46

Katrina left the Gerard's before sunup and prepared a simple breakfast for the Jamisons so that any last minute things could be dispensed with before lunch.

Henry had personally polished the silver to be used for the noon meal, and was very proud of it. He would walk by and rub a sleeve over a fork or candle stick to be sure the shine stayed.

Lunch was to be salad, fruit, chicken, sweet potatoes, bread, iced tea, and a blackberry cobbler. Katrina decided for the sake of ease that the only items that needed to be freshly hot were the bird and the potatoes. The bread could be warmed up before serving.

It had been such a busy morning that she hadn't had time to open any windows, so she dispatched Henry to do it. There was a great deal of banging as he did so, but nothing that sounded like breaking glass, so she assumed things were in order. He began to play his favorite piano piece a moment after.

As she was bending over to put the bread in the oven to warm, the creaking door told her someone had come in. Henry was still playing, so she decided it must be Minerva. "Just a moment, and I'll be at your disposal."

"What for?"

Katrina jumped at the reedy voice, and found herself facing a little girl in a blue jacket. The eyes were pale blue, and gazed around solemnly. There was a bitter set to the rosy mouth, but it seemed to relax a little. "You must be Mademoiselle Lucy."

"Yes, but I don't know you. Are you my Aunt Minerva?"

Katrina wasn't sure if a laugh would be appropriate, though she wanted to. Returning the serious look, she shook her head. "No, I'm Katrina. Your Aunt is upstairs. Come, we'll go find her."

"I'd rather see Henry." Lucy said the hint of a tear in her eye. "The man said I could see Henry as we got here. But I don't know where to find him." Katrina remembered the first time she had walked below the opera, and guessed that this child felt just as confused as she had then.

"Follow the music, he's the one playing."

The adventurous slant, along with a direction, cheered up the girl, and she took off calling out Henry's name rapturously. Katrina followed, in time to see Minerva come down the stairs, and a stranger come in the door. They nodded at each other, so she assumed the man must be Fergus.

"What is all that shouting?" Minerva asked, not sure whether to be upset or curious.

"Lucy, she's looking for Henry."

"You couldn't take her in properly?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow, wondering if Minerva had never run towards something pleasant. She professed to have loved children, but that did not mean that she had ever understood them. But any further comments were stalled by the halt of the piano.

"Henry, Henry, it's me! I'm here!"

"Lucy? But you're not a baby anymore."

"And you're skinny," the child retorted in a tone that was both snobbish and happy, "but that doesn't mean you're not Henry. What were you playing?"

"Sit here, I'll show you."

The music resumed, punctuated with questions by the curious sister, and answers from the brother.

The man removed his hat and coat slowly, and settled them on the table by the door. He leaned heavily on his stick and eyed Minerva closely. "You look well, no trouble while I was gone?"

"None, we've managed well enough. And you look worse. Katrina, do you think there's a chance of some tea?" The words were rough, but the tone was polite, almost anxious.

Katrina nodded, and promised to take it to the music room and they could visit until wanted to eat.

She pulled the bread out, relieved it hadn't burnt, and set up a tray of tea for the family. She found them all sitting around the low table, and saw Fergus looking appreciatively at the room. His tone was flat, and the expression guarded, but it was there all the same. "You've done some nice things while I was gone, Minnie. I should set up a fund for improvements, since you have to handle them all."

"Oh, we had some help. The gardener came yesterday, and the maid did some extra, so I gave her the day off."

"Then who was that in the hall?"

"Katrina." Henry said, as if it had insulted him that his uncle didn't know. "She's a friend of Andre, and came from Paris. Lucy, only guess? She's an opera singer, and lives at the Paris Opera House. Her whole family does, and she has strange grandparents, and an insane uncle."

"Henry!" Minerva gasped, in horror. Having never bothered to ask beyond who had raised Katrina and what had become of her parents, the poor woman thought for a terrifying instant that it might be true. "You can't just say things like that."

"But she read me a letter from the uncle, and she has lots of strange family."

Fergus glanced at Minerva thoughtfully. "Perhaps you should have sent inquiries? Who recommended her?"

"Andre did." Minerva replied, seeing something akin to hope in Lucy's face. "He said he's known her family for years."

Katrina made the glasses rattle as she walked in, and bit back her mirth. She settled everything, and was about to make good her polite escape when Lucy cried, "Do you really live in an opera with a mad uncle?"

Minerva paled, Henry looked worried, and Fergus Jamison shadowed his face with one hand. Lucy just stared boldly up at the stranger in a worn mauve dress and an oversized apron. Katrina wanted very badly to be serious and set things right, but what came out was:

"I do. I live in a dungeon on a lake, and we keep crocodiles. I harvest their tears every October, to feed the ghosts. You can't have a hungry ghost, they're nothing but trouble. My grandparents have a castle, and my other uncle lives with them. I was such a terror as a child that they had to keep me inside to kill the dreadful in me. Sun was poison to my behavior until I turned fifteen, and had my family not wisely locked me up, I would have turned into a siren like my mother."

A strange sound came from behind the hand, but Lucy was entranced. She asked breathlessly, "What happened to your mother?"

"She and my father went boating and never came back. The water claims its own, they say. Henry can tell you, I'm not myself when I swim, and I have to fight very hard not to go with the waves."

Minerva spluttered, and Henry was laughing. "She's pulling your leg, Lucy! That's a good story, though. Is it an opera?"

"If it's not, it should be." Fergus uncovered his face, to show that he had been laughing as well. "Brava, a brave performance. One, I think, we forced you into. My apologies."

"No one forces me, Monsieur. I simply have no self control. I owe the apology."

He rapped his stick on the floor in a way that reminded her of Madame Giry. "Come, we have all met, and the worst is over. Let us have lunch."