Conrad's Fate (9 page)

“Yes, Mr. Amos,” we chorused.

“Better,” he said. “Say it smarter next time. And like furniture, you stand against the walls and seem to be made of wood. When Family asks you for anything, you give it them or you do it, as gracefully and correctly as possible, but you do not speak unless Family makes a personal remark to you. What would you say if the Countess gives you a personal order?”

“Yes, your ladyship?” I suggested.

“No,
no
!” Mr. Amos said, billowing smoke at me. “Third lesson. The Countess and Lady Felice are to be addressed as ‘my lady' and Count Robert as ‘my lord.' Now bear these lessons firmly in mind. You are about to be shown to the Countess while we Serve Tea. You are there for this moment simply to observe and learn. Watch me, watch the footman on duty, and otherwise behave like two chairs against the wall.”

His stone-colored eyes stared at us expectantly. After a moment we realized why and chorused again, “Yes, Mr. Amos.”

“And chairs would be slightly more use,” he said. “Now, repeat back to me—”

Luckily at that moment a bell shrilled downstairs in the lobby.

“Ah,” said Mr. Amos. “The Countess has Rung for Tea.” He stubbed out his cigar on a piece of wall that was black and gray with having cigars stubbed on it and put the dead cigar into a pocket of his striped waistcoat. Then he stuck out both arms, rather like a penguin, to make his shirt cuffs show and shook his thick shoulders to settle his coat. “Follow me,” he said, and pushed through the green cloth door into the hall.

We followed his solemn pear-shaped back out into the middle of the huge black-floored hall. There his voice rang around the space. “Wait here.” So we waited while he went to one of the large doors on the other side of the hall and pushed the two halves of it gently open. “You rang, my lady?” His voice came to us, smooth and rich and full of respect.

Probably someone said something in the room beyond. Mr. Amos bowed and backed away into the hall, gently closing the doors. For a moment after that, I could hardly see or hear anything, because I knew I was now actually going to see the person causing my bad karma. I was going to
know
who they were and I was going to have to summon a Walker. My heart banged, and I could hardly breathe. My face must have looked odd, because I saw Christopher give me a surprised, searching look, but he had no time to say anything. At that moment the footman called Andrew backed out through the distant green door, carefully towing a high-tea trolley.

Later that day Christopher said this was when he began to feel he might be in church. Mr. Amos gestured to us to fall in on either side of Andrew, while he walked in front of the trolley himself and threw the double door wide open so that we could all parade into the room beyond in a solemn procession, with the trolley rattling among us. But it didn't go quite smoothly. Just as we got to the doorway, Andrew had to stop the trolley to let a young blond lady go through first.

She was very good-looking. Christopher and I agreed on that. We both stared, although we noticed that Andrew very carefully didn't look at her. But she did not seem to see me, or Christopher, or Andrew, though she nodded at Mr. Amos and said, “Oh, good. I'm in time for Tea.” She went on into the room, where she sat bouncily on one of the several silk sofas, opposite the lady who was already there. “Mother, guess what—”

“Hush, Felice dear,” the other lady said.

This was because the church service was still going on, and the other lady—the Countess—did not want it interrupted. She was one of those who had to have everything exactly so and done in the right order.

If you looked at her quickly, this Countess, you thought she was the same age as the good-looking one, Lady Felice. She was just as blond and just as slender, and her dark lilac dress made her face look pure and delicate, almost like a teenager's. But when she moved, you saw she had studied for years and years how to move gracefully, and when she spoke, her face took on expressions that were terribly
sweet
, in a way that showed she had been studying expressions for years, too. After that, you saw that the delicate look was careful, careful, expert makeup.

By this time two small jerks of Mr. Amos's chin had sent me and Christopher to stand with our backs against the wall on either side of the doorway. Andrew stopped the trolley and shut the doors—practically soundlessly—and Mr. Amos gently produced a set of little tables, which he placed out beside the ladies. Then back and forth he and Andrew went, back and forth from trolley to tables, setting a thin gold-rimmed plate and a fluted cup and saucer on three of the tables, then napkins and little forks and spoons. Then there was the teapot to place on its special mat on another table, a strainer in a bowl, a gold-edged jug of cream, and a boat-shaped thing full of sugar cubes. All just so.

Then there was a pause. The ladies sat. The teapot sat, too, steaming faintly.

Christopher, who was staring ahead looking so totally blank that he seemed to have no brain at all, said that at this point he was thinking the tea in the pot would soon be cold. Or stewed. So was I, a bit. But mostly I was feeling really let down. I stared and stared at the Countess, hoping I would suddenly
know
that she was the person causing my Fate. I even looked at Lady Felice and wondered, but I could tell she was just a normal, happy kind of person who was having to behave politely in front of the Countess. The Countess was a sort of hidden dragon. That was why I thought she might be the one. She was very like a teacher we had in my third year. Mrs. Polak
seemed
very sweet, but she could really give you grief, and I could see the Countess was the same. But I didn't get any
knowing
off her at all.

It has to be Count Robert, then, I thought.

“Amos,” the Countess said in a lovely, melodious voice, “Amos, perhaps you could tell my son, the Count, that we are waiting to have tea.”

“Certainly, my lady.” Mr. Amos nodded at Andrew, and Andrew scudded out of the room.

We waited some more, at least five minutes to judge from the way my feet ached. Then Andrew slithered back between the doors and whispered to Mr. Amos.

Mr. Amos turned to the Countess. “I regret to tell you, my lady, that Count Robert left for Ludwich some twenty minutes ago.”

“Ludwich!” exclaimed the Countess. I wondered why she didn't know. “What on earth does he need to go to Ludwich for? And did he give
any
indication of how long he proposed to be away?”

Mr. Amos's pear-shaped body bent in a bow. “I gather he intended a stay of about a week, my lady.”

“That's what I was going to tell you, Mother,” Lady Felice put in.

At this, something happened to the Countess's face, a hard sort of movement under the delicate features. She gave a tinkly little laugh. “Well!” she said. “At least the tea has had time to brew. Please pour, Amos.”

Ouch! I thought. The Count's going to be in for it when he gets back!

This was the signal for the church service to go on. Mr. Amos poured tea as if it were the water of life. It was steaming so healthily that Christopher said later that he was sure there was a keep-warm spell in the mat. Andrew offered cream. The Countess waved him away and got given lemon in transparent-thin slices by Mr. Amos instead. Then Andrew moved in with the sugar boat, and the Countess let him give her four lumps.

While the show moved on to Lady Felice, the Countess said, as if she were covering up an awkward pause, “I see we have two new page boys, Amos.”

“Improvers, my lady,” Mr. Amos said, “who will function as pages until they learn the work.” His head jerked sharply at Christopher. “Christopher, be good enough to hand the sandwiches.”

Christopher jumped. I could see his mind had been miles away, but he pulled himself together and heaved the sandwiches up off the trolley. There were scores of them, tiny, thin things with no crusts and thick, savory-smelling fillings, heaped up on a vast oval silver plate. Christopher sniffed at them yearningly as he hoisted the plate up, but he went and held the plate out to the Countess very gallantly, with a flourishing bow that matched the way he looked. The Countess seemed startled, but she took six sandwiches. Mr. Amos frowned as Christopher brought the plate to Lady Felice and went on one knee to hold it out to her.

Christopher had to go back and forth. It was amazing how much those two slim ladies ate. And all the while Mr. Amos stood back like a stuffed penguin and frowned. I could see he thought Christopher was too fancy.

“Ludwich!” the Countess complained after about her fifteenth sandwich. “Whatever does Robert
mean
by it? Without warning, too!”

She went on about it rather. Eventually Lady Felice dumped her eighteenth sandwich back on her plate in an irritated way and said, “Really, Mother, does it
matter
?”

She got a stare. The Countess had ice blue eyes, big ones, and the stare was glacial. “Of course it matters, dear. It's extreme discourtesy to
me
.”

“But he was probably called away on business,” Lady Felice said. “He was telling me that his bonds and shares—”

I could see this was quite a cunning thing to say, a bit like the way Anthea and I used to ask Uncle Alfred for money to stop him raging when we'd broken something. The Countess held up a small, gentle hand all over rings to stop Lady Felice. “Please, darling! I know nothing about finance. Amos, are there cakes?”

It was my turn to jump. Mr. Amos said, “Conrad, hand the cakes now, please.”

They were at the bottom of the trolley on another huge silver plate. I almost staggered as I heaved it up. The plate was truly heavy and made heavier still by being piled so with all the tiniest and most delicious pastries you could imagine. Scents of cream, fruit, rosewater, almond, meringue, and chocolate hit my nose. I felt my stomach whir. It sounded so loud to me that I couldn't think of any elegant way to hand those cakes. I simply walked over to the Countess and held the plate out to her.

Mr. Amos frowned again. I could tell he thought I was too plain.

Luckily I didn't have to heave the plate about for very long. The Countess had just wanted to change the subject, I think. She only took three cakes. Lady Felice had one. How they could bear not to eat the lot, I shall never know.

After that we had the church service again, with everything being cleared back onto the trolley in the proper religious order. Mr. Amos and Andrew bowed. Both glared sideways at us until we realized we had to bow, too. Then we were allowed to push the trolley away into the hall.

“Tea ceremony over,” Christopher muttered, under the clattering.

But it was not, not quite. In the middle of the hall Mr. Amos stopped and told us off. He made me at least feel quite awful. “In front of
Family
!” he kept saying. “One of you flounces like a pansy, and the other plods like a yokel!” Then he went on to the way we stood. “You do
not
gaze like half-wits; you do
not
stand to attention like common soldiers. You are in a proper household here. You behave
right
. Watch Andrew next time. He stands against a wall as if it were
natural
.”

“Yes, Mr. Amos,” we said miserably.

He allowed us to go away down the stone stairs in the end. And there the bewildering day went on and on. Miss Semple was waiting to show us the undercroft. Christopher tried to sidle off then, but she turned and shot him a mild but all-seeing look and shook her head. He came glumly to heel. I followed her resignedly anyway. It was clear to me that I was here for a week, until Count Robert came back, so I thought I might as well learn my way about.

The undercroft was vast. I had to be shown all over it again the next day because it was too big to take in that first time. All I remembered was a confusion of steams and scents from several kitchens and a laundry, and people in brown-and-gold uniform rushing about. There were cold stores and dry stores full of food, and a locked door leading to the cellars. There was at least one room dedicated entirely to crockery, where two girls seemed to be washing up all the time. I was very surprised when Miss Semple told us this was just crockery for Staff. The good china for the Family was upstairs in another pantry with another set of maids to wash it. Family and Staff were like two different worlds that only linked together at certain times and places.

Christopher became fascinated by this. “It's my amateur status, Grant,” he told me. “It allows me to take a detached view of the tribal customs here. You must admit it's a strange setup when all these people chase about in the basement, just to look after two women.”

He was so fascinated that he asked question after question at supper. Our part of the Staff had supper in the Upper Hall at seven, so that we would be ready to wait on the Family when they dined at eight. Their food was called Dinner and was very formal, but ours was fairly formal, too. A whole lot of Staff gathered round a big table at one end of a large sort of sitting room. There were chairs and magazines in the other end, and a smaller board with lights, in case anyone needed us while we were there, but no television. Andrew told me rather sadly that you couldn't get a signal up in Stallery, not for any money. Andrew was the nicest of the footmen by far.