Page 30 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
Cordelia lay on the bed, staring at nothing in particular. Her head felt unpleasantly full.
I thought your father would have to marry me. But he didn’t, and so I had to take steps.
The words might as well have been printed on the back of her eyelids. She couldn’t stop thinking them.
Was my father her benefactor, the way Mr. Parker was? And Mother got pregnant with me, and my father refused to marry her?
She’d known how babies were made, of course. There was whispering and snickering about it at school, and a girl named Marion had told everyone in gleeful detail one morning before class. But Cordelia had never quite connected that with parentage and legitimate heirs and legal inheritance of property, which Hester had walked her through with great patience.
“But if they think that a girl might be pregnant because she was compromised, why not just wait a few months and see?” Cordelia had asked, baffled. “Then you’d know for certain and everything could go back to normal.”
Hester had groaned. “Because it’s not logical.” She took another slug of her tea. “Believe me, if I ruled the world, we’d see a lot of things set right.” She frowned. “On second thought, never mind. It seems like too much work, ruling the world.”
The thought came to Cordelia that her mother would have been perfectly happy ruling the world, but she wouldn’t have bothered doing the work. She would just have told Cordelia to do it. Or possibly Falada, for the bits that Cordelia couldn’t be trusted with.
It occurred to her to wonder, suddenly, if Falada resented Evangeline as much as Cordelia did. Did he feel like a pawn in a game, too? Did he have any privacy, in his head or in his stall? Did he care?
Then she thought of that sly look, and the way that he had snorted with laughter when she had finally realized that he told her mother everything. No. No, he didn’t care. Or he thought it was funny. Perhaps familiars were different that way. Anyway, it didn’t matter, did it? Not compared to what she’d learned about her father.
… he didn’t, and so I had to take steps…
Had Evangeline taken steps the way that she had with Mr. Parker?
Cordelia turned the thought over and over. She could no longer doubt that her mother was capable of something terrible, but surely not… surely not to the father of her child?
How would I even find out? Look for a newspaper from fourteen and a half years ago? I don’t even know my father’s name.
Cordelia closed her eyes and told herself, very firmly, that she was letting go of the thoughts. There’s nothing I can do right now. I just have to make sure that she doesn’t think I’ve been compromised.
She thought about getting into the wardrobe again, but the bedcurtains were closed, and they were almost as good as a door. If she pulled the blankets over her head, that was two doors and two layers of fabric between her and her mother, and that was almost enough to pretend that she felt safe.
It’s not that she can’t come in, it’s that there will be a little bit of warning. That’s all I need. Just a little bit of warning before I have to face her. That’s all.
CHAPTER 12
Lady Hester’s houseguests began to arrive the next day, and Cordelia had no idea what to think of them. Lord and Lady Strauss did indeed bring their son, although he did not look like the sort who would inspire the world-shaking passion her mother had warned her about. He was tall and skinny, with an Adam’s apple so prominent that it made his neck look kinked, and he wanted to talk about horses at remarkable length.
Lord and Lady Strauss were rather more interesting. Lord Strauss was also tall, but much wider than his son, with black skin and tightly curled hair. He had a deep voice and kind eyes, and when he laughed, the sound filled the room. Cordelia noticed this while trying not to appear to do so. “None but an excessively ill-bred person will allow her attention to wander from the person with whom she is conversing,” according to The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, though it did not provide any advice on what to do if your conversational partner assumed that you knew ten times as much about horses as you actually did.
Lady Strauss eventually shooed her offspring away and smiled apologetically at Cordelia. She had white skin and green eyes as sharp as peridots. “Do forgive him, my dear,” she said. “He has not yet learned the art of making his passions interesting to other people. You are kind to put up with him as long as you have.”
“Oh… no…” Cordelia swallowed. “I… err…” Stop stammering, this isn’t an inquisition. Pretend you’re talking to Lady Hester. “I appreciate it, really,” she said carefully. “I’m not very good at conversation, myself.”
“You’re too kind,” said Lady Strauss. “I love him dearly, but I know what he’s like. Men are like that, my dear. It’s a rare one that settles down enough to talk to before they’re thirty.”
Cordelia didn’t know whether to laugh or not. Fortunately dinner was served before she had to decide. She was seated next to Master Strauss, but she was reasonably confident of her ability to handle utensils by now, and anyway, it didn’t seem like he would notice if she used the wrong fork. Best of all, her mother was down the table, near the Squire, and couldn’t see her. All she had to do was nod alertly and not spill anything and she could escape. In fact, she reasoned, it might be better not to talk to him too much. That way no one will think I’m in danger of being compromised.
Not that I could really be compromised at the dinner table. I don’t think.
Not talking proved easy enough, because young Master Strauss began immediately telling her about phaetons and racing carriages and high-perch and driving unicorn and a great many other phrases that had very little meaning to her. She let it wash over her and simply waited until he stopped to take a breath before interjecting, “Oh,” or “Hmm,” or “My goodness.”
Apparently this was acceptable, because after dinner, she pled headache and went up to bed and her mother patted her hand in a distracted way and didn’t look angry or as if she cared at all.
“So you’ve decided to have a house party, hmmm?” said Lady Strauss. She had brought a bag of knitting to the solar, but Hester knew from long acquaintance that Imogene Strauss had been working on the same scarf for the last decade and carried it purely for protective coloration.
And indeed, as soon as tea had been poured and the door had closed, Imogene reached into the knitting bag and fished out a deck of cards and a flask. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a game, Hester?”
“Not on your life, you old cardsharp. But you can pour a little of that rum into my tea.”
