“Much worse,” Mairelon said cheerfully. “The further you get in your study of magic, the more power you use without thinking about it. Using a foreign tongue keeps it all from spewing into a spell uncontrollably. And the reason most spells are in ancient Greek and Latin is that nobody grows up speaking those languages any more, so every wizard can use spells written in them without having to translate them first.”
“So if I was to say this spell in French, it would work just as well as it does in Latin?” Kim asked.
“Yes, exactly. Of course, the more complex the spell, the more important the precise shades of meaning become. When we get to advanced work, you’ll find that some spells have completely different effects, depending on whether you say them in Latin or Greek or Hebrew.”
“And Mademoiselle D’Auber could do spells in English if she wanted, but I can’t.”
Mairelon beamed. “Yes. As far as the Royal College can determine, mere fluency in a foreign language does not cause the same problems as growing up speaking it. English is a foreign language to Renée, so she could certainly cast spells in it.” He paused, then added absently, “I sometimes wonder how the Jewish wizards manage. Hebrew is used in quite a lot of spells, and one would think—But then, if they have found a way around the language problem, one can’t blame them for keeping it secret. Not after the way they’ve been treated over the centuries.”
Ignoring this novel viewpoint, Kim frowned. “All right, but why do I have to learn three kinds of foreign talk? Isn’t one enough?”
“It is an unfortunate side effect of history,” Mairelon said. “The ancient Romans couldn’t cast their spells in Latin, so they used Greek. The Greeks couldn’t cast spells in Greek, so they used Latin. And mixing in a little Hebrew kept spells from being quite so easy to steal, because the spellcaster had to know at least two languages.”
“I still say it’s too tangled,” Kim grumbled. “And what do all those spells do, anyway? The ones I saw—on the bookcases and your waistcoat button and the candlestick.”
“Finding that out is a different spell,” Mairelon said. “And we’re not through with the theory of this one, yet. Now, if you alter the order, like this, nothing happens, but if you change the arrowheads to triangles . . .”
An hour and a half later, Kim’s head was buzzing. She was amazed by the number of changes that could be wrung out of the simple spell merely by changing the order of the words or the way in which the diagram was drawn, and she had a new respect for the reasons behind Mairelon’s emphasis on accuracy in spellcasting.
The following morning, Lady Wendall appeared at Kim’s room, accompanied by a plump, middle-aged woman whose sharp eyes belied her outward appearance of placid respectability.
“Wilson will be your abigail,” Lady Wendall informed Kim. “If you must go out without Richard or myself, take her with you.”
“Even to St. Giles?” Kim said, nettled.
“Not at all, miss,” the plump woman responded. “St. Giles ain’t no place for a respectable woman, let alone a young lady of Quality. So if you go there, it’ll be for wizardly doings, and you won’t be needing me. My lady meant more usual places. Shopping and such.”
Kim made a face, and Lady Wendall laughed. “Wilson is quite right. Wizards do not require an abigail when they are on magical business, though of course it is wise to bring one with you even for most of that. You will become accustomed in time, I am sure.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kim objected. She didn’t feel up to explaining that it was the thought of shopping, and not of being shadowed by a respectable abigail, that had made her grimace.
“Of course it doesn’t make sense,” Lady Wendall said. “The rules of Society seldom do. One must simply learn them, no matter how little sense they make.”
“Oh. It’s exactly the opposite of magic, then.”
Lady Wendall laughed. “Yes, I am afraid so. But if you transgress the rules of Society, you may well find yourself an outcast. Wizardry cannot protect one from everything.” She paused. “I do hope you will try not to err, my dear. You may not find social ostracism much of a threat, but it would be so uncomfortable for Richard.”
Kim frowned. “You mean that Mrs. Lowe was right?”
“I doubt it,” Lady Wendall murmured. “Right about what?”
“About how me being his ward makes him look bad to the nobs.”
“Not at all. It is a minor eccentricity on his part, but wizards are allowed considerably more freedom in some regards than most people. Were you to create a great scandal—if you eloped to Gretna Green or attempted to turn His Highness into a toad—that would certainly reflect on Richard, the same as if his brother or I were to do such a thing. I don’t think you need to worry too much, however. A little common sense is really all that is needed.”
Maybe that’s all it takes for you, Kim thought, but she held her peace. Lady Wendall was trying to be reassuring, but Kim could not help feeling that she would be facing less obvious pitfalls than a runaway marriage or a misdirected spell.
Lady Wendall smiled. “Now, if you will put on your green walking dress, we will proceed to Madame Chandelaine’s to procure you a proper wardrobe.”
With a sigh, Kim nodded. She let Wilson dress her and arrange her hair, then joined Lady Wendall. She was still considering Lady Wendall’s comments, and wondering whether the whole come-out business wasn’t really a mistake after all, and so they had almost reached Madame Chandelaine’s before she thought to ask whether Renée would be accompanying them.
“Mademoiselle D’Auber is to meet us at Madame’s,” Lady Wendall told Kim. “We will have a certain amount of time to talk while you are being fitted, but I warn you that Madame is an inveterate gossip. If you do not wish to find the whole of London discussing your affairs, you will have to watch what you say.”
When they arrived, they were ushered immediately into a private room at the back of the establishment. Renée was already there, engaged in a spirited conversation with a black-haired woman of formidable proportions. Unfortunately, the conversation was in French, so Kim did not understand a word. Lady Wendall greeted the two in the same language, and for a moment Kim was afraid that all three of them would speak French for the entire afternoon. After her greeting, however, Lady Wendall returned to English and said, “Has Mademoiselle D’Auber explained our requirements, Madame?”
“A wardrobe for the young lady, I believe?” The formidable Frenchwoman studied Kim with a critical eye.
Lady Wendall nodded. “Garments suitable for my son’s ward, whom I shall be presenting this Season. And also suitable for an apprentice wizard, recognized by the Royal College, who is having her first Season.”
“A wizard in her first Season?” Madame’s gaze sharpened with curiosity and interest.
“It is not at all uncommon for wizards to enjoy the Season,” Mademoiselle D’Auber pointed out gently.
“It is, however, uncommon for the young ladies to admit that they are wizards—especially in their first Season,” Madame said. “It is not a thing the Mamas believe is of help in catching a husband. Last Season, I had the dressing of only two such; this Season, none at all.”
“My son’s ward is uncommon,” Lady Wendall said. “In fact, her antecedents are somewhat . . . unusual.”
“Wizards are always unusual.” Madame waved dismissively. “But of a certainty, they do not always admit it. I will find it a pleasure to have the dressing of one who does. Turn around, Mademoiselle, if you please.”
Kim complied.
“Charming,” Madame said. “Entirely charming. It will be well, I think. Elspeth! The green-figured muslin, and the yellow silk. And the China blue crêpe.”
“Not yellow,” Renée put in firmly. “For Kim, it is a color entirely unbecoming.”
“So?” Madame studied Kim a moment, frowning. “Yes, yes, I see. The white sarcenet, then, and the lilac. What will she be doing for her display? Roses?”
“We have not yet decided,” Lady W
endall said. “I can assure you, however, it will not be anything so usual.”
“Display?” Kim said, her head already spinning from the talk of so many colors and fabrics. “What display?”
“If you wish me to design a dress for her presentation ball, I must know what illusion she is to perform,” Madame said. “Something in peach would be well with Mademoiselle’s coloring, but not if she is to perform red roses or a fire.”
“Perform?” Kim said, now thoroughly alarmed. “What do you mean, perform?”
“We will leave the dress for her ball until later,” Lady Wendall informed Madame. “There are still three weeks before it will be needed.” She turned to Kim. “It is customary, on those occasions when a wizard is being presented, for her to perform some magical illusion with her magic tutor before she opens the dancing. Climbing roses have been very popular in the last few years, though in the Season following Waterloo a Miss Taldworth attempted an image of Napoleon surrendering his sword. She did a very bad job of it, quite apart from the fundamental inaccuracy of the image, and it was an on dit for weeks. Since then everyone has kept to things that are simpler.”
“Or they avoid it entirely,” Renée said. “The Mamas, they presented last year more than two young ladies who were wizards, I think.”
“You mean I’m going to have to do a spell in front of a bunch of toffs?” Kim said, outraged that no one had mentioned this before she had agreed to this come-out.
“Yes, exactly,” Lady Wendall said serenely. “You and Richard have plenty of time to design something that will reflect your unique background, as well as demonstrating your abilities as a wizard. I am looking forward to seeing what you decide upon.”
“I could pick everyone’s pockets at once with magic,” Kim said, still disgruntled. “That’d ‘reflect my unique background,’ all right.”
Lady Wendall considered. “I don’t think so. Unless Richard has been pushing you far harder than he ought, spells of that magnitude and scope are still beyond your abilities. An illusion along those lines, however, would be just the thing. You must discuss it with him when we get home.”
A teetering pile of fabric bolts, supported by Madame’s young assistant, staggered into the room. “Ah, Elspeth!” Madame said. “On the table, if you please. Now, Mademoiselle . . .”
Kim spent the next several hours being measured, draped, fitted, and paraded before the critical eyes of Lady Wendall, Renée D’Auber, and Madame Chandelaine in a variety of dresses. Lady Wendall began by ordering a cream walking dress that needed only to be shortened and a morning dress in the green-figured muslin, both to be delivered on the morrow. After that, she became more particular, choosing a sleeve from this dress and a flounce from that one, to be combined with a different bodice and a fuller skirt. Renée added advice and suggestions of her own, and Madame also put in a word from time to time. No one asked for Kim’s opinion.
The number and cost of the dresses appalled Kim. Lady Wendall’s idea of an acceptable wardrobe was considerably more lavish than Mairelon’s or Mrs. Lowe’s; in her days on the street, Kim could have lived comfortably for two years on the price of a single walking dress. The ball gowns were naturally much worse, and there were far more of them than Kim could imagine ever needing. But both Lady Wendall and Renée D’Auber looked at her in complete incomprehension when she tried to explain her objections, so eventually she gave up and let them do as they wished.
When they had finished negotiating with Madame, there were more things to be purchased elsewhere: gloves, bonnets, stockings, slippers, and all manner of other small items. By the time they returned to Grosvenor Square at last, they were laden with packages and Kim was exhausted. Even Mrs. Lowe’s disapproving comments over dinner failed to penetrate her fatigue. She fell into bed that night, thankful that at least the shopping part was done with.
9
Kim discovered her mistake over the course of the next week. Not only was the shopping not done with, there were an enormous number of preparations necessary for the ball Lady Wendall proposed to hold. Everything, it seemed, had to be done immediately, beginning with writing out and sending invitations to some four hundred persons of Lady Wendall’s acquaintance. Kim’s poor handwriting kept her from helping with that chore, but plenty of other things needed to be done.
Her magic lessons were a welcome break from the sudden plunge into social arrangements. Mairelon had begun focusing more on specific spells, which Kim found far more interesting than the dry tomes full of jaw-breaking foreign languages that she had been studying earlier. When she thought about it, she realized that she was learning a great deal of magical theory along with the practical specifics of the spells they reviewed together, but working with Mairelon made theory intriguing instead of dull.
In the evenings, Mairelon gave her dancing lessons, while Lady Wendall played the pianoforte. Kim picked up the patterns of the country dances very quickly, but waltzing made her nervous. For too many years, she had carefully avoided getting near people, for fear they would discover that she was not the boy she had pretended to be. Allowing anyone, even Mairelon, not only to come close, but to circle her waist with his arm brought back old fears, though she had to admit that the sensation was pleasurable on those rare occasions when she could relax enough to enjoy it.
The mysterious burglar did not reappear, for which Kim could only be thankful. Between shopping, preparations for the ball, and lessons in magic, dancing, and etiquette, her days were too full to admit any additional activities. It was almost a relief when Lady Wendall announced over dinner that they would be spending the following evening at the opera.
“Most of your gowns have arrived, so you will be sure of making a good appearance,” Lady Wendall said.
Mrs. Lowe looked up. “You will understand, I am sure, if I do not choose to join you.”
“Of course,” Lady Wendall said. “Though I think you refine too much on Kim’s misadventure at Mrs. Hardcastle’s.”
“Nonetheless, I prefer a peaceful evening at home to the . . . uncertainties of a public appearance at this time.”
“Nonsense, Aunt!” Mairelon said. “What can happen at the opera? You go, you sit in a box and listen to a lot of caterwauling, you wave at other people during the interval, and you come home.”
“I sincerely hope that your evening will be as unexceptionable as you say,” Mrs. Lowe said. “But I remain at home.”
“In that case, I shall invite Renée D’Auber to accompany us,” Lady Wendall said.
The whole thing sounded less than appealing to Kim, but she had agreed to this come-out business, and she would see it through. Her misgivings increased when Wilson, the abigail, helped her get ready. Apart from fittings, it was the first time Kim had worn formal evening dress. The apricot crêpe hung smoothly over the matching satin slip, but she was not at all sure she could walk without stepping on the deep flounce of blond lace that trimmed the hem. The bodice was fashionably tight and low cut—too low cut, Kim thought. Her shoulders and breasts felt decidedly exposed. It hadn’t seemed nearly as skimpy during the fittings. A thin scarf woven with gold threads did little to mend matters. Feeling nervous, Kim went down to join the others.
“Excellent,” Lady Wendall said as Kim came down the stairs. “That color is perfect.”
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Kim said. Lady Wendall’s dress was at least as low cut as hers, and the drape of lace trim that fell over the dark green silk of the bodice made it look even more precarious.
“It’s only to be expected,” Mairelon said. “It always takes longer to put on a costume the first time.”
“Richard!” said his mother. “You are talking as if we were going to a masquerade instead of the opera.”
“Am I?” Mairelon said vaguely. “Ah, well. Hadn’t we better be going?”
Lady Wendall rolled her eyes and took Mairelon’s arm. But Mairelon is right, thought Kim as she followed them out to the carriage. It is a costume, and I am only playing
a part, the same way I played the part of a boy for so long. The thought was depressing; it made her wonder whether she would have to play at being something other than what she was for all her life. But what am I, if I stop playing parts? She shivered and thrust the thought away. This part was what mattered tonight, dispiriting as it might be. And on top of everything, Mairelon hadn’t even said that she looked nice.
Her depression lifted when they entered the opera house. The ornate foyer was crowded with toffs. Most of the men wore dark coats and pantaloons; the younger women wore muslin gowns in soft colors; and the older ones wore silks, velvets, and a profusion of jewels that almost made Kim regret having given up thieving. Lady Wendall, Renée, and Mairelon seemed in no hurry to reach their box. They moved slowly through the crowd, greeting acquaintances, chatting with friends, and introducing Kim to more people than she could possibly remember.
Eventually, they reached the box, but this only set off another round of socializing as people in other boxes saw them and left their places to come and visit. Kim was not at all sure how they decided who stayed in a box and who came to visit, but there had to be some sort of system, or too many people would pass each other in the hall.
After what seemed hours, the traffic lessened and a few people began to take their seats in preparation for the overture. Many, however, continued talking and visiting despite the music. As the curtain rose, Kim noticed a slender young man watching them from the opposite box. She leaned over to mention this to Lady Wendall, but was frowned into silence. The show began.
On the whole, Kim decided, opera compared favorably with the puppet shows, hurdy-gurdy men, and balladeers of the marketplaces. The actors had better costumes, and everybody sang on key, and every so often a thoroughly implausible fight would erupt, with lots of leaping about and everyone still singing at the top of their lungs. On the other hand, she couldn’t understand a word of it, and without the words, the actions didn’t make much sense. She wasn’t entirely convinced they were supposed to. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone else; most of the audience was more interested in talking to each other or observing the toffs in the boxes than in the events on stage.