Echo in Onyx Page 13

  “How could you ever leave behind such a picturesque spot?” Marguerite demanded as she waited for the coachman to secure the horses and open the door.

  I managed a laugh. “Well, this is the entire collection of delights,” I told her. “A pretty scene at sunset on a warm day. But the rest of it is hard work and demanding customers and nosy neighbors, and nothing else to do with your time but dream about a better life.”

  “I think I could be quite happy here,” Marguerite said

  I could only laugh at her as the door swung wide and I took the coachman’s hand. From the front door of the posting house, I saw my mother hurry out, the baby in her arms. Not until I clambered down from the coach did any of my siblings notice who had arrived—and even then, they didn’t seem to realize who the really important visitor was.

  “Brianna’s here! Brianna’s here!” my sisters cried, running toward me so fast that their braids streamed out like flags behind their backs.

  A minute later, I was the center of a circle of laughing, shouting, jumping bodies. Even the dogs had joined us and, true to their namesake, they were barking their heads off. I was trying to answer my sisters’ questions, return their kisses, and make sure Marguerite was safely out of the coach, all at the same time. But my mother had made her curtsey to the governor’s daughter and drawn her out of the chaos, so I figured she would be just fine.

  Suddenly everyone fell silent. I knew without looking that the echoes had climbed out of the carriage and arranged themselves behind Marguerite.

  What will impress your family more? Marguerite had asked about an hour before we arrived. If my echoes mimic my every move, or if they seem a little independent? That was easy to answer because I think it was true for everyone in the Seven Jewels who didn’t have echoes of their own: That flawless synchronization was absolutely spellbinding. That was what everyone wanted to see.

  Marguerite lifted a hand to indicate the main building; Patience and Purpose and Prudence repeated the gesture. “Thank you so much for making room for us,” she said. “I have been wanting to see this place ever since Brianna described it.”

  By this time my stepfather had joined us, and he made a stiff little bow. “We think it’s special,” he said. “We’re glad you brought our girl back for at least a night.”

  “Let me show you to your room,” my mother said, turning toward the house.

  “You could at least give me the baby!” I exclaimed. That made everyone laugh, and the formality melted away as she handed me my newest little sister and everyone cooed over her blue eyes and goofy grin. Then my stepfather and my brothers took charge of the coach and the horses, as well as the coachman and the guards, while all the women paraded through the house.

  “I’ve given you the biggest room, with two double beds,” my mother said as she showed Marguerite into the prize room of the house. It was all blue chintz and white lace and handmade rag rugs—so unsophisticated, now that I knew what a truly fancy suite looked like—but Marguerite seemed delighted by its airy, welcoming feel. “But if you don’t like to share a bed with one of your echoes, I can bring in a cot.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Marguerite said. “No more than you mind sleeping with your own foot.”

  My mother’s face went blank for a moment as she considered that. “I never thought of it that way,” she said.

  Marguerite perched on the edge of the bed and bounced a little, as if to test the springs; the echoes did the same. “But where will Brianna sleep?” Marguerite asked. “You might bring her a cot.”

  “She’ll stay in her old room with us!” one of my sisters cried, tugging at my arm.

  “Careful, don’t make me the drop the baby,” I said, smiling down at her, though inwardly I sighed. Three to a bed, and the youngest one kicking and muttering all night; not exactly conducive to sound sleeping, as I knew from experience. “We’ll be leaving early in the morning,” I warned her.

  She stuck her tongue out. “We have to get up early to start the bread,” she said. “We’ll be awake before you are.”

  My oldest brother showed up just then, carrying some of the luggage. “Is this all you need for tonight, or should we bring all of it?” he asked. Glancing at my mother, he added, “There’s a lot.”

  “And a separate coach coming behind us with more,” I told him. “You have no idea how many trunks you need to clothe four women for a month’s worth of balls and dinners.”

  “This will be fine,” Marguerite answered him. “Thank you so much for bringing it up.”

  “We’ll just let you get settled,” my mother said, taking the baby from me and shooing all the children toward the door. “Dinner’s in half an hour, unless you need more time.”

  “I’m starving,” Marguerite said. “That’s perfect.”

  Dinner was much plainer than the fare Marguerite was used to, but she seemed to genuinely appreciate it. When she learned we were the only guests for the night, she insisted the whole family join us at the table, and it was a merry meal indeed. Marguerite went out of her way to be gracious to everyone, and I could see that her warmth and sweetness were making my mother glow. Not because she treasured the kind words on her own behalf, but because she was thinking, My lucky Brianna, to have fallen in with such a good mistress! The girls vied for her attention and my brothers alternated between staring at her and giggling, for all the world like schoolboys nursing a crush on the teacher. Even my stepfather, who could be taciturn to the point of rudeness, exerted himself to join the conversation and appeared to be dazzled by her charm.

  Within a remarkably short time, they’d all gotten past the strangeness of the echoes, though every once in a while I caught my stepfather or one of my sisters shooting a quick glance their way. We had placed Patience and Prudence and Purpose at the foot of the table, and they sat there with their usual placidity, eating when Marguerite ate and smiling when she smiled. They were odd but not obtrusive, and everyone managed to ignore them for the bulk of the evening.

  “I hold to my original opinion,” Marguerite said that night as I undressed her for bed. “I cannot imagine how you ever managed to tear yourself away from this place.”

  “You’d be begging for city life if you lived here more than a week,” I told her. “No balls, no parties, no company to speak of, nothing but hard work and family meals and more hard work.”

  “And hours spent in the garden and sunshine on your face and no Del Morson creeping around behind you, trying to pry out your secrets,” she countered.

  I laughed and glanced around the room. “Del Morson would die of boredom here,” I agreed. “Anything else you need?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I made my way to my old room and got ready for bed in the few minutes of privacy I had before my sisters came tumbling through the door. As I braided my hair, I thought over that last exchange with Marguerite.

  I had told her about my conversation with Nico, even though I didn’t want to. I thought she might dismiss me on the spot, and I cried to myself to think I was losing the first job I had truly loved. But I couldn’t bear for my silence to put her at risk; I couldn’t bear for her to think she was safe when she was under such close observation. She had grown very still and withdrawn for a moment, then she had nodded once.

  “Very well. Thank you for telling me. I know I’ve gotten careless.”

  “My lady, I am so, so sorry if I’ve put you in danger in any way—”

  She shook her head. “It sounds like he would have followed you whether or not you flirted with him,” she said. “The only difference now is that we know. If you had never spoken to him, he would still be watching you—watching me—but we would be entirely unaware.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything. I would never tell him anything—well, I’ll never speak to him again, but I won’t tell anyone else, either! Please believe me! You can trust me with your life.”

  She’d impulsively reached out to lay her hand on my
shoulder. “Brianna. You’re the first person I ever have trusted. I’m lucky to have found you.”

  She felt lucky that I had come into her life and I felt lucky that I’d secured this spot in hers. I knew there was no such thing as friendship between two people at such different stations in life, but nonetheless, I thought that was what we had.

  We were on the road shortly after dawn, stuffed full of a breakfast of eggs, bacon, bread, and cream. My mother and sisters cried to see me go, and I had to fight back tears, too, though I wasn’t nearly as sad to leave as they were to see me go. Marguerite and the echoes blew kisses out the windows, and that cheered everyone up so much that they laughed as they waved goodbye.

  Marguerite settled back against the seat cushions with a sigh. “Now, a long, dull four or five days of travel,” she said.

  I had brought a workbag with me and was already arranging some of the contents in my lap. “I will make good use of the time,” I said.

  “I can’t believe you can sew with the carriage bouncing along the road.”

  “I’ll probably stab my finger with the needle more than once,” I admitted. “You’ll have drops of my blood all over your headpieces.”

  She laughed. “If this was a magic tale, your blood would protect me from evil.”

  “If it would do that,” I answered, “I’d gladly bleed on every piece of clothing you own.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes, preparing to nap. “I think the hairbands will be enough.”

  She had created quite a sensation, at that final dinner during Cormac’s visit, when her echoes appeared behind her wearing their gauzy veils. That very night, we had decided that we should alter all the echoes’ headpieces to include veils that could be pulled down anytime Marguerite wanted.

  “Because my mother assures me I must do something in Camarria to seem unusual,” she had said, her voice full of mockery. “I must have an affectation. Everyone must realize that I am special enough to deserve Prince Cormac’s attention.”

  We passed much of that day and the next two in silence, with me sewing, Marguerite and the echoes sleeping or staring out the windows. Now and then I lifted my eyes from the project in my hands to watch the changing countryside. Orenza was in the northwest tip of the Seven Jewels, cradled by mountains and marked by brisk sunshine. Camarria was in the province of Sammerly at the northeastern edge of the realm, but to get there, we first had to travel fairly far south. The kingdom was roughly the shape of a very large, very fat V, with a deep cleft on the northern border created by an impassable rocky range. Orenza, Alberta, and Empara lay to the west of the cleft; Sammerly, Banchura, and Thelleron to the east. Pandrea was situated almost exactly halfway between the two halves of the kingdom, and had always managed to maintain good relations with the western provinces, even while staying loyal to the crown.

  Our path lay along the Charamon Road for almost the entire journey. The farther south we traveled, the flatter the land became and the smoother the road. I spotted fewer sheep, more wheat fields, the occasional fruit orchard, and acres of farmland given over to all kinds of flowers. I didn’t think the landscape was as spectacular as the countryside where I’d been born, but I suspected the life was easier.

  On the third day after we left my mother’s, we started heading northward again as we made it past the cleft. The terrain on the east side of the divide was neither as flat as the farmlands nor as rocky as the mountainous regions, but full of rolling hills and leafy valleys. I suspected it was at its most appealing in the autumn months, but it was pretty enough now. Though I still missed my mountains.

  The following day, maybe a couple of hours past noon, the coachman made an unscheduled stop at a posting house that offered a haven between two widely separated towns. “Front horse has thrown a shoe,” he told Marguerite as he came around to open the door. “Might need to be here an hour or two to get it replaced.”

  “Then let’s go inside and see if there’s a room where we might wait,” Marguerite said. So we gathered up our things and followed her inside.

  The proprietor, a large woman with an air of authority, was used to dealing with high nobles, and she whisked us off to a private parlor with a large picture window overlooking the back of the property. When she returned a few minutes later with a tray of refreshments, Marguerite pointed toward the glass.

  “It looks like there’s a path leading to a little gazebo,” she said. “Could my companions and I go for a stroll?”

  “Yes, it’s a lovely walk, and you’ll find a little lake if you continue just another quarter mile,” the proprietor said.

  Marguerite turned to me. “Oh, let’s do that! I’m so tired of being cooped up in a carriage.”

  “Certainly, but you’ll need to put on sturdier shoes,” I said. “This is a country path, and likely to be rougher than you’re used to.”

  The owner nodded. “It is that. I’ll have one of the boys fetch your suitcase.”

  A half hour later, the five of us were fed, refreshed, and wearing our walking shoes. Purpose was right behind Marguerite as she headed for the door, but Prudence hung back, glancing around the parlor as if reluctant to leave. I couldn’t help grinning as I followed them into the hall, down the stairs, and out the back door that led to the path.

  The day was perfect—not too warm, cheerily sunny but not so bright you had to shield your eyes with your hand. Marguerite was feeling relaxed enough to completely release the echoes, so they dawdled behind her, each one looking at different aspects of the scenery and stepping at a slightly different pace. Patience even paused at the side of the road to watch a bee make its erratic route from one flowering bush to another.

  We arrived at the gazebo and sat for a few moments, admiring the view, but Marguerite was restless. “I want to see the lake,” she said.

  “I don’t mind, but it makes the walk back that much farther,” I answered.

  “Oh, pooh. I’ll sleep in the carriage if a little exercise fatigues me that much.”

  I thought Prudence looked disapproving as we set out again, but Purpose was once again right on Marguerite’s heels. We had to wind through a grove of elms and climb over a low hill, but then we saw the lake below us, curled sleepily between grassy green banks. A dirt path meandered around the whole perimeter, disappearing now and then behind small stands of trees. About fifty yards from where we stood, there was a tiny island off the left-hand shore and an arched wooden bridge connecting it to the mainland. Wooden benches were located at various points along the path so people could sit and enjoy the landscape.

  “Isn’t that pretty!” Marguerite exclaimed. “Let’s go walk over the bridge.” When Patience drooped with dismay, Marguerite patted her on the wrist. “And then we’ll go back. I promise.”

  Before I could say Let’s go, we all caught the sound of hoofbeats coming our way. Marguerite’s features settled into a pout that reminded me of my sisters.

  “How annoying. Now we have to share our adventure with strangers.”

  “Maybe they’ll just keep riding,” I said.

  A single horse crested the hill and continued down toward us. What I noticed first was the sleek beauty of the animal, the fine clothing of the rider. A low noble, at the very least. Not until Marguerite muttered, “Oh, no,” did I squint at the rider to try and identify him. But his red-gold hair and beard, bright in the afternoon sunlight, were too distinctive to miss. The king’s illegitimate son.

  He trotted right up to us and, uninvited, swung down from the saddle. His handsome face was creased in a smile. “The landlady mentioned that exalted visitors had gone walking along this path, but she didn’t tell me just how exalted they were!” was his greeting. He swept a deep bow that managed to seem insolent even though he performed it quite properly. “Lady Marguerite. How pleased I am to see you.”

  “Lord Jamison,” she replied in much cooler tones. “What brings you here?”

  He jerked his head toward the lake and the six of us began a slow stroll toward
the walking path. “I had—ah—business in Alberta, so I’m a few days behind my brother and his other companions,” he said. “I stopped for lunch at the posting house and saw the fancy carriage and wondered who it might belong to.” He ogled Marguerite with no attempt at subtlety. “I never dreamed it would be the onyx lady of the rocky north.”

  “One of our horses needs a shoe,” she said, her manner barely civil.

  “It’s always one inconvenience after another on the road,” he said. “But I’m glad I fell in with you. We never had much chance to talk in Oberton.”

  “Surely there will be plenty of chances in Camarria.”

  He appraised her again. “I like to take the opportunities as they arise.”

  Marguerite came to a standstill and we all skidded to a stop behind her. “I’m tired. My companions and I were just about to head back to the inn. Enjoy your walk.”

  “Hold a moment,” Jamison said. Something about his silky tone made me jerk up my head and narrow my eyes. Marguerite must have had the same sense of misgiving. At any rate, she stayed in place. “I have something I want to ask you.”

  “What?” she said in a flat voice.

  Now his eyes flicked over the echoes, lingered a little too long on me. He smiled. “Something I’d like to ask you in private, where no other interested parties can overhear.”

  Marguerite made no attempt to hide her irritation. “These are my echoes, and my maid. Anything you say to me can safely be said in front of them.”