Although Cian resolved to accept the changes without gripe, he had no clue towards what attitude his new family had towards him.
For the most part, Lady Trémaux and Ana kept to themselves within the massive estate, only occasionally appearing in front of Cian with a few words. Lady Trémaux would scrutinize him with arched eyebrows for a moment, only to leave Cian with a sharp reminder. Ana, on the other hand, would smile and gently ask how he had been, what he had eaten that day, and what his plans were for the remaining daylight. Each occupied their own rooms without delay, with Lady Trémaux ordering servants with a whip-like breath that crackled whenever she paused.
Drusilla on the other hand was much more fussy and acted inexplicably whenever they crossed path.
As the snow melted into a bitter green, Cian would frequent the gardens even more. Perhaps not knowing this, Drusilla was affronted the first time Cian’s presence interrupted her own flower outing.
“What,” she cried, “is a little boy like you doing here? Why not visit the stables and order the hostlers to give you a pony ride? Or else pick a fight with a nanny?”
“I want to see if any flowers have bloomed yet—”
“Don’t lie! You’re here to throw filth at me, aren’t you! Catching bugs and frogs to put in my bedding! Well, fess up if you don’t want to get hit!” Drusilla shrieked and pointed while addressing her attendants, “Go see what he’s got in his pockets!”
“Little Miss, this is the Master’s only son…” One attendant tried to reason.
“What? Don’t you understand human words?” Drusilla pushed an attendant towards Cian. “Go see!”
The attendant stumbled and walked to Cian hesitantly. Cian’s coat had four large pockets, all of which were routinely checked by the attendant. Besides an extra pair of perfumed gloves that Pellé always snuck in, there was nothing that the attendant could find.
“Little Miss,” The attendant held up the gloves and brought them to Drusilla’s waiting hand.
“Hee hee! What dainty gloves these are!” Drusilla played with the lace edge and exclaimed. “What good is it for you to have something with so many pearls and beads? I think that these better suit me.”
“Pellé has more. You can ask him for gloves if you like,” Cian supplied helpfully.
“Humph! The steward? How many pairs should a steward own? Why do you give him so many?” Said Drusilla.
“Pellé is the one who knows where everything is.”
Drusilla opened and closed her mouth, looking annoyed.
Cian was very sorry about this. He felt as though he had said something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what he could have said instead. It was true that Pellé knew where everything was, and he often helped Cian with his belongings personally.
“This Pellé, does he know where your gloves come from?”
“He does. We don’t have a glove maker anymore, but Father receives many pairs of gloves as gifts. Pellé is very familiar with the people who gift them, and sometimes also the glove makers themselves.”
“Yes, I say, what sort of manor lacks a glove maker? This Pellé will have to be questioned. I’ll be taking this now.” Drusilla turned up her nose and smiled at Cian.
Seeing this, Cian did his best to mimic her and smiled back.
Drusilla’s eyes widened: “What are you sneering at me for? Hum? Marie, take these gloves apart! There must be something wrong with them.”
“Ah, no—” Cian reached out instinctively as the attendant moved to take the gloves from Drusilla. He watched, dumbfounded, as the attendant tore apart the gloves at the seams using a pair of pocket sewing scissors.
“Little Miss, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.” The attendant declared after snipping each glove to its panels.
Drusilla snatched the panels out of the attendant’s hands and scrutinized them. “Was it only a glove? Well, if it was a fairy, it wouldn’t have allowed itself to be taken apart.” She let the fabric slide out of her hands and fall to the slightly damp grounds. “Since you didn’t lie, I’ll let you have it. Marie, go call that Pellé and have him bring out all the nice gloves. I’ll have my pick for the gathering this evening.”
“Right away.” The attendant nodded and followed behind Drusilla’s haughty steps, pausing once to glance at Cian with a look.
Cian stared at the scattered glove parts quietly. Pellé said that this pair of gloves once belonged to a gentleman’s child who was taken by the plague. In gratitude for his father’s actions during the plague, the gentleman had gifted him the gloves, hearing that the Dulìman house had just welcomed an infant at the same time.
In fact, this was an ominous, inauspicious gift to receive, but Cian’s father had seen through the gentleman’s façade and sensed his desperation. The gentleman wanted the gloves to fulfill its duties as a child’s belongings. Pellé described how the gentleman’s face broke into a smile after Cian’s father accepted the pair; it was a smile that was not a smile, a joy that could not be called happiness.
Now, looking at the ruined fabric, the scattered beads and loosened embroidery, Cian felt especially guilty for having caused the ruin of such a precious pair of gloves.
He picked up each panel, wiping away as much mud as he could off them on his coat, and walked towards the manor. By then, a page had found him and asked whatever was the manner, acting most concerned.
Once more, Cian felt ashamed and mumbled this and that, wanting to amend what had not yet been revealed. This, however, excited the page, inciting them to urge a clearer answer out of Cian.
It must be said that the servants were all fond of and accustomed to Cian, this cute and quiet young master who had no complaints or vices to trouble them, the poor servants of the manor. Now that the young master finally had something to say, albeit out of naïve avoidance, the page was determined to help the young master to the very end that day.
So when Cian held up the ruined panels of the gloves, the page was confused, wondering how their precious young master came into contact with such uniquely ruined wares.
“Where did you find this?” The page asked.
“They were gloves…I turned them into this.”
“Would you like them to be gloves again?”
Cian nodded, and a serious look crossed the page’s face.
“Very well. Leave it to me, Young Master! Although the estate no longer has a glove maker, I am a little familiar with the affairs of sewing and embroidery and can certainly replicate this pattern. Well, the design is a little ruined, and the lace a little difficult to acquire, but I’m sure that I can make it happen in a few months.”
“Will you use new fabric? Can’t you use this one?” Cian held the panels up higher to reach the page’s face.
“Do you not dislike this old fabric?” The page asked with wide eyes, “When cloth as fine as this is dirtied once, there’s no use in wearing it again. Young Master, wouldn’t you like a new set of gloves?”
“This…is…still gloves.” Cian struggled to voice his thoughts. He didn’t know why, but he believed that the fragments he held in his hands were very good. The page failed to interpret his frustration and sighed quietly, lamenting the young master’s reticence.
“Well, hand it here. I’ll see what I can do.” The page outstretched their palm and let Cian drop the panels there.
Not a moment later, a senior servant found the pair and announced that the afternoon meal was to be served. In the presence of the senior servant, the page no longer spoke, but instead winked behind the servant’s back, signaling something to Cian.
Cian blinked slowly, attempting to wink back.
“Is something the matter, Young Master?” The senior servant asked, reaching for the child’s hand.
Cian shook his head, accepted the servant’s hand, and walked back to the manor.