Samh
10.14.1342
Fifteen days after the sudden departure of Viscount
Elwynalam, Beritha was walking to his residence on a mission to ascertain if he
was ill, absent from the city, or any other facts about why he had not come to
visit. She also hoped to gather any other information that might interest the
Gillfillians.
The first five days of his unusual absence had
caused a stir of conjecture and discussion about it. By the tenth day, they
believed he had left the city but were puzzled as to why Jeanilotta had not
been notified of his trip, considering how close they had reportedly become.
Mrs. Gillfillian already had a storm brewing on her brow, and Jeanilotta was
being exceedingly objectionable. That Abaledina continued in her quiet way to
soothe the others made Beritha think she knew more than the rest of the
household.
This morning, Jeanilotta’s nervous impatience
exceeded all else. After a brief consultation with her mother, Beritha had been
summoned and found herself on this happy mission. She had long desired to get a
peep behind the clouds of mystery in which this impenetrable man enveloped his
domestic life. Not only was she going to find out just how wealthy he was, but
also, she hoped to have several morsels of gossip to bring back with her and
spread around the neighborhood.
She sighed when she saw the long stairway leading
to the front door. The windows were all mirrored—preventing those on the
outside from looking in but allowing those inside to receive the most natural
light. Disappointingly, the man who answered the bell only opened it to show a fraction
of his face: stern and obscure.
“May I see Viscount Elwynalam?” she asked sassily,
hoping to awe him into complaisance.
“Doubtless,” he replied gravely without opening
the door an inch wider.
“Why don’t you seem to know whether or not I can
see him? I wish to do so,” she continued, wondering why he did not move to
admit her. She had only obtained the least possible glimpse of a well-polished table.
It was no small part of her errand to carry to Mrs. Gillfillian an accurate
account of the mansion’s interior. The mother anticipated Jeanilotta’s installment
as viscountess and believed she would need to redecorate. Beritha was playing
different odds and wanted to know just how much to ask for the information she
had.
“I understand,” replied the man slowly, monotonously
pronouncing the syllables.
“You do! Well, why do you stand there? Tell Viscount
Elwynalam that I have been ordered to see him immediately!”
“He could not hear me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, the rage showing
itself in her flashing eye and flushed cheek. “Where is your master?”
“I have not been informed.”
“You haven’t been informed!” she repeated
contemptuously. “Don’t you see him every day?”
“When he is to be seen.”
“Are you trying to tell me he is currently
invisible?”
“Not to those near him.”
“Tell me at once:” she demanded fiercely, “Is Viscount
Elwynalam in or out of the city?”
“My orders do not enable me to say.”
“You are a most provoking fool!” she exclaimed.
“Doubtless, madam,” responded Lobo, bowing and
closing the door.
Beritha returned to the anxiously waiting mother
and daughter in a high rage.
“I declare,” she said after exhausting her abuses
of Lobo, “I will disguise myself this evening and gain admittance into the
servants’ hall. At least there, I’ll be able to learn everything you wish to
know.”
Her plan was approved, and with the first shadows
of evening, she presented herself at the basement door disguised as a man. “The
statue,” as she now called the frustrating servant who had answered the door
earlier, was doomed to be her tormentor everywhere.
“Good evening,” Beritha said in the blandest, deepest
tones she could manage. “We recently moved in a few houses down and like to
form acquaintances among our neighbors. I’ve ventured here to introduce myself.
My name is Ashixandria.”
“I embrace your association, Mr. Ashixandria,”
replied the unflappable servant, shutting the door behind him, and seating
himself upon the stone steps. He invited Beritha to follow his example.
“Don’t you receive visitors in your hall or
kitchen?”
“I have no orders to that effect.”
“But don’t you enjoy yourself?”
“Doubtless.”
“Well, friend, are you or are you not disposed to
admit me to chat with you and your companions for an hour?”
“My orders don’t allow it.”
With surprising quickness, she sprang up. Before the
man realized what was happening, Beritha gained entrance to the home. A quick glance
revealed several men, an elderly woman, and a young girl.
“Giovana—Marcellus!” the man called from behind
her. Instantly, she felt herself clasped in the arms of two giants and thrown
into the street. Baffled and somewhat frightened, she angrily raced home again.
There, frowns and harsh words greeted her for not having learned more.
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