Chapter 29
The twenty hours at Ytene had been delightfully restorative. Edmund had, in fact, got up near enough at dawn for a morning ride. He’d come back to chatter blithely about it to Uncle Alexander while Uncle Alexander was still waking.
Papa had been amused, but of course Papa had been up bright and early too. It was May, after all, and Papa was just as much bubbling over with energy as Edmund was. More, probably. It wasn’t as if there were simple measurements for that sort of thing.
He had also, without actually talking to anyone directly about it, come to some decisions about what he wanted to do next about Cecily Styles.
Sunday afternoon, he had come back to Oxford, and written Pen a note.
That asked her whether she would prefer to talk to his parents about the next steps, or to Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie.
A question of strategy, as he’d put it, not yet taking action.
He suspected Pen had stared at her journal for some time, given how long it took her to reply.
Late Sunday night, however, she’d agreed that Major Lefton was less terrifying, and if he had time in his schedule, well, maybe that made sense.
Edmund had rolled over— he’d been reading in bed— and promptly confirmed the arrangements by journal with the Lefton household and then with Pen.
Now it was Tuesday afternoon, and he was leaning against the wall nearest the portal, whistling Scarlatti softly.
The dance of the notes suited the afternoon, even if he couldn’t properly whistle counterpoint on his own.
Not without a lot more magical set-up and some Incantation work he wasn’t actually that skilled at. Yet. He had aspirations.
Pen turned up five minutes before he’d scheduled the portal, and she looked lovely.
Edmund hadn’t been sure what she’d think proper for this sort of outing, but her frock suited both her hair and her manner.
It was flowered dress of sprigged cotton, the shade of green making him fairly sure it had been remade from before the war.
She had her academic gown over it, and a leather satchel over her shoulder. “I’m— no, you’re early.”
“As are you. Delightfully on time, rather. I’ve got the portal reservation this way, and the one to get you back in time for hall.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the token. “It’s under your name, in case you want to send me away at some point.”
“That would be rude. They’re your— your— “ Pen waved a hand.
“I am quite capable of taking a book into the back garden and amusing myself. I know where they keep the door and the chairs,” Edmund offered. “Any last questions?”
“I woke up at about three in the morning worrying over the, um. Having good manners? About Major Lefton.” Pen looked away. “I ought to have thought about it earlier.”
“That part is quite simple, and being willing to ask will go a long way. Don’t move furniture around or items on his desk or the tea service or anything.
Cassia, his guide dog, will probably be out of her harness while we’re there.
But if she’s harnessed, she’s working and don’t pay attention to her.
She might fall asleep on your feet, so if that bothers you, let one of us know.
Uncle Giles likes a brief description when he’s meeting someone.
He says it helps him anchor the voice better. ”
Edmund considered what else might be useful. “Also, he uses a couple of magical tricks for keeping track of who’s where, but none of them are about you, or on you. Just to help him figure out who’s speaking. The rest of it, Aunt Cammie or I will happily manage if he needs a hand.”
“All right.” Pen swallowed. “And it’s in Trellech and near the portal, and you’ll be with me.”
“Absolutely.” At that point, the clock started chiming, and Edmund pushed himself away from the wall.
“Our turn. It will be fine, I promise, probably better than fine.” He did not offer his arm.
That made a statement socially that he wasn’t sure she was comfortable with.
But he made space for her, let her go through the portal to Trellech first, and came out behind her. “Along to the right.”
Fortunately, Portal Square in Trellech was not as chaotic as it might be.
It was still early enough in the afternoon to avoid the worst of the people coming and going at the end of the workday.
Edmund waited until they’d gone past the Temple of Healing and along into the residential area.
“Townhome, garden at the back, Cammie’s daughter might be around with her nanny, but there’s a playroom for her upstairs. ”
“Daughter.” Pen’s voice was hard to read. “How old is she? And you said she was married?” There was the careful tone of someone who wasn’t sure if the marriage still had both people.
“Kenna’s, um.” Edmund had to count. “Seventeen months. Uncle Duncan, Aunt Cammie’s husband, was in the RAF Bomber Command.
Now he does other things with aeroplanes, which are vastly more enjoyable.
I don’t begin to really understand it.” Edmund considered.
“In order of my skills, I am confident about my Ritual abilities and my languages. I expect to follow about a tenth of the conversation once you and Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie get going. Maybe a fifth if it’s a superb day.
About a twentieth of Uncle Duncan’s passions.
I prefer the ground actually under my feet in a tangible way.
A punt is about as exciting as I like my watercraft to be. ”
It made her snort and relax a bit, which was what Edmund had been aiming for.
About then, they turned down the street, and he could see she was getting more nervous, stiffer in her movements.
As they came up to the house— or rather the gate into the front garden— Edmund said, “Take a breath and think of a bright pink elephant dancing on the head of a pin.” He said it as clearly and deliberately as he could and was promptly rewarded with her snorting and laughing.
“Why did you say that?”
“Trick to get the stiffness out.” It was one he’d learned under Major Manse, and now he kept a private stash of ridiculous phrases for the purpose. It worked much better when someone else said them, or saying them to someone else, though. The element of surprise helped. “Here we go.”
Aunt Cammie had been waiting, because as soon as they got onto the front steps, the door was opening.
“Edmund! And you must be Miss Stirling. Come in, please. Giles is in the study, this way.” The thing about Aunt Cammie— well, one thing— was that she absolutely loved people, talking to people, learning about people and whatever they did.
She considered it all grist for her mill, or at least her avid curiosity.
Today, she was wearing a blouse and skirt, decidedly less formal than some days, her dark hair pulled back, with her usual escaping tighter curls framing her face.
Edmund gestured, Pen let out a little sound, and followed Aunt Cammie.
The study, of course, was one of the most used rooms in the house.
It took up the entire length of the building to the garden on the right.
The desk by the window had the expected typewriter and braille writer, a stack of papers, and a stack of books.
Aunt Cammie’s desk, smaller and against the hall wall, was absolutely piled with reading material.
Uncle Giles was in his usual chair, with the light behind him and the smoked glasses on his nose.
Cassie was indeed at his feet, out of harness, though she lifted her head at the new people.
Aunt Cammie said cheerfully, “Here’s Edmund and Miss Pen Stirling.
Miss Sterling, Major Giles Lefton. And I’m Cammie Gates-Clark.
Shall we be a tad more informal, or would the formality be more comfortable? ”
Pen looked at Edmund, and Edmund shrugged. “Aunt Cammie is capable of formality. Mostly. When she has reason.” That got an amused snort from her. “But I’m going to be calling them aunt and uncle, and titles are rather tedious?”
“I—” Pen took a breath. “I do not wish to be rude, please.”
“In that case,” Uncle Giles spoke for the first time, and he definitely sounded amused. “We shall be Giles and Cammie when you’re ready, and begin as we might go on. If you don’t mind, tell me a little about yourself to begin? It’s easier for me with someone new.”
“Edmund mentioned that you find a description helpful.” Pen was being very deliberate, Edmund thought, and he loved that.
He wanted to see those reactions, over and over, the patterns of them, whatever form of observation she might permit.
Now, she was standing evenly, her hands folded like she might be about to give a recitation in class.
“I am Pen Stirling, in my second year at Somerville, reading maths under Miss Sarginson. I turn twenty-five this summer, I’m of medium height for a woman at five foot three inches.
” She took a breath. “Dark hair, down my back, though I wear it up in a bun. Unfashionable but practical. I’m wearing a green dress, sprigged cotton, with little white flowers.
That’s a hand-me-down from my aunt, but I like it for the spring.
And my academic gown over it. Commoners' gown, not scholars'. Not all of us are Edmund.”
That made Uncle Giles chuckle. “And you are brave enough to tease. Excellent, thank you. What do you think of Miss Sarginson, please? The polite version or the more accurate version, whichever you prefer. Do have a seat. Cammie, would you do something about drinks?”
Aunt Cammie nodded and went to the sideboard to start the kettle and put out cups. “Mint or we have a little black.”
“Mint, please.” Pen was prompt about that.
Edmund nodded to indicate the same, and then he settled on the empty chair, hoping Pen would settle on the sofa.
Pen did, spreading her skirt out a little, before she answered the question.
“Miss Sarginson is quite clever, sir, of course, but what I’m interested in isn’t her particular area of expertise.
We do all right, but it— it’s not quite all I hoped for. ”
“With an interest in cryptography, I would not expect so. Miss Sarginson is pressing the boundaries of understanding in other areas. Something about the theory of background scatter and waveforms of various types. I haven’t read most of her recent work.
It hasn’t been close enough to my interests to make it worth the time.
” Uncle Giles tapped the edge of his glasses.
“Some things Cammie or my valet braille for me. Some things, one of them reads out loud. Either is slower and more time-consuming than using my eyes was, so I tend to focus on more direct topics of interest.”
Aunt Cammie poured hot water into the teapot and brought the tray and mugs back to steep.
“Don’t let that fool you. He certainly goes through quite a lot in the way of academic writing.
What we’re curious about, however, is what you suggested in your proposal.
” Aunt Cammie raised an eyebrow at Edmund.
“I am glad to excuse myself.” Edmund hesitated.
“Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie have a general sense of what I did in the war. But it would be easier not to talk around that, I expect.” He certainly hadn’t passed along what he knew about Pen’s work to them.
That was for her to tell or not tell, though he had mentioned that there was some space there for discussion without impinging on anyone’s oaths.
“Is it all right if I go out to the garden, Uncle Giles, or should I go find a cafe?”
“The garden.” Uncle Giles was prompt about that.
“Kenna’s nanny might bring her out in a little bit, so if that’s a bother— though, honestly, I know you know soundproofing charms— there’s a chair in the front garden too. Whichever suits.”
“Back garden it is, then. Let me know when you want me to reappear.” Edmund stood, offering a slight bow to Pen. “You too, Pen, if my being here would make the conversation easier. I just don’t think you need me for the maths bit.”
Pen blinked up at him and then shook her head slightly. “I don’t like putting you out.”
“Oh, I’ve got reading to do. I’ve always got reading.” Edmund patted the pocket of his jacket, which had a small bound book in it. “Take as much time as you like. Oh, Aunt Cammie, Pen needs to be back for hall. I don’t, but I’d like to.”
“Noted.” Aunt Cammie stood, then, to go set a timer on the desk before coming back. “Here, take your mint with you.” She promptly poured some into a mug and handed it to him. “Happy reading.”
“Always.” Edmund nodded, went out, making enough noise that Uncle Giles would know he’d gone, and went along the hall to the back garden to find the table and chairs there.