Page 74 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Well.” The older man waved him to a seat, and Agnes took over the introductions again. “My sister, Constance Stirling. My brother-in-law, William Stirling.” Edmund made his greetings, then offered Pen’s mother a jar of honey. “From our hives on the home farm.” That was received with pleasure, as Edmund had expected it would be. With the sugar rationing, a bit of honey was always useful, and it was the sort of thing that didn’t fling his money around either.
Agnes was smiling slightly. “Constance has a sweet tooth.” She then went on with the last introduction, gesturing at her niece before going on to the last man at the table. “Pen, of course, you know. And our curate here, Gerald Franks. Here, sit down. Pen, will you help me serve?”
Edmund had the seat of honour, at the right hand of Pen’s mother. She stayed put as he took his chair and the younger women set out the serving dishes. It was a rabbit, with potatoes and carrots and a handful of other vegetables, in keeping with the challenges of rationing. “Not as it was in the old days. Now, my wife, she made an excellent roast.”
Edmund nodded. “It is a challenge, sir. And food anchors so many traditions, doesn’t it? Feasting and fasting both.” They were not in the midst of the latter right now, it being a Sunday in Trinity. While it had been the feast of Thomas the Apostle yesterday, that did not particularly dictate anything about the meal. As Edmund hoped, it got Pen’s grandfather on a digression about the proper traditions around food and the season.
They were a good halfway through the meal before Edmund felt the focus on him. “What do you intend to do after Oxford, young man?”
“We’ve a substantial estate in the New Forest, and my father— with his head of stables, of course— breeds horses. He draws on the strength and sturdiness of the local ponies. But these days he breeds for riding, with an eye to horses that will do well with a cart in the places the roads aren’t much. Our head of stables is training up a son, a bit older than I am, to take it over eventually. But there’s also a need for someone to put on the right show for the business. As for the rest of it,” Edmund hesitated. “I’ve been reading Greats, but I’ve several modern languages too, so I might go into something related to linguistics.”
“Seems like a slender thread to hang a life on.” Pen’s grandfather poked at the last bit of his meat, then chewed it. “In my day, an Oxford man went into the church if he was a decent sort.”
“In my case, sir, I expect the estate and its needs to be an ongoing part of my work, day in and day out. We make a point of seeing our tenants are well, supporting those younger who want an education or apprenticeship in something. But getting to London’s not such a bother as it could be, and my work during the war provides some connections. I’ve another two years, there is still time yet to arrange the details.”
“You said you were going away for some weeks this summer?” That was Pen’s mother. Constance Stirling looked very much like her daughter, with the same dark hair, crinkles by her eyes, though with a slight perpetually harried look related to her father’s behaviour.
“Yes, Mrs Stirling. An abbreviated Grand Tour compared to my father’s. Six weeks in Greece and Italy, with an eye to classical art and architecture along with historical sites. Leaving the beginning of July, back near the end of August.” That carried the conversation along a bit, until Edmund could inquire about the history of the parish, the church, and the vicarage. Those topics more than lasted through the fruit bowl.
“Come along and chat in my study, Mister Carillon, if you would. I won’t keep you all afternoon.” That was promising. Edmund stood, nodding politely to the ladies, and taking in Constance’s little wave of a gesture for him to follow her father. The study wasn’t far, and as soon as Edmund closed the door, he could feel respectably done warding close like a curtain. “Quite private now, young man, even if someone tries listening outside the windows.”
“Village gossip is eternal, I gather, sir,” Edmund agreed. “We’re a mile or so from True Eyeworth at home. It makes it a tad more awkward for them to try.” He took the chair indicated, a well-worn oxblood leather seat on the other side of a massive desk. “You want the best for your granddaughter, of course.”
The eyes peering at him narrowed. “Yes. How will you convince me that you are the proper choice? Are you a Christian, young man?”
That would be why he had not arranged to come for the services. And why Pen’s parents had not suggested it. On the other hand, Edmund had known the question would come up. “No, sir. I am glad to respect your traditions and beliefs and Pen’s own, of course. My parents made sure I was familiar with the Bible as a text and as a theological foundation, but our family traditions are Romano-British.”
The eyes narrowed further. “In what form?” It was not quite an order, but it was quite near one.
“Mercury, in my case.” He would not speak for his parents. That was telling secrets that this man did not actually have a right to know. “If, as I hope, the time comes when Pen and I discuss marriage, I’d be glad to arrange whatever form is suitable for her, her parents, and your standing in the community. We understand the need for the proper seeming.”
“Mercury would, I suppose.” Reverend Fenweather gave a grunt. “Do you get up to the foolishness of undergraduates?”
“I’ve barely time, sir. Certainly nothing like the drinking clubs.” Here, at least, Edmund could be entirely honest. “I’m reading Greats, but also apprenticing in Ritual magic and another specialty. And I keep my hand in with family matters.” That, mind, was a bit of a stretch, but it covered both the estate and ongoing tasks for Major Manse.
“Well.” From there, Reverend Fenweather launched into a series of questions, not quite as demanding as Honour Mods had been, but more wide-ranging. Over the next thirty minutes, based on the chimes of the clock, they covered a host of topics. They began with Edmund’s knowledge of the estate, his marks at Schola, then went on to the foibles of three of his distant cousins, and a scandal relating to Papa in 1923. Edmund noted, however, that Reverend Fenweather did not remotely touch on Uncle Alexander, and that was exceedingly interesting. Edmund did not bring it up. He wanted to ask Pen’s parents more about that first.
Finally, there was a nod. “You may call on my granddaughter if she wishes.”
There were a number of things Edmund could say to that. Starting with the fact that it was an era where Pen could decide that for herself and had already done so. But being rude would do no one any good. “Thank you, sir. Should I see about the family?”
“Yes, yes. Tell Gerald I’ll be having my afternoon restorative. He’ll be in the room off the entry. He can point you to the family stairs.”
Edmund excused himself, closed the door, and had just been directed to the closed door to the stairs up. When he opened it, he found Pen perched on the stairs, a book in her lap. “Was it terribly awful?”
He shook his head. “Your grandfather cares about you, you know. But he allows, upon judicious consideration, as how I may court you without his objection, yes. Shall we go up?” Pen stood, brushing out her skirt, and took his hand to bring him up. Edmund could feel a different layer of warding here, far more to prevent chance sounds, he thought. The rooms were bright and lively, not nearly as sombre as the downstairs. Or as formal. The sitting room was entirely cheerful, all yellow and blue flowered fabric, and comfortable chairs. Once Edmund was settled, the conversation went much more smoothly, or at least decidedly less like a duel.
Her parents were cautious, of course. They wanted— especially her mother— to learn more about his plans for the summer. Also, specifically, what that meant for Pen’s plans, and what would be involved when they went back up to Oxford. Edmund was clear that he had his own digs, but that, of course, he did not want to cause Pen any trouble with the Somerville dons or the university proctors. He expected they’d be able to go on as they had so far. And of course the Academy offered a number of options for lectures, dances, and activities they could enjoy with less scrutiny.
Finally, William coughed. “I gather you were a great help introducing Pen to Magister Lefton.”
“Yes, I was glad to. Long before the rest of it. Uncle Giles has been a good friend of Papa’s for decades now, since his own university days. I’ve heard him complain a great deal about the challenges of finding someone who can do the level of work he expects. Pen has had no trouble there, though I know she’s deep in the background reading now.” That topic, Edmund could cheerfully discuss for hours.
Eventually, the time rolled around until he really ought to catch the train. Pen walked him up, arm in arm, the sort of pose that definitely would provoke more gossip, with her aunt. They stopped perhaps twenty feet from the station, far enough from any houses to avoid people overhearing. “Father will come around further. You presented yourself well, I gather. Or at least you didn’t let him see your nerves.” Pen’s aunt looked generally approving, though. That was good.
Edmund ducked his chin. “Mama brought me up well, Miss Fenweather. And I wanted to make things easier for Pen, now and in the future, not more difficult. Now, Pen, do you want to let me know about coming out for a visit, perhaps next week?” That bit of arrangement took a minute. Then Edmund kissed her sedately on the lips, trusting that she’d take it as the promise of something more to come. When he’d gone along the platform, he looked back to find the two women leaning to talk to each other quietly, and Pen waved at him once. As the train pulled out, he saw them walking off, away from the vicarage, apparently for a chat before returning home.
It was not a great tactical battle, but it had been a necessary skirmish or establishment of his credentials, somewhere between the two. Certainly it was laying some claim to being taken seriously as an adult among other adults. Edmund felt he had some idea about the ground under his feet now. And, somehow, over the course of the year, the seeming and the reality had become more tightly sewn together. Some fair bit of that had to do with Pen and her practical logic. Some was about Edmund wanting to prove himself a good match for her. And some was about becoming more sure about his skills and where to trust his instincts. Those should simply become more so, over the long vac and his duties while he was abroad.
