The Last Days of Yesteryear: Chapter 19

As he crested Haggard Hill, the rhythmic beat of Ung’s spade hitting the earth of Haggard Hill reached his ears. It was soothing to Edmund, slow and steady like a heartbeat.

“Tea’s ready, begging-your-pardon.”

Edmund nodded his thanks while Mrs. Kippling curtsied again and again as she slipped back inside Moulde Hall. He glanced at the tea-service. Two cups; perfect. “I will meet with her now,” he nodded to Enga. Turning his gaze back to the garden, Edmund watched as Ung toiled away, scraping and pushing at the earth.

“Is it worth it?”

Ung paused to brush his thick hand across his brow. “Sir?”

Edmund clasped his hands behind his back. “You have been working in the garden ever since the war. You’ve toiled for months, and I cannot help but wonder…are you getting what you want out of this effort?”

Ung lifted his shovel onto his broad shoulders, and pointed with his free hand.

Edmund stepped closer, kneeling down to peer at the tiny speck of green that had pushed itself through the dark gray earth; a single sprig of hope in the midst of a black garden.

“Some things require great effort, while others come easily.” Ung’s booming voice intoned like a prayer. “The world needs flowers, sir.”

Edmund stared at the tiny green stem for a moment longer before standing up and wiping his eyes. “Thank you, Ung.”

Ung nodded, and within moments the sound of his shovel echoed across the hill, providing curious counterpoint to the soft pops and pings of the boiling tea-kettle on the service-tray.

Before long, Edmund heard the soft footfalls of dress shoes on the path. He turned to see Nausica Brocklehurst, dressed in an elegant gown complete with superfluous parasol, turn the corner of Moulde Hall.

“Patron Moulde,” she curtsied. “Enga told me you were waiting outside for me?”

“I was,” Edmund pointed to the tea-service. “Would you care for a cup?”

“I would be delighted.”

Edmund poured the boiling tea, deposited the asked-for single cube of sugar, and handed the cup and saucer to his guest. She accepted it gracefully, and turned to take in the landscape of Haggard Hill, as Edmund had.

“It truly is a lovely hill,’ Nausica smiled. “So peaceful.”

A soft breeze blew across hill, shaking the anemic branches of the hedge-maze and sending up a soft hiss to the onlookers’ ears.

“I wanted you to be the first to know,” Edmund said, sipping his own tea. “I’ve made a decision.”

As they stood together, the sounds of Brackenburg began to fade. The purring engines of automobiles and the intermittent clatter of horseshoes on cobblestone began to fade as night fell on Brackenburg.

“I see.”

High above their heads, the black cloud of Brackenburg churned as swirled as it was fed by countless smokestacks. Edmund had calculated that — if every factory in the Farrows district ceased operation — it would take over three years for the cloud to fully dissipate. And that was assuming no diesel factories took their place, which of course they would.

“Do you feel regret?” Edmund asked.

“About what?” Nausica’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure I feel regret about a few things, but I can’t think of what you mean.”

“About telling Wislydale about my process.”

Nausica paused for only a moment. “Oh, that.”

The sound of Ung’s spade continued through the darkening night. Hissing pops echoed from the nearby streets as the electrical lamps sputtered to life, bathing the world in a vibrant glow.

“No, I don’t,” Nausica sighed. “Mother wanted me to marry you, and if I told the Rotledges about your process, I figured they’d stop you from pulling some trick that would get you the aluminium without marrying me.”

“They did,” Edmund nodded.

Off in the distance, a night-bird called out to any who cared to listen. A distant howl marked the attention of a street-mongrel defending their territory against aviary intrusion.

“Do you think Googoltha will work with you?”

Edmund took another sip. “Would you believe me if I said that I was not marrying her because of what she would provide me?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps not.”

Gradually, the night life of Brackenburg began to assert itself. Shadows began their nightly constitutionals, separating themselves from their familiar doorways and alleys. Cautious greetings from long-time friends whispered over the streets, as the other half of the city began its day; the half that few cared to know existed.

“Will she give you an heir, do you think?”

Edmund almost choked on his tea.

“Well, you must have thought of it? You do realize you are the only true Moulde alive at the moment. If you were to die, suddenly, the Moulde Family would be destroyed, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would.”

Time passed as the laborers and engineers of the night crawled over the city, polishing tarnished brass and cleaning soiled streets. Pots were emptied of refuse, garbage moved out of sight, and deliveries were placed next to back-doors. Wares and services not fitting for daylight were bought and sold behind turned backs, and in several cases, beaded curtains.

“I suppose you had to deal with any number of deadly assassins, didn’t you?”

“None to speak of.”¹

“Not even from the Charters?”

“Lady Charter seems to have recognized that her standing in society will not be improved by the death of her Patron.”

“I’m surprised,” Nausica laughed. “She’s wanted Tunansia to become Matron as long as I could remember.”

“Me as well,” Edmund nodded.

All across the city, Edmund knew, interlopers were trying to fit their way into the night-life of the city. Engineers of water and electricity, who were placing and maintaining a new kind of vein in the monstrous organism that was Brackenburg. Plumbers fixed leaks and pumps that ensured the sewers functioned properly. Wires were strung overhead and underground, and power centers that greased the air with electrical static were wound up and set right.

“May I ask,” Nausica replaced her tea-cup on the tray, “and receive an honest answer?”

“If I can.”

“Why didn’t you pick me?”

Edmund sipped his tea, more for the time to collect himself than any actual desire. “I can’t detail all my decisions. Suffice it to say that marrying Googoltha is better for everyone.”

“But not better for you.”

Edmund cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

“I’m not a fool, Patron, even if I don’t take part in my mother’s schemes willingly. She wanted me to marry you, and I thought for sure that you would…I truly thought you felt the same way as everyone else. In the end…you’d look out for yourself first.”

Thinking was a strange process. Edmund had been intimate with the procedure for most of his life, and even as experienced as he was, he was constantly amazed that everyone did it in their own way. Some people thought carefully, others haphazardly. Some followed a speeding train of thought to its end, others had hundreds of slow moving trains at once. Some knew where they were headed and worked backwards. Some started where they were, not knowing where they would end up. Some wandered. Some planned. Some — he was still amazed at this — didn’t even think about how they thought.

“May I ask,” Edmund turned to Nausica, his eyes quizzical, “what you think of the name Melete?”

“Hm,” she closed her fan. “It depends on what it’s for. Are you thinking of names for our first child?” Her smile assured him she was not being sincere.

“A child of sorts, I suppose.”

“Then I like it.”

“So do I.”

The two of them gazed out over Haggard Hill, sipping their rapidly cooling tea.

“I am sorry to ask you to do this.”

“Not at all. I am used to being a pawn, and you have made your decision. I know I have only known you for a short time, but if you are half the man I suspect you to be, I am certain your choice is the correct one.”

“You would trust me like that?”

“The Brocklehursts are connected to the Moulde Family. You are my Patron. Whom else should I trust? Myself? My heart says to trust you. I think you will find I will play my part suitably.”

Edmund nodded, and set his teacup down on the tray.

“I doubt we will see each other again, shall we?”

“We assuredly shall, but never freely.”

“I suppose not. There are always expectations, aren’t there.”

“For us there will be.”

“I regret that, but I suppose neither of us are unique, are we? And neither of us need what the other offers?”

“Not at the moment.”

“In the future, I will try to think of many ways in which we could help each other.”

“I’m delighted to hear it, and will await your correspondence.”

Holding out her hand, Nausica curtsied as Edmund bowed his lips towards her glove, and that was it. The perfectly choreographed ending to a relationship that had lasted only a few meetings, and even fewer months.

It was for the best. They knew what was expected, and now there was only one more scene left to play out once and for all.

Edmund offered Nausica his arm. She took it with a smile, and they walked back inside Moulde Hall, leaving Ung alone with his spade, his garden, and a single green flower.

Someday, if Ung was lucky, he would live to see it bloom.

---

Lord and Lady Brocklehurst were nervous. It was the first and most obvious thing Edmund noticed upon entering the sitting room where they waited. Enga had, in her genius, supplied both of them with glasses that held a slightly larger pour of gin than was technically acceptable. Had either of them been in a state where propriety was more important to them, they might have raised an objection, but Enga had long since learned when a little more gin or brandy was called for.

Lord Brocklehurst was staring at the paintings on the wall, his mustache working furiously as he tapped his fingers on his glass. Periodically, he fingered with the buttons on his clean jacket and ran his fingers along his stiff collar.

Upon seeing Nausica and Edmund walk in arm in arm, Lady Brocklehurst stood up as quickly as her bulbous ball-gown would allow.

“Patron,” she gasped graciously, her fan betraying her nerves. “How absolutely marvelous for you to invite us to your wonderful home!”

“I am delighted you came, Lord and Lady Brocklehurst,” Edmund recited. “And I am afraid I must apologize again for the atrociously boorish behavior of my cousin Kolb at your daughter’s debut ball.”

“Oh never you mind about that, and please call me Esmerildina.” Her voice was tight, her hands twitching with anxiety.

Edmund noted how blunt Esmerildina was being — barely verbose enough to avoid insult. A dark and cruel part of him wondered exactly how long he could avoid discussing the wedding before she broke all protocol to demand he explain himself; but Edmund was not cruel, so he came straight to the point.

“Please, sit down,” he said, and once they had: “As you know, the announcement ball is set for tomorrow, and I wanted you to hear the news before I announced to society at-large. Nausica has accepted my proposal of marriage.”

Esmerildina let out a shriek of shocked joy, almost dropping her gin. Lord Brocklehurst let out a gasp of relief, and downed the rest of his drink in a large gulp. “Well, we’re delighted to hear it,” he said as his wife fanned herself furiously to catch her breath. “We always knew you had a good head on your shoulders.”

“Mark my words, Patron,” Esmerildina swooped forward to hug her smiling daughter, “Nausica will make you so very happy. It will be a wonderful union indeed!”

“Yes, it will, mother,” Nausica nodded dutifully, sparing Edmund only the briefest glance.

“I say,” Lord Brocklehurst stepped forward to shake Edmund’s hand. “You must come out hunting some time. There’s a lovely spot for shooting coveys out west in Thumble Grange. Do you shoot?”

“I was in the war,” Edmund said. True, he had mostly been shot at instead of been the one to hold the rifle, but he thought he understood the principles well enough to simply reverse the situation.

“Oh, don’t bore him with that,” Esmerildina fluttered her hands again. “There’s so much we still need to discuss! Nausica’s dowry, for example. I suspect you’ll want it all in the traditional chest of gold and silver? Such a lovely little tradition, piling it all in a chest. As luck would have it, we happened to bring a chest with us from North Dunkin, and —”

“In fact,” Edmund interrupted, “I would appreciate it if I could have it in bank-notes. So much more modern, these days, to deal in bank notes, don’t you think?”

Esmerildina’s pause was razor thin. “Of course I do. So much simpler, too! Why, I suppose it will make it so much easier to invest the money in your factory in South Dunkin, won’t it?”

Edmund paused. “Forgive me, I thought you must have heard. My factory was —”

“Claimed by vagabonds,” Lord Brocklehurst coughed. “That’s all. Nothing a few police officers and a lick of paint won’t cure.”

“Of course you’ll use her dowry to help repair your factory. She wouldn’t mind at all, would you, Nausica?”

“Of course not, mother,” Nausica smiled. “After all, once the factory is up and running, he’ll have all the money he needs to take care of me and our family…and everything, really.”

“Oh!” her mother pressed her fan to her bosom. “Patron, if I may, now that we are soon to be in-laws, may I ask a most impertinent question? Is it true? Is there really over a quarter-tonne of aluminium buried beneath Haggard Hill? Are you truly on the verge of over a million pound fortune?”

“There is over a half-tonne of bauxite in the empty coal-mine, yes —” Edmund began.

“How marvelous,” Esmerildina clapped her hands. “That is really the most amazing news, isn’t it dear?”

“Wonderful,” Lord Brocklehurst nodded.

“Is it?” Edmund interjected, “I’m afraid my factory wasn’t simply squatted in, it was claimed. I believe the German newspapers have already called it the Fabrikburleske.”

“Oh? Yes, well…” Esmerildina waved her fan. “No one of any import ever pays attention to newspapers, do they?”

“I do.”

Edmund watched as the mood of the room shifted.

“Yes, well…” Nausica spoke up. “Even so, the police will have to step in sooner or later, won’t they? I mean, it is your factory. You paid for it, after all.”

“Not completely,” Edmund admitted. “Before the unfortunate riots that spurned your exodus here, I demanded a few changes to the blueprint. I will not detail the finances, but I was only able to pay for a portion of the construction. The rest was to be paid for on completion.”

“It’s…completed now, isn’t it?” Esmerildina asked, tension creeping back into her voice.

“Yes,” Edmund shrugged, “but unfortunately, the unpaid portion of the factory is now occupied by artists who call it their studio and performance space. I’m afraid that, as no money exchanged hands, that portion of my factory is now legally a donation to the arts.”

“But, if half your factory is yours, and the other half is theirs…”

“There is a large amount of legal doctrine on the subject. I am planning to fight it in the courts, but that will, unfortunately, take a lot of time.”

“Oh.”

“And money.”

“I see.”

“Quite a lot, in fact,” Edmund scratched the back of his ear, “enough so that I’m afraid your dowry may be all we have to live on for some time.”

“Yes, well,” Esmerildina straightened her dress, “I suppose it cannot be helped, can it? I suppose it was never promised that being Patron to a Founding Family was simple.”

“I promise you, it isn’t.” Edmund walked to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a glass. “In fact, just a few days ago I got into quite an involved argument with Wislydale Rotledge. He has a legal claim to Haggard Hill and the bauxite underneath it, you see. I told him I wasn’t marrying his niece any more, but it seems I accidentally signed a concession to his father, Tricknee, which gave Wislydale the first right of refusal on any minerals under Moulde Hall.”

“The aluminium is…his?”

“Oh, I will fight that as well,” Edmund shrugged. “It will take even longer of course, but the Moulde’s are not ones to shrink from a fight. I got rather used to it in the war.”

Lord Brocklehurst blew through his mustache.

“What…what do the other Founding Families think of that?” Esmerildina asked.

“Quite livid,” Edmund toasted his glass into the air. “A bit of bad blood all around.”

“It sounds like the Moulde’s are still on the outs?” Nausica’s sweet voice drifted through the air.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Edmund nodded. “But then, I am used to that. And given time, I’m sure you will be as well.”

Edmund took a drink. To anyone who was observing from, say, the hidden passageways of Moulde Hall, it might seem as if Edmund was taking a particularly longer drink than one should. This was, of course, incorrect. Edmund had calculated the length of his drink quite carefully indeed, and so it should come as no surprise to any scholar of Edmund’s life that when he lowered the glass from his lips, the look on the faces of Lord and Lady Brocklehurst were exactly what he expected.

“Patron,” Lady Brocklehurst said, opening her fan with a slow and steady twist of her hand, “may I ask you a possibly impertinent question? Would you happen to know exactly how much money the Moulde’s has in their coffers at the moment?”

“Virtually none. Quite a lot of debt, in fact. Enough so that much of my time in the coming weeks will be devoted to finding new sources of income. Perhaps providing some service…leasing some of my holdings to renters, perhaps…”

“Oh,” Nausica grinned with excitement. “You mean you might get a job?”

Lord Brocklehurst’s choking was quickly drowned out by Lady Brocklehurst’s exclamation. “Oh my! In all the excitement, I forgot! Oh, Patron Moulde, what you must think of me…I dare say I have committed a grave and powerful indiscretion! I am a poor and foolish old woman, I certainly am.”

“I do not believe that,” Edmund placed a look of concern on his face. “What ever is the matter?”

“I’m afraid we’ve let our enthusiasm run away with us. You understand, to hear our Patron has offered a hand in marriage to our own daughter, well, it is a dream come true, is it not? Only we have also received correspondence from that nice young Rotledge boy…what was his name, dear?”

“Oswort.”

“Oswold,” Nausica corrected.

“Of course, Oswold Rotledge, only a nephew to Patron Gregori Rotledge himself. So you understand, we would of course be…/honored/ to wed our daughter to you, we cannot simply accept immediately.”

“Oh?”

“To insult a nephew of a Patron like that, why, it would be a terrible scandal for us. Especially if your goal is to improve relations between the Mouldes and the Rotledges. Why, we’d be sabotaging the peace you are working so hard to build!”

“Well,” Edmund nodded, “that’s true.”

“So of course we mustn’t come out and deny him so quickly, must we? It will take some time to ensure he isn’t insulted when — and if — we decline his generous offer.”

It was impressive, really. Of the myriad ways that the Brocklehursts could have insulted Edmund and the Moulde Family, and ruining their social standing for generations, Esmerildina had lit upon one of the few legitimate ways to refuse a Patron’s offer of marriage; pit them against one another.

“He is a suitable bachelor,” Edmund admitted. “Do you think such a marriage would be acceptable for the other Founding Families? He is only fifteen.”

“They will be perfectly amicable if you marry that Rotledge girl,” Esmerildina shrugged. “In fact, the Rotledges are much wealthier than we are, and far more socially advantaged. Why, I’m not sure I could bare the shame if it was our family that tore you from a much more suitable bride than our Nausica.”

“You do make a good point,” Edmund nodded. “I must say, you were right about your social skill. You seem to navigate the minefield of Founding Families quite adroitly.”

“You flatter me, Patron,” Lady Brocklehurst curtsied. “I promise you, if you ever find yourself in need of a sympathetic ear…or a bit of advice, please call on me. I will always be ready to assist you.”

I have no doubt of that. Who wouldn’t turn down the chance to be a voice in the ear of Patron Moulde? Especially if they think he’s a foolish boy who has done little more than succumb to the winds of fortune throughout his whole life?

“My, I am feeling…/forgive/ me, Patron, but I suddenly find myself quite fatigued.” Lady Brocklehurst curtsied again, her fan swinging to her side like a sword. “May we take our leave of you?”

“Of course you may.”

“You are indeed a gracious host. Come along, Nausica! We simply must arrive back at our residence before dawn.”

“Are you certain you do not wish to stay the night? We have many bedrooms that are currently empty.”

“No, no, we have trespassed on your time far too much already. Come along Nausica!”

The Brocklehursts continued their obsequious fawning all the way through the Hall and to the foyer, where Enga was waiting with their coats. As she assisted Lord and Lady Brocklehurst, Edmund held up Nausica’s coat for her.

After settling the thick fur on her shoulders, she turned and — quick as lightning — quietly clapped her fingers into her palm, mute applause for the performance.

Minutes later, after the convoluted choreography of farewells, niceties, promises, and insincere invitations; the Brocklehursts were out the door and in their automobile, making their way down Haggard Hill.

Edmund watched them leave. For all the pageantry, it had been fun to work with Nausica, even in such a limited manner. She played her part well, and within a year the Brocklehursts would be telling the tale of the time they had almost become related to Patron Edmund Moulde to gasps of delight from their guests.

It was prestige of a kind, and perhaps more than they deserved, but as stories went, it was certainly unique.^{2, 3, 4}

Stepping away from the door, Edmund returned to his evening. He still had a few preparations to make before the announcement ball tomorrow, and a few experiments he needed to complete. He was also nearing a fascinating conclusion in the book he was reading. He had the time, now. The worst of it was over.

Those who have learned anything of Edmund’s life know for a fact that this brief moment of optimism was horribly…and fatally…wrong.