“Well…yes,” she replied.
And then proceeded to bombard him with questions.
At first he answered her in a manner that was just ever-so-slightly superior — but she was relentless, forcing him to go into more and more detail, until he began to struggle for the right explanations, and begged for mercy.
“Please!” he said, falling to his knees and holding out both hands in entreaty. “No more! I crave respite. My poor addled mind is melting!”
She regarded him haughtily for a long moment, then laughed at him.
“I’ll let you off this time, only because I am getting very tired,” she warned him. “Next time you will not be so lucky.”
“I’ll count my blessings, then,” he said, and got to his feet, waving at a red-ribboned invisible that was waiting patiently in a corner and handing it a lighted candle. “I trust you won’t mind if I send a servant with you to light your way?”
“Not at all,” she said, mockingly. “I have probably so scrambled your thoughts that you would not be able to find the right corridors, anyway.”
It wasn’t until she got to her suite that she realized how late it really was — and how much she had, quite unexpectedly, enjoyed herself.
So much so that she hadn’t the least desire to look into the mirror before she went to bed.
BELLA MANAGED TO KEEP HERSELF FROM GOING TO look in the mirror until after she had eaten breakfast; the morning did not start out particularly well, however. She went down to the dining chamber only to discover, to her disappointment, that she would be eating the meal alone; Sebastian was nowhere in sight. And she couldn’t ask the invisible in attendance where he was, either, as this was not one of the ones who could write.
She resorted to the mirror, feeling as if she was eating a rich and indulgent sweet to make up for not getting something she wanted, as Genevieve often did. But the sight of her father drove any lingering sense of guilt right out of her mind.
He didn’t look any more haggard than he had yesterday, but he certainly did not look well. As he worked feverishly over the accounts and invoices, she tried to tell if he was paler, or thinner. Was he eating right? Was he even eating at all? She couldn’t be sure —
Cook will make sure he eats, she reminded herself. She’ll coax him, and bring him little tidbits. She vividly remembered Cook doing just that for both of them in the last days of her mother’s illness. Mrs. Hennister, the Cook, was a very caring woman. So was Mrs. Athern, the Housekeeper. Actually, all the servants from the “old” household were loyal and actually cared about their master.
The thought was evidently enough for the mirror; it fogged over and cleared again, showing the kitchen, and Cook laboring over a tray of little puffy pastries with bits of sweetened squash baked into them. She sighed. Father loves those. Cook was watching out for her master; there was at least one person who was going to make sure he was as “all right” as he could be under the circumstances.
The mirror widened its view. The rest of the kitchen staff was also working on things she recognized as her father’s special indulgences. There was a kettle of thick chicken soup on the hearth — made with cream instead of broth, and with dumplings floating in it. Someone else had just taken out a pan of venison cutlets wrapped in bacon, and she could see preparations for a jugged hare well under way.
The mirror view shifted slightly, then began moving through the house, exactly as if she herself was making her morning rounds. And everything was going so smoothly she had to blink to be sure she was looking at the right house. Mrs. Athern and Mathew Breman were working hand in hand like old partners, ensuring that there simply were no incidents that would require the intervention of the master of the house. When they had swept through all the rooms, they parted with a friendly nod. Mrs. Athern then supervised the maids bringing up breakfast for the twins and Genevieve, while Mathew himself brought her father a tray and literally stood there, waiting, to make sure he ate what was on it. She wished that she could hear what they were saying, but it seemed that the only time she could get sound was when she was talking to the Godmother.
Once her father had eaten, the mirror fogged over again, almost as if it had decided that she had seen enough to make any reasonable person certain that the family was all right and there was no point in fretting anymore.
Well, yes, and a reasonable person would, I suppose. She got up and went to the window to look down at the snow-covered garden. It would be a nice place to walk in if only it was spring.
“If I don’t find something constructive to do, I think I am going to go mad,” she said aloud. She hadn’t quite realized how much of her time was taken up with — things. Supervising the servants, overseeing the shopping, going out with the twins on their rounds of visits. Learning things from Granny and putting them into practice at home —
“Ha!” Now that was one thing she could do!
This was a proper Manor house. There would be a stillroom.
What was more, Sebastian probably needed things for his spells, things that she could concoct. She would find that out later. For right now, though…
Sapphire’s ribbon appeared in the door as if her thought had summoned the spirit. “Sapphire!” she exclaimed. “Is the stillroom properly stocked?”
Sapphire made for the slate and chalk. “Dun no,” she wrote. “V full. Sho U?”