Today's Reading
"Where 'is' the kitchen?" My voice cracked with tiredness.
"Mrs. Fealston will show you everything tomorrow," Mum said firmly.
She turned to Grandmother. "Will there be a coach today?"
"Not with the fog. Tourists will keep to the Cotswolds, I expect." "Well, that's a relief."
According to Mum, Carrick Hall was a popular destination for tour groups, thanks to the strange topiaries and my late grandfather's art collection. And Mrs. Fealston was known as an excellent guide. But Mum herself had never liked the busloads of day-trippers that roamed the grounds all summer. We were to vanish whenever they arrived, keeping out of sight until they left. "A necessary evil," Mum called them.
As we drank our tea by the fire, Connecticut seemed worlds away. By now my school friends had scattered to sleepaway camps all around New England. The university campus where Dad taught as an adjunct professor was mostly empty. I pictured him in his research cubicle, bearded face lit blue by the computer screen, forgetting to eat, wearing the same sweats day after day.
I tried to envision him in this drawing room—and failed. "Your things are in storage, I suppose," Grandmother said.
"They are," Mum replied. "Packing up didn't take long. We've done this plenty of times, haven't we, Eva?"
"But you two will stay as long as possible, of course," Grandmother said. "No rush to return until you hear about...until things are arranged." It struck me that they were speaking of my father without speaking of my father.
Mum looked squarely at Grandmother. "Robert is quite the best candidate for the position, actually. I imagine we'll hear soon." So much for not mentioning Dad at all.
"Even if 'you' must leave, Gwendolyn, Eva can stay as long as she likes." Grandmother turned to me. "Your mother told you that you're welcome here for the rest of the summer, yes? If not longer?"
"Longer?" I echoed, glancing at Mum.
"This moving about all the time," Grandmother said imperiously, "can't be good for a young person's development. How on earth do you make friends? I've said numerous times that you should finish your education here at Wolvern, stay at one school for the duration. But of course, your mother 'would' insist otherwise."
I squirmed and glanced at Mum again. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line. Truth was, we'd bounced from apartment to apartment my whole life, following the path of Dad's academic career. This July, however, we hadn't renewed our lease. Dad was close to securing a tenure-track position with Whitby College in Chicago, and it didn't make sense to settle anywhere else until we knew for certain. So, while he'd arranged to stay with a colleague in New Haven, to my astonishment Mum had announced that she and I would spend a few weeks with Grandmother. In England. At last.
But Grandmother was right. Moving so frequently had been difficult. Pack up. Start over. Walk into a new classroom full of strangers. Decide whether to make any effort, since the next thing was another goodbye. Nowhere had ever really felt like home—except the vague dream of Carrick Hall.
And now here I was. In my grandmother's presence, gazing at her porcelain-perfect face, her glamorous sweep of silvery hair, her exquisite poise. My imagination had built her up into a kind of empress—and so far, she didn't disappoint. I'd never met anyone so satisfyingly, unnervingly regal.
Plus, Carrick Hall was just as spectacular as I'd always imagined. More, even. And if Mum agreed, I might get to stay longer than planned.
Mum scowled at the fire, mulish. Grandmother looked everywhere but at me. As the awkward silence stretched on and on, the gilded ceiling seemed to press down on us, like the lid of a cage.
I couldn't decide if I wanted to stay or escape.
To steward his new world of Mesterra, Magister called a people from another world altogether.
That world was Tellus, which he had woven already on the Warp of Time. He had patterned its people after his own likeness, and thus were they well-familiar with the virtues of Inspiria, his eternal palace in the mountains beyond all worlds. And likewise would they recognize all manner of evil—yea, even within themselves—for against such forces did they daily do battle.
The Children of Tellus, Magister called this people. But in our own world they are called humans, for they are of the earth.
So Magister lifted a silver horn to his lips, sounded a mighty blast, and called forth a company of humans from Tellus, who arrived in Mesterra as if by magic.
A humble gardener and her husband appeared, blinking and bewildered in the fair light of that new world. And with them came a bookish, bespectacled girl named Augusta, on whose family estate the gardener and her husband had been working. And also another girl, Augusta's neighbor Maggie, who'd just torn her pinafore whilst climbing trees. Plus Augusta's governess, who'd been complaining to the gardener about the lettuces. And with them came a very wet dog.
This was rather more visitors than Magister needed, but his call was strong, and they'd been standing together in the garden when it came.
...
