Memory of Morning (14 page)

The dress shop in Seyemouth had been a homey place, busy, yet a comfortable place to shop. Mr. Vine's establishment was overwhelmingly Grand. Just because it was a dress shop did not mean that a customer saw bolts of fabric, cases of trim, tables of design books, or mannequins dressed in examples of the wares on offer. I saw no hint of what the place was actually used for when I walked through the door into Vine's lofty waiting room. We were shown to chairs and told to wait. The seats were deeply upholstered, we had fine portraits and rich wall hangings to look at, thick rugs under out feet, vases of fragrant flowers sat on side tables, but I didn't see a single dress. The place was meant to evoke awe, I suppose.

Awe is something I might experience standing near a firing eighty-four pounder. Awe is something Bell
might
experience when singing the solo Solstice Chants at First Temple, though people were more likely to be in awe of her. Seeli Cliff might experience a certain amount of awe if she was standing in the center of the vault of the Imperial Treasury, although her next impulse would be to reorganize the empire's finances. But Rhane, Rhane Owl was only seventeen, on her first trip away from a quiet life on Welis where she was apprenticed to a lawyer. Rhane's lovely gray eyes were wide as she took in the splendor. I think it is best to be young and inexperienced to truly appreciate a Season properly.

We were offered wine with savory biscuits, rather than tea, which Rhane thought very sophisticated. We let her have a small glass. In fact, that was all any of us had. No reason to be talked into something extravagant while giddy. I would far rather be extravagant while sober.

Being us, we chatted happily while we waited without getting the least bit bored or restless. I believe we began to irritate the staff after a while.

When we were shown into the proprietor's design studio, Belladem commented, "This is the shortest time I have ever had to wait to see Mr. Vine."

I looked around the well-lit room we entered. "Now, this is more like it."

Bolts of the most luxurious fabrics I had ever seen leaned one above the other on a trio of narrow shelves along one wall. Tall windows and glass-paned doors along two other walls showed a magnificently flowering garden behind the building. I admired this show of color. The studio contained mirrors and fitting mannequins, cutting tables, a wide drawing board. Nothing was quite neat, nor was there any chaos to the stacks and folds of cloth and frocks under construction. There was a desk on the side of the room closest to the bolts of material where a long, thin man sat, leaning over a writing pad. I smiled, seeing that he was also left-handed.

He put down his pen and looked up, and stood in one graceful motion. I was correct in assuming he was a tall man, but he proved to be taller than I expected. His name may be Vine, but Heron or Crane would suit him better if our surnames were still chosen by our attributes as they had been in the past.

He came toward us with a wide smile on his hatchet-thin face. He had wispy light brown hair floating around his head and was dressed in simple black trousers and a white shirt covered with a long, wine-colored vest. The lack of extravagance in his own clothing reassured me.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he greeted us, giving a slight bow. He turned his smile on my sister. "Cleric Cliff, I heard you at First Temple last week. It was a stunning, stirring performance." He made a graceful gesture, taking in the rest of us.

Belladem bobbed a curtsy and the rest of us followed her lead. She then introduced us, and Mr. Vine gestured us into chairs set before his desk.

When he was seated across from us, he glanced at a note before he folded his hands together on the desktop. "Presentation and ball gowns," he said. "That is what everyone wants at the moment. I can promise you the best. And, of course I will charge you fortunes for them. But..." he held up a finger. "...the good thing about a Presentation dress is that it also makes a lovely wedding dress. When you need it, bring the white dress back to me and I will dye it blue for you without any extra charge."

"Thank you, Mr. Vine." Seeli spoke for us. "What can you tell us about your ball gown designs?"

"I can tell you that ball gowns are difficult, the most difficult designs of all. Because Season ball gowns cannot be white, but they cannot be any other color, either. It is difficult to make every woman look uniquely beautiful and memorable when all I have to work with is shades of beige." He smiled. "You are here because it is well known that I am more than equal to the task."

I expected him to tell us about materials and start taking measurements, but instead he asked us questions one at a time, starting with young Rhane, and took notes about many aspects of our lives, about our plans; all sorts of things. I rather liked this approach to dress design.

By the time he turned his attention to me I had made up my mind to trust him. I answered his questions for a while before I said, "Excuse me." I pulled up the right sleeve of my dress, revealing the scar just below the shoulder.

Belladem and Seeli had both seen and been told about the scar, but Rhane gasped at the sight. I gave her a sharp look. "Don't you dare talk about this. Father would faint if he knew."

I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. "I do not wish to look old-fashioned by wearing a ball gown with sleeves, Mr. Vine. Is it possible for you to make a fashionable gown that will still conceal this?" I pulled my sleeve down now that the point had been made.

He gazed at the ceiling for a bit, tapping a forefinger against his lips. "A challenge," he said, looking back at me. "Thank you, Dr. Cliff. I truly do enjoy a challenge."

His attitude was most satisfying. "I am certain you will rise to it, Mr. Vine."

That evening, I finally was able to wear my black lace evening dress. I was delighted to have the chance to get into it once before it had to be folded away during the next few months where only pale was proper. But as much as I enjoyed the chance to show off the frock, I must say I did not much enjoy the evening's entertainment. The company that made up our party was certainly pleasant - this included Seeli and myself, along with cousin Abethe, who is Uncle Eadum's acknowledged daughter. We were all surprised that Abethe had been persuaded to leave her farm to join our frivolity, but were very happy to see her. There was also Tennit and Rassi, as well as Belladem and her beloved Dwie.

Having finally met Dwie Kestrel I must say I could understand why Bell was so very fond of him. The more I saw of him, the better I liked him. He is a tall, attractive fellow, even if his hair is thinning a bit prematurely at the sides of his forehead. Of course his manners are perfect, and he has a quick wit along with a delightful speaking voice. Most importantly and sweetly, he is a very caring individual. His profession involves enforcing laws, solving crimes, protecting the peace and somehow he manages to turn this potentially dangerous occupation into a means to help people. I believe that the moment the man meets a person he puts them under his protection.

For the evening's entertainment, we chose to attend a reading by an author whose fictional work was currently popular. Personally, I spent two hours with my teeth held tightly together in the effort not to shout out how dull and banal I thought the book to be.

The man did have a talent for reading, even if he had none for writing. And he was quite pleasant looking, so gazing upon him as he droned away at the lectern was some consolation. There were quite a few adoringly staring young ladies in the audience who I was sure attended only to see the author.

What was the story about? Feuding families and a shipwrecked prince. There were abductions, rescues, ransoms, a fair amount of sex - it should have been brilliant and exciting.

I kept thinking,
my novel is better than that.

We applauded briefly for politeness sake at the end, and made for the exit rather than the lectern where the author was being surrounded by admiring young women. My family waited until we were crowded nearly to the roof of the Cliff coach before the teasing began.

"Is a doctor with a very detailed knowledge of anatomy," I cut her off.
And a vivid imagination,
I added to myself.
I've seen more naked men than you have, Belladem Cliff, and not all of them were bleeding.

"That's what the man we were listening to is, yes? He's a novelist and he read his novel, that's what it said on the program." Rassi said. "And a novelist is someone who makes up stories without gods or history in them. My mum claims novels are evil, but his story was just bad. Why are you calling your sister a novelist, Tenn?"

"It is not an insult," Abethe spoke up. "Novel writing is an art form, like painting or music. Albeit a recent one. Megere studied the art of writing fiction at university."

"So did you," I reminded her. "We both took classes with Professor Diamond. He has written several brilliant novels himself."

"My interest is in the concepts, not in the application, but our Megere has always wanted to write a novel."

In the dimness of the coach's interior I could still tell that everyone’s gaze was on me.

"I wrote a novel while I was on the
Moonrunner,
" I said. "It is about an able seaman's adventures."

There was a moment of silence while I flinched apprehensively. No one laughed.

"Can I read it?" just about everyone asked at once.

I was stunned. Being vain, I was also flattered. I was also hesitant. "Um. Perhaps," I said. I recalled the condition of the manuscript in the worn red leather journal. "I need to copy it cleanly, make a few improvements."

"I fear having my vanity pricked," I said. "But, all right, I will hand over a clean copy of
Darnin Clover
as soon as I may."

Chapter Nineteen

I had planned on going straight to bed upon returning to the house. Instead, the butler told us we were all expected in the green parlor after our shawls and jackets were taken from us. A great many puzzled looks were exchanged, but we did as we were requested rather than question the butler.

All of the "grown-ups" waited in the parlor: Father and Mother, Uncle Charle and Aunt Gwin, Aunt Edime and Uncle Nors Cliff, cousin Corle and her husband, and of course, Uncle Eadum.

We "youngsters" all exchanged looks again. It was obvious that we were in trouble from the serious looks our parents turned on us. I was not the only one of us who shrugged.

The head of the Cliff family stood with his back to the mantel, his hands clasped behind him. Everyone but Rassi and Dwie recognized the seriousness of the head of the Cliff family's mood. I glanced at Uncle Charle, but it was Aunt Gwin who looked furious.

We were not invited to sit. So, there we stood, seven responsible, professional adults, being made to feel like naughty children deserving a parental lecture.

"Where have you been?" Uncle Eadum asked.

"We know exactly where you have been," Aunt Gwin said. She looked specifically at me. "Have we not discussed this already?"

It was Dwie who faced Uncle Eadum. "Could you please be more specific, sir? You seem to be making an accusation without any foundation in fact."

"You attended a
novel
reading," Aunt Gwin said. "That is not the sort of thing proper people do in Loudon. You risk establishing yourselves as part of a fast, loose crowd. That will not do."

"Thought so," Rassi whispered to Tennit.

"But novel readings are commonplace in Avan," I said. "Or they were when last I was home."

"What is done in a hotbed of radicalism is not sanctioned by the
elite
of Loudon," Aunt Gwin said.

"Loudon society is very traditional," Uncle Eadum said. "We do not wish to offend the sensibilities of those we will be socializing with in coming weeks."

"If we get the chance to socialize," cousin Corle said. "There will be no invitations from the right people if rumors start circulating about book readings and attending plays. Fiction will not be tolerated."