In the Royal City

Lady Altara picked up a corner of a tapestry that had been slashed nearly in half.

“You know, Pater, I think some of these things can be repaired.”

“Yes,” said the slender young man disdainfully.  “But these bloodstains have set.  They will be a bit of a bother to get out.”  Wrinkling his nose, he up righted a large upholstered chair.  “Your sister-in-law’s family home must have been a lovely place before all of this.”  He gestured at the chaos of the high-ceilinged room.  “It’s a battleground.”

Altara’s blank face quirked into a smile.  “For once you’re not being melodramatic, Pater.”

Her older brother Tarn had married well, though he had married a widow old enough to be their mother.  Florine Johnstowne’s first husband had died in a hunting accident.  He had been a merchant and supplied many of the city’s clothiers with bolts of cloth he had shipped from the western lands across the sea.  When not traveling on business trips, he often went hunting for fur-bearing game.  Florine did love furs.

“Though I’m sure some things have disappeared, it was a lucky thing that brought the magistrate and guard so quickly.”  Altara sifted a silver candelabrum from a pile of broken porcelain. 

            Pater snorted and up righted a matching chair, complete with its own gory crimson stains.  “Those citizens lucky enough to live here on High Row are the ones that pay the magistrate.  Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to live up here himself.  Did you learn nothing from our lessons, Altara?”

            “Only the wrong things, dear tutor.”

            A pair of exquisitely painted double doors hung askew in their frame.  Altara stepped through into another ruined room.  “I wonder if they rampaged upstairs as thoroughly as they did down here.”

            “Pardon, my lady,” called one of the footmen from her coach.  “But this Goodwife asked to speak with you.  Seems she worked here for your brother.”  Pavel was a lad from the village near her father’s estate.  This was his first journey to the city.  His round eyes took in the room after he sketched a quick bow to Altara.

            “For the hundredth time, Pavel, you don’t have to bow.”  Altara sighed and started towards the newcomers, picking her way around broken furniture.  “You may go, Pavel.  Go on back to the others and enjoy your dice in the shade.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” red faced, he caught himself bending at the waist.  Mid-bow he straightened and nodding his head, touched his cap instead.  Pavel took another look around the spacious but devastated room then exited into the light of the wide-thrown front doors.

            The compact little woman also stared around the room.  Altara saw her mouth open a tiny bit as if in shock, but she closed it as sadness touched her eyes, smile-lines disappearing.  She turned her dark eyed gaze to Altara and curtseyed.

            “Greetings, my Lady Altara.  My name is Cloris.  I… I was housekeeper for Master Tarn and Mistress Florine.”

            The woman worried her apron in her fists as her eyes traveled around the room once more.  Before Altara could introduce herself and Pater, Cloris rushed on.

            “We were not expecting you to arrive for days yet.  Please forgive me that no one was about to greet you yester eve when you arrived.” An irritated expression briefly crossed Cloris’s face as she continued.  “The magistrate barred the doors to all of us, though Waulter and myself have house keys on our key rings.”

            Altara had wondered at the chains and heavy locks on the entrances.

            “Otherwise we would have already begun to clean up this wretched mess,” she finished helplessly.

            “Hmmm.  That magistrate again,” Pater mumbled as he thoughtfully examined a knife that had been under the bloody chair.

            “It is a pleasure to meet you, Cloris,” Altara squeezed the shorter woman’s hand.  Already she liked the housekeeper.  “It must be dreadful to see your home in such terrible disarray.  We will get started immediately, I assure you.  However, I would like to, ah, see the extent of the damage.”  Putting a comforting arm around her new housekeeper, Lady Altara gestured to Pater.

            “This is Pater Lorrne.  He came with me from Sunderland Manor, along with Pavel and the other coach boys.”  She gave Cloris a little squeeze, then let go, and reached for an overturned table.

            “Here, let me help.”  Pater set the knife on the mantle and grabbed the other end of the table.

            As Cloris lent a callused hand, Altara asked, “What madness caused all this, Cloris?  How is it that I suddenly find myself the owner of my sister-in-law’s properties?”

            “Madness, aye,” the housekeeper nodded sagely.  “Legal issues aren’t my business, missus, but since the widow had no children, neither by her first husband, nor your brother, you seem to be the closest living relative.  Irked the magistrate, so it did.  If there hadn’t been any relatives, the city of Rimmer would’ve been granted ownership.”

            “Hmmm.”  Pater straightened a landscape in a carved frame.

            Altara ignored him and continued into the next room.  “Had the widow no relatives?”

            “She had a sister, aye.  But since she went and made your good brother a cuckold, bless his heart, her family lost any claim on her holdings.”  The housekeeper shook her head sorrowfully.

            “Poor Tarn,” Altara sighed.  She had not known of Florine’s infidelity.  “He was so taken with her.”

            “Aye, so the wiles of a beautiful women do often work evil.”  The housekeeper suddenly rushed forward.  “Oh!  The looking glass, look what they did, the beasts.”

            The mirror had been large, nearly a yard tall and at least four hands wide.  It lay in pieces on the floor.  Altara bent and picked up a roughly square section.  Mirrors were rare; the only one on her father’s estate was quite small and kept in a special box in her mother’s privy.  Her mother was still reluctant to let Altara or her sister handle it.

            “Pavel, can you build a frames for any of these pieces?  I’m sure we could salvage some of it.”  Altara meant to keep a piece for herself, but thought her older sister might appreciate one as a gift.

*     *     *

“Tighter, Bette,” gasped Lady Fauna, nearly all her breath expelled as her handmaid pulled the laces of her corset.  A narrow waist and well-displayed cleavage was in fashion at court.  The Kingdom of Larryn was prospering and boasted many eligible young lords as well as older unmarried ones.  There was even a widower or two.  The Duke’s daughter believed lordling eyes easy to catch as they bulged from their sockets.  She felt her own bulging as she prayed for air.

“Yes, my lady.”  Bette gritted her teeth in a small, malicious smile and put her knee against Fauna’s back.  Gripping the laces until they dug into the flesh of her hands, the handmaid pulled with all her might.  She tied them quickly and took a step back, a pleased look on her face as she admired her handiwork. 

Fauna let go of the mantle and sucked in air at last.  Running her hands down her silhouette, she gave a satisfied nod.  “Much better that time, Bette.  You’re such a good girl when you want to be.  Now the dress.”

Bette wiped her sweaty palms on her apron before she picked up the gown.  Taffeta rustled as she carefully lifted the gown and gently placed over Fauna’s curled & pinned hair.  “Such a dusky shade of rose does set your skin and hair off, my lady.”

“Madame Lavender was a very highly recommended seamstress,” Fauna said as she arranged the lace of the corset around the squared neckline of her bodice.  “She’s the best here in Rimmer.  It is the Royal City of Larryn, after all.”

“Aye, she does Princess Elmindara’s dresses, don’t she?”  Bette’s deft fingers flew up the tiny buttons on the back of the gown fastening them with the ease of practice.

“Doesn’t she,” Fauna corrected, her voice turning sour.  “I suppose you can’t get a higher recommendation, though it took me forever to pry it out of the royal wench.”

Bette snickered conspiratorially and twirled a finger.  “Turn please, my lady.”

The taffeta gown was simply cut, though obviously well tailored.  Tiny fresh water pearls lined the square neckline and hem.  The bodice was snug and the skirts draped loosely to the floor.  The short, off the shoulder sleeves were uncommon at court. As more flesh seemed to be displayed, older - usually married - ladies sniped about the immodesty of the day’s youth. 

“Absolutely gorgeous, my lady.  You will do well tonight, I assure you.” Bette gave Fauna a satisfied grin after fussing with a bit of lace.  The Duke’s daughter picked up a looking-glass as Bette dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ear.

Admiring her reflection, Fauna muttered.  “Not easy to get a deep draught of air, but much cooler than those horrid hooped-skirts from the southlands that were such the rage last year.  Bette, you slut, put more pins in my hair here.  I feel it loosening.  If my hair falls while I’m dancing tonight, I shall have you thrashed.”

“Yes, my lady,” Bette colored as she set the perfume down and removed several silver hairpins from a small jeweled box.  Lady Fauna always found a way to make her feel like horse dung, even though she felt she had done well.

After Bette finished securing the lady’s honey-colored curls, Fauna said, “Oh, and I won’t be needing you to attend me at the feast tonight.  Father has a mind to play the chaperone.  You may stay here in my quarters if you wish, or you may eat with the other servants.  Either way, there’s no reason for you to change from your livery.”

Engrossed in her own reflection, Lady Fauna failed to see the look of disappointment flit across Bette’s face.  “Yes, my lady.”

The Duke chose that moment to knock on the door of his daughter’s privy.  “My dear Fauna, it is time to go downstairs to the feast hall.”

Fauna hopped to her feet in what Bette felt was a most unladylike manner, her curls bouncing.  “Yes, Papa, I’m coming.”

Catching Bette with a smirk on her face, Fauna reached out and slapped her.  Dark eyes sparkling and narrow, Fauna spat, “Such a look is unbecoming for a handmaiden.  See that you have a warm bath ready for me this evening, Bette, and my bedclothes ready.”

Cheek stinging, the servant girl quickly lowered her eyes and replied, “Yes, my lady.”

Opening the door, Lady Fauna flounced through, beaming at her father.  “Come Papa, let us not be late.”

The duke offered his daughter his arm, and his reply was muffled as the door swung shut after them.

“Bitch,” Bette swore under her breath as she began straightening the privy.  She did not trust the duke’s chambermaids to do a thorough job.  She would be the one locked in the tiny closet if Lady Fauna returned to find her privy out of order.

The midsummer feast was a day Bette had looked forward to as a child, with its exotic foods and the fireworks show put on by the Royal Alchemists.  As a young woman and handmaid, the luster of childhood had rubbed off of the festival.  She would miss the fireworks as she lugged buckets of hot water up three flights of stairs for the lady’s bath.