Chapter Twelve - Lessons in Survival #2
This room was a lot smaller than the receiving room in Sunfall Keep.
It put her in mind of her mother’s reading room at Hartwood House.
The walls were painted a duck egg blue with white skirting boards and door frames.
Paintings of seaside landscapes covered the walls, beaches, lagoons, all of them looking warm and inviting.
The glass pane in the hatched windows were a mix of clear and turquoise, creating a chequered pattern across the white carpet.
There was a large hearth on the other side of the room, with two deep blue velvet armchairs in front of it.
A large circular white table had been positioned by one of the windows and had seven places at it.
However, Elswyth had led her to the armchairs.
The afternoon tea had already been laid out on an old white trunk that was painted up and now used as a coffee table.
Much of the room followed the same theme.
Old furniture that had been carefully restored or altered to bring it back to life.
Even the dress that Elswyth wore had a range of patterns on the fabric, as if it had been pulled together from other dresses.
It was a beautiful effect, and Rosamund made a note to suggest it to Elira.
“Is it just us today?” asked Rosamund tentatively.
Elswyth sighed, “I’m afraid so. I received apologies from the others this morning.”
“Sorry, I suspect that’s my doing,” said Rosamund, her cheeks turning hot.
She expected Elswyth to deny it, to offer some inane platitude, but instead the other woman said, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Rosamund groaned and sank into the armchair, “I take it that’s why all the dressmakers in Aurelmere suddenly can’t take any more orders?”
“Correct,” said Elswyth matter-of-factly as Rosamund dropped her head into her hands.
She should have suspected it right away.
Of course they would want to extend her humiliation.
What better way to do it than to ensure she continued to turn up to the royal salons in her old dresses?
Not only that, but now they refused to attend any salon that she might also attend.
The perfect isolation. In time the invites would dry up, and she would be stuck forever in Blackthorn Hall.
As much as she despised the last salon, and did not look forward to the next, she enjoyed the moment of freedom it gave her from the house.
On the way to The Velvet Tide district, once out of The Veil, Tomas had opened the dark shutters of the carriage so that she could see the city.
She had leaned out her head in a most unladylike way as they had passed through the Ironward.
Unlike Sunspire, this district was all dark granite and iron bridges, with hundreds of forges blazing on either side of the street.
Men and woman in uniform passed by on either side of the carriage, some waiting for their weapons, others out for some revelry. Everything appeared to have a function.
The Velvet Tide was vastly different. The first thing that hit her was the perfumed smell of the air, each scent rolling off from the shops and taverns.
Where Ironward was all straight lines and blocks, The Velvet Tide’s architecture was sweeping curves, coloured glass and sea-polished stone.
The buildings themselves seemed to flow into each other like waves.
Whilst wide canals spread out through most of the city, here they seemed even wider, with wooden bridges stretching out over the gondola filled waters.
Lanterns hung from the various gambling halls, wine houses, bath houses and pleasure gardens, casting blues, purples and golds across the cobblestone.
Music spilled from open windows and colourful silks fluttered overhead.
The streets had been overflowing with people shouting, laughing, cheering and hawking their wares.
Tomas had to fend off a few of them when they came up to the window of the carriage, but Rosamund had not minded.
She had enjoyed seeing all the shiny trinkets, unfamiliar foods and rich silks.
She had quickly purchased a beautiful green fabric for Elira before Tomas had hurried them along.
Tidehall was a continuation of the colour and brightness of the Velvet Tide.
Small canals flowed all over the large manor, the sound of rushing water inescapable wherever you went.
Though, as the servant had led her through the various corridors to Elswyth’s room, she had noticed a certain wear and tear; curtains missing their tassels, threadbare carpets and peeling plaster on the walls.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to cover as much of it as possible, but still there were these little imperfections.
You would have thought that the trade district might have a little more money to spend on repairs, she thought unkindly, and chastised herself.
The others had turned their backs on her, but not the woman opposite her.
“This is Lavinia,” Rosamund hissed, “she’s doing this.””
Elswyth carefully poured the tea into two teal porcelain cups, “They all will be.”
The princess handed the saucer to Rosamund who took it carefully, trying to stop the stab of hurt, “All of them?”
Elswyth nodded and lifted her own cup, “They wish to see you humiliated, until eventually you come grovelling for forgiveness.”
“It was an accident,” Rosamund spluttered, “Lavinia knocked into me.”
“And your dress? They would have seen that as a great insult.”
“I know, but I still don’t know why,” said Rosamund, running her free hand through her hair before gesturing to herself, “I am trying though, and how am I supposed to follow their stupid rules if I can’t buy any new ones?!” she looked at Elswyth and motioned to her dress again, “Is this right?”
“Not even close,” said Elswyth with a gentle smile and Rosamund groaned, placing her teacup on the table and sinking further into the armchair.
Elswyth chuckled and Rosamund glared at her, “So are you insulted too?”
“Not at all. Neither are most of them, but there is a hierarchy to follow, and I’m afraid you insulted the head the moment you walked into the room,” said Elswyth.
“By wearing the wrong dress?” said Rosamund disbelievingly.
“By wearing the wrong colour of dress,” corrected Elswyth, “when attending the salon of a royal princess, one should wear their colours. The style is still important, many choose to wear the styles of their own region, but it’s the colour that matters most.”
Rosamund sat forward in the chair, “So when I turned up in brown, and not red and white, I insulted Celeste?”
“Princess Celeste,” said Elswyth with a nod, “yes. That’s another thing, you need to address her by the proper title.”
“But you all just called me ‘Rosamund’.”
“You’re not married yet, and so we all outrank you and can address you by your given name,” said Elswyth, “even in private I would address their highnesses Princess Celeste and Seraphine with their full titles. Though, I would not need too for Isolde or Lavinia.”
“So, the hierarchy is determined by succession? Prince Gawain is heir, so Princess Celeste is at the top,” her head beginning to hurt.
“That’s it exactly,” said Elswyth in a way that somehow did not sound patronising, “So unfortunately, even once you’re married, you’re at the bottom. The only time that would change would be if you were to host the salon.”
“Right.” said Rosamund and rubbed at her temples, “Okay, I think I’m starting to understand where I went wrong,” she sat up and held out her hands, “but how was I supposed to know any of that?”
Elswyth smiled at her sadly over the top of her teacup, “You weren’t.”
“Dorian said I was never going to win,” sighed Rosamund, the woman opposite her quirked an eyebrow up, “what? Sorry, Prince Dorian.”
“No, it’s not that,” said Elswyth, waving a hand dismissively, “I just,” she paused, considering her words, “I wasn’t aware you two were speaking.”
“We’re not,” said Rosamund, shifting in her chair awkwardly, “it was just in passing.”
“I see,” said Elswyth, unconvinced.
The image of a crooked smile floated into her mind and Rosamund quickly leaned forward and grabbed one of the cream filled cakes, stuffing it into her mouth. Elswyth did not even bother to hide her chuckle. Rosamund turned to look at her with a curious expression.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked through a mouth full of cake.
“Because you clearly need it,” Elswyth said with an amused smile, “didn’t anyone tell you not to speak with your mouth full?”
Rosamund snorted a laugh as she finished the cake, “But the other stuff, you didn’t need to tell me any of that.”
“I didn’t,” said Elswyth.
“So why tell me?”
Elswyth took a moment to reply, she was weighing up her answer; almost as if she was fighting against some other instinct, “Because I wish someone had helped me.”
The truth. Was that the truth? She saw the sadness that had crept in to the woman’s eyes.
“Won’t they turn on you too if you help me?” asked Rosamund softly, “I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”
Elswyth waved a hand as she reached for one of the cakes, “I can weather them. Besides, this is what they want. For you to come grovelling to one of us for guidance and forgiveness.”
“I didn’t do any of that,” scoffed Rosamund.
“Really?” said Elswyth with feigned shock, “Did I not see you rush in here and fall to your knees in contriteness, begging me to teach you the ways of the court? I recall it quite vividly. As do my servants.”