Take off.
The ship's
computer was talking, “Miss Cynthia, We'll take off with on a count
of ten, nine, what the hades, zero!”
The unexpected
and extraordinarily rapid takeoff kicked Cynthia back into her seat
so hard that she blacked out. When she recovered from the shock she
shouted at her ship's computer, “Chris! What the hell1
was that about?” Under normal circumstances Chris would take the
machine up smoothly. There would be little more than a flutter in the
bottom of her stomach, and maybe a small ripple in her martini.
Indeed, it was the height of bad manners to accelerate off planet too
rapidly and disturb the stratosphere. This time her martini was
dripping off the wall behind her while fragments of the glass
littered the floor.
“Sorry Ma'am.
It was an emergency.”
“An emergency?”
Chris had led her through the normal pre-takeoff drill. Fasten
seatbelts, what to pull if there was an emergency, where the oxygen
mask would drop from and, finally, how to use the seat cushion as a
flotation device in the unlikely event that you were still in one
piece after crashing into the ocean. He was known for his sense of
humor. That was part of why he had been voted the most personable
control program of 2342.
“Ma'am. If you
feel up to it, would you look in the screens?” She didn't need to.
The shock wave from the exploding planet behind them rocked the
craft. “What happened?”
“The Cataxi.”
“They found me?
What the fuck. How the hell did they do that?”
“I wouldn't
know, Ma'am.”
“Did they just
destroy an entire planet to try to take me out?”
“Apparently.”
“Damn. It's not
as if I stole that many credits from them. It was just a pretty
necklace.” She fingered the deep red stone that hung between her
breasts.
“The Cataxi do
not put a high value on Terran life. I did try to warn you, Ma'am. In
their eyes you are barely worth a tenth credit.”
“Still Chris,
it must be more than that. I expected that assassin in the bar. It's
part of the normal give and take of interstellar commerce, but it's
bad form to take out a planet. Do it too often and you can start a
war.”
“Ma'am if you
would, I am preparing for the jump.”
To say this was
unusual was an understatement. Ships would cruise, sub-light, through
the system. It gave the occupant’s time to say extended goodbyes
and deal with any last minute formalities. Besides social reasons,
performing a jump too close to a solar mass could distort the results
and send the ship into uncharted space. Fortunately, most of space
was empty, so as an emergency maneuver jumping blind was more or less
safe. Safe, that is, if you emerged into normal space somewhere you
could recognize.
“On the count
of five, five, four, three, two, damn.”
The ship spun out
of control as colors flashed through Cynthia's mind. She passed out
again from the disorientation. Finally, the ship emerged into a small
solar system.
Cynthia recovered
consciousness. “Chris, where the hell are we now?”
Chris, for once,
was silent. “Come on, computer, damn you. Where the fuck are we?”
“Ma'am. I'm
checking. It may be a question of when we are as well as where we
are.”
“When??”
“I'm sorry but
that Cataxi shot hit us just as we were jumping. That can do unusual
things to jumps, as I'm sure you're aware. I'll have a damage report
shortly.”
“Good.”
“You will have
to wait while I recalibrate. I will be offline a short time while I
reboot. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Cynthia had a few
anxious minutes. If Chris did not reboot, she would be adrift,
somewhere in the universe, in a dead ship. His blue screen of death
would spell hers as well. Unless she was extraordinarily lucky, she'd
be dead in a few days without her computer. If she were lucky the
Cataxi might find her before she died. They'd make sure her death was
quick. Not necessarily painless, but definitely quick.
Her anxiety was
misplaced. Reliable as ever, Chris returned to life. “Ma'am, are
you sitting down?”
“I'm not going
to faint. What the hell is it?”
“We're home2,
Sol, Earth.”
“Fuck. Earth?
Why are the guidance screens empty? There are no beacons. Where the
hell are the customs ships, the border guard?”
“I don't know.
Sorry Ma'am. But that's where we are. A few days trip in normal space
and then we can orbit the planet.”
“I suppose we
could pay home a visit. I wonder if the warrants for my arrest in New
York and London have expired by now.”
“Not to mention
the ones from Perth, Tokyo, Beijing and Berlin. Unfortunately, we
don't have a choice, Ma'am. The Cataxi shot took out the jump unit.
Wherever we are, we're stuck. There are supplies and air for a few
months, but that's all.”
“Damn. I
suppose prison is better than starving to death. Let me know when you
pick up the guidance beam. I'll be in the AR3
suite. I want to see if I can finally seduce Mr. Darcy. Take him away
from that dreadful Elizabeth Bennett.”
“That Jane
Austen game, again? Why don't you play something wholesome, like
Battle for Mars or Kabul Shootout?”
“I like regency
games. They're so relaxing.”
“If you say so.
You know, you'd have better luck with Darcy if you played Elizabeth
rather than one of the Bingley sisters.”
“What's the fun
of that? They are supposed to get together. I much prefer a
challenge.”
“Yes, I know
Ma'am. Could I make a suggestion?”
“What, Chris?”
“Could we
please have an uneventful trip for a change? Maybe something less
exciting than fleeing from the police halfway around the galaxy. You
have more than enough credits to pay for repairing me at the
spaceport.”
“I suppose so.
Anyway wake me up if anything interesting happens.”
Nothing
interesting happened, only if you count the lack of signals, indeed
the lack of artificial radio emissions of any kind as uninteresting.
Cynthia's game was interrupted a week later.
“Damn it Chris,
I finally had my hands on his trouser buttons. What now?”
“I am truly
sorry to disturb you Ma'am, but there are some facts which I must,
however hesitantly, bring to your notice.”
“What is it?”
“I've
identified the year. It's 1810. We are currently parked on the
reverse side of the moon, as the natives possess telescopes that
could see us in orbit. I presume you don't want them drawing untoward
conclusions.”
“1810. Fucking
A. No one down there could even begin to repair you, could they?”
“I have
prepared a list of supplies that would enable my automatics to fix
me.” Chris flashed them through Cynthia's AR unit where they
hovered in front of her instead of Darcy's face.
“I can almost
certainly find the iron and copper. Might have to be a little light
fingered for that much gold, but have they even discovered selenium
and titanium yet?”
Chris continued,
“That is a problem, Ma'am. I suppose you could refine the ores.”
“Maybe. What
were you thinking of?”
“Ma'am, since
you are enamored of regency games, it seemed to me that. No I can't
suggest this.”
“You'd like to
deposit me in England while you fly off and refit somewhere?”
“Precisely
Ma'am. I thought that Iceland would be a good location. It's
isolated. Few people live there and it has intense volcanic activity.
Most of the materials I need should be available locally. I could use
a thermocouple for power and the heat would disguise me. It should
only take a few weeks to finish with a partial refit. It would make
me spaceworthy for an intrasystem flight. We can still use the
com-link so you won't be alone.”
“I doubt even
the Cataxi can trace me here.”
“Still, it is
better to be prepared, Ma'am.”
Cynthia thought
for a few minutes, then said, “All right, Chris. I'll do it. The
only alternative I can think of is setting up a farm on Mars and that
would be supremely boring.”
“Very good
ma'am. I'll switch the AR to conditioning mode so that your English
and manners are correct for the period. It will take about two weeks.
In the meantime, I'll work up the vaccines you'll need.”
“Can you let me
finish with Mr. Darcy first?”
“Sorry Ma'am,
no. It might take you a month to tire of him. I neglected to tell you
that the damage reports were incomplete. We don't have that much time
to spare.”
“We're fucked,
aren't we?”
“Precisely
Ma'am.”
“Get the hell
on with it then.”
It took all of
two weeks, but Chris finally woke Cynthia from the AR. She started to
say, “What the fucking hell took you so long?”, but her
conditioning cut in and she said, “What took so long?”
“I'm sorry
Ma'am, but you had a large resistance to the training.”
“F-, Indeed.
What is going on?”
“Ladies of
quality did not swear in the 19th century.”
“Oh, dear,
that's cut my vocabulary in half.”
“I must say,
Ma'am, it is an improvement.”
Cynthia was
speechless, not thoughtless, but speechless. Eventually she found
words. “Chris, that isn't meant to be funny. Where do you think I
should be dropped?”
“I checked the
archives and then did a quick matter scan over southern England.
There is a famous meteorite, 'Lord Wroxham's Stone'. High purity
iron-iridium alloy. Just what I need. There is also a small Tahitian
idol that is made of Black stone in his collection. Titanium ore. If
you can lift a few guinea coins that will cover the gold.”
“I see,
anything worthwhile for me?”
“There is a
mention of family jewels. A tiara or necklace possibly both. Probably
they have some value on the resale market.”
“In other
words, a crib well worth cracking.” Cynthia paused, “Chris am I
going to always use this darn slang?”
“I'll remove
the conditioning once we're aloft again. Though I must add, Ma'am,
that it is a marked improvement in both your diction and language.”
Cynthia ground
her teeth. Chris merrily chirped along, “I've been having the most
fun building your wardrobe.”
“Wardrobe?”
While solo pilots could wear anything they wanted, or indeed nothing
at all, Cynthia, like the majority, favored a light recyclable
coverall. It kept the ship cleaner.
“You can't wear
that. Not on this mission.”
“I thought, for
just a quick snatch and grab.”
“It might take
me several months to refit, and I don't trust my structural
integrity. Can you fly?”
“I'm a dashed
good pilot.”
“I mean with
your arms.”
“I could wear a
parachute.”
“There's no one
who would fish you out of the ocean.”
“Oh. I see what
you mean.”
“This also
means that you're going to have to stop the anti-age hormones.”
“What?”
“It's actually
a good thing for you to go dry for a year or so. At 60 going on 16,
you still can. Take a year off, enjoy human biology for a bit. Maybe
fall in love, have some fun.”
“I suppose
you're right, but I'm not sure about that falling in love thing. I
don't want to have the sudden collapse that happened to Captain Black
Jack Daniels. Remember, we found him drifting in his ship, barely
able to move, and solely because he missed a shot.”
“I do feel I
have to warn you that it will start your biological clock ticking
again.”
“Oh cripes, Not
that.”
“On the other
hand Ma'am, maybe you will meet someone you like above half.”
“Chris, I know
you're a romantic, but I've told you before. Out on the frontiers of
the empire, there are very few humans. The closest looking aliens,
the Gotha, aren't equipped either emotionally or physically for
amatory activity with us, and you can't trust a Xylub in front of
your eyes, let along behind your back. As for the Cataxi, let's just
say Old One Eye Jones was a better alternative.”
“I suppose
you're right.”
“Never met
anyone who could stir a flutter in my maiden breast. I hope, Chris,
you can remove this insipid slang. It is already driving me up the
wall.”
“Yes, Ma'am,
when the mission is over.”
“Good. Compared
with their AR versions, all the real males I've met seem awfully
flat.”
“There are many
male humans on Earth. Some of them have to be acceptable. This Lord
Wroxham is supposed to be a handsome fellow. There's no record of his
marrying anyone.”
“He probably
likes other men.”
“Maybe, but
then maybe he never met the right woman.”
“Chris, stop
the matchmaking. I'm not in the market to be leg-shackled. A man, any
man would cramp my style.”
“I'm just
warning you that the hormones inhibit your emotions, and you could be
in for a shock when they wear off. You will feel more emotional than
you are currently used to.”
“I understand
that. Do you think I'm ignorant?”
“Just
forgetful, Ma'am.”
Cynthia paused,
digesting the alternatives in her thought. Finally, she said, “I
suppose needs must. What have you put together for me?”
“First, give me
your arm.” Cynthia put her arm into the medical unit and flinched
as a whopping dose of serum was injected. “D-, F-, What the H-. I
say, Chris. That stung. What all did you inject?”
“Vaccines for
smallpox, diphtheria, tetanus, measles, mumps, TB, chicken pox,
typhoid, yellow fever, staph, strep, influenza, polio and the red
gum. Among others.”
“The red gum?”
“Help you to
keep your teeth.”
“I hesitate to
ask, but what else do you need me to do?”
“Your head
please.”
She placed her
head in to its holder in the medical unit and felt a small amount of
panic as the machine, unusually, clamped it in place. Then she
shouted when the unit pierced her earlobes. “Chris! I hate pierced
ears. Last time I had them, it took a whole year for my lobes to heal
after the earrings were ripped out in a bar fight.”
“Yes, I
remember. You will just have to stay out of bar fights on this trip.”
“Chris, why?”
“Your earrings
are the best place to conceal the main communications link. I knew if
I asked you about it, you would say no.”
“Can't I just
use a normal link?”
“I'll give you
one of those too, but you'll probably lose it. Like last trip.”
“I didn't lose
it. That d-. That assassin stole it. I blasted him and it into tiny
little pieces. It left a beautiful red haze in the room, and improved
its color scheme no end.”
“If you say
so.”
“Why haven't
you released me?”
“Follicular
stimulation. Most women had very long hair. I'm afraid yours would
look too much like a man's.”
“At least I can
cut that off.”
“Please wait
until you return.”
“Yes, I know.”
When the machine
eventually released her, Cynthia put her hands to her ears. “Chris
these earrings feel heavy, awkward. They bounce around when I move,
and they hurt.”
He brought up a
mirror for her, and said, “Take a look. I think you'll agree they
are most becoming.”
She looked and
then smiled at herself, “You're right, but this hair, what a bl- a
mess.”
“Let me show
you how to arrange it.” Instructions came up on the mirror and by
following them with her hands, Cynthia reduced her mane to a
manageable and fashionable arrangement. “I suppose they had lice
and fleas.”
“Yes. You'll
need to brush it carefully every day. Twice if you can.”
Cynthia took one
last look at herself. With her hair arranged she didn't look half
bad. “I suppose I'd best try on my gowns.”
“You'll have to
take that coverall off. Ma'am.”
Cynthia felt
surprisingly bashful. While Chris was conventionally a 'he', he was
just a computer program and had seen it all before. They'd cruised
the galaxy together for thirty years, causing mayhem while spreading
the Terran sphere of influence and enriching themselves in the
process. There wasn't much of her that he hadn't treated for some
ailment or another. Even with real males at the academy, she'd never
had a trouble during showers. Well, at least after they'd started on
the anti-aging drug regime with its tendency to damp emotions. Still,
she hesitated and said, “Is this the conditioning?”
“I think so. If
you'd like I'll disable my visual.”
“No.” She
took a deep breath, then she grabbed the suit at her neck and ripped.
It came off cleanly, and she stuffed the remains into the recycling
unit.
“All right.
Show me how I dress.”
A few minutes
later, properly corseted, covered with muslin, and adorned with a
green Spencer, she examined herself in the mirror. The results took
her breath away.
“I say Chris,
you do have taste. I didn't think I could look like this. I almost
look beautiful. Pity I didn't let you gown me in the AR. I'd have
been in Darcy's pants in no time.”
“There's more
to life than getting into a man's pants, Ma'am.”
“There's always
stealing, murder and mayhem. Just the usual Saturday night at the
docks.”
Chris's silence
was deafening.
“I'm sorry
Chris, I didn't mean to shock you, but you know me.”
“Unfortunately,
I do.”
“Speaking of
pants, you forgot something. It's windy down there.”
“It's supposed
to be. You'll just have to be careful.”
“I will be.
Trust me. I don't want to give any of the natives a show. It was hard
enough getting undressed in front of you, old friend.”
“I thought,
Ma'am, that you could leave the Cataxi gem here and wear this string
of pearls. It goes with the earrings.”
“Why not both?”
“I'm not sure
that gem is safe for you to wear all the time.”
“You scanned
it, didn't you?”
“I did, and I
didn't find anything. It's just that things don't add up in what I
found. I'd feel better if you didn't wear it.”
“Tough. I like
it.”
“As you wish,
Ma'am. The rest of your kit, other than a couple of changes of gown
is normal issue. The communicator and scanner are disguised as a
diary pad. Open it correctly and I'll be there. I've added a discrete
solar charger. It is configured to look like a ladies' fan.”
“No blaster?”
“Ma'am, I only
thought you could get in trouble with it.”
Cynthia fought
down the urge to scream at her ship. Finally, she said, “You know I
never ever ever go planet-side without a blaster.
Might as well be naked.”
“Yes Ma'am.
I'll supply one. It will be suitably disguised, but it will be a
small limited power one.”
“Since I think
they're still using flintlocks that will be fine.”
What is the rest
of the plan?
“I'll insert
you near where Lord Wroxham will be driving in the morning. Then you
can set up something like a wrecked carriage to attract his
attention. I'll give you a letter of introduction, which he'll have
difficulty refusing.”
“Clever. Is
there a plan B?”
“You can always
present yourself at his front door.”
“That's rather
lame. Let's hope the first works.”
“It will. Now
you will need some sleep before I drop you.”
Early morning
local time, Chris silently glided the ship to a halt above a field of
corn in Wiltshire. Cynthia clambered down carrying a large traveling
bag. She waved and Chris silently retreated into hiding to await
events. If all went well he would leave for a refit.
Cynthia sat
beside the road and waited for Lord Wroxham. By mid-morning the sun
was shining and the birds were chirping while the bees buzzed in the
flowering hedge on the other side or the road. She found, that unlike
the AR version, regency life was on the boring side. A brief buzzing
in her left earing alerted her. It was Chris, “He's coming. Time to
deploy the lure.” She tossed a small pebble to the side and pressed
a button on her control box. The hologram of a broken carriage
appeared beside her. It looked real enough, as long as you didn't try
to sit in it. Chris continued, “Remember your cover story, and a
few tears wouldn't hurt.”
“I'm almost
bored to tears already.”
“I mean real
tears.” A kindly wasp, diverted from its return to her nest by
flying into Cynthia supplied a cause for tears.
A carriage, drawn
by an elegant matched set of four horses, with a ducal crest on its
side appeared, passed her, then stopped. The lure worked. She quietly
told Chris, “Here goes.”
Lord Wroxham has a Visitor.
Lord James
Wroxham, Duke of Tenby, was bored. He, his sister the honorable Alice
Wroxham and his school friend the honorable Frederick Thomas
Alverston were riding in his carriage along the road from Bath to one
of his many country estates. Carling Hall was in Wiltshire. They
planned to take a few weeks or maybe a month on a repairing lease in
the country and then they would drive to Brighton to enjoy the summer
social season. Alice had insisted on inviting his friend to come with
them, and Mr. Alverston, being at loose ends agreed.
He exclaimed,
“Nothing exciting ever happens.” Had he not been riding with his
impressionable younger sister, he would have explained how, for his
sixth consecutive season in London, the only females who were ever
attracted to him were far more interested in his wealth than his
person. It made them so boringly predictable and mind-bogglingly
vapid and dull. At least the muslin company that supplied his baser
needs were business-like about it. He found their fee-for-service
basis eminently satisfactory, at least for the short term.
Frederick or
Freddy as his friends called him, replied, “What do you mean.
Aren't I good company?”
“Freddy, I know
what you're going to say and do, almost before you do it.”
“If you say so.
Didn't think I was that boring.” He peered out of the carriage
window and spied a broken Barouche with a pretty young lady sitting
in front of it. “I say, James old boy, here's something you
wouldn't expect.” He thumped on the carriage and asked the
postilions to halt.
“I'm sorry
Freddy, but the number of females who have tried anything to attract
my attention is beyond counting.”
“This one is
dashed pretty. If you don't want to talk to her, I'll give her a
shot.”
Alice was shocked
and said, “Mr. Alverston! Please consider my feelings.”
“Your feelings,
Miss Wroxham?” She collapsed into a confusion of blushing, which
Freddy didn't seem to notice.
Lord Wroxham
looked over the female outside. She was sitting by the road on her
bag and looking up at his carriage. She seemed to be dressed in the
correct fashion for a young chit. There was certainly nothing about
her dress that indicated anything other than a young lady of taste
and refinement stuck in a distressing situation. After giving her
what he hoped would be a disquieting examination, he said, “What
seems to be the trouble?”
“My carriage
lost a wheel and my groom has gone off to find a wheel-right.”
“I see. Where
are you bound?”
“I have a
letter of introduction to Lord Wroxham. I was hoping to visit him at
his country estate.”
Wroxham gave
Freddy a significant glance, as if to say 'I told you so'.” He then
asked the young female, “Do you know Lord Wroxham?”
“I'm sorry but
I don't. My guardian recommended me to him, but I'm sorry to say I
wouldn't know him from you.” She smiled at him. He noticed that she
had an unusually pretty smile. He started to return it.
Unfortunately, his experience had taught him that unusually pretty
smiles were usually closely coupled with unusually avaricious hearts.
So he wiped his smile off his face and frowned at her.
“We happen to
be going that way. Would you desire a ride?”
“If you could,”
Cynthia thought “That would be fucking fantastic.” Instead, she
said, “I would most appreciate it. Could we leave a note at the
next posting house for my groom?”
“Of course, but
that won't be necessary. We'll be there shortly.”
Cynthia thought,
“Of course arsehole, why did you think I set it up here?” but
said, “That would be most satisfactory.” She touched her right
earring and quietly muttered, “Chris, I am most displeased with
this conditioning.” Her left earring replied, “Fuckin' A Ma'am.”
Then it chuckled and continued, “I suppose you have made contact?”
“Yes.”
Cynthia couldn't add the rest of her comment.
One of Lord
Wroxham's footmen dismounted from the back of the carriage and took
Cynthia's baggage to add to the load in the boot. She resisted at
first, and then threw it to him. He staggered under the weight. “I'm
sorry, I thought I packed light.” Lord Wroxham noticed this and
opened the door for her. He said, “Please miss. I'm sorry that I
didn't catch your name.”
“I'm not
surprised that you didn't as I didn't tell you it. I'm Miss Cynthia.”
She paused to remember her cover name, then added, “Miss Cynthia
Morris.”
“Miss Morris,
I'd be overjoyed to escort you to Lord Wroxham's estate.”
“Thank you.”
She paused and studied his face, “Are you Lord Wroxham? Your
portraits do not do you justice. I have a letter of introduction from
my guardian to you. Unfortunately it is in my bag.”
“Dear Miss
Morris. I have the misfortune to be him.”
“The misfortune
to be one of the richest men in England?”
“It is. So many
females try all sorts of tricks to be introduced to me. It gets
exceedingly tedious. I do hope you're not one of them.”
“Me?” Cynthia
thought, “Hell no, shithead. Not if you were the last man in
England. There is no god damn fucking way I'm getting entangled with
a native on this godforsaken backward fucking planet.” but said,
“No my lord. Of course not. I was commended into your care by my
guardian. I have plenty of wealth of my own.”
“If you say
so.”
Freddy added, “I
must say James, cracking up a perfectly good carriage to draw your
attention would be a bit extreme.”
“Freddy, many
of the attempts young ladies have used to draw my favor have been
almost as brazen. But it is usually a turned ankle or something
equally gentile and boring.”
Cynthia hoisted
herself into the cab without waiting for the footman to assist her.
She started to sit next to Lord Wroxham, but then her conditioning
set in and she switched to sit next to his sister. She blushed,
something she hadn't done in years, and said, “Thank you very much
Lord Wroxham. I don't know what I'd do without your help.”
“Probably
walk.”
“How far?”
“Only five
miles.”
Cynthia touched
her right earring and after a moment replied, “If you'd rather I
walk, I'll race you.”
“Please don't.”
“I think that
would be best.” Lord Wroxham thumped on his carriage and told the
postilions “Drive on!”
As they moved
off, Cynthia smiled, then muttered, “We mustn't litter” and
pushed something in her reticule. The broken carriage vanished,
unnoticed, behind them. She reached out of the window and caught
something that flew by.
The inside of the
carriage was plush with silk covered pillows and soft seats. The
covers were embroidered with the Wroxham crest. Cynthia looked at it
in amazement. Her AR training had led her to believe that all
carriages had Spartan hard wooden seats that would inevitably lead to
an uncomfortable ride. Noticing Miss Morris's amazement, Alice said,
“Miss Morris, have you ever been in such an elegant carriage as
this?”
“Not in a
carriage. Once I had a rescue mission, from a harem. The harem was
almost as nice as your carriage. The trip paid well too. It was on.”
She stopped, suddenly aware that she was going to tell them about the
Xylub homeworld. She backtracked quickly, “I'm sorry, I'm rattling
on about what I imagined the harem from a novel to be.”
Lord Wroxham
stared at her and said, “Miss Morris, a rescue mission from a
harem. You must have quite an imagination.” His smile belied his
stern words. Despite her resolution to have nothing to do with a
native, she automatically returned it. Indeed, she found it hard not
to.
“My governess
said I read too many novels for my own good. I begin to think she was
right.”
Alice said, “Miss
Morris, can I call you Cynthia? I love novels. Have you read Mrs.
Radcliffe's latest, 'the Italian'?”
“I haven't had
the pleasure.”
“We shall have
to share it. I have it in my baggage, because I can't read in a
carriage. Too much motion makes my head swim.”
“I should love
to read it with you. However, if we're to start on it tonight I'll
need to rest.” Cynthia snuggled into the cushions and propped her
head on a bolster. Then she said, “It's been an exhausting day,”
and promptly fell asleep to the swaying of the carriage in the warm
early summer air.
Freddy remarked
to his host, “This chit, at least, doesn't seem interested in you,
James. Dashed funny way to make an impression, if you ask me.”
Lord Wroxham
replied, “Freddy, I just hope she isn't the standing budge4
for some gang of cracksmen. She's dashed smoky.”
Alice said, “She
said she had a letter of introduction to you. Is that a problem?”
“It's easy to
buy a counterfeit. I'll have to look at it carefully.”
“How exciting!
A criminal in our house. What are you going to do James?”
“I'll set one
of the maids to keep a close eye on her, or failing that one of the
footmen. She'll soon enough trip up if she's playing a game. In the
meanwhile I'll check her letter of introduction. She might just be an
overly imaginative young female.”
“That would be
a shame, so commonplace.”
Cynthia opened an
eye and said, “Whatever I am it is not commonplace.” Then she
dozed off again.
The carriage
turned off of the main road and down the country lane that led to the
hall. The lane, while shaded and comforting, was not in as good
condition as the main road. The postilions were forced to go slowly.
The carriage creaked over the rough parts of the lane, and was once,
briefly stuck in the mire. Freddy remarked to his host, “James, you
need to get after that steward of yours. This lane is worse than last
year.”
“It's just a
shortcut. Mostly used by cows and farmers. I don't see why they need
me to lay out my blunt.”
“If you say so,
but what if you had a visit by a person of importance?”
“Then I'd
direct them by the main road.”
Lord Wroxham's
statement about cows was soon proved. The carriage stopped as one of
his tenants moved his herd along the lane to be milked. While they
sat there engulfed in a strong bovine aroma and endured the buffeting
by the animals passing, Alice wondered if she should have brought her
book inside after all. Cynthia woke with a start and jumped out of
her seat when one of the animals loudly mooed in her ear. “What was
that?”
Alice tilted her
head in curiosity as she asked, “Don't you know?”
“Wait, yes, I
do. It's a cow isn't it?”
“Yes, Miss
Morris, it is a cow. They're common, even in London.”
“I didn't think
they were so big.”
“Where did you
say you were from?”
“I didn't say.
I was just off in a lovely dream about flying around the moons of
Beta Cygnus 8.”
“Beta Cygnus
8?”
“It's a planet,
with beautiful moons, scenic mountains and verdant forests.”
“A planet like
Herschel5?”
“Do you mean,
Uranus? No it's much smaller and prettier. I was dreaming of my.”
She stopped. “I've been letting my imagination run away with me
again, haven't I? My guardian, Lord Petersborough, has repeatedly
told me to stop. That's part of why he's sending me to visit you Lord
Wroxham. He hopes that if I see more of the real world, maybe I'll be
less fanciful.”
Lord Wroxham made
a noncommittal noise in response, but stared at Cynthia as he
thought, “I know Lord Petersborough and he doesn't have any wards.
Certainly not any as young and pretty as this one, and if she has any
money there is no way he would let her out of his sight. At least not
until after he had secured the money for himself.”
The cows
eventually passed the carriage and they quickly made their way to the
hall. Inside the main gates the drive was well-kept. The postilions
pushed their horses and the carriage sped to the front of the
building in a stylish swirl of noise and dust. Alice held the strap,
excited by the rapid ten mile an hour pace. She said, “Cynthia,
isn't this exciting?”
“You know, I've
never felt I was moving so quickly.” She caught herself before she
added, “Even that jury-rigged ship I used to flee from the Xylub
felt sturdier than this crate.”
They disembarked
from the carriage, and leaving the servants to unload their luggage
went inside. Lord Wroxham suggested that they refresh themselves and
then have dinner. Cynthia found that she was in need of a visit to
the head. She asked Hannah, the maid assigned to watch over her
needs, about it and was surprised to find out about chamber pots. She
realized, once it was patiently explained to her, that there was a
sound reason for her lack of pants.
Dinner itself
went surprisingly well. The AR conditioning taught Cynthia manners,
and she handled the maze of glasses, forks and other cutlery as if
she had been using them all of her life. The food itself could have
been a problem, but for one who prided herself on eating Xylub
delicacies without anti-nausea pills, regency cuisine held few fears.
Indeed, it was excellent. That is until she asked, “This dish, what
is it?”
“It is a
ragout, of veal I believe.”
“Veal?”
“Baby cows.”
Cynthia swallowed
and felt a little ill. She was eating real animals, real animals that
were cooked in a sauce, and not synthetic textured protein that was
also cooked in a sauce.
“Are you well,
Miss Morris?”
She smiled. She'd
eaten worse, only this was a shock because it was unexpected. At
least it was already dead and well-cooked. “Yes, I'm fine. Could I
have some more of the frites, please?”
“You should
save some room for the trifle.”
“Trifle?”
“Sweet,
pudding, dessert?”
After dinner,
Alice took Cynthia to the withdrawing room for a comfortable cose.
“We should leave Freddy and James to the port and snuff.”
“If you say so.
What will we have?”
“Is tea
suitable?”
“Tea?”
“Yes, tea.”
Cynthia looked
away from her, as though she were listening to a distant voice, then
replied, “Of course, tea. What was I thinking of?”
Sitting in the
corner of the room was a harp. It looked neglected. Cynthia stopped
and stared at it. “Can I play that? I used to have a harp.”
“It was my
mothers, I can't play it. You're welcome to try, if you're careful
with it.”
“Oh please. I
had to sell mine for fuel on.”
“For fuel.”
“It is a long
story. I'll tell you sometime.”
“Another of
your imaginings?”
“Yes,
definitely yes.”
She sat behind
the harp and began to try to play it. Not surprisingly, it was far
out of tune. Alice said, “It hasn't been played in years. I can
only play the piano. Would you like to hear me?”
“Yes, very
much, but let me tune this first. We can play together. Can you play
a 'C'?”
Alice hammered
out a 'C' on the piano. Cynthia grimaced. It wasn't exactly a 'C',
but being in tune with the other instrument was more important than
being on the right scale. A few minutes later, Cynthia pronounced her
work done. “It's not perfect, but it is playable.” Then she
started to play. Alice sat and listened. When Cynthia stopped she
gasped, “You're good. Most of what I hear when young women play
their harps is just plink plonk plink plonk. That's why I chose the
piano. How did you learn?”
“Practice.”
“Can you play
'the Miller'?”
“I don't know
it. Can you show me?”
Alice started on
the piano and after listening, Cynthia joined in. Freddy and Lord
Wroxham entered, having had their statutory glass of port. Freddy
said, “My, what fair muses you two are. Euterpe and Erato
themselves.”
Alice blushed.
She had a tendre for Freddy and a compliment from him meant something
to her. Lord Wroxham simply said, “I'm sorry that I have some
business to attend to. I will return presently.” He bowed and left
to go to his study.
While Cynthia and
Alice were enthralling Freddy with their playing, Lord Wroxham was
carefully examining Cynthia's letter of introduction. It was perfect,
the seal matched one from an earlier letter, the handwriting,
spelling and signature matched Lord Petersborough's. Indeed, had he
the ability to analyze the ink and the paper he would have found
those were perfect too. Chris had done his job well, down to the laid
paper and oak-gall ink, but then he had lots of practice generating
fake credentials. Still, as Lord Wroxham read the letter, something
kept bothering him. “I know Lord Petersborough. He's an odd old
crotchety bugger and this letter is so out of character for him.”
He put it aside and was considering sending an express to London
asking for confirmation, when there was a quiet knock on the study
door. It was the maid who had been assigned the task of unpacking and
freshening up Cynthia's clothes.
“Sir,” she
began, “This.” She held out a small lady's diary. Her hand
trembled as she said, “It talked to me when I picked it up.”
“Did it?”
“Yes sir. I
don't want to go into that room again. Who knows what devilry that
Miss Morris is up to?”
“It's fine
Hannah, I'm sure she's not a witch or anything strange like that.
All the same, you did the right thing to bring the book to me.”
“You're not
worried about her, Sir?”
“A little
Hannah. There's something dashed smoky about Miss Morris.”
“Sir?”
“Just the
things she said on the ride here. They make me wonder if she's not up
to some game.”
“She's not
normal, Sir. I'm scared.”
“Just leave it
here and get about your work. Thank you Hannah.”
She gingerly
placed the diary on the table in front of him, curtsied and left. He
walked over, hesitated, and then picked up the diary. It immediately
asked him, “Has that silly woman left?”
“Yes. Reveal
yourself, I'm not scared.”
“You're not?
Then you're either brave or foolish. If not both. Are you Lord
Wroxham?”
Lord Wroxham
regretted that it being a warm afternoon, he hadn't had a fire
kindled in his study. He fought down the urge to through the book out
the window.
“Y-y-yes, I
am.”
“Excellent. I
was hoping to meet you. To do so this soon in our visit is a great
stroke of luck. Lucky for both of us.”
“Who are you?”
“I'm called
Chris. Would you very much mind opening the book's cover and looking
at the pages.”
He opened the
book, but instead of a blank page of paper, ready to be covered with
the day's doing in a lady's neat handwriting, there was a dark sheet
of glass.
“Does this
help?” An image of a young man's face appeared on the glass. “It's
not me, but maybe you'll feel better if you think you're talking to
another person.”
“You're not a
person?”
Chris paused for
a moment. “Lord Wroxham, now that I've had a chance to look at you,
I'd say you're exactly the person I imagined you to be. Perhaps even
a bit more handsome than your reputation. You can ask me questions,
but please understand that I can't answer all of them. It's not that
I am trying to mislead you, but there are things that you simply
won't understand even if I tell you the answer.”
“If you're not
a person, what are you?”
“You see,
there's one of those questions already. I'm an automaton, like that
magical chess-playing Turk, only much closer to human.”
“There was a
man inside of the magical Turk.”
“There's
nothing more I can tell you that you could understand.”
“How do you
talk? Where are you?”
“Calm down.
Those are questions I'll answer in time. First I have one or two for
you.”
“If you're not
answering all of my questions then maybe I won't answer those.”
“I'm sure you
will. They are about Cynthia.”
“Miss Morris?”
“How are you
finding my mistress?”
“Your
mistress?”
“I'm her, wait,
steward. That's the closest servant, I think. Either that or her
guardian.”
“I'm not sure
about this letter of introduction. It's not something that Lord
Petersborough would write. Especially if she's really an heiress. I
was about to send him an express.”
“I wouldn't
bother. It's a fake letter.”
“It's fake?”
“One of my best
quality fakes, but yes, it's absolutely fake. I made it.”
Lord Wroxham sat
there, flabbergasted. “This cannot be happening. It must be
something I ate. Maybe that veal was too old, or could it be one of
the mushrooms?”
“It is
happening, my Lord. I'll be quick so you can rejoin the others before
your tea gets cold.”
“Do so.”
“I've taken
advantage of a little detour in our travels to arrange for Cynthia to
take a repairing lease in the country. She likes to play historical
games, especially one game that is set in the regency period.”
“Regency
period?”
“Now, I suppose
you'd call it modern England. She needs to take at least a few
months, and even better a year or two off and spend some of her life
with other humans.”
“Historical
games? Other humans?”
“Normal people.
You for instance.”
“What else is
there besides humans?”
“Many things.
If we're unlucky you'll get to meet some of them.”
“Oh. I'm a
historical figure am I?”
“Yes and no.
It's real to you now, but in the future it will have happened in our
past.”
“Can you run
that by me again?”
“No. Now I must
warn you Cynthia has a little problem distinguishing between meum and
teum. She's also rather handy with, what was that phrase? With her
fives.”
“So she's a
bloody sneak thief and a brawler to boot.”
“More of an
adventuress, and a darned good one at that. In fact one of the best
in the galaxy. The mention of ‘Cynthia the Invincible’ anywhere
in border-space is guaranteed to cause a stir. It's been an honor to
serve her. She thinks she's here to steal your stone. Don't let her
take it. If someone's jewelry goes missing, the chances are that she
has it.”
“Why should I
let her stay here?”
“She's also
great company. I have never been bored in the thirty years I've
served her.”
“Thirty years?
She looks sixteen.”
“Physically she
is sixteen. She needs to grow up. I'm hoping that the meum and teum
problem will resolve itself when she matures.”
“I don't
understand.”
“Lord Wroxham,
I don't expect you to understand me. Please trust me. You won't
regret it.”
“Are you sure
about that, because I'm not inclined to trust talking books. To be
honest, I'm having trouble believing this is happening.”
“Yes, I'm
certain you won't regret it. May I ask you a question?”
“Why not?”
“Is there a
reason you haven't married? You do like women, don't you?”
“Yes, I enjoy
females. I'd like to enjoy some female companionship that I didn't
have to pay for. It's just all the ones I meet in society are so
boring, so predictable. They're all after my money. I could be an
ugly hunchbacked cripple with one leg and two teeth and they'd still
be fawning over me.”
“That's
unfortunate. Cynthia, you will find, is highly unpredictable. I hope
you will enjoy her company.”
“Then I won't
be bored with her?”
“Angry, upset,
frustrated, and maybe even in love, but not bored. Now I need to give
you a warning.”
“Yes?”
“In about a
week she will get terribly ill. That's just the effects of the
medicine she takes to stay young wearing off. You can send for the
apothecary if you want, but talk to me about what to do.”
“All-right.
You're not going to scare the maids again, are you?”
“Now that I
have measured your print. I will only turn on for you or Cynthia.”
“My print?”
“Look at those
ridges on your fingers. They're unique to you. I'll know when you
pick up this device. One other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Please don't
tell Cynthia we've talked, and put this book back in her room.”
“Why?”
“It would be
best, trust me.” Chris shut off. The dark glass became a sheet of
paper again.
Lord Wroxham
thought for a few minutes. Then he rang and asked that the maid
Hannah come to his study.
“Sir?”
“Hannah. I
don't know what you heard, but I've been through this book from the
front to the back and it is just a book. See.”
He opened it and
flipped through the pages in front of her.
“It did talk to
me, Sir.”
“I'm sure you
heard something. But not this book. Books do not talk. Miss Morris is
an unusual young lady, but one you will grow to like.”
“If you say so,
Sir.” Hannah was clearly dubious about it.
“Would you take
this book back and replace it?”
“No sir.”
“Shall I carry
it to the room for you?”
“Sir, please.”
“I will, but
only if you agree to try to be her maid.”
Hannah thought
for a few moments, then replied, “Yes, Sir.”
Adapting to Country Life.
The daylight
streaming into her room woke Cynthia. More accurately re-woke her
after the dawn chorus of bird calls had so rudely woken her earlier
in the morning. She sat up in bed and tried to remember what she
should do. The chamber pot beckoned first, then she pulled a bell
rope for her maid.
Hannah timidly
knocked on her door.
“Come in.”
Hannah carefully
opened the door, unsure of what she'd find. Her imagination was
filled with distressing visions of terrible creatures or obscure dark
satanic rituals. To be fair, she had been borrowing Alice's copies of
Mrs. Radcliffe's works and enjoyed intense Gothic romance novels
every bit as much as her mistress. What she found was an impatient
young woman who said, “Hannah, despite what you may have heard or
seen, I'm neither a witch nor a dragon.”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“What I am is a
hungry young woman, who needs her morning water and help with her
hair and dressing. Like any other gentlewoman.”
“Yes, Ma'am. It
was just last night when I was unpacking, I thought that day book of
yours spoke to me.”
“Of course it
didn't. I neglected to tell you that my bag has a device in it that
makes a sound like speech. A bladder and reeds. It's there to scare
thieves.” Cynthia didn't elaborate, and Hannah, grateful for a
rational explanation, didn't demand further information.
An hour later,
Cynthia appeared in the morning room, only to find that breakfast was
a mid-morning affair and she had risen far too early in the morning.
She asked Hannah if there was anything available to eat and ended up
settled in the library with a cup of chocolate. The library was a
large room with one imposing wall of bookshelves. Like most libraries
in country estates it was more for show than for actual reading. The
books were removed once or twice a year for dusting, then carefully
returned to their places. So she started carefully searching for
something she could stand to read. In the end she discarded
'Fordyce's Sermons for Young Women' in favor of a volume of
Coleridge’s poetry.
Alice found her
there, still immersed in it an hour later. A cup of cold chocolate
sat, untasted, next to her. “Cynthia, I didn't know you liked
poetry.”
“I didn't
either.”
“Anyway, if you
can break yourself away from Coleridge, we are assembling in the
morning room for breakfast. I thought it might be fun to ride after
we break our fast.”
“Ride?”
“Go explore the
local countryside, and get a little exercise.”
“Sounds like
fun. I was wondering what you got up to for enjoyment.”
Breakfast sped
by. Lord Wroxham quizzed Cynthia about riding.
“Do you ride
much, Miss Morris?”
“Some.”
“Surely you can
be more informative than that. Have you joined a hunt?”
“A hunt?” She
paused, “Hunting things is one of my specialties.”
“I was talking
about wearing the pink and riding to hounds.”
“No, my
guardian won't let me.”
“Lord Peter's
is an intrepid hunter.”
“That is as may
be, but Lord Petersborough isn't. It's his gout, you see.”
“I'm sorry to
hear that. Should I send condolences?”
“I wouldn't
bother. He doesn't like to be pitied.”
“So where do
you ride?”
“Petersborough
Park. Nothing special, and just a dear old pony.”
Lord Wroxham
found himself thinking, “I wish you wouldn't prevaricate.
Petersborough wouldn't waste his ponies6
on a pony for you.”
There was a minor
complication after breakfast because Cynthia had neglected to pack
her riding habit. Alice offered to let her borrow an old one.
Together they walked out to the stables where the grooms had placed
sidesaddles on two mares.
Alice practically
skipped in to the stable. Her season in London was enjoyable enough,
but she missed her special horse. She patted her mare on the nose,
and nuzzled it, then easily mounted her.
Cynthia stood
there, in front of her horse with her jaw dropped in amazement. “You
ride these? They're so big.”
“Of course.
What else do you ride?”
“I don't know.”
Well, actually she did, but neither spaceships, racing hover bikes,
nor near-orbital scooters were available.
“Come on. Time
is passing and I want to get out before it gets too sultry.”
Cynthia stood
there with her hand on one earring. She stood there with her eyes
flickering from side to side. After a minute, Alice asked, “Cynthia
are you well?” Cynthia impatiently waved her hand in reply and
returned to what she was doing.
Eventually,
Cynthia moved. She gave Alice a tentative smile and said, “Sorry
about that. I needed to steel myself.”
“If you're
scared of them, we can read instead.”
“No.” Cynthia
pulled her head erect and her shoulders back. “One thing I've
learned in my travels, is that the fear of something is usually worse
than the experience.” She smiled, and added, “Doesn't make it any
easier.” Then she cautiously walked to the front of her horse, took
the bridle from the groom and stroked the horse's nose. It whinnied
and twitched. Cynthia jumped, but immediately returned to the horse's
side. Alice was showing signs of her impatience to get going when
Cynthia finally said, “That's enough. I'm ready.” Then she
confidently stepped back to the saddle, put her foot in the stirrup
and sprang up. She asked Alice and the groom, “Is this right?”
“Yes. It looks
like you're mounted properly. Is it comfortable?”
“Not really.”
The groom
adjusted her saddle to move the upper stirrup, and then they rode out
of the stables and into the fields beyond.
Alice rode
quickly into the fields beyond the farm yard. She had steady hands
and the joy of riding her favorite horse again filled her. She urged
it on to canter down the road.
Cynthia called,
“Alice! Wait.” She could just control her mount. The moment her
mount saw Alice’s cantering in the distance, it shot off after it.
Cynthia rocked back in her seat, and dropped the reins while she
grabbed the saddle with both of her hands. Eventually her horse
stopped, and started to graze. She touched her earring and said,
“Chris, what am I going to do? This isn’t as easy as it
looks.”
“Ma’am,” he replied, “What happened?”
“Ma’am,” he replied, “What happened?”
“The horse has
a mind of its own.”
“Did you drop
the reins?”
“Yes, da- da-,
yes it took me both hands to hold on.”
“Don’t drop
the reins next time. Can you reach them?”
“No!”
Alice finally
noticed that her companion was missing. She turned her mount and
cantered back, calling for her friend. She found Cynthia
disconsolately sitting on her mount, and trotted over. “What’s
wrong?”
“I can’t
ride. I’m sorry Alice.”
Alice reached
down and grabbed the reins for Cynthia. “Cynthia, let me show you
how.” She handed them to her. “It’s not hard.”
“That’s easy
for you to say.”
“It really
isn’t. Do not drop the reins.”
“But I felt
like I was falling off.” Alice rode over and pushed Cynthia so hard
that she rocked in the saddle. “Did you fall off?”
“No.”
“Now do you
think you’d fall off if the horse moved?”
“No.”
“Now let’s
walk on.”
As the afternoon
continued, and under Alice’s tuition, Cynthia’s confidence in the
saddle grew. By the end of the day she could canter with some level
of confidence. They rode back to the stables together.
As Alice and
Cynthia returned from the stables to the hall, Alice asked her
friend, “Did you enjoy it?”
“That was the
most fun I've ever had going so slowly.”
“What do you
mean slowly?”
“You really
feel you're moving when the horse canters. The wind and the noise,
it's exhilarating. I've done.” She stopped.
“You've done
what?”
“Nothing.”
“Cynthia, it
isn't just your imagination is it? I can't stay friends with you if
you keep hiding things from me.”
“I'm not sure
you can handle the truth.”
“Try me.”
“Riding that
mare was almost as much fun as the time I dodged rocks, rockets and
blasts in my ship while the entire Cataxi navy followed me in hot
pursuit. You only do that once or twice in a lifetime.”
“Imagining
things again?”
“No. It
happened. I told you I'd tell you the truth, but I expect you don't
believe me.”
“Why only once
in a lifetime?”
“Unless you're
a better than half-decent pilot you will crash into a rock or they
will manage to hit your ship with a blast. It was even a little
closer for me than I'm wont to enjoy, but I'm not known as Cynthia
the Invincible throughout border-space for nothing.”
“Cynthia, you
really do read too many novels. I never thought I'd say this, because
I hated it when my governess said it to me, but you really must rein
in that imagination of yours. It will get you in trouble.”
“Alice, you
asked me to tell you the truth. I did. When my ship is repaired, I'll
take you to see Mars or Saturn. Which would you prefer?”
“Stop it.
You're being silly.”
“You'll see,
but I'll stop it for now.”
A few moments
later, Alice shyly added, “If we can't see them both, I'd like to
see Mars.”
“Consider it a
promise. Did you know what's for dinner? I'm famished with all this
exercise.”
“We'll have to
get changed first. I think cook was planning a roast capon.”
“Capon?”
“A big
chicken.”
“Oh, a bird.”
“Yes, silly a
bird. Either that or a meat pie. Depends on what she has.”
“Sounds,
interesting.” Cynthia was still adjusting from the processed yeast
protein of her ship to real food. She said, “I suppose you haven't
heard of Marmite?”
“What's that?”
“Never mind.”
Hannah met them
as they walked up to their rooms. She bustled Alice off to get
changed, and told Cynthia that she had already put her afternoon
water in the room. “I'll be with you presently, but you can get
started without me, I'm sure Miss.”
Cynthia was
standing in her corset and chemise when Hannah knocked and entered.
She had been washing the 'pits and smelly bits' with a cloth. She
looked over and asked “Hannah, there isn't any chance of a real
bath is there?”
“Miss, not with
the kitchen preparing dinner. It will take them time to heat up the
water, and the servants are too busy to carry it up here.”
“I thought it
might not be possible.”
As she bustled
about, Hannah said, “A bath, why-ever would you want one today.
Surely you had one last week?”
“I did, but
still it is nice to be thoroughly clean and refreshed after hard
exercise.”
“Maybe,” and
here she sniffed Cynthia, “But you're clean enough, especially
after I put some of this lavender water on you.”
“As you wish.”
Hannah helped
Cynthia finish dressing then quickly headed back to see to Alice's
needs. Meanwhile, Cynthia sat and tried to brush out her hair. She
touched her earring and said, “Chris, these people. Primitive is
too advanced a word for them. Please do your best to finish repairing
yourself quickly.”
“What is it,
Ma'am?”
“No baths. Can
you imagine riding animals? It is hard, sweaty exercise and then not
having a bath?”
“It is what
they are used to Ma'am. Did this happen in Jane Austen world?”
“No.”
“I didn't think
much of the accuracy of that game. Remember I warned you about it?”
There was a knock
on the door, and Alice entered. “Who were you talking to?”
“Myself. Do you
see anyone else?”
“No. Well, do
up your hair. They're about to ring the gong for dinner.”
While Cynthia
struggled to get her hair into some manageable form, Alice noticed
her red stone on a necklace. “What a pretty gem. Where did you get
it?”
“I, uh, found
it somewhere.”
“Can I wear
it?”
“It's sort of
special. We'll see.”
Hannah followed
Alice into Cynthia's room and professionally undid and then redid
Cynthia's hair. While she was working on it she said to Alice, “Miss
Wroxham, you have enough jewelry. You know that with your complexion
you can only wear pearls and diamonds. Not these deeply colored
stones.”
“But Hannah?”
“But Hannah
nothing, Miss. Unlike you, Miss Morris has the dark coloring to carry
it off.”
“If you say
so.”
“I do. Now get
down to the drawing room.”
As they left the
room, Cynthia whispered to Alice, “I'll let you try it some time.”
Alice replied,
“These old servants, just because they've known you since you wore
short clothes they think they can dictate what you do.”
The Capon, served
with an elegant sauce, fresh vegetables and a meat pie was far more
palatable than Cynthia expected. Either that or she was far hungrier
than she realized. Lord Wroxham apologized to his guests for the
simple meal. Cynthia said “I’ve not eaten so well in a long time.
Can you let me upload the recipe?”
“Upload?”
She shook her
head and after a moment said, “I’m sorry, I mean could you convey
my complements to your cook?”
“Certainly.
Whatever did you mean by upload?”
“My mouth must
have been on autopilot. I just said the first thing that came into my
mind.”
“Autopilot?”
“See. There I
did it again. Must be the wine. I’m so imaginative that I make up
nonsense words all the time.”
After dinner,
when the two women would normally withdraw and let the men have their
port and snuff, Alice had a request. “James, since we are so
informal tonight, could Miss Morris and I stay with you?”
Freddy said, “I
say, that’s an idea. I mean James, old boy, as much as I like you,
the company of the fair.” He paused, about to use the word ‘sex’,
then recovered with “these fair maidens is not to be sneezed at.”
“Elegant as
always, Freddy?”
“I do have a
point, don’t I?”
“Why not?
Madison, could you bring out the port and the snuff. Four glasses
please?” His butler bowed to the inevitable, but irregular wishes
of his master. He produced the wine, the glasses, and the snuff jar.
1Translator's
note. Most of the more colorful spacer expressions lose their
meanings in translating from modern English and the various
Xeno-dialects used in the original manuscript into late Middle
English. I have endeavored to preserve the flavor of the language,
but there really are no idiomatic late Middle English equivalents
for many of the colorful alien expressions that have made their way
into common usage. For example the Cataxi expression 'da'thu yrse'
which translates roughly as 'may your carapace overgrow your eye
slits' really has no idiomatic equivalent.
2Even
spacers who were born, like Cynthia, on other planets referred to
Earth as home. If they could, most managed a visit home sometime in
their lives. Cynthia's visit had been eventful.
3Augmented
Reality
4
A standing budge is a scout for a thief. Cracksmen were house
robbers in general.
5The
name for Uranus at the time.
6A
pony is slang for twenty-five pounds.
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