“Well done! Though I cannot imagine who would be following you.”
“Julian, if he were dissatisfied with what he found at Croy.”
Pirie Tamm made a dubious sound. “Whatever the case, you seem to have slipped them off handily. I too have been busy, and I think you will approve of my arrangements. You may or may not be aware that Count Raul was a horticulturist of note; indeed, it was for this reason that he became such an ardent Society member. To make a long story short I have ranged far and wide among the few connections I have left, with good result. Tonight Baron Stam, who is Countess Ottilie’s cousin, will make an appointment for you. I will have full details later this evening, but, as it stands now, you will be identified as a student of botany, who wishes to look through Count Raul's papers on the subject. If you are able to ingratiate yourself with Countess Ottilie, no doubt you will have an opportunity to put other apparently casual questions to her."
“That sounds reasonable," said Wayness. "When do I present myself?"
“Tomorrow, since he will telephone Mirky Porod this evening."
“And my name is still Wayness Tamm?"
"'We saw no good reason for a false identity. However, do not stress your connection with the Naturalist Society.”
"I understand.”
Halfway through the morning Wayness climbed aboard the rickety old conveyance which connected Tzerm with a few even more remote villages to the east. After a ride of three miles up and down hills, through a dark deep forest, for a space beside the River Sogor, Wayness was discharged in front of a massive iron portal which guarded the avenue leading to Mirky Porod. The gates were open and the gatekeeper's lodge was deserted; Wayness set off up the avenue, which after two hundred yards swung around a copse of firs and hemlock to reveal the facade of Mirky Porod.
Wayness had often noticed in old buildings a quality which transcended character to become something close to sentience. She had wondered about this trait: was it real? Had the structure absorbed vitality over the years, perhaps from its occupants? Or was the condition imaginary: a projection of the human mind?
Mirky Porod, basking in the morning sunlight, seemed to demonstrate such a sentience: a reflective and tragic grandeur, enlivened by a certain frivolous insouciance, as if it felt neglected and tired but was too proud to complain.
The architecture — so it appeared to Wayness — neither obeyed nor defied convention, but, rather, seemed innocently oblivious to aesthetic norms. Exaggerations and excesses of mass were countered by playful elongations of form; subtle surprises were everywhere. The towers, north and south, were too squat and too heavy, with roofs too tall and too steep. The roof of the main structure showed three gables, each with its balcony. While the gardens were not impressive, a vast lawn extended from the terrace to a far line of sentinel cypress trees. It was as if someone of a romantic temperament had made a quick sketch on a scrap of paper and had ordained a structure with proportions exactly as sketched, or perhaps the inspiration had been a picture in a child’s book of fairy tales.
Wayness pulled at the bell chain. The door was presently opened by a plump young maid, not much older than herself. She wore a black uniform with a white lace cap to confine her blonde hair Wayness thought that she seemed a trifle surly and out of sorts, though she addressed Wayness politely enough. “Yes, miss?”
"My name is Wayness Tamm. I have an appointment with Countess Ottilie for eleven o'clock.”
The maid’s blue eyes widened in mild surprise. “Do you now we haven’t had too many visitors of late. The Countess thinks that everyone is out to steal her, or sell her fake jewels, or steal her things. In the main, of course, she is right. That is my view of it, at least.”
Wayness laughed. “I've nothing to sell and I'm too timid to steal."
The maid smiled wanly. "Very well, I'll take you to the old creature, for all the good it will do you. Just mind your manners and praise her dogs. What was your name again?”
"Wayness Tamm.”
“This way, then. She's taking her elevenses out on the lawn."
Wayness followed the maid across the terrace and down to the lawn. Fifty yards away, solitary as an island in a green ocean, the Countess sat at a white table, in the shade of a green and blue parasol. She was surrounded by a band of small fat dogs, all sprawled in attitudes of repose. Countess Ottilie herself was tall and gaunt, with a long sharp face, haggard cheeks, a long crooked nose with large nostrils, and a long jaw. Her white hair, parted in the middle, had been drawn to the nape of her neck and tied into a knot. She wore an ankle-length blue gown of filmy stuff and a pink jacket.
At the sight of Wayness and the maid the Countess cried out: “Sophie! Here at once!”
Sophie made no reply. The Countess silently watched I them approach.
Sophie spoke in a sullen voice: “This is Miss Wayness Tamm, Your Ladyship. She says that she has an appointment with you.”
Countess Ottilie ignored Wayness. “Where have you been? I called you, to no avail!”
'"I was answering the door."
"Indeed! You took your time about it! Where is Lenk, who should look after such things? “
“Madame Lenk’s back was taken bad this morning. Mr. Lenk is applying a salve."
"That is all pooh-bah! Madame Lenk always chooses to suffer at the most inconvenient times! Meanwhile I am not attended! I might as well be a bird on the fence, or the painting in a picture!”
"Sorry, Your Ladyship.”
"The tea was thin and barely warm! What of that?"
Sophle's round face became sullener than ever. "I did not brew the tea; I only brought it out!"
“Take the pot away, and bring out a fresh pot on the instant!"
“It won’t be on the instant," said Sophie grimly. "You'll have to wait, like anyone else, while it steeps."
Countess Ottilie face became mottled and she prodded the lawn with her cane. Sophie took the tray with the cup and teapot. In so doing, she trod on the tail of one of the dogs, which uttered a shrill cry. Sophie also cried out, jerked backwards and dropped the tray; pot and cup fell to the lawn, with a few drops splashing on Countess Ottilie’s hand, which caused her to bellow a hoarse curse. "You have scalded me!” She swung her cane but Sophie already had jumped back and trusted her pelvis to the side, so that the cane struck only empty air. “I thought you said the tea was cold!" Sophie called. Countess Ottilie had sprained her wrist, and was more vexed than ever. “Ah, you slut, to stamp poor Mikki, and then feign innocence! It is monstrous! Come here at once!"
'"So you can beat me? Never!"
The Countess struggled to her feet and swung the cane again, but Sophie, dancing back a safe distance, stuck her tongue out at Countess Ottilie. “That is what I think of you, stupid old crow that you are!"
Countess Ottilie panted, “As of this instant you are discharged! Leave at once!”
Sophie marched off two paces, then, bending, flung up her skirts to show Countess Ottilie the expanse of her buttocks, then strolled triumphantly away.
Wayness stood to the side, shocked, worried and amused. She came cautiously forward, picked up tray, pot and cup and set them on the table. The Countess glared at her. "Go! I have no need for you either.”
“If you wish, but I had an appointment to see you at this time."
"Hmf." Countess Ottilie settled back into her chair. "Naturally you want something of me, like all the rest!"
Wayness saw that she had not made an auspicious beginning. “It is a pity that you have been disturbed. Should I come back when you have had time to rest?”