smiled at that. Such conversation would fascinate me, for I so rarely had a chance to overhear anyone discussing anything of more importance than pressure on a fuel line or the risk inherent in some procedure. A political salon would be quite a welcome change of pace! But I did not say so. Instead, I asked, “And you, Mrs. Farraday? How did you come to be employed by Mr. Ravenbeck?”

“It was quite a stroke of fortune,” she said seriously. “I was married to his second cousin, Richard Farraday—the most wonderful man, Miss Starborn, I miss him still. But Richard died, and we did not have enough cash for me to maintain—maintain our lifestyle. And at the same time, I heard that Mr. Ravenbeck was looking for a seneschal for Thorrastone Park. Inquiries were made, and I was installed here, with full family rank and title.”

I listened carefully, for there were many gaps in this story. Farraday—yes, I remembered now, that was part of the family name that had appeared on the employment listing: Everett Livingston Farraday Ravenbeck, a man with many connections among the upper strata of Allegiance society. This Richard Farraday must have been some minor offshoot of some distantly related branch of the family, and the woman before me one with no connections herself, who had married for love. Richard's death would have left her in a precarious position if she had no family willing to take her back and no money to support herself. She had, I realized, been in grave danger of sliding backward into half-citizenship, until Mr. Ravenbeck recognized her as a family member and gave her a place and position.

I understood belatedly why she had been so concerned about me fraternizing with the miners; she herself had come so close to a degraded level of life that she wanted to protect anyone else from such horrors. And I could not help noting that, even though it had served him as well, Mr. Ravenbeck had done a kind thing by taking her in.

“That was fortunate indeed,” I said gravely. “I imagine that running a household such as Thorrastone Park must be challenging.”

“As to that, it is a small enough household until Mr. Ravenbeck is here—but I must be ready at a moment's notice to accommodate him and any guests he might choose to bring,” she said with some complacency. “When he is not here, it is just me, and the few indoor servants, and the tech, and Ameletta and her tutor.”

“Ameletta?” I repeated, for I had encountered no one by this name.

“Mr. Ravenbeck's ward. You have not met her yet because she is in town with her tutor attending an art show. They will be back tomorrow.”

“I look forward to meeting them.” I wanted to ask how Mr. Ravenbeck had come to acquire a ward, but since the information was not volunteered, I did not like to be prying too deeply into what might very well be a private matter. “How often and how easily does one get ‘to town' from here, Mrs. Farraday?”

I thought it quaint the way she referred to the closest Fieldstar spaceport as “town,” but I supposed it did serve as a sort of metropolis to the outlying holdings and manors of the planet. After knowing the unending city streets of Lora for fourteen years, I found the spaceport's few square blocks of commerce rather sparse. It would be a pleasant place to spend an afternoon, but it was no great cultural center.

“Oh, it is a simple enough matter to get there, Miss Starborn,” she replied. “There is a public airbus that takes a route past our place three times a day, so that you can come and go at a time that suits you. And if you wished, you could borrow one of the aircars—that is, if you know how to operate an aeromobile, Miss Starborn?”

I smiled. “Not I. I would have more luck repairing it if it malfunctioned than attempting to drive it myself.”

She had leaned forward to secure herself another sweet, and she offered the platter to me. “Another cookie, Miss Starborn?”

“No, thank you.”

There was a slight pause as she set the plate down, and then she turned toward me with a look of great determination on her face. “Miss Starborn! I must ask. How is it that you come by such an unusual name? I was caught by it when I saw it on the application, but your credentials were so good that I did not hesitate. And yet now, seeing you, I cannot help but wonder—for you seem like a more retiring sort, if you will do not mind my plain speaking.”

I smiled again. “No offense. In fact, I am a half-citizen because I was conceived without a name, in the gen tanks of Baldus.”

Mrs. Farraday struggled to keep her expression neutral, but it was clear she had not often come across fabricated humans, and she was not sure how to react. “I was meant to be adopted by the woman who had commissioned me, but once she took me into her household, she chose not to complete the transaction,” I said steadily. It had been so long since I had thought of my aunt Rentley, so long since I had reviewed her ill treatment of me! I was surprised to learn the memories still stung. “So, essentially, when I left her house, I had no name.”

“Poor child,” Mrs. Farraday murmured, sympathy winning out over repugnance. “But then, how came you to choose such a name? I would think a simple Smithfield or Johnson would have served you better.”

“Many of the offspring of the gen tanks found themselves in peculiarly similar circumstances,” I said. “ ‘Starborn' is a common name among those of us created in such a fashion. It gives us a community of sorts, a family name, if you will. It is whimsical, I do admit, but it tells us truly where we are from, since we most certainly were not born of man.”

“Yes—I suppose—well, indeed, that makes a kind of sense,” she said uncertainly. “Still! A strange name to get used to.”

“Call me Jenna, then,” I invited. I knew I was taking a risk, because she was clearly a very conventional woman, and our society was a very formal one; the lower-class citizens were required to address their betters by courtesy titles, and the upper-class citizens, as a mark of kindness, usually returned the favor when they spoke to their inferiors.

To my relief, her face relaxed into a smile. “That's what I shall do, then, Jenna, if you do not think it too familiar.”

I smiled back. “After the life I have had, I would welcome a little familiarity,” I said.

 

 

A
fter our meal, I retired to my room for a few hours to unpack and rest. It was something of a trick to find my bedchamber again, for the house—larger even than my aunt's mansion on Baldus—was filled with wandering corridors and unexpected turns. I could only suppose the builders had attempted to emulate the style of ancient estates, which, having been added to over the centuries, presented an erratic charm, though certainly Thorrastone Park had been conceived and constructed over a short, efficient period of time.

The main story consisted of an entrance hall which immediately faced onto a grand stairway. Most of the entertaining would be done on this floor, for here could be found the well-stocked library, the formal dining room, a small sitting room, the kitchen, and the smaller breakfast room which adjoined the kitchen and where most members of the household took their meals. A level above was an assortment of rooms that I had not entirely identified—Mrs. Farraday, on our tour, had spoken briefly of Mr. Ravenbeck's study, Ameletta's schoolroom, her own office, and an informal sunroom.

The third story contained all the bedrooms for residents and guests, though the space was divided into two wings that were accessible by different hallways, so that commingling would be prevented if that were for some reason desirable. The bedroom I had been given was situated in the wing near the rooms of Mrs. Farraday, Ameletta, and the tutor. The cook and two intermittent housemaids had rooms in another quarter of the house. I had been astonished when Mrs. Farraday first spoke of servants—for, with so few people even in residence, I could not imagine what servants could be expected to do to occupy themselves—but when I comprehended how large the house actually was, I realized that a whole battalion of workers would be necessary to keep everything looking reasonably clean and free of dust.

My own room, though small by the mansion's standards, seemed luxurious to me. Its many amenities included a private bathroom, a walk-in closet, a window overlooking the lawns, a computer terminal, and a large four-poster bed supporting an air-filled mattress. After the lumpy bed at Lora Tech—and the hard bunk I had slept in so recently on my voyage here—I found this bed the most comfortable place I had ever laid my body.

I did take a short nap, then showered and changed into a clean pair of coveralls. Going in search of Mrs. Farraday, I found her in the second-story sunroom. We had not exchanged half a dozen sentences, when we heard voices on the stairs, and within minutes, Ameletta and her tutor burst into the room. Well, perhaps the tutor, with her sober face, did nothing so energetic, but little Ameletta skipped forward eagerly, a vision in blond curls and a frilly white frock, and at once turned the place into the vortex of a whirlwind.

“But you must be the new Miss Starborn!” she exclaimed, nearly dancing around my chair in her excitement. I caught a glimpse of blue eyes and a ravishingly fair complexion. “I must say, you look nothing at all like I had pictured, for you are quite young and not in the least grand. Have you been all over Thorrastone Park? That is such a shame, for I meant to take you myself! It is a pretty place, is it not? For a mining outpost, anyway. I have been to Hestell and Corbramb, and they are ever so much nicer—at least, I think they are, for I have seen pictures, but I was so young when I was there that I'm afraid I don't really remember. I'm Ameletta, of course. I'm eight.”

Both Mrs. Farraday and the tutor made some attempt to stem this tumbling tide of speech, but I was neither offended nor annoyed. Would that I had been such an open, happy child at the age of eight! “Hello, Ameletta,” I said solemnly. “And where have you been all day?”

“Oh! At the most wonderful show! We saw paintings and holograms and the dearest little dog—not a real dog, of course, it was animated, but it looked real, and if it had come up to me on the street, I would have petted its head and called it ‘nice doggie,' for I would not have been able to tell the difference. Oh, and Miss Ayerson, what was that piece you liked so much? The one that moved?”

“It was called a ‘scenograph,' and it depicted a landscape with living creatures in it,” her tutor replied in a composed voice. “Or at least, so that is how they appeared. Good evening, Miss Starborn. I am Ameletta's tutor, Janet Ayerson.”

I made a polite hello and a private assessment. Miss Ayerson was a severely dressed, plain-featured young woman a few years younger than myself, bearing all the unmistakable signs of poverty, hardship, and a determination to make her way nonetheless in a not entirely hospitable world. No question that she was a half-cit; this kind of work was not sought by anyone with a pedigree. Indeed, there were some who might have been able to see very little difference between us, our features and our stations in life. I could not decide if this should make me more sympathetic to her—or if it would make me strive, in every small way, to be as different from her as possible.

We all talked generally for the next few minutes, while Ameletta chattered away as if everyone was listening to each of her sunny syllables. Then Mrs. Farraday rose to her feet, quickly smoothing down the front of her expensive pantsuit.

“Goodness, look at the time. I've a few things to do before dinnertime, my dears, so if you will excuse me, I'll just be off for a while. I know it is not strictly proper, socially speaking,” she added for my benefit, “but when Mr. Ravenbeck is gone, I usually dine with Ameletta and Miss Ayerson. You may certainly have a tray in your room, if you wish, but I was hoping you would take your meals with us.”

I came to my feet as well; there was still much I had left to do in the way of unpacking my bags and reordering my room. “Indeed, I shall be happy to have the company,” I said warmly. “I shall see you all tonight at dinner, then. I expect it shall be most pleasant.”

 

 

I
t was—that dinner and the dinners that followed, in the nights and weeks that came after. Mrs. Farraday and Ameletta were cheerful if limited companions, intellectually speaking; Miss Ayerson had a scholarly turn of mind that did not entirely track with mine, though we spent much time discussing novels and poetry, and found our tastes remarkably similar; and everyone did her best to be courteous, thoughtful, and interesting. And yet, for me at least, there was something lacking. I would have loved an energetic, emotional debate on the merits and demerits of the Allegiance social system—or the most popular religious trends of the day—or the newest scientific advances which I followed as best I could from the computer terminal installed in my room. Such conversation was not to be had with friends such as these, and I had not often had it in the past, but I nonetheless found myself longing for it with a sort of fierce wistfulness. I tried not to disparage the calm, productive haven I had found, but it was sorely empty of drama.