Page 92 of Stardust Child

“Sim Gedot, m’lady.”

Ranged in a tidy row, each bowed or curtsied in turn, making Ophele feel as if she were facing a very polite army. These were the first of what eventuallywouldbe a small army: the massive staff necessary to keep a ducal estate humming. As soon as she had received word they hadarrived, she had dropped everything to come and welcome them, anxious to do her duty as the mistress of Remin’s house.

The day of judgment had come at last.

“I’m Samin,” piped the last one, a little boy who would have charge of the household’s boots.

“He is my nephew, Your Grace,” said Adelan, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Adelan could be no one but the butler, a short and tidy man with cropped gray hair and surprising bottle-green eyes. “He will not trouble you.”

“I am sure he’s no trouble,” Ophele said, a little overwhelmed as she looked up at them all and trying not to show it. “I’m very pleased to meet all of you.”

The six of them had arrived on the ferry that morning and paused just long enough to deposit their belongings in the cottages by the manor and have a wash before they sent their greetings to their new lady. It was only when she was halfway up the hill that Ophele realized she ought to have summoned them to her rather than scurried off to greet them herself, but with both Lady Verr and Sir Leonin at her back, she was terrified to admit the error.

“The h-house isn’t finished yet,” she continued, feeling a prickling burn of embarrassment sear up the back of her neck. Peri and Emi made her particularly anxious. The two maids looked very sturdy and capable, and Ophele was sure they would see through her in a way a man would not. “I have spoken with Master Didion, and he said soon it will be ready to move in. He’s the architect. We have already ordered some furniture, including th-things for your rooms…”

She stopped as her tongue tangled and felt her face redden.

“The cottages are quite comfortable, Your Grace,” the butler assured her. “Duke Ereguil explained that we might find things in flux, as it were. We have some suggestions about how we might be of assistance in the meantime, though of course we would not dream of disrupting your schedule.”

“Oh, you’re not,” she said, her hands fluttering. “I also—these are my guards, and my lady. Lady Verr. And Sir Leonin of Breuyir, and Sir Davi Gosse. You will see each other often, I expect.”

It was a stupid thing to say, of course they would see each other often. Emi and Peri exchanged glances as they made their courtesies, andOphele cringed inside, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“My lady, Wen will still be serving luncheon,” Sir Leonin bent his head to murmur the suggestion, recalling her to her duty.

“All of you must be hungry,” she said. “It will be a little bit of a walk, I’m afraid, but I can show you where things are…”

Maybe she should have asked Sir Miche to steal a carriage after all.Everywherewas a bit of a walk from the manor, but at least it was easier to speak when she didn’t have to look at all of them at once. Ophele pointed out the inlet where much of Tresingale’s laundry was still done, heartily recommended the bathhouses, and looked down the long stretch of Market Street with renewed trepidation. A cobbler, a chandler, and the new weaver were all due to arrive in town shortly, but it was a two-mile walk to the market square.

“But most of the supplies are there,” she went on, indicating the storehouse. The servants had ranged themselves behind her, but Adelan strolled beside her with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, absorbing every word. “Sir Justenin has been acting as His Grace’s steward, especially regarding the house, so I’m sure you’ll want to speak to him.”

“I have corresponded with Sir Justenin a little, Your Grace,” Adelan replied, nodding. “I would like to begin work as soon as possible.”

That was good. The tasks belonging to a boot boy, footman, or maid were fairly straightforward, but she wasn’t at all sure how the responsibilities might be divided up between herself, Adelan, and Sir Justenin. If she was lucky, the two men would sort it out for themselves, and she would just do whatever was left over.

At the cookhouse, Emi volunteered to go see about luncheon while Ophele settled everyone else at a table inside.

“Will there be no cook at the manor, my lady?” Adelan inquired, lifting little Samin onto the bench. The boy could not be older than seven.

“Not yet,” she replied apologetically. “His Grace is very particular about food, so we will likely depend on Master Wen through the wi—wo…oh. Bother.Emi.”

Shoving her chair back, Ophele was off like a shot, with Sir Leonin and Sir Davi right on her heels and Lady Verr exclaiming behind her. Her skirts flew as she raced around the cookhouse toward the back. She heard the explosion almost as soon as she turned the corner.

“What the bleedingfuckare ye doing in my kitchen?!”

Ophele ran faster. If Emi replied, she couldn’t hear it; she wrenched open the kitchen door and threw herself bodily between the maid and the cook, her arms flung out as if Wen might start slinging cleavers.

“Wen. Wen. Master Wen!” She had to shout to be heard over the profane epic he was extemporizing. Emi was going to be back on the ferry before suppertime. “She’s one of the new house maids! I didn’t tell her, it’s my fault!”

From the doorway, Sir Davi tactfully extracted Emi, whose eyes were like saucers.

“Then warn the rest of those domesticated blighters, too,” Wen snarled. “Walking into me larder like the Princess of the Pantry, I won’t have it, I willnot!”

“I know, I know,” Ophele agreed, placating. “I will tell them. I really am sorry. And would you mind terribly heating something up? They’ve just come across the river today, and that beef stew you make with tarragon is so good, with the little potatoes?”

She added a little sweet entreaty to her voice. His lip curled.

“It’s lucky ye are that I’m a kind-hearted soul,” he growled. His knife spun in his fingers and impaled a haunch of something before he stalked away. “With the little potatoes, she says. Tarragon. Didn’t Isayit would come to tarragon?Loyse! Fetch me a bleeding pot!”

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