Chapter Four

Eliot sat comfortably astride his black horse, Fordel, holding the reins in one hand, resting the other on his thigh. Intelligent and calm, Fordel had been a gift from his mother, which made the riding horse even more special.

Normally, Eliot would have urged Fordel into a gallop by now, but he kept the horse at an easy trot next to the carriage carrying Marcelin and Lina.

When Marcelin had said she was going to visit her Uncle Leighton, Eliot and Lina had wanted to go too as they didn’t get the chance to see him that often. Despite the generational difference, Eliot and Lina also referred to him as ‘uncle’ as he’d scoffed at being called ‘granduncle’.

Because of the fine weather, Marcelin had chosen the open carriage, which Eliot appreciated as he didn’t feel cut off from them. He had no memory of Marcelin riding a horse though she’d told him she’d ridden frequently when she was younger, even in her early years of marriage.

He was puzzled, though, that Lina had decided to ride in the carriage, claiming she wanted to keep their mother company. His sister usually grabbed every opportunity she could to ride with him as his training and studies presented little chance for that to happen. Eliot couldn’t shake the feeling that she might be avoiding him. The past day or so, she’d seemed awkward in his company. More than once, he was sure she was about to say something but then had stopped, hurriedly changing the subject. He wondered if being around Climence was making him paranoid.

“Eliot,” said Marcelin, tilting her head back so she could see him from under her wide-brimmed hat. “Do you know yet how busy you’ll be over the summer?”

“Not as busy as last summer, there are only three gatherings this time.”

“So, you’ll be home all summer?” said Lina, leaning forward and almost slipping off her seat.

“I’ll be home, yes, but I’ll still have to study.”

She pulled a face and sat back.

“No need to pout,” said Marcelin. “At least we’ll be seeing more of Eliot than usual.”

“But I was hoping we’d at least get to ride together more. I’ve hardly done any riding the past months.”

“Oh dear, my poor love,” said Marcelin, laughing.

“I wasn’t planning on chaining myself to my books,” said Eliot, once their laughter subsided.

“Good,” said Marcelin. “I know your study is important, but I want us to make the most of our time together.

“Why?” said Lina, frowning.

“You know why. When he starts the next stage, Eliot will be assigned to an advocate, most likely in another city.”

“But it may not be in another city,” said Lina, leaning over again as she directed her words at Eliot. “You could work here, if you ask Uncle Bertran.”

“I wouldn’t ask him to do that,” said Eliot. “It wouldn’t be fair on him or to the other apprentices.”

Before Lina could respond, Marcelin placed her hand on her daughter’s lap. “We don’t have to talk of this now. There are months ahead of us, so there’s no need for any upset just yet. What would Uncle Leighton think if we show up on his doorstep with you pouting and Eliot in a dark mood?”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Lina’s shoulders sagged as she slumped back in her seat.

The mere mention of the next stage of his apprenticeship left Eliot with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it filled him with excitement. But, on the other, he dreaded leaving Marcelin and Lina alone with Climence.

Facing away from the carriage in case his expression betrayed him, Eliot’s gaze took in the farmland on their right, golden fields of wheat and rye. Ripe and ready for harvest, he could just make out the dry, rustling sound as they swayed in the light breeze. As he breathed in the scent of warm, dry wheat, which always reminded him of freshly baked bread, he concentrated instead on the anticipation of seeing their dear uncle.

Some of the farm workers paused and watched the progress of carriage and rider as they crossed the unseen border from Deverell onto Vernell, the estate of Leighton Anders. His father and Climence’s had been brothers and had established their estates alongside one another while still young men.

“Fordel could do with a good run,” said Eliot, having come to a halt and checking his black tricorn was firmly on his head. “I’ll wait for you at the top of the avenue.” He straightened in his stirrups and flicked the back of his frock coat out with his hand, adjusted his seat, and gathered the reins in both hands. Giving Fordel a light kick, he urged the horse into a trot then canter before rising in the saddle slightly as Fordel picked up speed.

Leighton Anders’ home was more modest than Climence’s with far fewer rooms. Yet, the tree-lined avenue that led from the gate straight to the house was, in Marcelin’s opinion, more pleasing to the eye than the open space between the gate and Climence’s house. Ivy climbed up part of the front of the house, a vibrant contrast against the stone-coloured walls. A circular window, much like an eye, set in the upper centre of the house, gazed down at approaching visitors.

The butler greeted them with an air of familiarity. As he led the way through the house, he informed them their uncle was, as always, in his garden.

Unlike the servants in Climence’s house, the ones here were more at ease, mirroring their employer’s easy-going nature while maintaining due respect.

Leighton, dressed in his customary farmer’s smock and wide-brimmed hat, was bent over some plants. His extensive gardens were his pride and joy. He straightened as Lina called out a greeting.

“My dears. Hello, hello.” He stepped up onto the raised border that divided his crops.

Watching Lina run to meet him, Marcelin felt a warmth radiate through her chest. She loved this man as much as she’d loved her grandfather, the two most important men in her young life for she’d never known her father; her grandparents and mother had refused to speak of him, and she’d learned to stop asking.

As Leighton shook Eliot’s hand, he called out, “Floria,” then exclaimed as a stick-thin woman, skin peppered with random splotches of white, stepped out from the open door on the far side of the house. Leighton’s housekeeper, Floria, waved then turned to the young maid behind her bearing a tray.

“Of course she would know you’re here,” said Leighton, chuckling. He led the way to the house where the doors of the large, airy drawing room stood open. The chairs arranged in a rough semi-circle tended to be left out in the warmer months when rain was scarce. A tantalising scent of game pie drifted in their direction from the kitchen where the door was usually left open.

“Tell me, how have you all been?” he said as they settled with their cool drinks. “And you, Eliot, how fares your training?”

Watching her children chatting comfortably with Leighton, Marcelin couldn’t stop smiling. This would be another memory she would savour later when she was back in her mother’s company. The unintentional thought of Climence was akin to having cold water thrown over her. She took a deep breath to calm herself, staring past the garden to the forest that edged Vernell, the dark green leaves of the trees made darker against the cloudless, blue sky.

Once all the news had been exchanged and there was a lull in the conversation, Marcelin said, “Now, my dears, I wish to have some time alone with Uncle Leighton.” When they simply stared at her, as if bemused by the thought that she would have private matters to discuss, she raised her brows.

Eliot was the first on his feet. “We’ll take a walk,” he said, holding out his hand to his obviously reluctant sister.

“Splendid idea,” said Marcelin with barely a hint of sarcasm.

Once they were far enough away, Leighton said, “What’s the matter, my dear?”

“I wanted to show you this.” Marcelin produced the letter that had been delivered for Eliot the day before yesterday and handed it to him.

“Eliot doesn’t know?”

“No, but Lina does. She saw it delivered, and she asked me who ‘H.L’ is. I haven’t told her anything other than making her promise not to mention it to Eliot until I’ve had a chance to.”

He traced his dirt-encrusted finger over the seal. “It’s Lambert, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Hugo Lambert. It’s to do with Ruvane’s business in Salmarin, I’m sure of it. Mother doesn’t know, she thinks the letter is for me. I know I must give it to Eliot but, oh, Uncle, I don’t know what to do.”

Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. “Calm down, my dear. Eliot needs to know, of course he does. He’s of age now and must be free to make his own decisions. As for Climence, well, there’s nothing she can do about it for that very reason.”

“But what if she follows through with her threat, to tell him and others of Ruvane’s parents?”

Leighton leaned back in his chair. “To be completely honest, I don’t believe she will. It will reflect on her too, won’t it? Climence has always been like this, you know, threatening this and that simply to get her own way. Though, if memory serves me, Hugo did say he’d discuss Ruvane’s business with Eliot after he turned sixteen,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I wonder if the lack of letters is because my dear cousin got to them before either you or Eliot saw them.”

Marcelin’s eyes widened. That had never occurred to her, and she struggled to accept that her mother might be that vindictive. “Surely Mother wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Leighton simply shrugged.

The silence that enfolded them was interrupted by the whine and hum of insects; the occasional, distant shouts from the fields; and the rattling of pans in the kitchen and the crunch-thud of the servant’s knife slicing through vegetables and hitting the chopping board.

Marcelin fiddled with her bracelet as she always did when mulling things over. “Did you hear about what happened day before yesterday at the Trade Building?”

He shook his head.

“Eliot told us, just as he and Renard were leaving at the end of the day, someone threw a brick, smashed one of the windows. He shouted something insulting about the tall-folk.”

“I take it the delegations were still there?”

“Yes. Thank heavens no one was hurt. I don’t know if the culprit was caught. But that’s what worries me, Uncle. If the Anti-G faction is becoming bolder, what if Eliot gets caught in the middle?”

Leighton sighed. “Marcelin, my dear. None of us can possibly know what’s going to happen, so there’s no point borrowing trouble. Maybe it’s time to tell Eliot he has tall-folk ancestry. Best he hears it from you instead of someone else, especially someone like Climence.”

Marcelin felt an inexplicable lack of emotion. She’d known for some time she would have to tell Eliot about his father’s side of the family and matters outside her control had apparently conspired to make it now.

“Another thing,” said Leighton, “if that faction is planning on becoming more active, it might be better for Eliot to be away from Mariosha. He could go to Salmarin, maybe learn his father’s business.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t occurred to her. “But what about his training?”

“Let him decide, my dear,” he said gently.

“I wonder if he will though, he’s always adamant he won’t go anywhere without Lina and me–”

“Never mind going to Salmarin about Ruvane’s business, how will he cope when his training requires him to be in another city? He won’t even come and stay here despite my repeated pestering. Which makes him very like his mother.” He eyed her.

Marcelin raised her brows.

“How many times have I asked? And I’ll ask again. Come and live here, my dear, you and Lina. Maybe then Eliot will feel more at ease leaving.”

“Oh, Uncle.” Marcelin took both his hands in hers. “I would love to, you know that, don’t you? But I can’t leave Mother. I can’t bring myself to cause her heartache.”

He snorted. “Assuming she has a heart.”

“Uncle.” Marcelin’s shocked tone was betrayed by a laugh.

“Ever the dutiful daughter. You are too kind-hearted for your own good, my dear. And your mother doesn’t deserve you.” He lifted her hands and kissed them.

“I’ll show Eliot the letter, I promise. But I think I’ll wait until Mother is away on her annual visit with those friends of hers before I tell Eliot about Ruvane’s family.”