Page 32 of Apt to be Suspicious
Miss Stirling’s mouth opened, then she closed it with a tight snap, staring at him. “And you keep all of that in your head?”
“Also in a range of grammars, dictionaries, and so on. I turn out to have the right sort of head for languages, and for the ways they relate to each other. I’m expecting to make a trip to Greece and Italy this summer. That will be a bit more practice and a chance to add at least tourist Italian.” Edmund held still, waiting to see what she did with that.
The comment about the trip brought her chin up, as if she almost said something about it. Instead, he saw how she changed her mind, and said instead, “Your apprentice master?” That was a question with no specification, but well, Uncle Alexander provoked that sort of thing routinely.
“Responsible for the Arabic and Egyptian. He’s half-Egyptian. And most of the French, besides a lot of help with the others. Though Papa’s German is more idiomatic. He spent a few months snowed in after an avalanche in the Austrian Tyrol. Also time in Berlin and Vienna before the Great War.” Edmund could do this kind of quiet banter all day, honestly, and not need to touch anything at all private.
Miss Stirling nodded, then focused on the food. She selected another scone, taking her time adding more of the fig preserves to the top, then eating it. He liked very much that she was appreciating the food. It was only after she’d finished half of it that she said, “Pen.”
“Beg pardon?” He thought he’d heard that correctly.
“You may call me Pen. If you’d like.” She coughed, then added, “Edmund.”
“Pen.” Edmund smiled at it. Not that he hadn’t known her name. There were lists in the Gazette and in the Academy’s circular, for one thing. As she’d known his. But being given permission to use it, that was something particular. “Did you have another question?”
Pen nodded, though she finished the scone, swallowing it and having a sip of the Pimm’s, before she said anything else. “What does it mean, seeing who else is around?”
“Ah.” Now he had to figure out how to explain that. “You know parts of it. Albion as a community is not that large, relatively speaking. A couple of hundred thousand. Far larger than any one person will know, but far smaller than Britain.”
She nodded. “I am familiar with demographics as a field, yes.”
“Right, that makes this easier.” Edmund considered. “Now, there are three hundred fifty people at Schola at any given point, as students. That’s quite a lot of people to keep in my head, so I might not put a name to everyone there when I was. But I know a number by sight, and many more whose names are at least familiar. Sometimes the combination, looking at someone and placing them because of a brother or sister or cousin.” He considered, then gave an example. “You’d have overlapped with Rowena and Anthony Edgarton. He’s younger than I am. You’d not have had classes or anything with him.”
“But they look alike, yes. You knew they were related just from seeing them, even if they didn’t make it obvious.” Pen nodded. “Easier example than some.”
“They’re Eurasian in looks. Their mother was born in London, but to Bengali parents. Their father’s family goes back further than we do here in Albion. They’re friends, for what it’s worth.” He felt he ought to say that. Both to demonstrate he had friends, and that they were good ones, for all he was rather closer to Anthony. Again, this wasn’t anything private. There’d been more than enough profiles in the paper about the Edgartons at this point. “But you can actually see it in their faces, as much as the colouring. Me, well, all of us are blonds and our eyes are quite similar in shape and colour. And the noses and chins, though the mouths vary a bit more.”
“All right. I’ll concede the general point. But that doesn’t explain not knowing someone. There are, as you have pointed out, many people who were not at Schola.” Now she was leaning forward, elbows on her knees, focusing ferociously on the conversation. It wasn’t ladylike, but it was the sign of an academic whose mind was fully engaged on the problem at hand.
“Right, so the next bit— I don’t recall all the maths. But a number of those people in Albion are much older or much younger. It’s more complicated right now, with people coming up to Oxford whose plans were changed by the war. People who enlisted after a year or two as a student, people like the two of us who came up after the war ended, and whatever we were doing. So we’re talking about a range of, oh, six or seven years, rather than three or four. Maybe as many as ten.” Edmund waved a hand.
“But only ten. I see your point. Instead of a hundred. And then, demographically speaking, a number of people of our age would not be at Oxford for many reasons. It needs someone who could have done the academic preparation, whether they went to one of the Five Schools or not. How did you do yours?” The question came up out of nowhere, but he was delighted she felt she could ask.
“A lot of study with tutors over hols from Schola and some additional work in the middle. You?” He asked it hoping he might get a little more information. “Anyway. Mama keeps track of that sort of thing, especially anyone around my age down through my younger sister. We have a number of business interests with the horses and the estate. It’s good to know when there’s some existing relationship in play, that sort of thing.” It went far beyond that, of course, but he was keeping to the acceptable public commentary.
“Oh, the same. My aunt was at Somerville back in her own day. She’s a maths teacher at a non-magical school, and has been for decades now. She did a lot of maths prep with me, and Grandfather found someone for the rest of it. Though that was easier, mostly, given that I only really had to take exams about the maths.” Pen frowned. “All right. So what does that mean here? That you don’t know her.”
“It means that I would very much like to get a look at her. Is she the sort that goes to parties? Dances? The one coming up next Friday, for example?” It was not one of the main balls, but it was absolutely the sort of event that would get people in a certain set out in numbers.
“Um.” Pen rubbed her nose. “Probably? She seems to be out a lot. I don’t even know what she’s reading. I might find out. Ask around in the JCR. Do you go to that sort of thing?”
“Sometimes. It’s not my favourite way to spend an evening. Honestly, I’d rather a crossword or time in the ritual workroom most evenings. But there’s nothing quite like a certain kind of party to get an idea of what people are doing with themselves. And it’s useful to be seen out and about.” He had learned that one from his parents from about the time he could toddle around on his own two feet. Then he’d learned several other adaptations of the art from the Edgartons, and now from the Council rites or, for that matter, how Ursula put together a gathering.
“Oh, you’d go?” That little thread of Naming magic gave him the hint here, to listen more closely, and there was something in her tone.
“I don’t know her on sight. Or anyone she spends time with. Would you go with me? It’d give you an excuse to point out other people in your college. I’d not presume on your time or person, of course, beyond that. I promise I know how to behave like a gentleman.” Edmund made the offer as smoothly as he could.
“I’ve not a thing to wear.” That was her first comment, then Pen wrinkled her nose. “What does being a gentleman mean to you there?”
“It means making sure you have a drink when you want one or a dance when you want that. Putting myself between you and young men whose attentions you do not care to encourage. While, if you like, clearing the way for anyone who does interest you. Dance cards were so useful that way, I gather, in older days. I do that sort of thing for Mama regularly, when we’re at some event and Papa isn’t handy. I promise Mama’s trained me well. I do it for my sisters and my friends, too.”
It earned him an entirely sceptical look, but that was fine and as it should be. “I still haven’t anything to wear.” She repeated it firmly.
“Oh, I can arrange a loan quite easily. If you’d be willing to share your measurements. Either with me, or I can tell you where to send them by note or journal. And a little idea of colours and styles.” That one at least had a simple solution. Aunt Cassie, Master Benton’s wife, had racks of fancy frocks for the purpose these days, things that could be changed up a little and loaned out. Most had been made before the war, and it largely solved the problems of clothes rationing. “You might want a quick fitting in Trellech for it, but that can also be sorted.”
“You seem to have an answer for everything.” Pen looked out toward the river. “What do I get in return?”
Most women, he suspected, would have considered the chance of the outing and a night in a nice frock a reasonable exchange. He rather liked that she didn’t. “My help in looking at those advertisements. I agree that one’s probably better done in writing. Whatever my skills can provide in terms of Miss Cecily Styles. If there are other inducements I can offer, I’m certainly open to entertaining negotiation.”
