There was one thing that gave her solace as she sat wedged into the corner of the enclosed carriage, teeth chattering and feet wet and cold. The sheer physical discomfort kept her mind tightly reigned so she didn’t change.
The wheels jostled over a stone and she yelped as her teeth nearly cut into her tongue. The state of Tupet Road, especially heading into Amanthus, was in always in a deplorable state, despite the city’s efforts at reconstruction.
Isadora, the maid, had filched a blanket from somewhere and was busy tucking the ends around her and shaking her head disapprovingly. Isadora was a dark, compact woman who easily fit in the wedge between Zan and the stoutly built housekeeper, Mrs. Philomon.
“That was a remarkably foolish thing to do, Miss Hu,” lectured Simkins who was sitting across from her. “You could have caught your death out there. Or swept out by a riptide. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you caught a cold from your adventure!”
Zan turned a small mean gaze towards the thin, spidery butler. “Adventure? You call what I did an adventure? Uncle Elliot wanted to be laid at rest at sea. As a young man, he sailed on a clipper to map the heavens in the southern hemisphere. It was his first love and his last love.” Briefly, she closed her eyes, remembering the first day her uncle had shown her his chest of nautical instruments—telescopes, sextants, astrolabes, a barometer. She had pricked her finger on the point of a copper compass that had helped mapped many a course across the seas when she had eagerly picked up the shiny tool.
“But Mr. Waterstone would never have wished for you to actually walk into the sea…”
She opened her eyes and her mouth thinned into a repressive line. Simkins did not appear to be cowed by her look—after all, he had been around when she had been a girl running around, making mischief. “Would you allow me some eccentricity then?”
“Pah, eccentricity? No one would believe it. You’re imminently practical. You said so yourself not so long ago.”
She opened her mouth for a rebuke, but Boreas, the portly household cook taking up the bench beside the butler, broke in admonishment. “Come, come, now’s not the time for bickering. We should be remembering Mr. Waterstone. He would disapprove of these arguments. And once we get home, I will certainly make some restorative herbal tea for Miss Hu. We wouldn’t want her to come down sick.”
“He wouldn’t have noticed,” Mrs. Philomon sniffed disapprovingly. “Besides, what shall we do now that Mr. Waterstone is gone?”
Pulling up the blanket to her chin, Zan closed her eyes again. She could hardly see the other occupants in the carriage anyway as the light from outside rapidly disappeared, making way for evening. Loose rocks on the road bumped against the carriage wheels and the occupants swayed in recoil. She could hear the pounding of hooves and the gentle yakking of the driver. “I spoke with Uncle Elliot’s solicitor and lawyer, Mr. Naupolis, yesterday. The house and his assets were left to me, but there are some details that he said I had to oversee. I have an appointment with him tomorrow morning.”
“At least you’re not out of a home,” said Isadora.
“And you’re not out of a home either,” she replied, hearing the quaver in the maid’s voice. “I intend to keep all of you on. I know I haven’t said as much, but you’re the only family I have left.”
The maid blubbered, “Ah Miss Hu!”
“How can you be so sure you can keep all of us on?” said the housekeeper.
“You mean, how can I afford your services if I don’t have an income?” Zan’s lip curled. “Do you have such little faith in me, Mrs. Philomon? I may not astonish crowds at the Academy gatherings like Uncle Elliot, but my work is solid. The Academy has no objection to it.”
Simkins shook his head. “They have no objection, but will they continue to have you on? You’re a woman…”
“So is the exiled charlatan, Greta Del Rassa. All she has done is to impress the gullible nabobs who think the Academy is the latest fashion and she is set. I have far more support behind me—did you not notice all the Academy members who attended Uncle Elliot’s funeral? They wouldn’t throw me out.”
“Don’t let your pride blind you,” Mrs. Philomon said dryly. “Mr. Waterstone is gone and they could do whatever they want to you.”
Zan gave an unladylike snort. “Not likely. If anyone is to continue on my uncle’s work, it would be me. Not even Pendergrast knows exactly how he built his latest machine. The old blowhard would make a hash of it if he took it apart. Besides, we all saw Uncle Elliot burning all his notes a week ago.”
“Fine. So the Academy would rely on you to make sense of Mr. Waterstone’s research. But what about Mr. Caradon?”
The carriage suddenly lurched and Zan pitched forward, unable to hold on to any part of the carriage since her hands firmly clutched at the blanket. Simkins caught her before she slid to the floor and set her back in her seat. She muttered a thanks and then said louder, “What about Caradon?”
“He financed your uncle’s research and in effect, financed all our livelihoods. Even with the stipend you get from the Academy, how will you take care of the household finances?”
“Caradon’s father would have happily continued the same patron agreement as he had with my uncle,” Zan muttered.
“But Caradon’s father is dead,” Isadora pointed out.
She nodded. “As dead as Uncle Elliot. Well, who knows what Caradon will do? I certainly have no insight into that man’s mind. In the meantime, I suppose I will have to line up possible patrons. Del and Sabina are supposed to call late tomorrow morning. Perhaps they will have some ideas.”
“Mr. Del Garrou and Mrs. Sabina Felis-Ackart?” said Mrs. Philomon disapprovingly. “I don’t understand why you think so highly of those two. All they discuss are fashions and society gossip. How on earth did you run into them?”
Zan finally smiled, thinking of her friends. “I met Del and Sabina at the Academy, at one of the lectures. Don’t let them fool you with their fluff-brained antics, Mrs. Philomon. They can be quite razor sharp when they want to. Between the two of them, they know every entitled noble, rich businessman, and heiress in Amanthus.”
