The rolling pin that Mustard had been using slowly lowered to the table, and she felt a faint tug on the basket. She let go, and the basket moved toward Mustard’s side of the table, where it was lowered.
“They’re fresh, so they probably won’t be good for another month,” she explained. “And I am here to say that this probably won’t be the last time I get so involved in something I forget the time. If that happens, please send one of the ordinary ones to fetch me if you don’t send one of the ordinary ones with a plate for me.” Now she tilted her head to one side, wishing she could see a face. Any kind of face. “And don’t pretend that the Duke doesn’t do the same thing, because we all know he does. My father does. Anyone who has something that they are going to get completely engrossed in does. And I imagine that you make him up plates all the time. So let’s not get out of sorts over it. It won’t change me or Sebastian, and as Granny says, ‘Getting angry over something that won’t change is like seeing what happens if you hit your hand with a hammer over and over again, and being surprised each time when it hurts. So you might as well stop doing it.’”
The silence in the kitchen was utterly unnerving, until it was broken by the scratching of chalk on slate. She turned to see a slate held in midair, turned so she could read it.
“Mustard is laughing.”
She smiled with relief, and turned back to the place where Mustard stood.
“Just so you all know, I respect you for the artists that you are. It is very frustrating to prepare what you know is a fine meal only to have it spoiled because people weren’t where they should have been when it was ready. But…” She hesitated a moment. Genevieve would never talk to servants like this.
But I am not Genevieve.
“I’d like you to remember what Sebastian is, and what I might change into. Sometimes we escape into things that involve us completely so we don’t have to think about that. When we’re absorbed, we aren’t thinking about the terrible things we might do, or how we haven’t found a cure, or what will happen if the King stops protecting us. Or how very alone we are.” Her voice caught a little on that last and she paused to steady herself before she went on. “Escape into concentration is the only escape we have.”
She wondered how they would take that. After all, they had been summoned here. They might be just as trapped as she and Sebastian were. But Sebastian had sworn he hadn’t summoned any who were unwilling to come. She had to take his word for that, not knowing how the magic worked.
She heard the chalk on the slate again, and turned.
“You are right.”
She sighed, and then brightened. “If I can lure him away from his workroom, and you don’t mind, I’ll bring him down here so he can see how much work it takes to turn raw materials into a fine meal. Once he realizes that, he will not take such a meal for granted again. After all, he does much the same sort of work with his spells.”
“A fine plan!” Thyme wrote.
She did not need to add that she never forgot how much work it was to make a meal. “I hope my vinegars prove useful” was all she said. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
The stillroom beckoned, and she headed back to it. Once it was properly organized she could make a great deal more than just flavored vinegar. As she had pointed out, there was a great deal of escape to be found in work — and no matter what the Godmother had said, she still found herself flailing in moments of uncertainty and fear.
After all, she knew now that the Godmother was quite ruthless. Ruthless enough to lie in order to keep her from doing something desperate. So, no matter how much she wanted to believe both what the Godmother said and Sebastian’s research, the fear never left her for very long.
It was growing darkness, not weariness nor hunger, that finally sent her back out of the stillroom and into her suite so she could change out of clothing stiff with herb-dust into something presentable for supper. Sapphire must have been horrified to see her as she entered; the Spirit Elemental came up behind her and all but pushed her into the bath chamber.
She didn’t resist. She knew how dirty she was, and although back home she would have resorted to a “bath in a basin” and the vigorous application of a brush to her hair to get all the dust out, well, home was not equipped with that huge, lovely tub, nor what was an unlimited supply of hot water. So she let Sapphire have her way, and as her clothing vanished out the door — held in a way that suggested the Elemental had it at arm’s length to avoid the dirt — she sank into a hot tub scented with tuberose, and luxuriated for a little before scrubbing every inch, hair included. She was just glad her hair only came down to just below her shoulder blades, not long enough that she could sit on it, like the twins could.
Sapphire returned, brushed out the clean, wet hair and bound it up in a knot at the nape of her neck. Then, with a flourish that looked like triumph, she presented Bella with one of the remade gowns, which was still much more elegant than anything she had brought with her.
But at least it was not nearly as restrictive as it had been. She allowed herself to be “helped” into it without a murmur of protest. It was a lovely color between rose and tan, made of soft silk twill, with three rows of very tiny ruffles at the hems and the throat. The ruffles kept it from looking too severe, but they were restrained enough that she didn’t look as if she was dressing in imitation of the twins.
Even Genevieve knows better than to run about in three rows of deep ruffles.
When she entered the dining hall, as she expected, Sebastian was deep in another book. But he must have been devoting at least a bit of his attention to watching for her, since he rose as soon as she passed the doorway, and pulled out her seat himself.
“You look very nice,” he said, sounding a little surprised.