Page 45 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Have you seen him in a less polished moment?” Audrey cut in, leaning on her elbows. “Also, drink your Ovaltine before someone has to warm it up.”
Pen drank obligingly, and there was something comforting in the taste of it. It gave her a chance to figure out what to say. “He put some effort into something on Tuesday. And I haven’t seen him since. He was sort of faded after.” She hesitated because he had told her he was away overnight. “He’s seeing his family tonight. At Ytene.” The two of them blinked, and she added, “The family demesne estate.”
“Oh. I don’t know that I’d heard it said.” Audrey obviously filed that away. “Well. All right. You are not insisting that you will not see him again. He’s clever enough to suit you. Might as well see what fun is in the offing?”
The problem was, if they kept working on the current problem, there was not a lot of fun on offer. Doing something important, certainly. Pen had plenty of practice doing dull, necessary, and simultaneously important things. Doing them in Edmund’s company was at least somewhat novel. “I suppose.” She tilted her head. “I’ll say that he didn’t expect me to, I don’t know, fix things for him, or see to figuring out food. And he’s tidy at home.” She clapped her hand over her mouth, because that was entirely revealing.
Both Vesta and Audrey gaped, and then simultaneously started laughing. “You minx! You didn’t tell us!”
“He’d gone to some effort. He got food at a restaurant. It was easier to talk at his digs— a bit south of the river— than find somewhere private enough. I certainly couldn’t bring him back here.” Pen tried to keep her voice even but failed. “Anyway. He’s got rooms in a house. The bits I saw were quite tidy and not, I don’t know, unreasonably posh. Comfortable, the kind of comfortable that’s partly choosing sensibly, and partly having money? No itchy horsehair sofas handed down for him.”
“Did you have time to look at his bookshelves?” Audrey felt that showed a lot about a person.
“Not in detail. Also, he reads at least three scripts I don’t. No, more than that. I don’t actually know how you properly count one of them — the differences.” Pen should probably ask about that sometime. At least enough to recognise what was on the cover. Then she took a breath. “All right. I’ll keep seeing him.”
“You let me know if you need me to make it look like you were here some of the night,” Audrey said firmly. “Oh, and I might be out late sometime.”
Pen waved a hand at the same time Vesta did. “We’ll figure something out.” Then Pen took a breath. “Tell me what you’re up to, then? You and Harry Watts.” That being the young man in the O.U.D.S. reading Modern Languages. Things had been progressing somewhat more slowly than Audrey liked, given the theatrical obligations, but she had hopes for next week when the current production was done.
Chapter 29
Tuesday, May 25th, visiting Trellech
The twenty hours at Ytene had been delightfully restorative. Edmund had, in fact, got up near enough at dawn for a morning ride. He’d come back to chatter blithely about it to Uncle Alexander while Uncle Alexander was still waking.
Papa had been amused, but of course Papa had been up bright and early too. It was May, after all, and Papa was just as much bubbling over with energy as Edmund was. More, probably. It wasn’t as if there were simple measurements for that sort of thing.
He had also, without actually talking to anyone directly about it, come to some decisions about what he wanted to do next about Cecily Styles. Sunday afternoon, he had come back to Oxford, and written Pen a note. That asked her whether she would prefer to talk to his parents about the next steps, or to Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie. A question of strategy, as he’d put it, not yet taking action.
He suspected Pen had stared at her journal for some time, given how long it took her to reply. Late Sunday night, however, she’d agreed that Major Lefton was less terrifying, and if he had time in his schedule, well, maybe that made sense. Edmund had rolled over— he’d been reading in bed— and promptly confirmed the arrangements by journal with the Lefton household and then with Pen.
Now it was Tuesday afternoon, and he was leaning against the wall nearest the portal, whistling Scarlatti softly. The dance of the notes suited the afternoon, even if he couldn’t properly whistle counterpoint on his own. Not without a lot more magical set-up and some Incantation work he wasn’t actually that skilled at. Yet. He had aspirations.
Pen turned up five minutes before he’d scheduled the portal, and she looked lovely. Edmund hadn’t been sure what she’d think proper for this sort of outing, but her frock suited both her hair and her manner. It was flowered dress of sprigged cotton, the shade of green making him fairly sure it had been remade from before the war. She had her academic gown over it, and a leather satchel over her shoulder. “I’m— no, you’re early.”
“As are you. Delightfully on time, rather. I’ve got the portal reservation this way, and the one to get you back in time for hall.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the token. “It’s under your name, in case you want to send me away at some point.”
“That would be rude. They’re your— your— “ Pen waved a hand.
“I am quite capable of taking a book into the back garden and amusing myself. I know where they keep the door and the chairs,” Edmund offered. “Any last questions?”
“I woke up at about three in the morning worrying over the, um. Having good manners? About Major Lefton.” Pen looked away. “I ought to have thought about it earlier.”
“That part is quite simple, and being willing to ask will go a long way. Don’t move furniture around or items on his desk or the tea service or anything. Cassia, his guide dog, will probably be out of her harness while we’re there. But if she’s harnessed, she’s working and don’t pay attention to her. She might fall asleep on your feet, so if that bothers you, let one of us know. Uncle Giles likes a brief description when he’s meeting someone. He says it helps him anchor the voice better.”
Edmund considered what else might be useful. “Also, he uses a couple of magical tricks for keeping track of who’s where, but none of them are about you, or on you. Just to help him figure out who’s speaking. The rest of it, Aunt Cammie or I will happily manage if he needs a hand.”
“All right.” Pen swallowed. “And it’s in Trellech and near the portal, and you’ll be with me.”
“Absolutely.” At that point, the clock started chiming, and Edmund pushed himself away from the wall. “Our turn. It will be fine, I promise, probably better than fine.” He did not offer his arm. That made a statement socially that he wasn’t sure she was comfortable with. But he made space for her, let her go through the portal to Trellech first, and came out behind her. “Along to the right.”
Fortunately, Portal Square in Trellech was not as chaotic as it might be. It was still early enough in the afternoon to avoid the worst of the people coming and going at the end of the workday. Edmund waited until they’d gone past the Temple of Healing and along into the residential area. “Townhome, garden at the back, Cammie’s daughter might be around with her nanny, but there’s a playroom for her upstairs.”
“Daughter.” Pen’s voice was hard to read. “How old is she? And you said she was married?” There was the careful tone of someone who wasn’t sure if the marriage still had both people.
“Kenna’s, um.” Edmund had to count. “Seventeen months. Uncle Duncan, Aunt Cammie’s husband, was in the RAF Bomber Command. Now he does other things with aeroplanes, which are vastly more enjoyable. I don’t begin to really understand it.” Edmund considered. “In order of my skills, I am confident about my Ritual abilities and my languages. I expect to follow about a tenth of the conversation once you and Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie get going. Maybe a fifth if it’s a superb day. About a twentieth of Uncle Duncan’s passions. I prefer the ground actually under my feet in a tangible way. A punt is about as exciting as I like my watercraft to be.”
It made her snort and relax a bit, which was what Edmund had been aiming for. About then, they turned down the street, and he could see she was getting more nervous, stiffer in her movements. As they came up to the house— or rather the gate into the front garden— Edmund said, “Take a breath and think of a bright pink elephant dancing on the head of a pin.” He said it as clearly and deliberately as he could and was promptly rewarded with her snorting and laughing.
