“Beginnings and expansion.” Aunt Helia nodded. “But there are some places more likely than others. And we think it was lost earlier rather than later. Before the millennium. That suggests some places over others.”
“It does.” Vega let out a sigh. “Any idea why, if Vandermeer has heard of it, he might be interested?”
“No. Not without more, mmm. Points to make the chart. Two is not sufficient. Two faint stars, especially so.” Aunt Mera considered. “But perhaps you might come along to the library. We can show you what we have for notes, and see if you have your own ideas. Give me your arm, dear, would you? And then we can have a pleasant tea and talk about other things.”
“A private sort of request, then?” Vega hadn’t been sure.
“Your parents know what we asked you, but keeping it quieter, yes. That you’re working on a task in London for us, youmay share that. We do not keep quite so many secrets from each other.”
“Aunt, you know perfectly well we all keep more than a few secrets, and enjoy doing so.” It was, honestly, one of the only ways for at least half the family to manage living in such close quarters. The illusion of privacy and things in one’s own head mattered a great deal. “But yes, show me the notes, please.”
She stood, waiting for Aunt Mera to push herself upright, cane in one hand as the other took Vega’s arm. Uncle Thuban offered his elbow to Aunt Helia, and they made a slow and stately procession along to the library. That was curiously empty for this time of day, which just made it clear how thoroughly the aunts had been plotting.
Chapter 16
MARCH 6TH AT VEGA’S ROOMS
Farran knocked on the door, a bit warily. Not that the building was that imposing. It was tucked into a small magical street near Bedford Square, where people without magic wouldn’t think to look for it, even without the warding and illusions. The street was narrow, with houses and shops on both sides, but this was an ordinary house, more or less. Later Georgian, which made sense given the history of Bedford Square, but of course not nearly as posh.
A moment later, the door was opened, with an older woman peering out warily. “I’m here to see Mistress Beaumont.” The woman stared at him, and Farran added. “Farran Michaels. Consulting about a piece of art.”
“Oh. She said you’d be by. Up the stairs, door on the right. No visitors after half-eight. My ladies need their rest.” Farran didn’t argue. Lena had trained him better than that. Though he wondered what Vega’s schedule at the club did to that orderliness. He nodded again and went up the stairs.
At the top, one door had a neat label in the bronze holder, saying “Vega Beaumont” in beautiful copperplate print. Farran knocked just once before the door opened. The rooms were small, and surprisingly, not terribly cluttered. Why Farran hadassumed her rooms would have a lot of stray items around, he wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t have chosen the wallpaper, of course, or the furniture, but he could see a few things out on the shelf and desk that had brighter flashes of colour.
What he could see was a sitting room with a phonograph, a small sofa, a desk by a small window that faced out to the street, and a small setup for a magical tea kettle. A hallway led away from the door, and of course he wouldn’t pry. Even if he rather wanted to know how the rooms were set up, since it was the sort of thing he thought about a lot because of Thebes and their residents. Vega had stepped back toward the hall. “Thank you for coming here. I hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.”
“No, not at all. A pleasant walk.” She looked a little surprised, and Farran said, “I take the Tube or a cab or a bus, but I enjoy walking. Seeing different parts of London. Each street has a different view.”
“Oh.” Vega seemed a little off-balance at that. “Tea?”
“If you’d like.” Farran couldn’t tell if she’d find making some soothing or not. “Where would you prefer I sit?”
“Oh, there, the sofa. I’ll pull over the chair.” Vega turned away, and the next couple of minutes were spent with the kettle coming to a boil and Vega putting leaves in the pot and setting out two cups. She had only three, but Farran supposed she couldn’t fit more than three people in this space terribly comfortably. Finally, she poured the tea and sat down on the edge of the desk chair, her knees together, looking definitely nervous.
“May I ask, um.” Farran stalled. “Something’s changed?”
“For one thing, I have rather a lot more information from my family.” Then she took a breath. “I beg pardon, can I ask if you know someone? Or is that inappropriately personal?”
Farran considered. The network of people he knew was, in fact, a professional skill and something of a professional secret.On the other hand, it was his knowledge or his application of knowledge that she was paying for. And he was sitting in her sitting room. “We are not entirely proceeding in the ordinary way of an auction negotiation. Why don’t we agree that asking is fine, and I may or may not answer? Or you, for that matter. Both ways round is fair.”
She blinked at him over the cup of tea, a delicate set even if in an odd number. He thought it might be one of the Staffordshire magical potteries. Porcelain, with a deep purple design, but not one he knew by sight. Turn of the eighteenth century into the nineteenth, most likely, but he could be a decade or three off. It was in excellent shape, but it was curious that she had this here, in lodgings. He took up his own cup, peering at it, but of course the tea obscured the cup itself, and he could scarcely peer at the saucer or the maker’s mark.
“Yes.” Now she sounded more decisive. “My question is whether you know Vivian Porter.” She said the name evenly, but Farran had to catch himself before dropping the teacup and set the saucer down carefully.
“Yes? May I ask why you ask?” It was the sensible question, honestly, because there were multiple reasons someone might ask.
“Her name came up when I was talking to my aunts. Older aunts, you understand, with connections to many people?” Vega met his eyes briefly, then shrugged. “Through work, or something else?”
“Multiple ways. I knew about her for quite a while. A good friend of mine’s older sister is her assistant. Runs the office, all that. And then I asked her to help with something, hired her. I was not yet twenty. I had no idea what I was doing.”
Farran considered whether to say the next bit, but he had that instinctive feeling that it mattered. And Master Philemon had trained him to trust that, not fight it, if he couldn’t see alogical problem with it. “She and my uncle Cadmus have been seeing each other since. Five and a half years or so. They don’t live together. Uncle Cadmus is tied to our house in Oxfordshire. But she visits regularly, and he comes into Trellech to see her.” Farran shrugged. The way they sorted their lives sometimes baffled him, but Uncle Cadmus was happy, and Farran was fairly sure Vivian was as well.
Whatever Vega had expected to hear, it was apparently not that. He got a glimpse of her surprise, before she formed her face back into something smoother, as any competent performer could. “Oh. All right. That explains something, maybe, that my aunts said.” She looked as if she might ask something else, then shook her head. “They gave me more information. So I suppose the question is whether you’re willing to continue helping. We can pay your fee, of course, and work around your other obligations.”
Farran considered that ‘we’ and the implications. He couldn’t quite fit the pieces together tidily there, but there was something lurking just outside his scope. Some detail of the piece he hadn’t spotted yet. Or, more likely, didn’t have the right angle on just yet. “To be frank, I am not sure how much I can be of help. But I am glad to try. And if you decide I am not the right person, well, we can part ways amicably.”
“Who would you suggest, if not you? You’ve a sense for the feel of the magic. That’s not something everyone has.” Farran was about to say something else, but Vega raised one finger. He was caught by how fluently she used the gestures of the stage. It was her own particular mode of sign language, that framed what she was doing as smoothly as Lena’s hands said what she was thinking. “I can scarcely go down to a high street shop and ask for an archaeologist of the appropriate period. Whatever period that actually is.”
