“This is a beautiful table,” she said, running her fingers across satiny blue-shadowed wood.
“Thank you, Lady,” said Persun. “My father made it.”
“Where does he get wood, here on Grass?”
“Imports much of it. Much though they talk of tradition, now and then the bons want something imported and new. Things he makes for us, though, he cuts from the swamp forest. There are some lovely trees in there. There’s this wood, the one we call blue treasure, and there’s one that’s pale green in one light and a deep violet in another. Glume wood, that is.”
“I didn’t know anyone could get into the swamp forest.”
“Oh, we don’t go in. There’s a hundred miles of forest edge, and these are trees that grow at the edge. Even so, we don’t take many. I’m using some native woods in the panels for your room.” He had spent hours designing the panels for her study. He longed for her to praise them.
“Are you, now,” she mused. Outside, on the balustraded terrace, a slender figure passed restlessly to and fro: Eugenie. Forlorn. Childlike. Head drooping like a wilted flower. Marjorie fingered her prayer book and reminded herself of certain virtues. “Will you excuse me a moment, Persun?”
He bowed wordlessly, and she left him there while he tried to give the appearance of not staring after her.
“Eugenie,” Marjorie greeted her with self-conscious kindness. “I’ve seen very little of you since we arrived.” She had seen nothing of her at home, but this was a different world and all comparisons were odious.
The other woman flushed. Rigo had told her to stay away from the big house. “I shouldn’t be here now. I thought I might catch a ride into town with the merchant, that’s all.”
“Something you need?”
Eugenie flushed again. “No. Nothing I need. I just thought I’d spend a day looking at the shops. Maybe stay at the Port Hotel overnight and see the entertainment….”
“It must be dull for you here.”
“It is bloody dull,” the woman blurted, speaking before she thought. She flushed a deep, embarrassed red, and her eyes filled with tears.
This time Marjorie flushed. “That was tactless of me, Eugenie. Listen. I know you’re not one for horses or things like that, but why don’t you see if they have some kind of pets for sale in Commons?”
“Pets?”
“I don’t know what they might have. Dogs, maybe. Or kittens. Birds of some kind, or something exotic. Little animals are very amusing. They take up a lot of time.”
“Oh, I have so much of that,” Eugenie cried, almost angrily. “Rigo … well, Rigo’s been very busy.” Marjorie looked out across the balustrade of the terrace toward the multiple horizons of that part of the grass garden called the Fading Vista. Each ridge partly hid the one behind, each one was a paler color than the one before, until the horizon hill faded into the sky almost indistinguishably. She was amused to make a mental connection: In such fashion had her original animosity toward Eugenie faded, retreated, become merely a hazy tolerance almost indistinguishable from tentative acceptance, “We’ll be having our first official party soon. Perhaps you’ll meet some people….” her voice faded away like the horizon line before her. Who could Eugenie meet, after all? The children despised her. The servants thought her a joke. No one among the bons would associate with her. Or would they?
“There are particular people I want you to meet,” Marjorie said thoughtfully. “A man named Eric bon Haunser. And Shevlok, the eldest son of the bon Damfels.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” Eugenie said with childish spite. “Introducing me to men.”
“Trying to assure that you have some company,” Marjorie said mildly. “Trying to assure that we all do. If some of the men find you fascinating, you and Stella and maybe me—though that wouldn’t do to admit officially—perhaps they’ll frequent the place. We’re here to find something out, after all.”
“Don’t talk as though I knew anything about it. I don’t. Rigo didn’t tell me anything!”
“Oh, my dear,” said Marjorie, more shocked than she could admit even to herself. “But he must have! Why would you have come, otherwise?”