The Colony

War of Pretend

Crant was in a flap from that day on. Two troops of Chilcotin Cavalry arrived which had not happened for at least three hundred years. Riders were sent down the Coast to pick up word. The great central Valley between the Central and Coastal mountains was patrolled by Chilcotins with our people filling the ranks.

Sir Percival was sent to the Arch Duke Farn, our liege lord of the Middle Waters, and word came back that the Arch Duke and his people had heard of neither the Emperor’s party nor the force from the Plains. Our riders went as far as the Columb River with no sign of the Emperor’s troops or the Horde as we had taken to calling them. We sent one of our racing sloops with a picked crew to see what was happening in the Free City of San Franco. But we knew it would take at least a month for the voyage even with fair winds.

Of course, Lady Fetmore had been right. My departure for the Colony, which had been planned for several months hence, was moved up. I had three weeks to get ready and Lady Fetmore left the next day. I don’t know if she was able to discuss Chilcotin and Crant’s history in greater depth with the Thane because I had not a second alone with her until I saw her off from the pier. She dressed well but rather plainly as is the custom in Castor when not at Court.

My father joined me to see her off but there was no sign of the Thane.

“So, dear Princess, I will establish our beachhead in Dyer. Greet the locals and talk you up.”

Then, all her lightness was flushed from her face and she dropped my Father a deep curtsey. “Sir, I am honoured to forge the way for your daughter of Crant and for Castor.”

My father loves occasions like this and had a little speech, “You are our friend my Dear Lady Fetmore and I am sure my wife would agree that we can entrust our daughter to no more virtuous and astute a Lady. Take your journey lightly as there is great work to be done in the Colony. God’s Speed.”

Lucy winked at me and off she went.

There is no effective way to communicate quickly with the Big Island. The best that can be done is a fast boat from our harbour to a northern peninsula of the south end of the island and then a morning’s hard ride to Dyer. The weekly boat sails from harbour to harbour weather permitting in three days. Our steamers are very, very slow….faster to sail. I got a single letter from Lady Fetmore and it seemed to be in code with much about the need for public works and the dreary Governor being very unhappy to be relieved and other bits of chit-chat.

My poor maid and my ladies in-waiting were up to their ears in packing and supervising packing for the future Duchess of, what? I’d made no progress on the name and I certainly was not going to be styled, Her Grace the Duchess of the Big Island. I had meetings. A lot of meetings with military people, civil servants and our own dear Archbishop who wanted me to decide if the colony was ready for a bishop. How could I tell? And then, three days before I was due to leave, my mother sent for me.

I have not said much about my mother. Not because there is nothing to say; rather because there is far too much. She was born in Crant, to a good family with many Sevens in its family tree. And many “Ladies of Crant”. A term of vague art. There is a good deal of gossip, largely in other courts, which suggest that well-born ladies of Crant have some sort of witchy powers. Hexes, love spells, soothsaying, the minor arts of the witch. My mother, the gossip goes, was a particular adept and catching my father at a moment of vulnerability – no doubt involving the stars and very possibly the moon – cast a spell on him and here I am. The sad part about my mother is that I am pretty certain she believes that is exactly what happened. Because her mother and her grandmother told her so.

But if there was a witch in my mother’s family it is her grandmother, my great-grandmother, a little round apple of a woman who I regularly see on the Main in beautifully made dresses caring a wicker work basket for her purchases. We’d have coffee often and she’d tell me stories of her time in the Chilcotin and the boys, now old men or, more likely, dead, she’d kissed. Her gift, if that was what it was, consisted of being more right than wrong on questions about the future. “You’ll not marry while I’m alive my girl.” was the sort of prediction she would make. The only proof of the “sight” was her striking record of backing winners at the Crant races held every Fall. But then, again, she was brilliant with horses and, for all I knew, could sense which horse seemed ready to run.

I dressed carefully for my meeting with my mother. Not being “Royal” herself she overcompensated by being a stickler for proper etiquette and dress. I walked the hundred yards to her wing of the palace and arrived in her Chambers to be announced, of course, by her Chamberlin, “The Princess Ann” had seemed a bit formal to me when I returned from the Chilcotin but Mother insisted that I was now an adult and should behave and be addressed according to my station.

I always try to make an effort to at least touch my mother by way of greeting. A peck on the cheek is all she’ll put up with.

“And how is my Duchess today?” asked my mother from her dainty little armchair. Just behind her was her mother and grandmother and, behind them, Oret in the plain black dress which mocked the frivolity of my own lacy day dress. I didn’t answer my mother immediately instead kissing my grandmother and great-grandmother.

“Your State Secret not to be mentioned by anyone, especially when there are servants present, is well. How are you?” I eventually replied.

Tea, in a lovely painted china pot with matching painted cups and little pink, rectangles of cream icing and puff pastry were place on the table in front of my mother and she poured and we passed ten uninteresting minutes enquiring about our, apparently, robust health. It was what we always did before getting to whatever point my mother wished to make.

“So, you are off,” said my great-granny with a smile.

“In three days Granny, yes.”

“I don’t know what your father is thinking,” my mother announced. There was, of course, nothing to say to that. I was not very sure myself.

“In any case,” said great grandmother, “Ordinarily, we’d be having this conversation a few days before your wedding but your father seems to have other plans. So now is the time. Oret.”

The thin, black clad, woman stood, walked over to a side table and returned with a tray covered by what looked to be a very old bit of fabric which was embroidered with the Arms of Crant. She set the tray down and my mother lifted the piece of fabric and handed it to Oret. Beneath was another, more recent, piece of linen this time embroidered with the Arms of my mother’s house. “Lift the fabric Ann.”

I did as I was told and there was a hand mirror, a comb and a small, very elegant, slip knife in a white leather sheath.

“The knife is self-explanatory but with one difference. Its blade is poisoned. Every married woman in Crant carries a similar knife. A scratch is deadly and almost certainly undetectable. In the little pommel, there is a reservoir to recharge the blade or to use in other circumstances. One small drop in a jug of wine and you will kill all who drink from the jug,” said my mother.

“The comb is a little more complicated. If you count, there are twenty-four teeth. If you bite down on a single tooth as your period comes on you will have a light period and you will not conceive in the three months which follow,” said my grandmother. “You know how the women of Crant have ensured our honour with our men. Bite the comb, put him in his place, enjoy!”

“Pick up the mirror, Ann,” said my great-grandmother. “Look at it. Now, look through it. Past the surface. What do you see?”

I looked, I looked past and I saw absolutely nothing. Or nothing I could make out. “Nothing.”

“Good,” said my great-grandmother. “In a perfect life, you would never see anything but your own reflection. But every day, when you dress in the morning and when you undress in the evening, look in your mirror. When you need it to, it will help.”

Oret croaked from the back of the room as she beetled out the door, “If you have the gift it will, Missy. If you have the gift.”

“That woman is impossible,” said my great granny casting her voice to the door Oret had slipped through. “Impossible.”

We continued for a few minutes with my great-granny holding the floor. “The thing about the mirror is that it is a mirror. It reflects you. You can ask it things if you’d like, I know your mother does, but the answers it may give will be difficult to understand unless you actually understand what is going on around you. It is not a perfect device and it does not really tell the future. It may let you see shapes and it will sometimes suggest paths. And Oret has it right, you need the gift. We all, every woman in Crant, have a bit of the gift. How much is a matter of luck and breeding? You certainly have the breeding, the Prince’s family is nothing but witches for generations. Our side is the same. Luck? I’m old, I don’t believe very much in luck. Just use the mirror faithfully and see if you can begin to change the patterns. Change what you see. If you can. Well, you’ll know what to do. Now, give me a hug.”

I hugged my great granny knowing I might not see her again. Then my grandmother. And last, my mother who did not like hugs. “Good luck Duchess. May God keep you,” she said quietly.

I left the ladies carrying my new possessions and looking forward to a little time to myself because, though I’d not wanted to say it, I had actually seen quite a lot in the mirror. Indistinct, but it was not simply my reflection. There was an ocean – of course there was. But also, a long, flat house which I wanted to look at a little more if I could get it into view again.

Colony

There was no fuss at our arrival. No crowd. In fact, the low grey stone wharf was deserted save for a man to catch the mooring lines. No honour guard and only the man I was replacing, Mille, his crab apple cheeked wife, and a man introduced to me as Mr. Aitkins, the colony administrator, came down the granite stairs to meet me. We walked up the stone stairs from the wharf and a hundred yards to the Governor’s Residence, the former governor leading the way at a trot. His wife walked beside me and, made a great deal of noise.

"Not at all what you'll be used to your Highness. Just one reception room. Very little storage I'm afraid. And I do apologize for the furniture, but you understand we had to take our own for John's new posting. But I am sure you'll make do. Poor thing. That ocean voyage is exhausting," said the wife by way of conversation. It was hardly an ocean.

I suspect she could have gone on for another hour but, thankfully, we arrived at the front door of the Residence having taken what appeared to be back streets for the two blocks from the harbour. Dyer seen from its back streets was nothing short of ugly. And set low to the harbor. Far too low given our history.

It was a tall, ugly, unfinished-looking house of wet, dark grey, granite facing north. High windows on the first floor framed in what looked like black-painted, rotting wood. There were two more stories with tiny, dormered windows. A black iron fence on top of more grey granite. It was not what I was used to. It was exactly the opposite. A house from a Bronte novel.

"And here, your Highness I am afraid we must leave you. Our ship sails on the hour. We must catch the tide," said Mille.

He gave me a curt bow, his lady wife - and wasn't she just - dropped a bare curtsey and I was left alone with Mr. Aitkins who opened the door.

"Your Highness," He said with a bit of warmth. "Welcome to Dyer."

The Governor's lady had been completely truthful as to furniture. Other than a couple of straight-back chairs and an overstuffed six-seated sofa which looked as though it bad been built in place, there was none. Not a stick.

"It's a bit bare." I said driving home the obvious.

"Yes ma'am. The Governor rarely entertained."

Or sat down I thought to myself. My father had said he thought Aitkins reliable if not terribly creative. "Good man...good, if a bit limited. You'll have to make up your own mind."

There was a bustling noise in the street outside and I could see through the dirty, rain spotted windows, my luggage, my maid and my ladies in waiting looking a bit askance at the Residence. And, from within the house the measured step of another person. The doorbell rang. More a grandfather clock gong than a bell.

"This is Mrs. Abbott, the housekeeper," said Aitkins flatly and with what I thought was very nearly a wink on the word housekeeper. Where the Governor's wife's curtsey was bare, Mrs. Abbott might as well not have bothered. Her discourtesy was drowned by the histrionic wall of noise from my ladies in waiting. No point in recording it save to say they could not imagine what they, much less I, had done to deserve this fate. My maid, other than a sigh, immediately got to work and soon had my clothes and linens on their way upstairs. Mrs. Abbot was not about to concern herself with a lady's maid's work and stood very still as my maid and my ladies in waiting's maids helped by the drey men, took the trunks and boxes up the long staircase.

My ladies stood. Appalled.

"Mrs. Abbott, tea and some sandwiches. Crust off. And a bottle of something immediately. We've had a bit of a shock."

"Yes ma'am," She said with a sad little curtsey.

"Abbott,” I said, “If you are to serve me the curtsey is simple and direct. You bob down and, on the rise, look me in the face. Either it is an honour to serve or you can find another place."

"Yes ma'am," She repeated but this time with a bit of grace.

"Mr. Aitkins. It was very kind of you to meet me. It is going to take us a little while to get settled in. Perhaps we might meet here tomorrow morning at ten and we can review the position."

"As you wish, my lady," He retreated to the door with a courteous bow.

There was another knock at the door and Mrs. Abbott bustled off down the hall and returned to announce, "Lady Fetmore".

Lady Fetmore swooped into the sad, dark reception room and dropped a curtsey worthy of the Grand Duke's Imperial ballroom. "Your Grace," she said with a delighted grin.

"Not quite yet Lady Fetmore."

"Well, very soon. Now ladies" she said turning to my ladies in waiting, "In the hall, I have a few things for a late lunch. There is a dear little conservatory right down this hall. Take the provisions and have Mrs. Abbott serve her Grace and me in fifteen minutes. There's plenty, so enjoy your own lunch but the Riesling is for us."

Without a word of protest, my ladies trooped down the hall towards what I assumed was the kitchen. My crustless sandwiches, if they were to be eaten at all, would feed my ladies and, I hoped, my maid.

"My dear Ann...yes, it is awful. But at least the unlamented ex-governor stole just about all the furniture. And absolutely all the Treasury. The sofa would have sunk the boat but it will make a perfect bonfire. What a horrid little man. Horrid."

As the grand whirl of actually rather loud invective and opinion tumbled out, Lucy was almost pulling me through a very dim and slightly damp corridor. As we went she closed doors behind us. At last, we arrived in a little, white-painted room with a small white table and two, pretty chairs. It was quite chilly.

"Now darling, we'll have a few minutes. I have rather a lot to tell you so be a dear and just let me tell it.

“First, you can trust Mrs. Abbott. Second, I think, but can't prove, that one of you ladies in waiting, or perhaps one of their maids, is feeding information. To whom I'm not sure but we'll find out. Third, along with the furniture, the former Governor has taken just about all the actual money in the Treasury which is a bigger problem than just the theft. Fourth, this is an awful house which leaks and is impossible to heat. Fifth, I am having a few of the more reliable members of the Colony Council for a light supper at six to give you a chance to meet them informally. Your ladies are not invited," Lucy paused for breath.

"And how are you, Lady Fetmore?" I said laughing.

"Wonderful, just wonderful. Dear Ann, you can't imagine the fun I've had trying to get information and a few things straightened out while I've been waiting for you. Dear Lord, this place is a mess."

"Nothing a little paint..."

"Not this horrid residence. The whole colony. We are just lucky the majority of the colonists are Fivers though most of the Crant Councilmen - and they are all men darling – are Seveners. Tough as old barnacles and even the elderly ride like they were born on a horse. Which made me wonder."

"Chilcotin men all of them. We have a spy?"

"That's what my spies tell me."

"You have spies," I said genuinely a bit surprised.

"Of course, don't you?"

Truth to tell, I didn't. My mother had always suggested I cultivate people who knew things or could find things out but I was really not that interested. "Never really needed them. Besides, we ladies of Grant have our little ways."

And we do, though I was not about to explain even a hint of them to Lucy Fetmore.

"Oh darling, we know all about that. Witchery and divination, premonition and, we're told you’re bred for it. How peculiar I've always thought, but there is a lot about Crant no one knows," said Lucy.

"You know," I said with a level voice. "Well, then why did you ask me about spies."

"My old nanny told me and she told me a lot of very silly things. You can't breed humans. And you certainly can't breed witches."

"Of course not," I said relieved. Hiding in the open was a trick the grandmothers had passed on to the ladies of Crant. So was breeding for a particular characteristic. "Lunch will be here in a moment. Any other secrets to tell."

"Dozens; but none which are urgent. Except, well, I may not be a lady of Crant but I don't foresee you living in this ruin for more than a night or two."

"I don't really have anywhere else to go," I replied stating the obvious.

"Not yet but it is going to be critical for you to spend some money. The Governor really did take the Treasury and things are grinding to a rather nasty halt. I have pre-empted a bit of land for you. Grand view. Mountains and you'd see any sail long before it reached the harbour. I've taken next door but not too close."

"But this is the Residence."

"Darling, this is the Governor's residence. You outrank the position and happily, this awful house. You don't have to stay here one minute longer than it takes to find a pretty house while your Palace is begun."

"I already have a Palace."

"No, Crant Castle is your father's and will be for years. You are about to rule here in your own right and you’ll need a Palace. More importantly, your people need work and plenty of it. You'll hear tonight. It doesn't have to be a large Palace. Just a little larger than mine. Time for that later. Now, after lunch it is time for you to take a walk."

"I was thinking of a bath."

"Which is because you have not seen the Residence bathroom. A walk. The sun should poke out," laughed Lucy.

Mrs. Abbott arrived with lunch. A few fresh oysters and some mussels in a wine and butter sauce. Good, thick-crusted, bread. A glass of Riesling and I was quite ready to meet such colonists as might be out of an afternoon.

"Shall we take my ladies?"

"Of course. And tell them to bring paper, pen, small change."

I didn't bother changing out of my travelling clothes. I'd be changing for Lucy's supper and once was enough. My skirts and shoes were comfortable and very well made if a little more conservative than I liked. But perhaps that was right for a first encounter. There was work to be done.

--

"We'll walk to Doré for a bit of tea, coffee actually, and then back along Crant Road. I suspect that the ladies of Dyer will have staked out the route. The country ladies will have to wait for Church."

Which is exactly what we did. Just the four of us with faithful Hal bringing up the rear. I was happy to see that the main street of Dyer was another couple of hundred feet elevated and we had a bit of a hike from the Residence. Lucy kept up a commentary on the best shops and introduced me to ladies who, somehow were all out for a walk at four o'clock on a weekday afternoon dressed as if they were coming from or going to luncheon or cocktails. And maybe they were. In any case, Lucy knew twenty or so and they were variously honoured, charmed, pleased or delighted to meet me.

Very different from Crant. In Crant I had a position because my father was the Prince. I would, eventually rule but not for years. In Dyer I ruled right now. Which made the ladies both deferential and more than a little guarded. Were they afraid? A little I thought. We reached the Doré and I could see why Lucy chose it for our destination.

It was in a fine sandstone building with large, paned, windows and high ceilings. Lucy had made arrangements and we were shown to a semi-private table which let us look out over the cafe. The entire room was painted in shades of deep yellow, amber and gold. The plaster was artfully rough. There were clouds of steam from the coffee machines and a low rumble of a hundred conversations. A majority of the cafe dwellers were women with only a few men. The customers followed the Crant rule that, unless it was an official occasion, I was simply another citizen. The coffee was delicious. Pressed with a crema. We held ourselves to biscuits but I could see my ladies in waiting eying the pastries.

"This is lovely. Very much like Franz’s back in Crant."

"But there is no park, my lady," said  Clairisa.

"Not yet." said Lucy, "But we've just arrived. And we simply have to get things moving here. Dropping a park across the street would help."

"But what about the stores and houses already there?" I asked.

"Move the people, tear down the buildings. This colony needs work desperately. And you actually own the land."

"I can see you have this all worked out Lucy," I said laughing.

"Not all. But we are going to have to move quickly now that you're here," said Lucy, "The fact is this colony is not going to succeed as anything but a farming outpost without some real work. I want to get on with the Institute and the colleges. And you need to figure out how we can do something other than fish and chop down all these damned trees."

We left and made our way back to the Residence along the other, slightly more dilapidated main street stopping and talking to another half dozen women. In all nine ladies had made small requests my ladies-in-waiting had noted up.

"So, there you have it, Ann. Not much to look at but with, I think, potential. Supper tonight is very informal. I'll send my driver for four. It isn't far. The Council has been invited for 5:45 so no need to dawdle."

_______

There is something irksome about "informal". It isn't day wear. It is obviously not an evening gown. But a dress, certainly. I had brought a dozen dresses in the vanguard of my full wardrobe; but I couldn't think of one which would suit.

Plus, this was not an evening of light entertainment. It was, informally, political. I was not there as Lucy's lovely friend from Crant. I was there as the soon to be Duchess of...Of what? I still hadn't come up with a name. I'd hoped to be struck by inspiration as I lived in Dyer for a while pending the last of the paperwork and proclamations required to confirm my fief.

I had a quick - very quick - bath in the cavernous wash room off the main bedroom. Not nice at all. Large white tiles, exposed plumbing and nasty looking taps. And the room was so big and so tall that it never warmed up.

As I lay in my bath, dreading the cold damp which would greet me when I got out, I realized that the Residence was not for me. Period. No amount of pretty furniture or clever curtains would conceal the fact this was a bad house on the wrong scale, with a north exposure, with not one splinter of charm. It was cold but, more to the point, it was clammy. Damp.

So, I was moving. I would rent a place while a more, suitable? attractive? less horrible home was built. Perhaps where Lucy suggested. Perhaps not. It was up to me. Which was the point. I rang the bell and faced the frozen horror of the bathroom. For the last time I decided. I'd invite myself to Lady Fetmore's until something else was arranged. No, wait, until I arranged something else.

"Renee, we will be staying at Lady Fetmore's for a day or two. Pack a couple of my day dresses, some riding clothes and the rest we'll send for. I am not spending a night under this roof."

"Yes Miss. I am so glad Miss. I do not like the feeling of this house."

"Neither do I Renee," I said as she dried me in the chill of the bathroom. "But might I ask you why?"

"I have old bones Miss. I understand things I can't quite say. This house is unlucky. As if it was built on a grave. Does that make sense Miss?"

"Perfect sense. Not haunted, just uneasy. I had thought of remodeling it but you're right. It will always be uneasy. I'll tear it down and make a little park. Best start fresh."

---

Lady Fetmore had a rather pleasant home on an estate about a mile from the Residence. Big, masculine beams and large glass windows with rhododendron bushes, trees really, in drifts surrounding the carriage way. Lucy had run on ahead and, when I got down from my cart of all work, was on her doorstep, her - what I presumed were ladies in waiting and staff  - stood arrayed behind her. As my foot touched the ground the entire group, ten at least, dropped a full curtsey suitable for a Queen in State.

"Welcome to Spencer House Your Grace."

Lucy Fetmore projected the words. She practically yelled. And as she did her pale blue eyes caught the sun light and her beautiful, straight, glossy white teeth gleamed as she shot me a smile. She was making a point. For whose benefit was not at all clear. If nothing else Lady Fetmore was intent on becoming the Countess Fetmore in quick time. I motioned for her to rise and embraced her.

"Lead on Cousin," Which we were many times over. We hastened through introductions and the Countess presumptive led me into what I suppose was intended to be a study.  The profusion of antlers and stuffed animal heads suggested otherwise.

"Dreadful isn't it. The whole house is the same. Apparently the now departed owner would go away for a week a month and kill things. There is an entire hall of elk. But I've cleared a few bedrooms upstairs. Very much the only suitable house I could find.  Owned by a man named Sears.  The Governor's spy master I gather."

Experience taught me that letting Lucy unburden herself was far quicker than actually saying anything until the first rush was completed.

"Now you'll want to go up but a quick glass of wine after an exhausting day should be just the thing.  We'll be six tonight. No wives. Just councillors."

"I take it there are no lady councillors."

"None. All of your people are Fives and Sevens. Mine were appointed by my father and it would never occur to him to appoint a woman. But they seem a nice group. Yours are very military, mine seem to have fallen in with them."

"Father was saying that there was very little friction between our groups."

"I don't detect much but I also think they stay well out of each other’s way. Your estates are mainly to the south, ours to the north-east with a few to the north-west. The only thing they've really collaborated on is the port and the Church. Neither of which seem to be finished. But plenty of time for that.  Renee should be ready for you. Fill up your glass and take it up. We'll meet in half an hour. I'll just check on the kitchen."

“Would you mind, Lady Fetmore, if I stayed over this evening and perhaps for a few days,” I asked.

“I was hoping you would ask, dear. I would have invited but, well, not really my place. But I was fairly certain the Governor’s Residence would convince you,” said Lucy smiling. “It really is too dire. You have half an hour before the hordes arrive and I have just the bedroom.”

We were off. I was delighted to leave the dead animals and even more delighted to have Renee strip off my travelling clothes and deposit me into a real steaming tub to rinse the stink of the earlier, Governor’s House bath, from my bones. Somewhere I could just think, or not. Alone.

Having time to yourself is a great luxury for a Princess of Crant. Even growing up I had lessons and tutors and At Homes and, as I grew older, council meetings and, of course, Court. All of which I enjoyed but there were not many spare moments in a day. Service was twenty-four and a half hours a day. And now.  Well, now I was supposed to do a job which had no real definition.

How are you a "ruler"? Indirectly I suppose I was the "owner" of a great deal of the land.  But ruling is not the same as owning. And, again indirectly, I had the advantage of the loyalty the people of Crant gave my father. But that actually created more of an obligation than any sort of authority. Add to that, other than the fact the ex-Governor had been a thief and the treasury was bare, I had no idea at all what my people actually needed or wanted. I had been briefed but it was already clear that Crant was out of touch with Dyer and had been for months if not years.

What was I going to do? I marvelled at my father.  He amiably bumped along as the Prince of Crant.  I knew his own father – who had died when I was a very little girl – had instructed him but whatever he had been told he seemed unable to tell me.  What he did say was unhelpful. I'm sure he didn't mean it to sound disheartening but being told, "If there was anyone else, but there isn't." is not the most encouraging send-off.

What he did tell me was that a busy people are a happy people. “I have always looked for things to do. Big things. You know our most profitable business is now the greenhouses. Your grandfather started them but I expanded them. People love their fruit and their fresh produce and the greenhouses extend the seasons. Plus, of course, there are things like coffee. For a thousand years, we imported coffee. But your grandfather was sure he could manage to grow coffee in a greenhouse and, while it took him twenty years, it is a huge export for us now. And the people we employ just on coffee.”

That sort of information was gold right now. What could be our “coffee”? And should I be building greenhouses of my own? And were my people busy?

Renee was tapping at the door. Luxury gave way to preparation. My council were men and Renee was intent on reminding them I was not. She suggested two dresses which were strictly reserved for parties and she finally accepted the fact this was a working dinner. Elegant was the objective and she laid out a wonderfully cut, grey silk, evening dress which was both demure and snug. Ten minutes of tugging and relaxing later it fit a girl a little smaller than myself perfectly. The hours of meetings in Crant had pushed on pounds. I needed to get up on a horse. Renee was, at last, satisfied and with a minute to spare was piling my hair up and pinning it. I had no choice but to walk really slowly and gracefully down the happily broad stairs, my corset and the dress constraining every step.  I could see myself in the polished panelling and, at a glance, I realized I looked a bit more severe than I had intended. Oh well. As I stepped into the drawing room an unseen butler bellowed incorrectly, "Her Grace, Lady Ann of Crant and Dyer."

I was greeted by six shining bald or thinning heads bowing and Lucy in another deep curtsey. I thanked my councillors and set about meeting them with Lucy doing the introductions.  Three Sevens, a Fiver and Lucy's men. The Crant men all had that slightly stiff bearing which marked them as career soldiers, retired but not off duty. They also had dogs. Rather large dogs and a couple of smaller ones all of which stayed entirely in the background but, realistically, no more than five feet away from their owners. It was more than a little odd for an elegant party to have half a dozen, slightly shaggy, beasts in close attendance. But Lucy seemed relaxed about it so I went along.

We chatted about my trip, my father's health, my mother's health, my service, my Sevener in Service, the prosperity of Crant and the speculation that the Prince, my father, might visit at some point in a distant future. Each man was correct. Some more correct than others. Lucy's men were even more correct and deeply formal. We each sipped dry white wine although I suspect most of these men longed for a whiskey. Eventually, not nearly soon enough, dinner was served and the oldest of the Seveners handed me into a dining room festooned with even more dead animals, mainly very fierce looking black bears. Red wine now. I could see we were about to endure another round of airy pleasantries and I was tired. I stood. Every man immediately jumped to his feet.

"Sit down gentlemen.  I have a toast and then a few words before we say our Grace and eat. The toast is to Lady Fetmore who is a true friend to Crant and a dear friend of mine."

The toast was drunk, the glasses refilled.

"So, gentlemen, before we eat I have a request. As some of you know, I came back from Chilcotin three and a half years ago. A few weeks ago, I spent time with the Thane when he visited Crant. When he was there, except for one dinner with the notables and nobles present, my father asked that we dine by mess rules.”

“I have a huge job to do here.  I need your help. But right now, with my apologies to Lady Fetmore, I need you to speak freely. We can enjoy the pleasures of protocol and etiquette, not to mention the company of your lady wives and my ladies in waiting, when our work is well started.”

“Tonight, I need your candor not your compliments.”

“Where do we start?" And I sat down.

As I spoke, I looked at each of the men carefully. Two of the Seveners were, I was sorry to see, taken aback at my words. So was one of Lucy's men.  Obviously, I could not tell why but I noted how they leaned back in their chairs and I heard, but could not see, a sigh. The Fiver, the remaining Sevener and the older of Lucy's men leaned in and watched me right back.  They were forming opinions where the others had arrived with their minds made up.

It was not a long dinner.  Lucy kept it all very simple with poached salmon and mayonnaise to begin and spring lamb for a main course. But lots of everything and plenty of wine.

They were testing me a bit but their concerns were more about the morale, the tone of the community, than any specific issues.

"If I might my lady, we're all doing quite well," said a Fiver whose name was Thomas. "Lots of food, good crops, excellent hunting and shoals of fish.  But there seems to be something missing, not quite right. Even the hunts are in a bit of a rut."

“It’s an odd thing, my lady,” said one of Lucy’s men who seemed a bit older than the others, “As Tom says, we’re all doing well but the colony as a whole seems to be declining. Our children want to move back to Crant or Castor. I can’t blame them. There’s still good land here but it’s back-breaking work to clear it. For some of the working people going into the fishery is attractive but where’s the future in that?”

They continued in the same vein as they ate what looked to be an entire lamb. Finally, a man of about sixty named Atticus Torrance cleared his throat which, I was interested to see, silenced the table. He was as bald as the rest of them, with a fit, square, face and fantastically bushy eyebrows, the longer strands of which were pure white. Like his fellow Crant councillors, his skin was weather-burnished. There were the deep lines of a life lived outdoors.

“I suspect your ladyship is tired after her journey so before we spend too much longer on what’s wrong, let me make a suggestion about what might begin to change Dyer. We’ve been building our port and our church for nearly twenty years. They will get done eventually; but there does not seem to be any urgency. We have plans for some very basic shore defences but they are sitting on the drawing board. We need something a little better than cart trails which, as my lady will soon find out, turn into mud slides six or seven months a year,” said Torrance.

“Now that all takes money. But we have plenty of wealth. What we don’t have is a way to turn that wealth into money. So that is the first thing.”

“The second, and I have to say I am relieved to see the Prince’s daughter here to rule, is that we need leadership. Someone who can make decisions and stick to them. In the last ten years we have had a thief, a drunk and a – what would you call Governor Hicks, Nick?”

“Nothing I would repeat in front of ladies,” said Nick to general laughter.

“Yes, well, not Governor material. And certainly not Sevener or Fiver material either. I don’t blame your father, but the men we have been sent have been disasters. So, we have got on with our lives and largely ignored the so-called “colony”. Our council has, I am afraid, mainly worked to block the more hare-brained ideas the Governors have come up with. We are all loyal to your father, to Crant, to Castor and, if you’ll let us be, my lady, yourself. Loyal enough that we’ll not let the colony be put at risk.”

And now gentlemen, a toast, “To Crant, Castor and Lady Ann.”

They repeated the toast around the table each bellowing Crant and Castor, speaking, as an afterthought, my own name. We were all going to have to see.

We rose and went to the study for an after-dinner drink. Now the Crant and Castor whiskies were poured and compared. Castor’s tore into the roof of my mouth, Crant’s, which I was a bit more used to, burned my throat on its way down.

Lucy was in her element, nothing she enjoyed more than the attention of six wealthy, well born gentlemen of a certain age. I was less certain and more than relieved when Sevener Torrance asked for a word.

“My lady, I hear you’re in want of a house.”

“News travels fast in Dyer. But, yes, the Residence needs to be made a park beginning tomorrow were it up to me. And I don’t want to stay too long with Lady Fetmore.”

“A park? What a good idea. We might even put up a memorial.”

“What?” I said a bit surprised.

“Ancient history my lady but when the colony was first established there was an incident with a group of men from the Southern mountains. A skirmish really. But two men died more or less where the Residence sits. So, you really are a Lady of Crant.”

“Indeed,” I knew what he was driving at but it had been as much Renee’s intuition as mine that the Residence was built on blood. Still, there is no reason not to trade on the mystique.

“Well then, I’ll have to be wary. In any case, I happen to have a house which might suit you. It is just a little out of the way and hardly a palace; but it was just right for a girl of about your age until quite recently. Would you like to see it?” said Torrance.

“Of course, I would Sevener. When?”

“I’ll bring a horse for you at seven tomorrow if it’s fair which it will be. No need to waken the house, I’ll meet you at the gate.”

He turned to make his farewells and that was the signal for the rest of the party to break up.

“I think, Anne,” said Lucy kicking off her shoes and collapsing into an armchair, “that you have made some friends. Or at least no enemies. And look at Atticus, the old goat. He isn’t really but he has been at loose ends since his little Isobel went back to Crant. What a scandal. Provided the ladies of Dyer with weeks of coffee talk. What did he want if I may ask?”

“You may. And thank you for arranging today. All of it. It was just what I wanted and needed but I would not have known where to start,” I said meaning every word.

“Oh, your father is a very bright man. I suspect he’s been planning our arrival for years and he knew that you needed an advance party. And here I am. But, don’t change the subject, what did the real leader of the colony want with his new Governor?”

“To rent me a house.”

“Really…Isobel’s house. Well, you have all the luck. I tried to get that house when I first arrived. It’s perfect.” Lucy said with more than a little annoyance.

“Should I know who Isobel is?”

“Yes. But only the short version. Your Sevener was married for years to a woman universally loved and respected. Mother of three fine sons. She died. Atticus was bereft as you might imagine and for a couple of years, I am told, he simply moped around not doing much and letting his estate go to seed. One of his sons was in Crant and met a girl. He brought her, and for propriety’s sake, a close friend of hers to stay at Dunderave– Atticus’s estate. The friend was Isobel. The son married the friend and Isobel was very much around the house and then, when the wedding was done, Atticus moved her to Ridge Pavilion.”

“How perfectly romantic,” I said. “But what happened.”

“Well, shortly after I arrived the first time, the great wave of scandal broke over the ladies of Dyer. Isobel was deeply with child. Pregnant. “Up the spout” as my grandmother so quaintly put it. She left on the boat I came in on.”

“Back to Crant?”

“Yes, I suppose her poor parents will have to deal with it all. I heard she’s given birth to a daughter. Just a couple of weeks ago. So, there is your Dyer scandal. I suspect you’ll love the house. But you’ll make your own mind up. I am off to bed.”

I let Lucy go and looked out at the ocean through the huge glass windows, set in blond fir, in the lamp light. What a sad story. None of my business of course but as my father used to remind me there are sometimes things you can do to help. Simple things like introductions. Or favours. I retired.