Page 68 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Thank you for sharing it with me. Do you do that often?”
“Most any day I’m home. But especially if Uncle Alexander isn’t. It’s— his people, his mother’s side,” Edmund gestured at the lettering. “They think that if you remember the name, the person lives on, in ways that matter. Papa gave Uncle Alexander space for the memorial, for something that will last.” Now he turned to look back at the house, waving a hand. “And the old place holds up very well. House first, or stable?”
“Stable, please.” Pen thought about that as she went. This was a place with all sorts of history, reaching far back and not so far, with people for whom that history was real and sometimes painful. That got them making another loop, around several barns, before pausing in front of a field about half full of horses. There were indeed mostly mares and foals who were still all legs. One horse wandered closer, a darker grey with subtle dapples. She seemed to be looking at Edmund pointedly. “Does that one have particular hopes?”
“Mmm.” It got another of those intimate little smiles from Edmund. The ones he kept just for her, maybe. She’d have to do further data collection next term. Perhaps being here had opened a door to them, in other places. “This is Slate. She’s not at the Faire because she’s my pick as my next mount, though I need to do more work with her. Here, do you want to feed her a treat?” He produced a dried apple from his pocket, and Pen obediently held out her hand.
“Is taking up riding an expected part of the conversation? I’m all right on a comfortable hack.” Though these horses looked less like the ones she had known.
“More pleasant, likely, if you enjoy riding. The New Forest is a glorious place for it. Our horses are crossbred, a mix of native ponies and larger mounts. Slate’s got Welsh cob in her. Bred for brains and manners.”
“Like you, then? And looks, though she’s not shining golden.” Pen said it quickly, before she got too nervous to.
Edmund blinked at her, as if it were a view of himself he’d not previously considered. “As you like.” He then offered his arm. The mews were darker, and so less visually interesting. Here, Edmund made it clear he’d trained up a hawk, and helped train his mother’s current bird, but that was not nearly as expected as the riding. An additional option, apparently, if she were interested.
Pen felt she did not have remotely enough understanding to have an opinion yet, much like she felt about the estate as a whole. Once they had circled back around through other parts of the garden and grounds, she had time to explore the library for a bit before supper.
She knew what to do with a library, as well as what not to do. While she’d not wanted to do it when she’d first been in his rooms, here he was present to encourage her. Edmund, she thought, was even deeply enjoying watching her explore how the books were arranged— and the broad range of topics. Looking at the patterns on which ones had been handled more often— or a couple that were recently rebound in newer leather or bookcloth— also started to give her a much broader sense of the family interests.
Supper brought them to Edmund’s rooms. Rooms, plural, though not as expansive as his college digs, since he did not have his own ritual room attached here. It did have the same warm comfort, which rather suggested he had done that part on purpose. The sitting room was done up all in lighter greens and golds, echoing some of what she’d seen outside, especially near the portal.
Much of the furniture was older. The wood had the sort of smooth-worn polish that suggested affectionate use in previous generations, even if Pen ignored the actual style of the things. She’d spent enough time helping people move things around to place most of it as Renaissance revival with a side of Arts and Crafts pieces. No one had made an attempt to make the pieces match except in the general tone of the wood. Someone had brought her bag up and left it on a stool near the desk, visible but not in the way.
The furniture had also been unreasonably comfortable, like the sofa in his rooms at Oxford. Pen had settled on one of the chairs at the small round table, then she looked down at it. “Do you charm all of your furniture to be enticing?”
Edmund raised an eyebrow, waited a beat, then said, “Once we’ve eaten, you’re welcome to test the bed, as well.” Pen flushed. She could feel it heat her skin, then he waved a hand. “Well, yes. Given the option, I’d rather not deal with hard beds and chairs that angle the wrong way. I think much better without aches.” His voice softened. “Both Papa and Uncle Alexander have a great deal more. Master Benton makes a point of no one having to live with that when he can do something about it.”
“He was solidly insistent about looking after your family.” Pen agreed. “After— after, that night.” She looked down at her meal. “This looks wonderful. Can you introduce me to your cook at some point so I can thank her?”
It got Pen a delighted smile out of Edmund, the shy one that he didn’t let other people see. “Of course.” The meal wasn’t anything fancy— a vegetable hash with chicken and a light wine sauce, along with a decorative and edible flower. But there was something to eating it here, sunlight and tree branches outside, a quiet that she knew was made partly by the warding. She glanced around. “These have been your rooms for a while?”
“Since I moved down from the nursery at eleven when I went to tutoring school. Uncle Alexander has what are often the Heir’s rooms, but I like these, honestly. Cosy. I’ve not had people round here often. Enough space to study or read or be with my sisters, not so much it feels lonely.” As he said it, Pen could see that.
The sitting room certainly was cosy. A sofa in front of a fireplace, with a chair to one side and a desk under the window, the little round table they were eating at between the two. Of course, there were bookshelves along the long wall. “Where do you keep all your books?” There were some on the shelves, but the shelves weren’t remotely full.
“Oh, the trunk there. Magical.” Edmund gestured at it, what looked like well-tanned brown leather with all the proper brass fittings. “It has shelving inside. Absolutely necessary bit of kit for an Owl who doesn’t want to leave a book behind. I bring out the ones I’m currently using regularly, of course. That’s more pleasant. Letting them breathe on the shelves. I think, well, this sounds silly, I suppose.” He cut off, ducking his chin.
“I think I enjoy hearing what you call silly.” Pen said it deliberately. “I certainly like you saying things I don’t think you say to many other people.” It was brave of her. It felt brave, but it also felt true in a way that mattered.
He met her eyes for a long moment. Then Edmund spoke, his voice deliberate. “I like to think of the books having conversations, chatting with each other. What they’d say to each other.”
“Or about each other?” Pen found the idea charming, actually, what gossip books might have about another on a nearby shelf. “I can see that. Though yours would be a wide range of languages, that must complicate the conversation.”
It earned her a broader smile. “True. Permutations of conversations, isn’t that the word?” It got them off on a pleasant conversation about the mathematical modelling of that sort of thing— and how it played out in code-breaking. Then how that sort of thing worked out with actual people. Because of course, the actual people had additional reasons they would or would not chat with someone else. It took them pleasantly through supper, and through poached pears in wine for pudding, before Edmund cleared his throat. “How do you feel about seeing my bedroom?”
“Are we talking about standing in the doorway and admiring the furnishings, or something else?” Pen had thought, up to this point, that being at Ytene would be daunting. Especially with anything private. But somehow, the reality of it felt entirely different. “Do— does your family come in without knocking?”
“Oh, no. For one thing, enough people have various ritual practices. We’re actually all extremely skilled at lurking in the hallway and waiting until the other person notices our presence. Or there are signals, little charmlights. See there over the door? Those are something Papa put in ages ago. The Edgartons have something similar and gave him the idea.” He turned to gesture at the top of the door frame, where there were little lights.
Edmund went on. “A general sense of where people are. Papa, Mama, Uncle Alexander, me, Merry, Ros, across the top, then a gap, and if people are in the guest bedrooms. Green if we’re in our rooms, blue for the library, white for anywhere else inside, gold for near the house but not actually in it. Everywhere other than the library you take your chances, but it’s usually the ritual room, the music room, or Mama’s office unless we’re eating.” He gestured at the row, which indeed showed the fourth light from the left shining green, and a white light at the far end that Pen supposed must be her.
“Not where the staff are?” Pen considered that question.
“Oh, no. That seems entirely too invasive, don’t you think? But they find the lights handy for where to find us. Master Benton, especially. Tremendous help with his omniscience. Not that he wasn’t omniscient before they were put in.” Edmund glanced up, as if expecting her to have a comment.
Pen did, though it took a moment to figure out how to put it. “You think very well of him. And you’re always formal with him?”
“Papa calls him Benton, and so do Mama and Uncle Alexander. But he does a great deal to keep things running. That takes particular kinds of skills.” Edmund shrugged once, but then kept going, as if talking it out with her mattered to him. As if sharing it mattered. “It’s not something I’ve talked about much. But he’s always been there, Papa’s other pair of hands, his other eyes and ears. I won’t have that. I don’t think it’s possible without going through the Great War like they did. I know it’s fashionable now to think that Master Benton must be diminished by being a steward, or having been a valet, or— whatever. I don’t think that at all.” Now he looked up, and there was that slight tremor of nerves again. “Is that going to be a problem? That we have staff, that sort of thing?”
