2- the seven sighs boutique

After they pulled away from the station, the City began to ooze past the windows. Mr. Call did not seem as if he wanted to make conversation with her, and she did not think she particularly wanted to make conversation with Mr. Darby. She would surely have her fill of conversation with him before the day was over. Demi was a very magnanimous person, or at least liked to imagine that she was, but Mr. Darby had committed a terrible sin already: he had sent away Mr. Grave.

That was quite awful. It would take a great deal to turn her opinion of Mr. Darby at this point. She would be civil and polite, but she would not be amiable. She was much more interested in Mr. Call, but he did not seem particularly outgoing.

Demi was quite capable of carrying on an animated conversation with a taciturn person entirely on her own, but she did not want to make Mr. Call unduly uncomfortable. He was currently working, which meant he had no escape from her no matter how tedious he found her conversation.

Still, she wanted to give it her best when it came to befriending him, and so she did. She did not rate herself as particularly successful by any metric, and so after some presumably fruitless minutes passed, Demi contented herself to look out the window and study the City as it passed by.

The traffic was very heavy, but the driver seemed to know what he was doing, and they wove in and out through the densely moving cars. Automobiles were a luxury in the Uppercity, as Demi understood it. They were a luxury everywhere in the City, honestly, but cars here were kept for pleasure and convenience, as well as for spectacle, not for labor.

All around the narrow roads the buildings reared up like staircases towards the heavens. In this place, every inch of space was priceless. Only the most wealthy were able to pay the ponderous taxes required to license an automobile here, to fuel it and maintain it. Of course it was natural that her father had several automobiles at his disposal, being the Lord Serraffield.

The car had a smell of newness and polish, of leather. Demi leaned her temple against the cool window and watched the City slip slowly by. It was one moment of respite, one moment of quiet before she gathered herself again.

She missed Robert Grave terribly.

She hadn’t anticipated having to give him up so soon, but she supposed she ought to have. That she hadn’t considered it as a possibility made her feel both young and naive.

Even the earnest feeling of wanting her faithful and trusted friend made her feel young and naive. She was an adult. She would have to be an adult. There was no hiding anymore.

And so she took a deep breath and drew herself up, then turned her attention to Clarence Darby.

He had apparently been waiting for her to collect herself, because the moment she turned to him, he was pressing a small, boxy device into her hands.

“This is your mobile phone, Miss Serraffield,” he said. “My briefing materials led me to believe it is your first. Is that correct?”

Demi nodded as she turned the phone over in her hands.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “I’ve got lots of experience with technology, but there was never any need to have one at Forest Home. There isn’t any coverage so far out in the Deep Wood. Besides, I’m not sure who I’d have called on it. The whole of the world that I know was more or less at Forest Home already,” she smiled wryly.

Clarence Darby sniffed and it was a very fastidious sound. “Yes, well,” he said. “Here you will find that you need it, and carrying one is quite convenient. The phone already has several useful and important numbers stored inside it. I can arrange to have someone teach you how to use it if you like. I’ll schedule it now.”

Without waiting for her answer he had pulled a device from his own pocket and begun rapidly scribbling on it with a stylus.

Demi’s eyes widened and she raised both her hands in polite defense.

“That will be quite all right, Mr. Darby,” she said gently. “I don’t need instruction. I’m fairly certain I can figure it out on my own. If I can’t, I promise to let you know so that you can schedule that class.”

The idea of sitting through a class to learn how to operate her cell phone sounded so dull that it made her eyes water.

(In fact, the majority of the council of Demi, the interior organization of shoulder angels and devils that she consulted from time to time, were already asleep at the table. One of them was drooling.)

Demi had grown up using all different sorts of technology, so she was certain that with a little experimentation, she would soon be quite proficient enough at handling her new phone. Growing up in the lab meant that she knew how to hook up many different configurations of complicated A/V equipment, and to diagnose and resolve most networking issues. Besides that, she had any number of small devices she was used to using regularly and carrying with her in her bag, they just weren’t for making telephone calls.

Clarence Darby did not seem entirely convinced. It was clear that acquainting her with her new phone had to be on one of the lists he was ticking off with marks in little check boxes. He wanted evidence of this box being checked.

“Do you want me to call you to prove that I can use it?” Demi asked with a bemused smile and a raised eyebrow. Her smile quirked up, “Or maybe I could call Mr. Call?” she wondered, smiling at him. His face was expressionless, and his eyes were still hidden by sunglasses. He didn’t move at all when Demi made this exciting proposition.

The idea of either he or the bodyguard receiving a personal call from her seemed to startle Clarence Darby so much that he immediately raised up a hand, palm toward her, as if he were intent on stopping traffic.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Serraffield,” he said, reaching up to straighten his tie. “Please do tell me if you have any difficulties, and I will schedule the class for you.”

She nodded and a quiet laugh was there in her voice as she said, “I promise.”

He seemed relieved, and so Demi looked at the phone before tucking it into her bag,

It really isn’t very cute, she thought to herself. I’ll have to remedy that.

Once the phone was safely stowed, she turned her attention again to the equerry.

“So?” she asked, folding her hands over her lap. “What does the schedule look like for the rest of today, Clarence? With whom do I have appointments?”

The equerry straightened in his seat. “At six p.m. you’ll meet with your father, and at seven p.m. you’ll be introduced to Marquis Lysander and your squiring will be formally confirmed during the squiring ceremony. After that, you’re scheduled to take part in an evening dinner and cocktail party to become familiar with some of the people in Lord Lysander's operation.”

“I see,” she said, then tapped a fingertip lightly against her lap. “And before that?” she wondered. He had indicated that they had a full schedule, and yet the first appointment he had listed was not for some hours. Even considering a generous margin for travel, it did not make sense. Surely it would be better to let her become acquainted with her new home and to consider her clothing for her afternoon meetings. It was possible that her father did not intend for her to live with him at Starry Falls, the main City residence of the Serraffields. The family had other properties in the City, and Demi soberly understood that she was a complication that he might prefer lodged elsewhere.

It wasn't as if they were close, and he was a busy man. In all honesty, it might be a relief to avoid living at the main house, under constant scrutiny, although it would probably put a damper on the investigation she planned to pursue.

She had rarely seen her father after her mother’s funeral. She had to think carefully about the impression she wanted to leave on Lord Tristan Serraffield.

“We’re here,” was what the equerry said brightly, driven by nervous energy.

Demi looked up in surprise. The driver had pulled to the curb in what appeared to be a very exclusive shopping district. Clarence Darby circled the car and opened her door for her. She was unable to open the door herself, as it was locked from the inside and the controls on the side panel did nothing to alter the state of either the door or the window.

Idly, she wondered if she had been kidnapped. But then, that was ridiculous. She had expected to see her father at the station, but she recognized Clarence Darby as one of the men of his retinue. If she had been kidnapped, then she had been kidnapped at Lord Tristan Serraffield’s order. Certainly, it seemed as if her father’s equerry had orders to keep a very firm grip on her. She could not escape the feeling that she was being forcefully escorted around. She had no illusions that she had any influence over the day’s schedule, or the engagements that the equerry was so keen on keeping.

She was carefully shepherded into a boutique. She went where the equerry led her and was followed at all times by Mr. Call.

Although she had sincerely attempted to make friends with him, it was apparent that she had not made any headway. He wouldn't speak to her at all, no matter how she tried to engage him. He hadn't even twitched when she’d made quite a lot of funny faces at him, although the faces had put Mr. Darby into conniptions.

She had pacified him by telling him they were facial exercises, an important daily regimen to keep her face tight and smooth and wrinkle free. Astonishingly, he had bought this audacious lie, and she was fairly certain she now had free reign to make silly faces around him, provided he thought no one untoward was watching them. This knowledge inspired in her a powerful desire to find the undiscovered country of ridiculous faces, faces so ridiculous that they had not yet been seen by the eyes of man, and then visit them at length upon Clarence Darby, content in the knowledge she had the eternal safe haven of pretending to be a sweet but empty-headed princess.

This was the sort of vengeance that Demeter Serraffield entertained, one based in mischief and her own entertainment rather than pettiness or cruelty. It was also a fine illustration of one of her greatest faults: when she sussed out a boundary, she could not resist the temptation to push against it, to discover whether it was hard or soft, to find the last line, and walk it like a razor’s edge.

That was the contrary part of her personality, the part that chafed under any restrictions at all, the wild heart that yearned for freedom. It was also the sensualist part, the part that imagined that all things existed for the pleasure of experiencing them, even the absurd things.

Unfortunately, Demi did not currently find herself at liberty to begin her inspired performance of wicked and silly faces for the singular audience of Clarence Darby.

They were neither alone nor in private company. Her command performance would have to be paused, at least for the moment.

The boutique where they now sojourned felt like money. There were no goods on display, simply a very nice parlour quite a distance back from the forward facing windows. The shop was lit by soft lights and there was a subtle smell: clean linen and orange zest. An impeccably dressed lady led the small party to the parlour, and Demi sat while the equerry conversed with the clerk.

Mr. Call stepped off to the side and kept his eyes on the door.

Demi looked at her own feet and wondered why they had come to this place. She had a well appointed wardrobe already, one that had been carefully pressed and packed for the journey to the City. She was used to having a dressing room rather than a closet, and this had been true from before the time she had first toddled around on her own. She had no shortage of finery, certainly, and she was accustomed to wearing formal attire when the occasion necessitated it.

Of course, she hadn’t expected to be introduced to Lord Lysander in her tired shoes and her traveling dress, with her hair in a braid that was even now unravelling. She had excellent taste herself, and very strong opinions of the sort of things she liked to wear, and the sort of things she did not like to wear. She had begun to be uncomfortable, because the clerk still had not spoken to her. The clerk did not even look at her, merely looked her over, then turned her attention back to the instructions of the equerry. At last the clerk finished speaking with Clarence Darby and Demi straightened in her seat, but the clerk merely bowed, and departed behind a curtained doorway.

“Would you like to explain what’s going on, Mr. Darby?” Demi asked, letting the faintest note of dismissive boredom curl up in her voice. She had taken a reasonable measure of Clarence Darby by this point, she thought. He was under orders from her father and meant to gently goad her along, but given his slightly nervous nature, she thought he might be susceptible to the correct kind of pressure.

Demi wasn’t really bored or disdainful. She was mildly upset and uncomfortable, but she recognized that the equerry was unlikely to respond to either feeling with genuine empathy and sensitivity. She knew better than to ask for help or understanding. It was better to give him the impression that she found things tedious.

“Ah, Lady Serraffield,” he said with a slight flutter of his hands, “We’ve come to have you dressed for your debut at the Pinnacle. The ladies here are experts at what they do. They’ll have you looking perfect in no time at all. Would you like something to drink? I can have a page fetch you a coffee or a soft drink.”

“I’m fine,” Demi said, then frowned slightly. She took a deep breath and exuded displeasure.

“Mr. Darby, I know I need time to change and freshen myself after the train journey,” she said, “And I am not against making some new acquisitions for my wardrobe if my father has deemed it necessary, but I don’t really require someone else to ‘dress me up.’ I am not a doll, and I was not under the impression that I was going to the Pinnacle merely to be decorative.”

He looked pained. “I am sorry, Lady Serraffield, but these are direct orders from your father,” he said. “I am sure you have impeccable taste and are more than capable of dressing yourself for other occasions, but perhaps you might consider this an educational exercise? I recall that you are an excellent student, and a good student should always be ready for learning experiences.”

What is this meant to teach me exactly? she wondered to herself. How to passively accept whatever is done to me without complaint?

“So I am to have no say in how I’m dressed?” Demi asked icily, drawing herself up and giving him a look that was both remote and disdainful. It was one of the best of her imperious princess cards, and she played it like an ace. She regarded him as if he were feces she had discovered under the heel of her royal slipper.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Serraffield,” he said with a weak smile. “We all have our roles to play, after all. This is simply another one of your responsibilities as the heir to the Serraffield family.”

She leaned back in the chair again and deliberately turned her face away from him. That was it, then. He was much more frightened of her father’s displeasure that he was of hers. There was nothing she could really do but accept what was forced upon her. There was no denying the establishment. There was no denying the great, terrible weight of the City. There was no denying Tristan Serraffield.