Page 22 of Apt to be Suspicious
“It’s good to have you about the place.” Papa was not looking at Edmund, instead focusing ahead. Not that Nox needed much guidance, she was making her way steadily along without fuss.
“It’s good to be back.” It was, that was the thing. Oxford had glories. As London had, even during the war, when it also had many dangers. But nothing was like Ytene. Certainly nothing was like this stretch of the New Forest, their bit to tend and love and understand. A week back had been restorative. His dreams had had a depth to them he was still unravelling. Maybe he’d talk to Ursula about them if they got a chance in private. She had more experience with that sort of thing. Then Edmund swallowed, Slate picking up on his mood enough to bob her head. “Something you wanted to ask about, sir?”
It made Papa chuckle. “It seemed about the right moment to do so. There’s no point in fretting about the exam results now. They will be what they are, and I’m confident you did your best.”
Edmund ducked his chin, unsure how to answer that. He had, yes, and he knew his parents knew that about him. He was not sure what to do with someone saying it directly.
Papa went on, “But you’ve needed a bit more recovery than I think perhaps we expected. Is there anything else about your term you’d like us to know? Any personal matters or problems?”
“No, sir.” The formality came naturally enough, for all Edmund was entirely fond of his parents. Unfashionably fond, as Ursula and Anthony were of theirs. The three of them had talked about that, both how they felt, and how it wasn’t really how things were done among those of their class and background. “No heartbreak, nothing like that.”
Papa nodded, the horses taking perhaps ten steps before he spoke again. “If there were a problem, or your heart was bruised, I do hope you’d let us know if we could help. Listening, assisting, whatever you prefer.”
“I—” Edmund paused. “I like to think I would, if I needed to. But it’s nothing like that. To be honest, I’m not sure about that sort of thing.”
There was a longer silence, long enough to bring them into the glade that held the Rufus Stone. At this time of year, they had it to themselves. Later in the spring and summer, there would be people out to look at it, a picnic, whatever amusements were portable enough. Papa halted his mare, and swung down, going to look at the stone and read it, even though Edmund knew he knew the text by heart. That particular stone had been there for a hair over a century now, replacing an older monument that had replaced the ancient oak at the heart of the tragedy.
Edmund dismounted, keeping a good hold of Slate’s reins as he came over to join his father. Papa smoothly pulled a book out of his inner jacket pocket, his book of magic, flicking open to a page and using it to cast the charm that would ensure their privacy, within about twenty feet or so. “I think a great deal about William Rufus. There is a tangle of legends about him, just like there is a tangle of legends about the heroes of Greece and Rome you’ve been immersed in.”
“That is not your most subtle, Papa,” Edmund said. “Which tales are you thinking of particularly? Archery is not among my particular interests, nor those of anyone I spend time with.”
The comment got Papa smiling at him, a bit of relaxation that made it clear Edmund was taking the right tone. “The hedonism, among others. Particularly, so to say, if you had an interest in men rather than women...” Papa let it trail off. It was the first time he had said as much, that clearly.
“Papa, Mama explained. I can’t imagine she hasn’t told you what she said.” Mama had sat him down when he turned fifteen, the summer between his second and third years at Schola. She had not detailed all of Papa’s past. But she had made it exceedingly clear that as a family, they were comfortable with a wider range of preferences than society admitted to. And that Papa’s had included men, specifically.
Edmund had spent rather a lot of time over the next several years contemplating what that meant about Uncle Alexander, before deciding he would never know the truth unless someone told him. Besides, it didn’t matter. Not that sort of private detail, anyway. He knew the parts that did matter, the care and trust and mutual support his parents had with Uncle Alexander, and he with them.
Papa laughed. “You were fairly young then, and it is possible you have acquired new questions.” He reached out to brush his fingers against the stone. “I am a hedonist, given the chance. There are many ways that can go badly. You seem to be avoiding those. But if, by chance, you had found yourself snarled, we would not think less of you. Except perhaps if you insisted on dealing with it on your own, without the resources of the family behind you.”
Edmund shivered once. He couldn’t hide it. He took a deep breath before doing his best to frame his thoughts. “I could shame you.”
“Technically yes, there are things you might do that would. But I do not think you would choose any of them willingly. And you are wary enough that someone could not snarl you into them without a great deal of gods-touched luck on their part.” Papa glanced at him before going back to looking at the stone. It was easier to talk that way, certainly for Edmund. “I cannot imagine you manipulating someone for your own benefit and their pain. I cannot imagine you pressing someone beyond their consent. Or being foolish when it comes to the well-being of the family.”
“No children got where that would be a problem,” Edmund said. He certainly heard stories of that, though mostly from the men who’d done so, which left out much of the story. “Nothing like that.” Then he coughed. “What Uncle Alexander’s teaching me can be used for manipulation.”
“Yes.” The reply was steady. “But I trust him to teach you how to use it well. As I trust you to consider when it’s the right tool. I have trusted you in that since— oh, about the time I brought Alexander home.”
Edmund did not know what to say to that. He remembered it, of course. He’d been nine. Somehow, his parents had rearranged space, the pillars of their lives, and made room. He and Merry and Ros had talked about it, of course. But mostly because Uncle Alexander— as he soon became— turned up with stories and tricks of magic and sometimes treats. Some adults forced an intimacy that didn’t fit, and Uncle Alexander never had. He’d let them decide what they wanted. Now, Edmund took half a step back.
“Yes?” Papa’s voice was still even, notes floating in perfect measure, like when he was playing the harpsichord. Though also a little amused. “What have you put together?”
“Uncle Alexander was using Naming magic. When he was getting to know us. Wasn’t he? To pace things well.” Edmund glanced over at his father now, and he saw that slow smile, the one that Mama liked best.
“Naming, and a fair bit of asking me how I trained hawks,” Papa said, and now he was chuckling. “Also begging your mother for help after you all had gone to bed. Alexander is a master at hiding the effort he’s making, among his other talents. You watch for that when you get a chance. He had some experience with Ursula and Leo, but they were younger, of course, and you were exceedingly perceptive a few times.”
It certainly gave Edmund a great deal to think about. Now he wanted to go over whatever he remembered from a dozen conversations this year, especially when Uncle Alexander had collected him from his digs. It did also give him something else to say now.
“You needn’t worry that I’ll have a scandalous romance or anything like that. There’s no one I’ve found that sort of interest in. If there is anyone, I’d let you and Mama know at a reasonable point. I know that.” He shrugged. “Whatever happens there, it’s not just about me. It’s about here, the forest and the people and the magic.”
Papa considered. “I’d like to say that you’re allowed not to be entirely so serious about it. I certainly wasn’t for a long time. But I wasn’t Heir in my more decadent youth. Even when I was, I was certain Temple and Delphina would get around to having children. Though that was why I preferred my time with men. Less need to worry about if a woman only wanted me for the money and the houses.” He spread out one hand, then patted Nox on the nose when he was done gesturing. “And you know the story of how your mother and I met, which wasn’t that at all.”
“I do.” Edmund had heard it told a number of times. And by everyone involved, including Master Benton, Uncle Giles, and Anthony’s grandparents, who’d all had a good view of the events in various ways. He took another breath. “I feel like I’m not doing enough, sir. That I haven’t done enough. That I’m not— that I am Telemachus, stuck at Ithaca, unable to become a man, to be seen as a man. That even in those places where it seems possible, I am never fully myself.”
“Ah. That is the challenge of living a life with two faces. Both of them are true and honest, so far as they go, but one of them shows far less to the world.” Papa turned now to face Edmund. “I understand that challenge. So does Lap, for that matter. It is not easy, and it is especially difficult when you are somewhere like Oxford, with all its customs and expectations. People want you to take up rowing or cricket every time you turn around.”
Edmund snorted. “That. And I can barely find the time for everything I want to do. It’s easier this year, mostly, with my own space. Not needing to hide.” He added. “And copious hot water.” He knew that he was talking to his father, who had spent several years living in tents or patchwork spaces behind the lines. But that had in fact made his father appreciate magical plumbing even more.
“But you are still fitting about three days of living into every twenty-four hours.” Papa agreed. “I gather it eases up some now that you’re done with Mods.”
