The rooms were as we left them, though a disquiet cast past over me that someone had been in the space while we had not. Even in these private confines grew the sensation of being watched. I was never truly alone in the halls of Yarrow Hart. I hoped it was mere paranoia of a place so large and unfamiliar, yet a hollow in my soul claimed otherwise. By spirits or spies, I had no doubt Yarrow Hart haunted me. 

“The bell for dinner will beckon soon, Mistress Magareen. May I suggest some haste in preparing for your first meeting with the others currently in residence in the Hart.” Camellia strode to the wardrobe. 

Again I pondered who was under whose orders. As Camellia took commands from Elestren, so too did I.

“I dare not dawdle while we both stand obliged to Madame’s fancy.” I had not meant the jibe as hurtful as it appeared to have been taken.

Camellia sighed against the sting of words, yet turned from me without so much as comment. Instead, she slipped from the wardrobe a dress more splendid than any I had seen. The fabric poured like a silken wound, bleeding a crimson pool into the arms of the young maid as she drew the garment from the cabinet. 

“Is everything in that wardrobe so red?” The hope in my tone carried feigned amusement, as I readily presumed the answer.

Camellia appeared apologetic over this thing for which she had no control. “Mistress, I am afraid this is the commonly expected hue of those dwelling at Yarrow Hart.”

I allowed the maid to assist me from the confines of one outfit into the fresh one. “How many did you say were currently staying in Yarrow Hart?” I raised my hands over my head and allowed the gown to slither along my arms and settle at the curves of my hips and torso.

Camellia paused in consideration of the question as her fingers deftly laced the bindings. Though constricting, the bodice caressed my skin with each breath. 

Awaiting her response, I worried whether Camellia was allowed to speak of the other guests.

“I believe you will meet seven at dinner, Mistress, but cannot say how many currently reside in the Hart. Some days see as many as a dozen, nights sometimes twice and some.”

Could not say, the words tumbled about in my mind. Nothing was with easy answer in Yarrow Hart. I worked to ignore the piece concerning increased numbers at night as the red glow of dusk cloyed the bedroom window. 

Camellia’s reflection caught behind my own as I finished retouching for the evening. Again I imagined an impishness to the maid’s features as she observed my actions. When my eyes matched with hers however the moment passed, causing her instead to shift her attentions to the wardrobe still ajar across the room. 

The briefest dance of white moved within the ocean of reds and black as Camellia closed the garments away. As I turned for the exit, I promised myself a private investigation of the space upon our return from dinner. When Camellia completed her task at the wardrobe I noted the finality of key in lock. 

Every door is locked in Yarrow Hart.

***

In my new attire I flowed through the halls, silk hems lapping my ankles. As we paused at a set of grand double doors the fabric pooled awaiting the opening of a lock. I assumed we had arrived at the dining room. 

So eager was I to test the limits of my own circlet, I stilled Camellia’s hand as she moved to retrieve her loop of keys. It was both desire to practice discovery of the proper key, and to discern if the offering of my own keys was a ruse devised by Madame Elestren.

A coy smile graced the maid’s lips as she allowed me the simplicity of the conquest. 

With further kindness, Camellia guided my hand to the appropriate key. “Common rooms have a loop design, meant to mimic a rose in full bloom.”

“And these with more modest shape are in access to private chambers.” A blush cast my cheeks as I yet struggled to locate the proper key. 

“It comes with practice, Mistress. None are expected to open every lock.” Though her words were meant to quell my embarrassment, they carried a more sinister law of the mansion itself.  

Once acquired the lock released at the command of my device. Camellia took the levers in hand to press our entry. 

“The Mistress Magareen is recognized to the residence of Yarrow Hart.” Camellia’s voice rang our presence to those seated at the long table centered in the firelit room. 

At announcement of our appearance all eyes elevated from the distractions of the table. Only Joram offered a crooked, yet welcome, smile as he rose to draw a chair for me. 

“I do hope my manners are more aligned with those expected of my station. As opposed to our last meeting.” His words danced at my ear as his gaze conveyed to meet Madame Elestren’s across the breadth of the table. 

I caught the brunt of the returned glare from Madame Elestren as Joram returned to his seat. Settling in and averting my eyes I followed the maid as she moved away from the table. Hands clasped at her apron, Camellia fell in along a series of similarly garbed attendants. A cursory count of servants and seated confirmed that my arrangement with Camellia was the practice among the Hadowen of Yarrow Hart.  

Madame Elestren cleared her throat and drew attention from the seated. “It is a day later than anticipated, but I would like to introduce the latest resident of our beloved Yarrow Hart. This is the Mistress Magareen.”

A murmur of welcomes, nods, and raised glasses followed as I pondered appropriate reprisal. 

“You have me at a disadvantage, dear sirs and madams.” I paused briefly on each face turned to me.

“Of course!” The boom of an elder gentleman carried upon a musing cadence. “Elestren, dear, it is we who should first introduce ourselves. Especially as we well know young Mistress Magareen, yet she is so soundly uninitiated as to whom we are.”

I watched vexation envelop Madame Elestren’s visage at the elder man’s words. “Sincere apologies. An act of negligence on my part Master Fiorello.”

“Nonsense, Elestren, dear heart!” Master Fiorello’s hands found the corners of his deep red bow tie. “I am quite certain you were getting straight to that.” His glittering gaze sparked upon me. “You know it is my way.”

Though unnerved by nature and extravagance of individuals before me I found myself calmed and amused by this silver haired gentleman. My eyes trained on the crimson bow at his throat. 

“Mistress, Magareen, is it then?” A descant voice peeled my attention from the newly met Master Fiorello. “I believe we are cousins through my mother, to your father most directly.” A wild eyed, well endowed, blonde, perched between Master Fiorello and Joram, balanced a glass of wine from the tips of elegant fingers. 

My words faltered under the woman’s stark, tempestuous stare. “I couldn’t say.” 

“Of course not.” The young woman’s free hand rested at the rise of her bosom. “As Madame Elestren has so grievously failed introductions; I am Lady Jessamine.”

The greeting received a sneer from Madame Elestren and smothered snickering from Joram and Sir Calix. 

Conflagration flashed from Jessamine to the young men, rendering them mute as stone.

“Jessamine is a more constant resident at Yarrow Hart.” Madame Elestren quelled the inferno in Jessamine’s eyes. “I suspect this is why she feels her position priority over those otherwise her superiors.”

A surprising sheepishness washed the fervor from Lady Jessamine’s lips. She masked the shift in countenance with a tip of her wine glass and a drink much deeper than her facade of decorum advocated.

“I concede my failure as acting head of household in introductions.” At this Madame Elestren stood. “Mistress Magareen, may I properly introduce the most prestigious of the current guests at Yarrow Hart.”

Elestren’s hand floated to rest upon the shoulder of the gentleman seated nearmost her side. “Professeur Rhodes Hadowen, esteemed for his work in genetic research, anatomy, history, and most honorably, botany.”
The gentleman introduced as Rhodes gave a wan stroke to his mustachioed lip to draw forth a smirk that betrayed any supposition of etiquette. “I appreciate the honors dear Elestren, though my efforts are still in much intimation of Bentham, Hooker, and even young Bessy. All of whom I have of course worked beside.” 

The drop of names was certainly meant to rouse interest and affect prestige, judging from the growing smug of the Professeur's gaze, yet they meant little to my ears and I did not mask my lack in this knowledge.

“I hope you will forgive my ignorance in matters of science, Professeur. The men you speak of mean little to me, and I fear your name as well has not beset my scholarship.” I fought to maintain flatness in both tone and expression. “Perhaps I will discover some of their works, or yours, in the library here at Yarrow Hart. I daresay I would enjoy a deeper understanding of that which brought wealth and abundance to the Hadowen family.”

A surly rancor hovered the professeur’s balding brow, but his retort remained mild by comparison. “Of course. I should not have held such a high expectation of education under the tutelage of Miss Amalia.”

“Perhaps we will remedy this lack during your stay at Yarrow Hart.” The man with the bow tie cast a breath of levity upon the exchange. “It is your eminent fortune to have more than one consummate Hadowen mind alongside you this season.”

“Always with such demure and humility, Fiorello.” The dryness of Professeur Rhodes remark failed to be dampened even as he sipped his glass.

“Utmost apologies, good Rhodes.” Fiorello raised a hand to his heart and a glass to the adversarial gaze of the Professeur.

“Fiorello.” I smiled at the name as I looked to Joram who sat beside the man in the red bow tie. “Now, that is a name I have heard.”

A broad grin smeared Fiorello’s face. “Well, that is a pleasant wonder. And, how is it that you have come by my work, Mistress Magareen?”

“From my lips.” Rueful relish seeped Joram’s gaze as he leaned into his chair. 

Master Fiorello’s ego deflated visibly at his young ward’s words. 

“I spoke of you on our journey to the Hart. All in the positive, of course. I wouldn’t dare steal glory from your more intractable ventures. They carry far more weight from your lips.”

Joram was met with a gaping expression that flit Master Fiorello’s face before the man regained composure. 

Calix joined Joram in the jibe if not in word then in action as his latest gulp of wine sprayed with the force of  stifled laughter.

“What nonsense!” Jessamine stole the attention from the room as she shook a linen at the spattering of red that dotted in her direction. “Gentlemen, constantly toying with one another in such a manner.” In a breath her scrutiny targeted full upon me. “Dear Magareen will have no such time for whimsy and experiments. Madame Elestren says she is to focus time on study of our noble lineage and manners reported to a lady in her position.”

From the far end of the table Elestren cleared her throat. “It is clear in whose company Magareen will not embark on such a study.”

Jessamine’s face again descended into bleak stoicism. 

 “As you have met Sir Calix and Master Joram, I will move to introduce the Lady Azalea.” Madame Elestren did nothing to contain the prideful smile volleyed in the direction of the other young woman seated before me. 

Though appearing close in age to myself, a severity about her left me feeling naive in her company. As well, something in the way Madame Elestren pronounced the young woman’s name I fancied it almost an incantation.

“A sincere pleasure to at last make your acquaintance, Mistress Magareen.” A smile seemed to be fighting to free itself from the drawn line of Lady Azalea’s red lips. “Do note reference to my name less as the flower and more to noble history it involves.” She offered a renewed pronunciation of the name. “As I hope to bring a more honorable image than you have thus far been subjected in accordance with the ladies our generation bring to the Hadowen line.”

My focus shot to the sound of scraping upon wood to discover Jessamine marring deep canals in the table with her flawless fingernails.  

“ I do hope you cast no judgement upon those who have yet to perform in your presence.” Lady Azalea’s words hummed against the walls of the dining room. “The Hadowen are surrounded by rumor and mystery, but that can be said with any wealthy family can it not?”

“I have thus far failed to have close enough connections to know, Azalea.”

“Lady.” The woman’s voice flashed like a knife. 

“Pardon?” 

“I am Lady Azalea. In Yarrow Hart you will find titles to be important. Mistress.” The last of the statement fell like lead upon me.

“Then I look forward to understanding the value of yours, Lady Azalea. And the value of your presence at Yarrow Hart.” 

The devilish turn to Lady Azalea’s eyes and snicker from Sir Calix and Joram made evident my meaning was received. 

Madame Elestren once more cleared her throat to ordain I had been too clear in my intended meaning. 

“Lady Azalea is of direct descent from the origin nobility of Hadowen lineage. It may indeed be wise for you to spend time in the library here at Yarrow Hart, Mistress Magareen. Your knowledge is clearly lacking.”

Conversation was squelched at the sound of dining carts rattling into position around the table.