Page 72 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Yes, but what if we’re in public and someone is formal? It is proper to give all the forms of names that might be relevant,” Edmund said firmly. Pen filed away the question of who could call him Ed for later conversation.
“Do you expect that to come up?” Ros said before adding. “Papa, Master Rufus had a thought about one of the yearlings, when you’ve a chance.” Then she focused on Pen. “Pen is not your full name? Surely this goes both ways.”
Pen had to grin at it. “That’s fair. Penelope, but no one calls me that. Even with Edmund’s particular interest in the Odyssey at the moment.”
“More than just a moment,” Ros said, but she seemed amused.
Pen was not at all sure how to deal with siblings, exactly. But she’d envied Mum and Aunt Agnes, that way, the closeness they’d had. And both Merry and Ros were younger, but not so much younger that it would make a vast difference for them all in a few years. “I gathered you’re apprenticing, Merry, but Edmund only touched on what?”
That got Pen several paragraphs on what she was learning— a mix of navigational and orienteering skills and materia work, designed to help with identifying and bringing back samples of various plants for investigation. Pen listened, head tilted to one side, as someone— a servant, she presumed— brought out the meal.
When she looked down, her plate had a glorious egg, a bit of bread that did not look at all sodden and dense like usual, fragrant strawberry jam, along with a bit of a salad. She kept listening, and when Merry stopped explaining, she nodded. “Thank you. And I gather that means you’re away some of the time? Edmund had mentioned missing you being around.”
She was watching closely enough to see Merry’s eyes open wider, then a little smug smile. “Did you, Ed?”
“I’ve told you as much,” Edmund said amiably. “But yes. And now I’m going to be away for a bit. We’ll just have to muddle along with the journals.”
Ros turned to Pen now. “Do you have other languages? Not like Ed, I suppose.”
“No. Not at all like him. I do maths. Which is a language, but not in the same way. I’ve some German and French, but mostly enough to read academic articles. That’s not really what you mean, is it?”
Ros shook her head. “No. I’ve been learning German, though. And French and Arabic— that’s Uncle Alexander, obviously, same as Ed. Latin, of course.” Though it was clear she found that less directly of interest. “And we’re talking about Russian.”
“Russian seems like it might be rather relevant these days,” Pen agreed. She considered, then offered, “How have you decided which ones? Or learned them?”
“Mama and Papa made arrangements with teachers at Schola. I’m in Fox House, and Professor Knox is half French. Well, so is Uncle Alexander, but he’s less available for conversation often enough.”
“Pax, you,” Alexander spoke up from his seat. He’d been quiet, listening to the conversation without saying anything. Pen was under no illusions about the fact that he’d been evaluating both sides of it. Especially her, probably. Presumably he had an excellent idea of what to expect from Merry and Ros. He added to Pen, “Ibis Ward has been kind enough to lend a hand with the Arabic for the same reasons. I gather you’ve been chatting a fair bit with Cammie?”
“I have, though we’ve plans for a lot more. I’m to pick up with them properly next week, and more once Edmund’s away.” That much, at least, she had a grip on. “I fully expect to be overwhelmed for a bit. I’ve been trying to learn braille, though I can’t read it well at all.”
“Ah, that’s a particular skill. Most of us don’t train our fingers to be delicate enough. You might talk to Ferry about it. Her work with fine threads has some relevance. Not today. Give her a week. The Faire is an all-out effort on the equestrian side for us, and we can all use a breather.” Lord Geoffrey spoke lightly, but there was a certain thread of something rigorous there, Pen could hear it under the surface.
From there, he guided the conversation along, with help from his wife. They wandered from the history of the estate to the more recent incursions from the bombing range just to the west, though it was largely dismantled now. Edmund spent a bit of time talking more about the general plans for his travel, including asking his sisters which bits of art he should make sure to see.
They both had opinions, though decidedly different ones. Ros had a lot of thoughts about paintings, while Merry decidedly preferred architecture. Once the meal was done, some sign invisible to Pen had the two young women standing up, making a pleasant farewell, and disappearing.
“Shall we go along to the library and chat some more?” Lady Lizzie stood, and Pen understood that it absolutely was not a suggestion. Curiously, it was also not actually an order. It lived in the space between the two. Perhaps that it was the only logical answer. Certainly Pen would not fuss about it, so she agreed. Once the five of them were seated there, with a mint tea, Pen felt the focus of the room shift.
“Best to talk about this now, I think.” Lady Lizzie spread out one hand. “You understand, of course, that Edmund’s interest will be noticed. Commented upon. Both privately and to a certain degree in public. The papers and such. Is that going to be a problem for you or your family?”
“My family is—” Pen shook her head immediately. “Pardon. Let me frame that differently.” She felt Edmund cover her hand with his. “Grandfather is an entirely proper sort of Victorian vicar. I love him dearly, but he is set in his ways and his assumptions. He is none too certain about someone like Edmund taking an interest. He has decades of stories about undergraduate men and their impulses. Which is not wrong, that’s the thing. My aunt was also at Somerville, so it’s not as if I’m forging ahead on new ground.”
“Ah.” Lady Lizzie considered. “Would you lay out his particular objections?”
“That men of that age and occupation are careless in various ways. With money, with their affections, with their commitments. And I am certain with things he would not discuss with me, in more personal terms. My parents have been— well.” She swallowed, glanced up, felt a bit uncertain again, but went on. “My parents— Dad, especially— have been firm that I should do as I see fit. But it would be better if I avoided scandals.”
“I had not intended to court those in courting you,” Edmund said, with a rumbling purr to his voice that made Pen look at him sharply. He grinned at her before adding, “Mama, obviously, we will not be unduly obvious in public. But I thought a few outings in Trellech, maybe in London, when I’m here over the long vac. Bringing back a suitable gift or two that Pen can wear. A fine shawl, a bit of a carved brooch. Pen, if you’d provide a list of what would be acceptable to your grandfather of that sort, I will be glad to adjust my gift giving to suit.”
“Hah.” His mother snorted. “When Geoffrey and I became involved, I refused to accept a certain class of gifts— gems, in particular— until we were engaged. We both had a stash of such things at that point. A shawl, yes. A cameo, perhaps. Books, of course, if you find some that suit. Are you musical, Pen?”
“I enjoy it a great deal. I play the piano to the sort of tolerable level Grandfather expected, but I’m not at all talented at it. I sing well in a choir or something like that, but not as a soloist.”
“History of music, then, rather than sheet music. Perhaps some engravings that might be put in a sitting room or such.” Edmund’s mother nodded. “But the music suggests a range of outings you might reasonably enjoy. There’s a great deal to be said for being seen at concerts regularly. And it gives you something to talk about with people before and after. Also, there's less chance of something scandalous you don’t know about becoming a problem than with theatre, much as that’s also enjoyable.”
Alexander had been leaning back, listening. “Don’t let Lizzie fool you. She has an exceedingly sharp eye for what music will catch someone’s attention. Though I admit, she is also correct about the theatre. Did you hear about that, then?” It was an oblique reference, meant for the others in the room.
Pen ventured. “I heard yesterday— no, pardon, the day before, something about an actor caught in a compromising situation with a patron of the opera. I didn’t catch the names, or the person I heard it from didn’t know them. But I gather it also had something to do with something more secret on the government level?”
