Changeling Child - Part 13

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

By some great fortune of luck and chance, Lady Catherine de Bough was absent when Anne led the way to the guest wing, footmen following in their wake with the trunks live oversized ducklings.

Anne was kind enough to point out landmarks to avoid getting lost in the great house, which was about half again as large as Netherfield. The footmen vanished as soon as they had set the trunks down, reminiscent of Diarmait's own ability to fade into the background, and Anne immediately relaxed. "Thank goodness. I was worried mother would appear with another lecture about marrying Cousin Darcy."

Mary, who had just opened the lid of a trunk, nearly dropped it on her own hand. "What is all this about you marrying Mr Darcy?"

Miss de Bough blinked in apparent confusion, before realization dawned. "Oh! Forgive me, I'm used to speaking with those who already know the story."

Mary raised a stern eyebrow, "Given my sister's entanglement in the situation, I fear that forgiveness must wait until I also know the the story."

Miss de Bough tried not to smile. "I understand your concern, but it is baseless. A fantasy of my mother's, but convenient to me as justification for why I have never sought a husband or had a London Season, and my frequent absences from social events. Cousin Darcy and I are in agreement that no such arrangement exists."

Well, that was a relief. Mary would not have enjoyed trying to find some way to adaquately punish Mr Darcy for toying with Lizzy. "Thank you. I would have hated to have to break my sister's heart."

Anne smiled warmly, "Shall I show you to the music room while the maids unpack and Diarmait sees to his affairs? The lyre is the only one I have the constitution to play, but it does not follow that the other instruments should gather dust."

The music room must have been the work of generations, or a lack of attic storage space.

The room had a curious sunken effect, the windows placed higher than normal, almost like a private concert hall. A pianoforte and a harpsichord faced each other in opposite corners, a harp occupying the final corner not taken up by windows and seating. Music stands held all manner of wind and string instruments, including the lyre Anne mentioned, a cello, a fiddle, and a number of lute-like instruments.

Anne followed her gaze and smiled softly. "Mother loves music, but has no gift for playing it herself. Father purchased many of those for her on their wedding tour of the Ottoman Empire. She considered patronising a house musician, but few have such variety in skill, and those that do can earn better wages in London."

A song was already forming in Mary's mind, growing clearer the more she and Anne spoke. She immediately seated herself at the pianoforte, "Your mother does not come to this wing often, does she?"

Anne picked up the beautifully-carved wooden lyre, a newer model than the Ancient Greek hide and tortiseshell ones. "No, and she is with the steward this afternoon. My companion, Mrs Jenkins, has her half-day today, and will return for supper."

Mary began with the same wandering tone she had used for Mr Darcy, and a sense of being caught between two worlds, uncertainty of which to choose. "Good, I would have to inflict a fit of nerves. It seems to be a universal response among matrons when I play one of my own songs."

Anne missed a note in her seemingly-idle plucking, "I wish you would. Perhaps then she might go a day without disregarding or countermanding my instructions."

Mary was... not unfamiliar with such a parent. Thwarting Mama's opinions in favour of her own desires required strategic planning more suited to a military campaign. A short flurry of harsher, louder notes made it's way into the melody. "Which one of you is the Mistress of Rosings Park?"

Anne smiled again, but there was little joy in the expression. "In name, I am, since I came of age five years ago. In practice... my health is not robust, and Mama can walk the estate and have long meetings with the steward, and visit the tenants with an air of command such that no-one questions her."

Confidence in herself and her chosen course had seen Elizabeth into - and out of - all kinds of antics that would have seen Mama demanding her salts, from climbing trees to long and unaccompanied walks with naught but a word to Mrs Hill of where she was going. Mary played a sympathetic refrain as she sought for the right words to speak, but she had not yet found them when Anne sighed, "It matters little, I suppose. The tenants will not have me as Mistress for long, and to take on the rigors of running an estate would have left me with even less time."

Mary's fingers stilled on the keys, the feeling of something building in the air fading away. "What do you mean?"

Anne looked down at her lap. "Diarmait will have told you that I need to pass between worlds more and more frequently, yes? He will not have said that the time is approaching when I will not be able to return at all."

Indeed, Mary's husband had neglected to mention that part, though if she were to defend him, it was not difficult to infer. "I am sorry to hear that. Is there nothing that can be done?"

Born Fae, but raised human, Mary was likewise caught between two worlds. The mortal realm was not without its struggles, and having experienced the Land of the Fae, the longing to return was never truly dispelled... but that was a different problem to the one Anne suffered. Half-Fae, half-human, her ill health was the result of a body at war with itself.

Fae were creatures of magic, and required it to thrive. Some, like Diarmait or the Lords and Ladies who reigned over border estates rich in wild magic, could sustain themselves with the occasional visit, but most Fae were not so fortunate. Changelings were the rare fae who did not need to be surrounded by magic to live, but Anne was different. Her fairy blood must be drawing more and more energy from her human half in an attempt to sustain itself, and never quite succeeded.

Anne shook her head. "There is not. I do not repine, for my Father's land feels more home to me than Rosings ever has, and there is a chance that in the right environment I will be able to do all the things I never could here. Regardless, I feel enough duty toward my estate that I want it to be in good hands. Diarmait's hands, and yours."

It was fortunate that the door opened with Diarmait's return, followed by a woman presumed to be Mrs Jenkinson, or Mary might have sat, her mouth forming words that her tongue refused to voice, for even longer. "Anne, what on earth did you do to my wife?"

Anne flicked a stray curl out of her face. "I only told her that I wish for the two of you to inherit Rosings, when I return to Papa's lands."

Mrs Jenkinson laughed, a clear sound that gave lie to the glamour of an unremarkable, nondescript woman of middling years. "I told you, brother, our spirited charge is most determined to see you well done-by."

It was gratifying to see her own shock reflected on Diarmait's face, but he shook himself out of it faster than Mary had. "Mary, my sister Niamh Jenkinson, who watches over Anne when I cannot, and acts as a contact for my informants, while I travel."

Mrs Jenkinson, likely no more her real name than Cathal was Diarmait's, inclined her head, "I am honoured to meet you. I look forward to seeing you explore your gift, but that will have to wait until after dinner, Miss Anne, because your mother has invited the Collins family and their guests."

Anne reluctantly placed her lyre back on its stand. "I suppose we will have to make an effort for dinner, then. Mr Collins may actually be awed into silence if we put forth the effort."

Diarmait was unusually good at arranging hair, and thus helped Mary with hers once she finished dressing for dinner. Leaning into the sensuous feel of his fingers running through her brown waves, Mary bit back the suggestion that they skip dinner entirely, and tried to focus. "What did Mrs Jenkinson mean, when she spoke of my gift?"

Her husband tucked a final pin into place, and sat down beside her as there was a knock at the door. “Most Changelings have some kind of gift, but it tends to be passive, and often indistinguishable from their passions. Some stand out, however. Wickham’s knack for persuasion and excessive charm you know. The boy you brought to a fairy ring had an uncanny knack for finding the person or place he needed. Your gift, my Mary, is in your passion for music.”

Anne, who had just entered, Mrs Jenkinson in tow, clapped her hands, "You see through the masks people don, and show their true selves through the songs you compose. With practice and in places with ambient magic, perhaps you will be able to do even more."

If Wickham persisted in making trouble, it would be a useful skill, though with one immediately obvious flaw. "The pianoforte is not precisely mobile. I cannot take it with me wheresoever I might find trouble."

Anne's bright eagerness fell into a frown, but she recovered swiftly. "No, but there are a number of instruments that can be, once you adjust to them. Come, I will have the footmen move some to the drawing room, and we will try a few while Mama holds court after dinner."

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