A College of Magics (15 page)

Read A College of Magics Online

Authors: Caroline Stevermer

BOOK: A College of Magics
8.06Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Reed and Tyrian exchanged glances of guarded relief. Faris sat down in the lyre-backed chair. However long the wait for Jane's return, she was far too tired to pace.
The Warden of the West
Hilarion
B
y half past five, the train was well on its way to Paris, charging along in clouds of steam and a haze of soft coal smoke. Across the compartment from Faris, Jane sat with her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression unguessable behind the heavy veil she wore. Reed and Tyrian had solicitously installed them in a first class compartment, but both left without explanation a few minutes after the train's departure from the station.
Faris sat quietly, yielding to the steady sway of the railway carriage. The compartment smelled of cigars and managed somehow to be stuffy and cold at the same time. It was already dark outside and the yellow gaslight in the compartment was dim enough to make slumber easy for anyone. For Faris it was nearly irresistible. Although she had too much to think about, it was impossible to concentrate. She blinked and wished the brim of her hat allowed her to lean into the corner.
The compartment door slid open and Tyrian entered, dexterously balancing a tea tray. Awestruck, Jane lifted her veil to take a long look at the teapot and cups arranged on the tray. “Tyrian, you are a thorough brick.”
She took the tray from him and added, “See if you can
bring down my hat box from the rack without dislodging any of the other things, please.”
“It's only railway tea,” Tyrian said, with an apologetic air that surpassed mere boastfulness. “This hat box?”
“Yes. I packed up the last of Aunt Alice's plum cake. It was the only food I could find on short notice and it was much too good to leave for Dame Villette or the students.” Jane pulled off her gloves and poured tea. She held out a cup to Faris, giving her a glance of appraisal at the same time. “Are you all right?”
Faris smiled and accepted the cup Jane offered. “Just about. Ask me again in a few hours.”
“Don't worry. We'll manage everything.” When she could spare attention from the teapot, Jane looked sharply across at Tyrian. “Who are you, anyway?”
Tyrian was slicing the plum cake with a large knife of alarmingly efficient design. “I beg your pardon?”
Jane addressed him sternly. “You know what I mean. You appear like the slave of the lamp just in time to stop Faris killing that sailor. You bring out the worst in Menary and the best in the Dean. You can make the French railway produce tea and you carry a knife better suited to cut throats than to slice cake. Who
are
you?”
Tyrian looked embarrassed. “I am no one, my lady. Merely a precaution on her grace's behalf while she is far from home. I have agreed to escort her back to Galazon. Reed intends to help, too. He is on watch in the corridor at the moment.”
“A precaution, hm?” Jane looked dissatisfied. “Against
what, precisely? Do you know of any particular threat against Faris?”
Tyrian shook his head. “Lord Brinker's chief concern was that her grace might leave Greenlaw. I think he did not wish her to be out in the world with no protection.”
“Say, rather, he did not wish me to come home unexpectedly, to surprise him in his schemes.” The tea was weak but hot, the cup's warmth comforting to Faris's cold hands. She accepted a piece of Jane's sticky dark cake, and thanked them both. “When do we arrive in Paris?” The cake was heavy, damp, and rather sparingly spiced. Traveling through the post had probably improved it. Faris could not remember when she had tasted anything so good.
“Too late to go out for dinner, even if you had anything suitable to wear. That's why I thought of the plum cake.”
“Not before ten o'clock,” said Tyrian, handing Faris another slice of cake as she finished the first. “I took the liberty of wiring to arrange a hotel. We have reservations at the Hotel Suisse.”
Jane's eyes widened over the rim of her teacup. “The Hotel Suisse? I've never heard of it.”
“It's quiet and close to the station. It's even clean.”
Jane regarded Tyrian with consternation. “Who will believe that a duchess would stay at the Hotel Suisse? What
modiste
in her right mind would willingly send large purchases on credit to an address near the gare Montparnasse? What is wrong with the Hotel de Crillon? My family always stays at the Crillon.”
“What sort of large purchases on credit?” countered Tyrian.
“As soon as Reed and I arrange it, the duchess will return to Galazon.”
Faris handed her tea cup to Jane. “You will kindly include me in this conversation.”
Jane ignored her. “First she has a call to pay in the rue du Sommerard. Do you suppose she will be received dressed as she is now? She's a perfect ragamuffin. She must have new clothes.”
“Am I a parcel?” Faris inquired to the compartment at large. “Am I a portmanteau? I will not be spoken of as if I am not here.”
“The Hotel de Crillon is very elegant. It is also very large. Reed and I can't possibly secure the whole building.”
“You needn't. You need only watch her.”
Faris reached up and began to unpin her hat.
“You know better than that, Faris. No lady travels without a hat.”
“No lady? But then,
I
am no lady.
I
am a ragamuffin, so let me be a comfortable ragamuffin. Since you persist in referring to me in the third person.” Faris folded her cloak about her. “You leave me no choice but to ignore you both in return. Wake me when we arrive.” She turned to Tyrian. “And when we arrive, we go to the Hotel de Crillon.”
“To soothe the vanity of a dressmaker?” Tyrian glanced at Jane.
“To soothe the bankers. Before you arrange the train tickets, before Jane arranges my call in the rue du Sommerard, before we spend a sou on accommodations, we must first consider the bankers. They are sure to feel more at ease with a letter of credit from a young person who
resides at the Hotel de Crillon than from a young person who stays at a hotel convenient to the gare Montparnasse.”
Jane and Tyrian looked at one another. “You must admit she's right,” said Jane.
“Of course she's right.” Tyrian smiled angelically. “She is my employer.”
Faris nestled into the corner and gave them a last exasperated look. “Wake me at the station. Not before.”
 
O
n her first morning away from Greenlaw, Faris woke in time for the Dean's lecture. In the half-light of early morning, she lay in the unaccustomed luxury of a featherbed and considered matters. It took her a moment to remember that she would not need to rise early for that lecture, nor any other, ever again. Her time as a student was over. Despite her uncle's guardianship, she was the duchess of Galazon, and as such, was required to conduct business on Galazon's behalf while she was in Paris. There were bankers to see, urgent arrangements to make. And most urgently of all, there was a call to pay in the rue du Sommerard.
Duty called. She should rise and answer. Instead Faris pulled the coverlet up over her face and fell asleep again.
Faris woke the second time when Jane dropped a neatly wrapped box on her stomach. “Do you mean to sleep all day?”
Cautiously, Faris peered over the edge of the coverlet. “What time is it?”
The bedroom was filled with light. Jane was silhouetted against the windows, fussing with the drapes. “Past eleven. I've rung for rolls and coffee. If you hurry, you'll be finished
in time for luncheon.” Jane turned away from the windows. She was wearing a stylishly enormous hat, the veil still down. As she neared the bed, Faris pushed herself up on her pillows in surprise.
“Get rid of that veil, Jane. It makes you look a hundred years old.”
Jane stopped in front of one of the great gold-framed mirrors that flanked the fireplace and started to extract hatpins. “I mean to look a hundred years old. A fine figure you'd cut, larking about Paris with only a slip of a girl like me for a chaperone.” Veil still down, she turned to Faris. The features behind the thin material were Jane's, but Jane's in forty years, or fifty. She lifted the veil and her own young face returned. “I was glad to find I could keep up the illusion once I left Greenlaw. But oh, how it makes my head ache and my face itch. You've no notion.”
“Where have you been? Where are Reed and Tyrian?” Faris looked around the room, saw the stack of boxes on the divan, and more boxes scattered across the oriental rugs. “What have you
done?
”
“Don't sound so horrified. I just ran out to find a few things for you to wear.”
“A few things?” Puzzled, Faris looked at the profusion of boxes again. “How did you know what would fit?”
“I didn't. That's why I had to bring an assortment. We'll send back the rest.”
“Oh,” said Faris, relieved.
“I left Tyrian to stand guard here and took Reed with me. They have the rooms on either side of our suite, so methodical of them, don't you think? The instant I brought
Reed back here, Tyrian went racing off to make arrangements for the Orient-Express. I think he wants to snatch you away from my pernicious influence.”
“He may have a point. How much have I spent so far this morning?”
“For this?” Jane resumed the removal of her hat. “It's only ready-made. Everything is on approval. If you like, I'll send it all back. But you can't, honestly, Faris, you
can't
go about Paris dressed like an expelled Greenlaw student. And you must pay that call the Dean has arranged. If you go looking like a ragamuffin, you'll be treated like a ragamuffin. It isn't enough just to be a duchess. You must look like a duchess. These things matter.”
The visit in the rue du Sommerard seemed less appealing than ever. “Oh, very well. But leave something of the school fees to pay for my train tickets.”
“I knew you'd be sensible.”
From the outer room came the sounds of room service, delivering rolls and coffee under Reed's supervision. Jane sighed and lowered her veil again. “Excuse me. I must see to this. Reed has no notion of
douceur.
He undertips scandalously.”
Faris got up. It seemed wise to visit the bankers at the earliest possible moment.
 
B
y the time the coffee and rolls were finished, and by the time Jane considered Faris suitably dressed in her ready-made finery, it was past noon. All the banks were closed at midday, so there was nothing to do but retire to the hotel dining room and eat luncheon.
Jane referred to this as “making the best of things,” but Faris appreciated the chance to take in the well-organized splendor of the hotel. It had been a mistake to fall asleep on the train. By the time she awoke, Jane, Reed, and Tyrian had arranged matters among themselves so efficiently that her removal to the Hotel de Crillon made Faris feel she was just another piece of baggage. Of her arrival, she remembered very little. She had a confused recollection of the chestnut panelling in the corridors and the brilliantly polished brasswork of the lift. But the profusion of chandeliers she remembered in the lobby was gone. Instead there were four noble crystal fixtures and a profusion of high-arched mirrors. The spring flowers she had glimpsed, extravagantly out of season, proved to be made of wax, and arranged with a strict symmetry of the most Parisian kind.
Into the restaurant—a vale of haughty waiters, tables draped faultlessly with shell-pink linen, and intricately wrought fruit forks—Faris followed Jane.
Luncheon took two and a half hours. Tarrying only for coffee and
profiteroles,
Faris and Jane set off on the day's errands, Reed and Tyrian in attendance.
The bank was easy. Greenlaw College employed the same bankers that Faris's mother had used, and they were delighted to be of service to the duchy of Galazon once again. Encouraged by their courtesy, Faris lingered until Jane became restive.
“Yes, by all means,” Jane murmured, “renew your usual line of debt the instant you come of age. Build roads. Build railroads. But remember, the
modiste
waits for no one.”
“Must I really visit Madame Claude? These clothes seem perfectly suitable to me.”
Jane regarded her with dismay. “Have you ever in your life owned a piece of clothing that fit you? If you had, you'd know the difference now. If your grace has made your wishes known, there is no more to be said in the matter, of course. But just once, stop and consider. You are, however briefly, in Paris. You have, however briefly, a great deal of money to spend. While you are here, isn't there something you wish to do that you can't do as well anywhere else?”
Faris sighed. “Very well. On to Madame Claude's.”
 
A
fter an hour at the
modiste
's, Faris was ready to leave Paris and never return. Jane was oblivious to Faris's discomfort. Veil down, she made shameless use of her apparent years and her fruitiest accent and most British French to order the staff about in a high-handed way. Utterly absorbed, she consulted with Madame Claude and nodded over the gowns displayed by the bored mannequins who stalked in and out of the fitting room.

Other books

Waking Up With a Rake by Mia Marlowe, Connie Mason
Daughter of the God-King by Anne Cleeland
In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic by Valerian Albanov, David Roberts, Jon Krakauer, Alison Anderson
Bloodwitch by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
Carriage Trade by Stephen Birmingham
The web of wizardry by Coulson, Juanita
Dark Winter by William Dietrich
A Grey Moon Over China by Day, Thomas, A.
Hollywood Scandals by Gemma Halliday