Planning, and plotting, and drafting buildings. Things like museums and cathedrals, hotels and terminals. All on paper, where there are no limitations. And then watching it all come to life before your eyes!”
Mathilda blinked owlishly at her sister across the table, a mixture of teasing amazement etched onto her narrow face. “Do you mean architecture? Is that what you’re on about?”
Their mother sighed. “I seem to recall that it was ‘veterinary medicine’ in your case, Mathilda,” she said, laying a weary hand over her eyes.
“But,” Lady Eunice interjected, perplexed, “Architecture is dwarf work. I may not know much about common workaday life, but I do know that.”
“Not in the Muggle world,” Millie said, steeling herself.
“Oh, bloody Nora,” her father groaned under his breath.
“More claret, M’Lord,” Blake suggested deftly, pouring wine into the man’s nearly empty goblet.
Mrs. Vandergriff rallied herself. “Now, Millicent, we like to be as open-minded as any modern wizarding family…”
“A human can be an architect in the Muggle world,” Millie insisted stubbornly. “A woman can work, just like a man. Ask our new ‘servants’!” She nodded toward Blake and Topham. Blake merely stood at attention, but Topham’s gaze fluttered at the suddenly watchful faces.
Millie went on, “In their world, anyone can be anything they want.”
“And yet, somehow, they choose to be servants,” Lady Eunice observed archly, apparently to the candelabra.
“I don’t care what any of you say,” Millie proclaimed, calling on every ounce of her lofty upbringing and melodramatic dignity. “I shall go to America, attend Alma Aleron University, and I shall be an architect if I wish. Even if it means working in the Muggle world.”
This statement was met with a sharp gasp from Mrs. Vandergriff and awkward, stunned silence around the table. James could hear the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen far below. Finally, young cousin Edmund spoke up for the first time, taking advantage of the break in conversation.
“Millie, after we do the Triumvirate, will you do a Hufflepuppet pals show for us tonight?” he asked eagerly, leaning over the table.
No one answered. Mr. Vandergriff coughed lightly and pushed away from the table. Lady Vandergriff dabbed her napkin at the corner of her mouth and glanced around brightly, diplomatically ignoring the awkward silence.
Edmund looked at James and frowned quizzically. “What? Did she leave the Voldy puppet back at school or something?”
14. – The Elven Uprising
An hour later, still reeling from the dinner conversation, James was surprised to see just what a production the miniature presentation of “The Triumvirate” had turned out to be. The children, with Millie’s help, had raided the attic wardrobes and returned with armloads of colourful old robes, feathered hats, boots, belts, swords and scabbards, ribbons and medals, and various other costuming. A small, makeshift stage had been erected in front of the fire, bordered by actual red velvet curtains hung from an enchanted, floating rod.
Somewhat more disconcerting were the number of people in attendance. Besides the entirety of the family, including many relatives who had arrived only that night, all of the servants were also invited to watch the performance. Balor the Cyclops was there, towering over everyone else in his intimidating slate grey uniform, his chauffer’s hat still pressed down low onto his huge cranium. James once again wondered how the skinny giant could be a Cyclops. The whole point of being such a creature, he thought, was that Cyclopi had a single giant eye that could see everything, including secrets and trickery. This is why, in ancient history, they had often been employed as bodyguards by wizarding royalty, since no plot or subterfuge escaped their monocular notice. Balor, however, appeared to have two perfectly normal-sized eyes, if solemnly cold and stoic, beneath the black brim of his ever-present cap. He did not sit, but stood stiffly behind the family, his back to a window.
Across from the chauffer, the Muggle servants lined up behind a buffet table covered with platters of cucumber sandwiches, desserts, cupcakes, a crystal punch bowl, and a very large Christmas pudding, so sticky and redolent with sherry that James could smell it from the stage.
Blake sat behind the table in one of the chairs provided, along with several other servants, cooks, and maids. He caught James’ eye and cocked a subtly sardonic eyebrow at him, seeming to refer to the entire room, the stage, the enormous pudding, and the immensely well-dressed finery of the witches and wizards as they settled into their seats. James remembered the smell of cigarettes and beer from the pub that Blake had taken them to the previous night. Millie calls this ‘slumming’, the young man had said. Clearly, this was the opposite for him, and the irony was palpable. Dismissing James, Blake leaned back and threw his arms around the maids on either side, crossing one polished black shoe over his knee. The older maid elbowed his arm away from her. Topham, who refused to sit, cleared his throat meaningful in Blake’s direction.
Blake nodded obediently and sat up straight again, as if at attention.
Topham accepted this with a satisfied nod, turning his attention back to the room at large.
As the children, along with James and Millie, took the stage, the lights of the room dimmed to shadows and the assembly applauded dutifully. Magical spotlights lit the stage from concealed wands. Most of the family and guests smiled with indulgent good cheer, the mens’ cheeks flushed with brandy, the women sitting ramrod straight in their fine dresses, their gloved hands folded atop their knees. As the play began, the servants watched intently, many with brows knitted, themselves unfamiliar with the story, of course, and somewhat befuddled by the children’s condensed, meandering version of it.
James and Millie both managed several different roles, as well as performed clumsy but necessary scene and costume changes while an antique, charmed Victrola played accompanying musical overtures.
They were just nearing Treus’ famous rallying speech, with Edmund standing in his tri-corner feathered cap on the “ship’s bow” of the upholstered ottoman, when James, standing at attention behind the ottoman as one of Treus’ sailors, saw movement out of the corner of his eye, in the dimness just off-stage.
Beneath the buffet table, half hidden by its draped bunting, a house elf hunkered. James recognized her as the very one that he had seen that morning, outside the dining room door, watching Blake with undisguised contempt. Now, her bulbous eyes were turned up, as if she could see through the bottom of the table to the goods arrayed on its surface.
As James watched, the elf snapped her fingers.