Chapter 37
Edmund had made his way back from hall quickly, so he’d be back before Pen turned up.
He’d thought about waiting for her by the bridge, but there was a chance that her friends or whoever else might see her with him and be difficult.
That wouldn’t do at all. The possible observers would not, at least, include Circe.
Major Manse had indicated that the offer would be in some form sufficient for her to make sure her sisters had a place to live together.
Circe had still been in London at that point, and wouldn’t be back on the train for a bit yet.
Likely just in time to make it back before the gates were shut for the night.
That meant Major Manse was enthused, not just pragmatic about the whole thing.
In the end, he had been waiting nearly half an hour.
That had given him time to put a tray together, then to stare at it and contemplate what Pen might make of it.
Edmund had a few apples, stored through the winter with a touch of magic, two of the mock meringues Mrs Mudthon had worked out, and a pot of tea.
It felt properly civilised. He’d picked up and put down the crossword four or five times by the time he heard a knock on the conservatory door and got up to let her in.
“Pen. Good evening.” Edmund hesitated, then added, moved by some intuition. “I was a little worried.”
“That I wouldn’t come?” She came in, shrugged off her gown and hung it up on the hook by the door.
She was wearing a lovely frock, actually, rather than the blouse and skirt he’d expected.
And she’d taken the time to put her hair up in the puffs and curls that Edmund knew took a fair bit of time and fuss.
That at least suggested she had been anticipating the conversation.
Some possibly more positive way. “Or that I’d been held up? ”
“Both?” Edmund offered it weakly. “Come in, I’ve got a few things for pudding. Nothing fancy. Oh, and have you looked at the rest of the crossword?”
“Yes?” Now she was the one who sounded uncertain. “Why?”
“Fifteen across? Clough’s problematical dupes, five letters.”
“Oh, that’s from a poem. Do you know it? ‘Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth’. Quoted by Churchill at least once.” Pen shrugged slightly. “If you have a best of English poetry or something of the kind, you might have a copy.”
Edmund did, so he nodded, and he hadn’t got around to checking it.
“Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” He took a couple of steps toward that shelf, then thumbed through the blue-bound volume, then read the poem.
“Hopes, indeed. ‘If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars’. There’s something uncertain in the logic there.
” Then he quoted the last line, “But westward, look, the land is bright!” before closing the book and setting it back in its place.
He came back to settle down in one of the chairs, on the side of the sofa she’d chosen. “Did you get four down?” He glanced at the clue and read it out as a reminder. “Ah, a pity she might be.”
“I feel like I ought to, but it’s been rather a day,” Pen admitted, glancing at her hands, then looking at him.
“Hypatia.” Edmund said it amiably. “I have an advantage here. Aunt Cammie’s sister and best friend is Hypatia. You’ll meet her sometime soonish, I’m sure.” There, now he’d put things back on the path to Pen’s skills, which he hoped would help.
“Oh. Blast. Of course it is. I had the H and the A.” Then she glanced at the tray. “May I pour?”
“Please. Now, where should we start? First, thank you for staying. You needn’t have, but I’m grateful.
Master Benton said he was glad someone was here.
I’m sure he’d have stayed, but he had appointments this morning.
Better he started from home.” Edmund let her fuss over the tray, not wanting to get in the way.
“He said he’d been with your family a long time.
1915?” Pen asked before offering a cup of tea and a saucer.
She had a delicate hand with it, though that didn’t surprise Edmund.
Surely anyone who grew up in a vicarage was a dab hand at pouring neatly at an early age.
Sheer self-preservation, if for no other reason.
“He was Papa’s batman in the Great War, then did other military work, then he was Papa’s valet and they went on various expeditions together.
Looking for materia, that sort of thing.
The Himalayas and the middle of Africa and so on.
When my parents married, he became the estate steward.
He keeps everything in wonderful order. He always has. ”
Pen looked up at that, one of the meringues halfway to her mouth. Edmund gestured for her to take a bite. She did, then her eyes widened in disbelief before she swallowed. “Are those eggs?”
“Aqua faba, you know, that liquid in tinned chickpeas? And some sugar and a charm to extend it. If you’d like the recipe, I can ask Mrs Mudthon for it.”
“Mum would love it. And my aunt.” Then Pen’s eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”
“What, lured you into a bit of happiness with meringues?” Edmund tilted his head. “If you’re going to accuse me of things, can you be more specific? I’ve done rather a lot on purpose recently.”
Pen wrinkled up her nose. “I suppose you have.” She set the meringue down for a moment.
“What did you do to Circe? No, wait. She tried to drug you. Why didn’t it work?
What did you do to her? Who did you send her to talk to?
That’s rather a lot of questions, but I’m not sure where to start.
” Then she let out a huff of breath. “How could you make it come out like that? Your family doesn’t have much fondness for hers, obviously. ”
“Ah.” Edmund considered where to begin, given that tangle.
“I suspected she might try some sort of potion, especially when she was the one to bring the drinks up. Papa has two alchemist friends who like a puzzle, and of course they’re familiar with what works best for our family.
An antidote to the usual sort of things people put in drinks is a lot easier when you’re making for a specific constitution. ”
“That’s the sort of thing your family has handy?” Pen grimaced now. “That doesn’t seem civilised.”
“Some people aren’t. And sometimes our sort of person finds themselves in such company.
” Edmund framed it that way, reaching for the ambiguity of whether he meant to include Pen in ‘our’ or not.
He did, but he wasn’t at all sure she’d accept it.
“The rest of it, well, a lot of it was Naming magic. Exhausting, but helpful. And permission to draw on some of the truth magics, which I’ve not done quite like that before. ”
“Exhausting.” Pen echoed it now, looking him up and down. “And you’re recovered this evening?”
“Mostly. I have given a thorough report to Uncle Alexander, and he’ll be round to look at me tomorrow.
I’m not to do complex magic until he has, though that’s mostly a precaution.
If he were actually worried, he’d have made time earlier today.
” Edmund was absolutely secure in that knowledge.
“And honestly, Master Benton’s skilled in making that kind of evaluation. He’s done it for Papa often enough.”
Pen leaned back, and now she was chewing on her lip.
Edmund was rather pleased by that, that she was letting him see that.
Mind, of course, she almost certainly had less training and practice hiding what she was thinking than he did.
But seeing it, that was something that mattered to him. “And who was Circe meeting with?”
This one, he’d given some thought to. “I said I had some idea of what you did in the war. Without getting into details, I visited there a few times, as an aide to someone higher in the decision tree. So, him.” It was a circumlocution, but his oaths let him get that out, so it would do.
“Why? I mean, why would you introduce Circe to someone like that?”
“Because, well.” Edmund looked off instinctively to where the Channel lay and the continent.
“Europe’s changing constantly. There’s a need for people who can move around, bring back information.
The man I arranged things with is an old family friend.
Both Mama and Papa, before you ask, but Papa and Master Benton first. He wrote to me earlier to say that he’s sure he can find something of mutual benefit.
Enough salary for her to keep her sisters fed and housed, and work I think she’ll be good at. ”
“That does not explain why you’d, I don’t know, extend yourself for someone whose family doesn’t get on with yours.” Pen crossed her arms, looked down at them, and then sighed and leaned forward to pick up the meringue again, as if she were unable to resist it.
The way Pen put it made Edmund chuckle. “That’s an understatement, at least on her aunt’s side.
But—” Now he leaned back. “I was thinking about a book at the end of the Iliad. The funeral games for Patroclus. It’s rather odd, because the games are set up so that there are clear likely winners for a number of the competitions.
But Achilles, who is hosting them, is deliberately being exceedingly generous.
I’d been talking about it a little with Uncle Alexander.
He pointed out that it is one mode of handling extremely competitive and violent people.
He has rather extensive experience of the type.
Give them something where all the competitions have pleasant results for everyone involved.
A demonstration of skill, an acknowledgment of that skill, but no one loses. ”
“Nice trick if you can manage it.” Pen said it immediately, but then she tilted her head. “So, in this case, introducing Circe to someone who might hire her, at a steady enough salary. Even though she’s a woman. It’s not just secretarial work, is it?”
“Oh, no. Not what my superior is looking for. Not that the secretaries aren’t also highly competent, actually. I’d never want to be on their wrong side.”
“I bet you annoyed them too. By being ...” Pen waved a hand. “Like you are.”
“Ah, now you’ll need to specify.” Edmund said, parrying it back and trusting that she was relaxed enough now to perhaps give him an answer.
“You’re, you’re...” She swallowed, looking away, down at the table.
“You’re too good to be real, that's what you are. It has to be a false front of some kind. I don’t know what you’re covering up.
You’re handsome. Your clothes look like they’d never dream of being anything other than perfect.
You speak well. You have pots of money, and everything that goes with money.
You’re endlessly polite. And you’re competent in every direction, even the ones I’ve no idea about. You can’t be real.”
Edmund nodded once. “Excellent points, really. And yet, here I am. The question is what you want to do about that. Going forward.”