Chapter 33: 33 – Diana

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“I think before I get into that more active involvement you mentioned,” Diana said, “I’d really like to go back to the library. Richard said there were historical photos and paintings there, and a book with info about the construction. I do want to do other things, but I want to see what’s in the library. That should give all those perogies time to digest so I don’t make myself sick.”

They’d been delicious, perfect dough stuffed with seasoned mashed potatoes and then separate ingredients for each flavour, and she’d tried bacon and onion and cheese and mushroom varieties, along with the homemade sausage and the mixed vegetables that had been offered as well. She was glad her dress was loose with no corset to put pressure on her abdomen, because she’d stuffed herself so thoroughly she felt like the little octopus on Neon’s shoulder, content and unwilling to move much. Neon had eaten as well, though she’d skipped the bacon perogies and sausage, and Diana had been slowed somewhat answering Neon’s curious questions about her blog and the research she did and why she was so fascinated by this part of the past.

“That makes sense,” Neon said. “But if you’re anything like Mistress or Sally, you could get lost in the library for hours. I won’t stay underfoot and bother you, but suppose I keep an eye on the time and give you an occasional reminder?”

“That would be really great,” Diana said. “You’re right, I can lose track of time completely when I’m researching something.”

“A sign of dedication,” Neon chuckled. “I’ll walk you there, if you like.”

“Sure. Thank you for the food, Tarragon. It was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome,” the cook said. “Drop by any time you need a snack.”

Neon fell into step beside Diana on the way out of the kitchen, subtly suggesting the right path simply by position.

“I don’t know where the history stuff is in the library,” Neon said, “but Sally can find anything in there, and she should be there or close. She hangs out there a lot even when it isn’t Hallowe’en night. Just ask her.”

“I will, thanks.”

They strolled along the corridor to the other end of the house. Neon pointed out the occasional bit of decor, some obvious like the gigantic antique brass bird cage just inside the great hall’s windows and some much more subtle, and drew her aside into the entrance hallway to the great hall to show her a statue of a mermaid. When they got close enough to it, the mermaid began to sing and make combing motions towards her hair with her pearly comb—about the best she could do since her hair was a solid painted mass. Diana recognized it vaguely as a classic, something about a house of the rising sun, but that was all. It was lovely despite the unfamiliarity.

Then they continued onwards, to and around the corner and to the library itself.

“Sally?” Neon said, pushing the door open and beckoning Diana inside. “Are you... oh, hello, Mistress.”

A tall fair-skinned woman with intricately-styled dark hair, in an elegant dress of dark dusty rose and dark slate blue, turned away from one of the bookshelves to greet them with a nod and a smile. “Neon. And Diana, I believe?”

Neon gave Diana a nudge with one elbow, and Diana nodded. “Um, yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Ségolène. I am certainly not a lady, even if my family choose to give me a title which I trust is more affection than intimidation. Richard mentioned that you were fascinated by the history of the house. I thought I’d unearth what we have so it’s available. It hasn’t been of much interest in quite some time.”

“Um, thank you.”

“Lovely dress, it suits you well. Neon, you may feel free to leave. Sally will be back in a moment, and we can see to it between us that Diana learns what she wishes.”

“I’ll leave,” Neon agreed, “but I’m coming back, so all three of you don’t get so carried away that Diana spends the rest of the night here without any more fun challenging games.”

Ségolène chuckled. “I suppose I can’t really dispute that, can I? Thank you.”

“No sweat, Mistress. Have fun, Diana.” Neon raised a hand in a casual wave, and left.

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“I don’t often think about building the house,” Ségolène said. “But then, I expected that I would not remember. I kept a daily journal at the time. Ah, there it is.” She crouched to draw a leather-bound book from the bottom shelf, which was still a hand’s width above the floor. She moved very easily, despite the layers of skirts and corset beneath—but then, Ségolène was clearly not into the high-fashion fad of tight-lacing that had raged as a controversy comparable in heat to abortion or sex-ed in Diana’s day. Nor was she wearing a dress as elaborate as many Diana had seen in books: it was beautiful and elegant, the slate-blue silk adorned with printed rose fleurs-de-lis scattered across it, and all the trim and buttons were of rose as well, and there were a few gathered flounces at the back of the skirt, but if you really looked, it was of a simple cut underneath all that. Rather than the trendy young beauty who was all show, idolized even then, this was a striking and confident mature woman who carried herself like royalty.

Then again, Richard had said she was a witch and responsible for the house’s current state. Possibly she had very good reason to be sure of herself.

The library really was beautiful, designed by someone who genuinely appreciated books and intended to spend a lot of time here, she was sure of that. She hadn’t really had a good look before at all of the decor. The shelves covered most of the walls, of course, between the windows that must make the room lovely and bright during the day, and there were other shelves built into other furniture—the tables at either end of the sofa in front of the bay window, for example. The curio cabinets here and there and the open space between the top of the shelves and the ceiling held a peculiar mix of objects. In one corner there was even a very unusual suit of armour, though it was in a position she’d have thought would make access to the books behind it awkward, but there was only so much space, after all.

Ségolène strolled slowly towards her, flipping through the pages of the journal. “I had entirely forgotten about Richard stepping in to help with the brickwork and injuring his hand. He was miserable because it interfered with his music. I found a way, with my familiar Maggie’s assistance, to heal it much more rapidly, although he had to pretend in public for some time longer. That latter detail is not in the journal, however. People tend to misunderstand that sort of thing.” She closed the book and offered it.

Diana hesitated. “There are... there are probably other details that aren’t actually in the book, and I wouldn’t even know to ask for them. If you aren’t busy, could you tell me about it?”

Ségolène raised a dark eyebrow, but nodded. “I have nothing pressing to do. Please.” She gestured in the direction of the fireplace and the two chairs in front of it. Diana was sure there’d been no fire in it earlier tonight, but had there been when she’d walked into the library just now? She wasn’t at all sure.

“Found it, Mistress,” Sally said from the doorway. She hadn’t completely resumed her human form, although it seemed to be in process; the minotaur was behind her, carrying quite a large framed picture.

“Oh, thank you,” Ségolène said. “Both of you. It’s my favourite painting of the estate when it was at its greatest extent. Normally it hangs in our morning room upstairs, which is currently off-limits as it is full of cats, dogs, and several other pets.”

Diana hesitated briefly before heading over to look at the painting, but as it turned out, it didn’t matter. The minotaur settled the painting with great care on a pair of side-by-side hard chairs so it was propped upright and visible. Even from a distance, she knew she needed a closer look.

When she reached it, she glanced up. “Thanks,” she said quietly to the minotaur. “For earlier.”

He just shrugged, ducking his head in a kind of nod or something, and retreated to and out the doorway. Sally stepped to one side, then moved over to fuss with the contents of a shelf.

“Jake is rather shy around strangers,” Ségolène said, leaving the book on one chair by the fire and coming over to look at the painting. She dropped to one knee in front of it. “There’s the garage—we did buy one of the new automobiles and also a very practical truck which had its uses, but Richard thought it likely that we would need room for more at some point in the future. You can see just a hint of them through the open doors. It was useful for guests as well, and there was space upstairs not only for our own driver and mechanic but guest quarters for theirs as well. Much the same for the stable, back here, with quarters above. At least with the automobile there was less concern about where to stable the horses when we were in town. The greenhouse is there, where the groundskeeper started plants for the pleasure gardens, and the building next to it was his as well, and you can just see the groundskeeper’s cottage past the trees, there... see it?”

“Yes.” The attention to detail was wonderful, and it showed tiny people at work—or leisure, since she spotted one outside the garage who was leaning back on a stool and might be whittling something.

“There’s a smaller painting in here that shows the farm properly. It didn’t really fit in this one, other than that rather indistinct cluster of structures over there. The estate manager’s cottage is visible over here, at least partially, and you can see some of the gardens around it and part of the fish pond that was in part ornamental but served quite a practical purpose. It is much easier to keep fish fresh when they are left swimming than after they are caught.”

“It’s gorgeous. And it was practically its own town, wasn’t it?”

“A village, at least. Yes. It had its pleasures, I love my house and cared for our people as best I could, but it meant responsibility for a great many lives. In some ways, I preferred the days when Richard and I had a smaller house and only a pair of maids to help me. There are both good and bad aspects to anything, I suppose.” Ségolène returned to the fireplace, settling down with the book on her lap. “Take your time.”

Diana spent a moment longer looking at the painting, wishing fervently that she could photograph it. Did it still exist in the dead house?

If only there was a way to take any kind of notes home with her. But her camera and her voice recorder wouldn’t keep anything, she had no reason to doubt that, and she hadn’t brought anything as simple as a regular paper notebook. There was paper here, but would it even still exist after sunrise? She doubted it. This house clearly protected itself and that would be a basic necessity. Memory was unreliable and she wasn’t sure she’d have that at all.

It was maddening, stumbling into a treasure and having it so briefly.

Finally, she relocated to the chair by the fire and got comfortable to listen.

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