Across the table, Mama was nibbling a brioche as she leafed through some sheets bearing the Labour Allocation Bureau letterhead.
‘The woman is the reason the bureau sent us their papers. She’s a nurse with extensive experience of long-term care, so she’ll take over looking after your aunt. The man is handy with vehicles and restores classic cars, so he can fix up some of those wrecks your father and Gavar insist on collecting. And they’re just starting their days, not coming from one of the slavetowns, so they won’t’ – she paused, searching for the right phrase – ‘won’t have picked up any faulty notions.’
‘Won’t have learned to hate us, you mean.’ Silyen looked at his mother with dark eyes just like hers, from under the dark curling hair that was also characteristic of his maternal ancestors, the Parvas. ‘You said it was a family, so what about the children?’
Lady Thalia waved dismissively, causing one of the maids to step forward for instructions before realizing her mistake and stepping back again. The slaves that trailed around after the Jardines performed this tiresome dance of servility many times daily.
‘Well, there’s a clever girl of eighteen. Jenner’s been asking for extra help in the Family Office, so I’m assigning her to him.’
‘Eighteen? Are you going to tell them what happened to the last girl who came to Kyneston at eighteen to do her days?’
His mother’s immaculate make-up hid any rising colour, but Silyen saw the documents flutter in her hand.
‘You shouldn’t speak like that. I could cry right now when I think of that poor girl. Such a terrible accident – and for it to have been your brother that shot her. He’s still distraught. I believe he loved her very much, foolish infatuation though it was. That dear little baby without a mother or a family.’
Silyen’s lips twitched. It was just as well Gavar wasn’t present to hear that disavowal of his child. The infant had grudgingly been permitted the Jardine surname – there was no denying her parentage, after all. Her shock of copper-coloured hair proclaimed her clear kinship to Gavar and their father, Whittam. But the child had no other privileges of blood.
‘I’m thinking these nice people could look after it,’ his mother continued.
Ordinarily, Silyen took a lively interest in his eldest brother’s illegitimate child. Though slave-born bastards weren’t unheard of among the great families, they were usually cast out along with the offending mother. Fortunately, Leah’s death had prevented that from happening with little Libby, giving Silyen the opportunity to study her at close quarters.
As the child wasn’t born to two Equal parents, the laws of heredity deemed she would be Skilless. But you never knew. Silyen was intrigued by what had happened at the gate the night Leah had tried to run. And curious things had happened at Kyneston before – like Jenner’s lack of Skill, despite his parents’ impeccable pedigree.
Libby’s childcare arrangements, however, interested Silyen rather less. He had other things on his mind today.
Soon, the Chancellor would arrive at Kyneston: Winterbourne Zelston himself. Zelston was coming to visit Mama’s sister, to whom he had been engaged in their youth. They still were engaged, presumably, as Zelston was both too in love and too guilty to break it off. But Aunt Euterpe was in no position to walk down the aisle. For the last twenty-five years she had been in no position to do anything at all, apart from breathe and sleep.
Well, Silyen had some news about that to share. Zelston would find this visit memorable.
Impatience burned within him. His leg was jiggling beneath the table and he pressed his palm down on his knee to still it. On days like this Silyen could feel his Skill thrumming through him, seeking an outlet. Channelling Skill was akin to playing the violin. That moment when the strings’ vibrations burst forth as music: exquisite, irresistible music. He ached to use it.
He didn’t understand how his family could go through life seemingly untroubled by this constant need. Did not understand how Jenner, without Skill, could bear to live at all.
‘They look like honest, dependable people,’ Mother was saying, dabbing crumbs from her mouth without smearing her lipstick. ‘They arrive around four o’clock, so you’ll be needed. Jenner will get them settled in. Here, take a look.’
She slid a photograph across the polished walnut expanse of the breakfast table. It showed five people on a windswept English beach. A middle-aged man with receding hair and a proud smile had his arm around a trim woman in a zip-up top. In front of them stood a small girl, freckled and pulling a face at the camera. Flanking the trio were two older children. There was a tall girl with long sandy hair twisted into a plait, caught in the act of deciding whether or not to smile, and a blond boy, embarrassed and grinning.
The older girl didn’t look like Gavar’s type, which was a relief. The boy earned a second glance. He appeared to be around Silyen’s age, which raised interesting possibilities.