The Shadow Matrix (54 page)

"Well, I won't decide anything right now. But that is a very attractive offer, Maggie.

Never to have to argue with some stupid bureaucrat again sounds wonderful. I thought

I was going to lose my mind, a few times, trying to arrange to come to Darkover. The

Federation seems to be losing its collective mind. My bags were searched four times!"

"Your bags! They never did that when I was traveling with Ivor."

Ida fell silent for several minutes, and Donal looked out the window of the carriage.

Then the older woman nodded to herself. "No, likely not. The struggle I had with all

the new regulations ... I was furious, and I think it gave me something to keep myself

busy. To keep my grief at bay." She sighed, dabbed a tear away, and straightened her

shoulders. "Tell me, Margaret, how would I live, if I remained here?"

"Live?"

"Earn my bread, so to speak!"

Margaret laughed. "I am a very rich woman, in my own right, by Darkovan standards,

and you would not have to do a thing except be your wonderful self. Or, you could do

as you suggested, and continue to research Darkovan

music. I have collected enough material to keep you busy

for a decade, and I didn't even really scratch the surface.

There are songs here that go back to Old Scotland, on

Terra before they went into space, and also new ones that

are interesting. As near as I can discover, no one has in

vented the symphonic form, but there is an enormous body

of vocal music to be studied. I hardly scratched the surface.

And the Musicians Guild would be delighted to help you

and to share your knowledge, too. You would not be idle,

unless you wanted to be."

"I am so used to fighting for funding, that I can't quite grasp the idea of not having to

do it. More than that, I am beginning to realize that there is nothing to go back to, not

really. The house belongs to University, and although I have life tenancy, I don't know

if that will continue, with all the nonsense about cutting off pensions and such. I was

not joking when I said I 'might end up on the street."

"I know you weren't, Ida. My father and I have been discussing it for the past few days.

Even though he has retired from the Senate, he still keeps in touch with our current

Senator, Herm Aldaran, 'and with some other people he knew. He thinks things are

going to get worse before they get better."

"If they get better at all," Ida muttered bitterly.

It was almost midday when the carriage pulled into the intersection of Threadneedle

and Shettle Streets, as close as they could get to Master Aaron MacEwan's shop. There

was, mercifully, no wind to speak of, and the icy patches on the cobbles were few. The

three of them walked down the street carefully, however, and finally arrived at their

destination.

Manuella, Aaron MacEwan's wife, was solemnly folding a bolt of cloth at the great

cutting table in the middle of the shop. Margaret remembered awakening on it the day

Ivor died. Shivering, though not with cold, she felt that Ivor was everywhere today.

The tailor's wife brightened when she saw Margaret, and approached them with a smile

and glad greetings.
"Vai domna!
How lovely to see you. Aaron will be back in a few

minutes. He just stepped out to harass the embroiderers, even though I told him not to."

"Greetings, Manuella. May I present my teacher, Ida Davidson, and my young cousin,

Donal Alar. He wants a blue tunic for the Midwinter Festival, and I need a fitting, I

suppose, for whatever masterpiece Aaron has been working on for me. And I need to

have things made for
Mestra
Davidson, who is staying with me now. Ida, this is

Manuella MacEwan; though her husband is the master tailor, she is the one who runs

the place."

The little woman beamed at this praise. "Of course! Welcome,
Mestra
Davidson." She

then peered uncertainly at Ida, wondering if her words had been understood.

"Thank you for your welcome,
mestra."
She had the phrase down pat. Margaret could

see Manuella relax at the answer. "I have been looking forward to coming here since

Marguerida told me about your establishment." Ida used a word that actually meant

something closer to "landholding" and Manuella's eyes widened slightly, but the sense

was clear enough. "I am wearing some things that were left in Comyn Castle, but they

are somewhat too large, and I cannot sew a stitch." Her verb forms were not perfect,

and she tended to use the infinitive rather than the gerund, but the meaning came

across well enough. It did not seem to have occurred to Ida to ask one of the servants

to alter the -clothing she was lent. Like Margaret herself, she did not quite know how

to behave with the maids and manservants.

"And why should you? Leave that to experts. Here, now. Nella! Where is that girl? Ah,

there you are. Please take
Mestra
Davidson into the back and measure her. Then tell

Doevid to go to the loft and bring down that bolt of dove gray wool, the green from

Ardais, and . . ."

"Perhaps that mauve we just received," the girl broke in saucily. She was about fifteen,

round and pert, a pretty young woman.

"Humph. Maybe, though I am not sure the color will suit
Mestra
Davidson. That violet

we have had since summer might be better."

"Yes, Manuella." Nella and Ida vanished behind the curtains at the back of the shop.

"Now, young man," Manuella began, "what sort of blue did you have in mind?"

"Do you have something very dark, like the sky after sunset, almost purple." He

seemed to know exactly what

he wanted, and Margaret was a little surprised. Both of his parents were very

indecisive, and she could not imagine where he had learned to be so certain.

"Now, why do you want such a color?"

Donal looked up at Manuella, frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "1 don't know—it

just seems good or something."

The tailor's wife looked over at Margaret, as if to say that young boys wanting new

tunics was a strange experience for her. Then she smiled at Donal again. "I believe we

do have a short bolt in a color that you might like—it has been sitting in the loft for a

long time, because no one really liked it."

"Maybe it was waiting for me," Donal announced, as if he expected such occurrences

in his life.

Margaret had not realized how tense she had been until she began to relax in the calm

atmosphere of the shop. Ida thought she had written the song for Ivor, but Donal had

known it was for Domenic, and had been wonderfully discreet as well. She found

herself wondering what sort of man this clever little boy was going to become, and

wanting very much to see it.

Still, the incident had left her feeling conflicted and anxious. The smell of wool and

silk and linen, mingled with dust and the scent of tea wafted around her. These odors

made her think again of her first visit, and the pain of Ivor's death seemed fresh again.

But the soothing atmosphere of the shop wore away the edges of her sorrow, muting it

down to a bearable level. It was very restful, with nothing to trouble her immediately,

no Domain lords and ladies arguing, no Gisela Aldaran clinging to Mikhail's arm.

Aaron stomped crossly into the shop, muttering under his breath, then stopped and

smiled when he saw Margaret. He was a large man, black-haired and broad-

shouldered, who looked more like a carter than a master tailor. Only the fluffs of fiber

clinging to his sleeves gave any hint of his occupation. He made her a brief bow,

glanced at Donal curiously, and
said, "Domna
Alton! What a pleasure to see you. Did

you like the white gown your father ordered for you?"

"I love it, Aaron. It is very beautiful, and I received a great many compliments on it.

The cut of the cloth is so

wonderful, and I think that Lady Linnea and
Domna
Ail-lard were almost envious. No

doubt they will want something of the sort for themselves."

"Well, if they envied that, when they see you at the Midwinter ball, their eyes will pop

out of their heads."

"Aaron! What a thing to say," Manuella commented, throwing up her hands as if to say

there was nothing she could do with her husband.

"Nonsense! You yourself said it is a remarkable bit of work, and I confess,
domna,
that

I enjoyed the making of the gown more than I have anything in years. I was getting

quite stale, making ordinary clothing for this one and that. Did you know that Rafaella

came by and ordered a gown for the ball? I wondered at it, but she seems to think she

will be attending."

"She did tell me, when we were returning from Neskaya, that she was going to be there

with a friend." Margaret did not want to mention that the friend was her uncle, Rafe

Scott, because she thought it was no one's business. She wished them the joy of their

odd alliance, and only wished her own life could be as simple.

"I see. I confess I did not quite believe her. Renunciates do not often attend balls at the

Castle," he finished, clearly feeling that people should know their places, and keep to

them. "Now, let's get the gown out and see how it fits. You look to have lost a bit of

weight,
domna.
And I shall warn you now that if you do not like the gown, I shall have

to fall upon my scissors."

Donal, who had been listening to all of this with great interest, looked up at the tall

tailor and said, "Why would you do that?"

"Because my heart would break," Aaron replied teasingly.

"Don't be foolish, Aaron," Margaret answered, before Donal could inquire further.

"Everything you have made for me has been wonderful."

Manuella had left the main room, and now returned carrying something wrapped in a

white sheet. She bore it across her arms, and moved as if holding something precious.

She laid it on the cutting table and began to unfold the coverings.

Under the faint light from the street and the flickering

illumination of the lampions, Margaret saw what at first appeared to be a mass of

glittering gold on a bed of violet. Then Aaron leaned forward and picked it up, shook it

out, and held it by the hanger.

Prepared as she was for something beautiful, Margaret still gasped with delight. The

undergarment was a long column of violet silk, shining in the light, with a low

neckline, though not at all immodest. Except for the sleeves, the underrobe was rather

plain, almost severe, and she knew it would cling to the planes of her body like a

second skin. After months of garments cut full, to conceal the body, she thought it

might be rather outrageous, and, perversely, she liked the idea.

Margaret was a little surprised at her feelings of rebellion. Then, as she stared at the

beautiful garment, she realized that Gisela Aldaran would be either shocked or

envious, and that she was delighted by the prospect of one reaction or the other. I

never knew I was such a cat!

The sleeves were large, gathered things, full at the shoulder and falling to midarm,

where a wide ruffle cascaded down, ready to conceal the silken mitts she would wear.

It was a form she had not seen on Darkover before. The edge of the ruffle and the hem

were embroidered with golden silk, a pattern of tiny vines and small flowers.

The overtunic was made of a fine, sheer stuff, gold threads which shone like a sun

even in the dim light of the room. It had no sleeves, so the purple of the undergown

was visible along the arms, and then muted over the body. The neckline of the

overtunic was high, and gathered into a small ruche which she knew would fall just

beneath her square chin. It was very simple in its lines, but the overall feeling was one

of opulence. Margaret fell in love with it immediately, then wondered if she was up to

wearing such a dramatic gown.

"Aaron, this is magnificent! You have created a whole new style, and all the fine ladies

of Thendara will be pounding at your door the morning after the ball, even if there is

the mother of all snow storms."

"And that Gisela will be mad as fire," Donal added, looking pleased with himself.

Margaret shot a quick look at the little boy—he did not miss much, did he?

Aaron ignored Donal, and looked both pleased and

smug, "I am glad you find it good,
domna.
The glover has made some new mitts, of the

same fine silk as the under-gown, but a shade paler, and he promises that he will have

them at the castle in good time. And the cobbler is working on the slippers even as we

speak. Indeed, we must send to him, to make certain they do not pinch, for you will not

want tight shoes to dance in."

"You seem to have thought of everything, as usual, Aaron. While he is here, I would

like him to measure Donal for some new boots. Don't let me forget, please."

"Cousin Marguerida!" Donal seemed stunned.

"If you have grown taller, your feet must be longer."

"Thank you!" His face was red with blushing.