Page 35 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
Cordelia tried to turn her head all the way around like an owl, failed, jumped to her feet, and managed to upset the sugar bowl. Lumps bounced across the table. She turned scarlet and began attempting to corral the wayward sugar.
“Oh dear,” said the newcomer, kneeling beside her to help. “It’s my fault for popping up behind you like a jack-in-the-box. Here, there’s one by your embroidery—there. At least it’s only the sugar!” She sat back, grinning at Cordelia. “Imagine the mess if you’d overset the bowl of live mice!”
Mice…? Cordelia blinked at her, astonished. Hester snorted. “We stopped serving live mice with tea ages ago, Penelope.”
“Strictly for formal occasions now, is it?” She put the back of her wrist to her forehead. “And when I think of the extraordinary rodent teas I’ve had over the years… oh, the heart bleeds, so it does.”
Rodent teas? What?
Lady Strauss shook her head. “Your humor is still as peculiar as ever, Penelope. Best introduce yourself before our young friend here thinks you’ve escaped from an asylum.”
The woman made an abbreviated curtsy, given her position on the floor. “Penelope Green, at your service.”
Penelope Green was tall and beautiful, except that she wasn’t. Cordelia’s brain insisted that she must be, but her eyes were reporting that she was actually no taller than Cordelia, that her cheeks were heavily scarred with the cobblestone marks of smallpox, and that she was wearing a silk gown in a staggeringly vivid shade of green that should have made her look bilious.
And yet.
Cordelia’s brain told her eyes to look again, because when Mrs. Green stood up, even though she wasn’t tall, she was still the most important thing in the room. It was like she stood in a personal sunbeam, even though it was overcast and the sky outside the windows was quite gray.
It occurred to Cordelia that she had been staring at Mrs. Green while still half bent over, holding the sugar tongs, and immediately flushed. “I’m… er… Cordelia.” She hastily returned the tongs to the bowl.
“Cordelia and her mother are my brother’s guests,” said Hester, “and Cordelia’s been kind enough to keep an old lady company up here.”
“How good of her. Who’s the old lady, then? I don’t see her.”
Hester made a rude noise. “I’m fifty, you know.”
“Yes, and if you were a man, you’d be considered barely old enough for politics. People would call you ‘that young Hester lad.’”
“Look at you,” said Lady Strauss, taking both the newcomer’s hands. “You look spectacular, as always. It’s infuriating, you know.”
Mrs. Green laughed. “You look beautiful yourself, Imogene, and you know it. And you, Hester…” She settled herself on the arm of Hester’s chair with as much grace as a queen taking a throne. “Hester, love, you have been sleeping badly and worrying too much, haven’t you? Is your knee bothering you?”
“Oh, partly, partly.” Hester shook her head. “We can discuss all that later, I imagine.”
Cordelia wondered if later meant when there isn’t a stranger present. She swallowed a too-hot gulp of tea, then pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feeling the pebbly texture of a burn starting. This probably isn’t the best time to ask about sorcery. Not when they’re all getting caught up. It would look odd, wouldn’t it?
She put her head down and focused on her embroidery while the three women talked over her head about places she had never been and people she had never met. Almost she thought that she had succeeded in becoming invisible, but then Mrs. Green nudged her. “Now then, we are being frightfully tedious, aren’t we, Cordelia?”
“No, no, of course…” Cordelia hoped that her lack of interest had not been obvious, but feared that it was. “That is, I didn’t mind, really I didn’t.”
“Bah. There is nothing more boring than listening to people talk about total strangers. At least unless the strangers are doing something scandalous. Imogene, tell us something scandalous to entertain our young friend here.”
Lady Strauss rolled her eyes. “I have no illusions about who I’m actually entertaining, Penelope. Oh, very well. Let me think. Do you know that Lord Ryhope’s wife was caught with one of the footmen?”
“Scandalous, but hardly unexpected,” said Penelope. “Ryhope’s, what, two or three hundred years old? At least? He’s keeping a sorcerer in the cupboard to keep him from turning to dust.”
“He’s seventy-two,” said Hester, with some asperity.
“Never say it.” Penelope stirred her tea, shaking her head. “That sorcerer is doing a terrible job, then.”
Cordelia could not imagine a better opening. She licked her lips. Just ask. It’s not that hard. It’s just gossip. They’ve been doing it all afternoon. Try to phrase it like you’re curious, that’s all.
“Do people really keep sorcerers for that?” She ducked her head immediately, in case they were staring at her, and became very interested in her tea.
“No, no,” Hester assured her. “They can’t do that. Penelope’s making one of her jokes again.”
“They can’t keep you young, anyway,” said Penelope thoughtfully. “I imagine they could make you look younger, though, at least for a little while.”
