Rain pouring down outside, the people exited their carriages and hurried to the building, their servants holding up umbrellas as they took on the weather’s burden. Once their duty to their masters and mistresses was over, they entered through the back to the servants’ hall where the fire was roaring, the drinks warm. Gianna mirrored her own mistress as the host of this space, chatting to the less prestigious guests and making sure they were comfortable.

Upstairs, Julia laughed and smiled. Although this would mark her first time hosting something grander than a tea party, she showed no worry, no awkwardness. While only a group of twenty-odd all together, it was just enough to bring warmth to her modest townhouse.

Tonight not one for politics, she had arranged for an old friend of her father’s to see to the men, Lord Bibra, while she tended to their wives; this also included some of the children—those old enough to be out socially and not yet married.

“Lady Ravensheim, please, do meet Lady Günzfurt—”

“Ah, Lady Mammengard, your son associates with—”

Never any hesitation, as if knowing by heart every link between each guest and every other one. Even when subtly informing each gentleman of his assigned lady, she didn’t fumble, treating all as old friends.

A dinner party was not a simple affair of chatting, though, so, once the guests had all arrived, she had the gentlemen escort their ladies through to the dining room.

Of course, it was decorated for the occasion. Faded tapestries hung on the walls, candles instead of oil lamps for the lighting, chairs and table rather coarsely made for such a residence, yet the table’s top still looked perfectly smooth and oiled, the chairs with plush cushions.

“I thought to begin my hosting with celebrating the past,” she said, gesturing at some of the other decorations. “After all, it is important to remember where we have come from.”

“How wonderful,” Lady Ravensheim said, then pointed out an ancient vase on display. “My husband and I saw one just like that on our pilgrimage to Rome, did we not?”

From a few seats down, he looked at it with squinting eyes. “I believe we did.”

“If my guests are speaking of the Roman vase, I purchased it last year,” Julia said, a touch pensive. “It is… I found some notes belonging to my father of pieces he wished to buy. So, when I heard of one for sale, I just had to.”

There was a lull for a second before Lady Ravensheim said, “It is certainly a lovely piece.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Julia said, bursting into a smile.

Little by little, the other bits of décor were presented and discussed, passing the time as the food was brought in and table prepared. Once arranged, the covers came off and revealed the matching meal: something of a feast.

Rather than countless delicacies, the centrepiece was a whole hog roast with an apple in its mouth. A few bowls of soups and stews spanned the table, along with chunks of breads more hearty than simple white bread. The plates and bowls were made of wood, the cutlery of bronze, and the wine glasses had little of the clarity expected.

However, as the ancient vase held its own worth, so too did the presentation. Which of them did not know the value of such fine mahogany? Not just the chairs and table, but the plates and bowls also had the familiar appearance, perfectly polished. As simple as the glasses looked, their shape was not irregular and the rim perfectly smoothed.

As for the food, it carried the scent of spices. The hog was only tried by the intrepid men among them—and, of course, the host—and they found the skin had a wonderful flavour of brandy, while the stews offered fine and tender meats in a sauce with the aroma of wine. Even the chunks of bread proved softer than they looked, yet firm enough to soak up the various broths and soups with ease.

Julia’s execution was not lacking. After all, good investments paid best when suitably invested in.

Once the praises died down—such praises for her, not the food, as was proper for the occasion—gentle conversation rose up. The topic of weather, of performances at the capital’s music halls, of the kind of family matters that could be discussed in polite company. Despite the larger size for a dinner party, she kept all the guests involved in the conversations.

As the first course finished, the next came in, this time something lighter and more typical: roasted vegetables accompanying prepared fishes. The hog stayed, though, very much still the centrepiece, albeit one that was picked at by mostly the younger men through the ensuing courses.

It was only when the desserts came out that the hog left, taken down to the servants’ hall for them to have as they wished. The other leftovers were readied to deliver to the nearby church as was the norm.

So the meal came to an end. However, that did not mean it time to leave. Lord Bibra took the men through to the parlour while she brought the women back to the drawing room.

Although the dining room had been prepared for the theme, the drawing room remained how it had been. A light and warm room that gained a texture through the careful choice of paintings on display, depicting spring flowers and landscapes of sunsets and a proud buck. The furniture had delicate tassels, so light that they swayed in the slightest breeze among the room, with flowery upholstery. Although a fire burned, it was more for the ambience and the logs had been chosen for their pleasant aroma.

An innocent room, almost childish, in stark contrast to the mature colours preferred by the Queen who set the fashions. Of course, she could have followed such fashions. It would have been trivial for her to arrange something elegant.

However, everything had its purpose; so too did this.

“I hate to break the unwritten rules…” she said, barely above a whisper.

Lady Mammengard gave her a gentle smile. “Come now, child, we shan’t bite.”

Julia looked at the older women in her company, the daughters having flocked to the piano once given the chance. “It is… I have not forgotten anything, have I? Only that Lord Bibra could hardly advise me on the things he is unaware.”

After a titter, Lady Ravensheim said, “My Lady has done rather well. Your parents would be proud.”

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Julia looked down, but that did little to hide her blooming smile. “Truly?”

“If my daughter could host so well”—Lady Günzfurt glanced over—“I would be most satisfied. Not to mention, My Lady has done this without the guidance a daughter ought to have. She certainly is one of good breeding.”

Julia giggled behind her hand, then raised her head with a proud smile. “It is my only wish in life to make my parents proud.”

The topic shifted from there, mothers soon pulling their daughters back. Julia kept the conversation going, but refrained from saying too much, at least for a while. At loosely the half-hour mark, she brought forward the principle discussion.

“I spoke with Bishop of Augsburg before coming to the capital,” she said, taking up the gap in conversation. “It is quite tragic—the peasants are rather losing faith.”

Sighs and tuts came from all sides. “Honestly, what can be done? They are a fickle lot.”

“I have been thinking of it since hearing and, while I may be inexperienced, my mother did a lot of work for charitable causes. In her notes, she had complete faith in the Lord. If it is that there are those who do not believe in the Church, it is because we have failed them.” She paused there to offer an apologetic smile. “Of course, this is the situation in my fief. I would not presume to put blame elsewhere.”

A few laughed, a couple smiled, and Lady Ravensheim put her at ease. “It is understood we would talk about these matters in general. That aside, though, your mother left notes?”

“Oh yes, she had much she wished to share with me. My father said… she felt her time neared, so she wished to ensure I….”

“Aw, poor dear,” Lady Günzfurt said.

Julia took only a breath before settling her expression once more. “What is it we were speaking of?” she said lightly.

Lady Ravensheim asked, “Did your mother have any suggestions for encouraging the faith amongst the peasants?”

“Oh, yes,” Julia said, and her brow furrowed as if in thought. “If it is that the peasants have been wronged, then justice must be served. Otherwise, it is that they have not experienced His teachings.”

“How could they not?” Lady Mammengard asked, her face scrunched up.

Julia’s gaze fell as she kept her head up. “I cannot say,” she whispered, then spoke up as she continued. “Elsewhere, my mother talks about how children are more amenable to faith. They are too young to yet be led astray by temptations. In my heart, I feel this to be the right way. My mother raised much money for good causes and I would like to do the same. After all, if not for me, then she would….”

Her pause did not last even a second before she looked around and picked out the younger ladies who had been little involved this far.

“Please, do share what trinkets and treats are popular with the youth these days? I would rather like to host a bazaar.”

Lady Günzfurt’s daughter exchanged a look with her neighbours, then said, “Well, I suppose flower-pressing is quite in fashion? One wouldn’t go wrong selling flowers and pretty books.”

Little by little, Julia drew out suggestions and advice, the heavy topic of a moment ago swept aside by the joy of a good bazaar. “One must have an explicit goal to raise,” said one, and another, “A good fortune-teller is a must,” while another chided that, saying, “How can one raise money for the Church with such blasphemy?”

However, she kept the mood warm, defusing the points of contention. “Perhaps a play? There are many suitable stories in the Bible if anyone has a troupe to recommend.”

Such a broad topic, it could occupy a whole day, never mind an hour. All too soon, she had to point at the clock for the mothers to realise the time—she asked for their opinion on a good clockmaker for servicing the grandfather clock.

The men had seemed to enjoy their time too, a laughter between them all, mentions among the sons of an exciting game of billiards that had gone on.

Once they were gone, she thanked Bibra for his assistance on this day and the older man waffled on about her father. She listened politely, smiling, giving a nod when appropriate and a titter at his little joke.

Then there was silence.

Her butler and her maid both joined her upon her return to the townhouse’s office. However, they said nothing while she wrote out three pages of notes. Some were snippets of conversation, others observations, a few intuitions, and a handful of reasoned conclusions.

Once those were finished, she then listened to everything her maid had to say, which concerned what things the guests’ servants had let slip below-stairs. Some were as innocuous as who Lady Mammengard had visited the previous day, while others concerned second-hand rumours of affairs going on.

Julia had no doubt in her maid’s recollection. Gianna had, after all, been brought up to be a bookkeeper like her mother, her memory well-trained.

Of course, that Julia took notes did not mean she necessarily believed the rumours nor particularly cared about visits. However, suitable rumours could be investigated and regularity of visits helped build up her understanding of the complex social web that the peers had tied themselves in.

Last of all, her butler gave his impressions, which included an insight into the goings on of the men. While there wouldn’t be any politics being done on such a visit, it often seemed that these kinds of men had an eagerness to discuss politics regardless, especially the sons who felt they had to prove their understanding on the matters.

Once the report was compiled, she read it over a handful of times and then reduced the points to those she deemed key. This page she kept, safe in the knowledge that only her father could understand the invented language, while the rest of the paper went into the fireplace.

With that matter completed, she brought out her less secretive notes which covered the planning for the bazaar. Little of what she had learned this evening had any worth to her; however, there was worth in being seen to listen to advice.

Glancing up, she realised she had forgotten to dismiss her butler and her maid. Although she went to, she paused, then a smile came to her.

“Mr Cromer,” she said and he left after a bow. “Gianna, pray tell, what kinds of things would interest you at a bazaar?”

“Madam?”

Oh Julia could see the confusion in her maid’s eyes, letting the chuckle come out. “Consider it a whim of mine as I am oft prone to have.”

That did not do much to convince Gianna, but she considered it an order. “As a child, my mother once took me somewhere… maybe not exactly a bazaar. There was a pot of melted cheese over a fire and my mother dipped some stale bread in it with a fork? It’s… I don’t even know if it’s good, but I remember liking it. Maybe because it was one of the few times we went somewhere without my father.”

“Is that so?” Julia said, then returned to her notes. “It sounds interesting enough. I would understand if you do not wish to muddy your precious memory; however, it shall be arranged.”

“Madam is too kind,” her maid said, bowing her head.

Julia let out half a laugh. “Pray do not think so lowly of me to call this kindness. While it may be sinful to be greedy, there is no harm in some indulgence. You are not merely a servant to me.”

Silence followed for a moment, then a softly said, “Yes, madam,” drifted through the room like a breeze.

After finishing the note she was writing to include this little indulgence, Julia looked over to her maid with a smile. “No one will ever understand me like you do. While they will search for reason, what they cannot understand is the cold determination for a revenge more grand than they could ever possibly fathom. My mother did not deserve her fate. As God shan’t return her to me, there is nothing that could convince me to give up on my plans.”

“Not even me?” her maid whispered.

Julia heard the question clearly and gently laughed with a smile on her lips. “Do you regret your revenge?” she asked.

Although her head was bowed, Gianna’s smile was unmistakeable and as beautiful as that first time Julia had seen it. “No. I was just curious how much I mean to you.”

“In a kinder world, I would have you as my little sister and dote upon you until thoroughly spoilt,” Julia said, an unusual lightness to her voice and honesty to her smile. “However, we are not in a kind world. I dare not risk giving you such prominence and I unfortunately cannot waste any advantage I find myself with.”

“As long as I can be of use to you, I don’t care about anything else.”

Smile turning even softer, Julia looked back at the papers on the desk. “Pray think a little of what you would like to do once I have accomplished that which I have set out to do.”

“Can I not still be your maid then?” Gianna asked.

“I’m afraid not. Well, I suppose you could keep my grave clean if I am fortunate enough to still be permitted one.”

Seconds passed in silence and Julia thought she had finally found something to stifle her maid’s sweet words. So she began to write once more, only to find herself very much wrong.

“If it comes to it, I will make a grave for you and keep it clean.”

Julia let out a breath of laughter and said no more. At the least, one had to know when to accept ones loss.