Pale Painter Ch 05

On Rosanda's second morning at Castle Adurant, she spent her time making little sketches of cute little Andreo while Duchess Adurant and the nanny, whose name was Mildred, tried to keep the boy still when Rosanda needed him to be. When that business was done, the duchess asked Rosanda for her companionship as she took a cup of hot tea. Rosanda agreed, and soon, she was sitting with her new mistress, and her mistress' handmaidens.

All four women were seated in a pleasant drawing room, and all four were given cups of steaming tea. Rosanda loved the flavor. It held notes of cinnamon and vanilla. They were also given small bits of spiced bread to thoughtfully munch on. Rosanda thought the duchess was very kind to share her treats with not only her guest, but with her handmaidens too.

At one point, the duchess pulled a curtain aside and pointed her cyan eyes to the window. "Ah, my husband is riding his beloved Breckson." That was the name of a horse. "I hope Breckson's little foal is birthed safely." She then went on and on about how attentive her husband was in general, always caring for others. Rosanda would have been highly annoyed if she didn't think the duchess was quite earnest.

Soon, though, Duchess Adurant changed the subject. She asked about the health of one of her handmaidens, who had occasional nausea. "A bit of ginger and peppermint should do you well, and I'll see to it that you have milk toast whenever you fancy it." The duchess put her delicately painted cup and saucer down, and she smiled at Rosanda. "Miss Lunai, I do hope you're enjoying your stay here."

"Of course, Your Grace." Rosanda had just swallowed a chunk of bread. She drew a bit of her tea and waited for the host to continue.

"I'm looking forward to the day when I can create a suitable piece of art. I assume it won't be very long. You're a lovely tutor." The duchess' gleaming fingernails leisurely parted sections of fur on her cloak. "Perhaps one day, I'll paint an image of the dungeon. It would likely be a depressing image, but I'd be so happy to see the place that I'll need to mark the occasion somehow."

A handmaiden spoke up. "Mistress, His Grace has yet to find the key to that place."

With a long sigh, the duchess said, "I know, Laudra, but he might find it one day."

"Even though he hasn't been able to in so many years?" said Laudra, frowning into her tea.

"I believe he hasn't found it because he hasn't had enough motivation, and now that I've finally grown curious of the place, he'll certainly put in more effort to locate the key." The duchess smirked for a moment. "If the key's anywhere in the building, he'll find it for me."

Rosanda thought it wasn't rude to ask about the problem. "Why are you so curious about the dungeon, Your Grace?"

"Simply because it's locked," answered the duchess, pouring a bit more tea into her cup. "Not only that, but it's been locked since before the previous duke and duchess died. I didn't fret over it, because I've been so busy caring for Andreo, and ... well ... living as my new title demands, but Andreo is so independent now that even Mildred is at ease."

Rosanda had heard that the duchess originally came from a more common background than her husband's, and she imagined that this mother was the sort who wanted to be more involved with her child than a typical aristocratic parent would be. Mildred's job was probably much easier than an average nanny's.

"What's in the dungeon?" Rosanda wondered if there was a secret treasure in there.

The duchess took a piece of bread. "I'd imagine there would be ancient cells and torture devices from back when there was still a use for such things in this castle. It's apparently very damp and unpleasant down there, not an adequate place for storage. There can't be anything of much value there." Gingerly, she took a small bite.

"Yet you still want to see the interior?" Rosanda didn't really see the point.

Duchess Adurant swallowed her food. Then she said, "Of course, Miss Lunai. Now that I'm comfortable with the best of this place, I want to see the worst, and the fact that the door has been locked for so long only entices me." She held her cup of tea for a moment, and her face took on a pensive, and then lightly amused expression, as her thoughts seemed to change. "There was a time when I'd suppress my inquisitiveness, because I feared causing harm or at least seeming ill-mannered, but now, in this situation, I believe I'm in the right."

A short tutoring session occurred after that moment. The duchess had some difficulty with understanding how shadows interact with objects. She also had a bad habit of simply picking out colors with nothing but her personal preferences guiding her. It was only slightly frustrating.

Lunchtime came soon. The duchess insisted that Rosanda eat with her, and it turned out that the duke himself wanted to join in. They all ate in the formal dining hall. The massive table was intimidating, but the company somehow made up for that. While the master and mistress of the castle were no doubt the ones in charge, they seemed to have understanding, sweet natures. Rosanda genuinely hoped that their child grew up to be similar.

Rosanda imagined that Mildred was feeding Andreo at that moment, probably something delicious and healthy. She wondered if the boy was fastidious.

The duchess reminded her husband about the search for the key, and that was when Duke Adurant said with a grin, "Why don't we simply remove the hinges on the door?"

"Those things are quite old," countered the duchess. "You could end up damaging them, and then we'd never be able to close the door again."

A hazy sigh, and then the duke brightened up as he gave an idea. "I could always hire a locksmith. He could fashion a new key. At the very least, he could open the door."

Duchess Adurant nodded and patted her husband's damaged, but functional hand. "That's a lovely idea."

***

On Rosanda's third morning, after a very healthy breakfast of diced nuts sprinkled over jam covered toast, she gathered her materials to the duchess' bedchamber. It was time to work on a painting of the duchess and little Andreo. His mother had dressed him up in one of the most formal outfits Rosanda had ever seen on a boy that hadn't even been breeched yet. It was like a miniature ballgown, made of silk and lace with a base of dark moss green, but with and yellow non-functional, entirely decorative buttons instead of ribbons. Rosanda also noted the family crest embroidered in gold onto the front of the under-skirt.

Poor Andreo hated it. The dress was uncomfortable for an active little lad such as himself. No matter how much his mother praised him for being a pretty little child, he kept squirming in his mother's lap, wiggling his limbs and frowning.

Rosanda didn't have too much difficulty, though, not even when the boy escaped from his mother's arms and ran around the room. At one point, he pulled himself up onto his mother's bed and hopped up and down on it. The duchess was persistent, though, and she would always pluck her son up, return to her seat, and set him onto her lap, adjusting his skirt to display the Adurant crest to Rosanda.

Eventually, they had to stop. Rosanda didn't normally finish a painting in one sitting. The duchess helped her son to undress, much to Andreo's relief.

In the afternoon, after a pleasant lunch, Duchess Adurant led her guest down a set of squeaky stairs that curved around and around. The air soon grew much damper and much colder. The women's breaths materialized as if they wanted to give a warning.

"This is the door," Duchess Adurant said, holding up a delicate little lamp.

It was a tall thing, a thick thing, and it reeked of iron, wood, and who knew what else. The lock was so sturdy that it was almost daunting to look at it.

"For now, at least, perhaps you could make a painting of the door?" Rosanda thought it was a nice door.

"I'd rather wait for the locksmith." The duchess pinched her cloak tighter around her form. "I'm not looking forward to seeing the torture devices. I'm not suited to such ... concepts. I believe I'll search for a view without them."

"Do you plan on keeping the devices?"

Duchess Adurant shook her adorned head. "I believe they should be donated to museums, to remind everyone how horrible our past was, so we can learn from it, and look forward to the future."

She spoke as if she didn't know how cruel contemporary law enforcement could be. Rosanda was glad to know she was in so much blissful ignorance. In Rosanda's mind, the duchess seemed to be a woman on a pedestal of marble and gold, but she also seemed to be a compassionate woman.

Well, that's what Rosanda thought of her, and this was based on only a few days' worth of contact. She knew she could be wrong.

As they walked back up the stairs, the duchess said she missed her Mousie, and she wanted to see how he was doing. The handmaidens were waiting in a hallway for their mistress. The duchess greeted them and announced they were going to the nursery.

***

Mildred was seated in a corner of the nursery, looking very content.

Duke Adurant was in there too, his great frame squeezed into a cushioned rocking chair. Back and forth, the wooden chair creaked under his weight. His son was sitting in his lap, idly chewing a piece of bread.

"And then the Silver Knight asked the Gold Dragon, 'Why did you kidnap the princess?'" The duke seemed to be telling Andreo a story. He didn't have a book to assist him. "The Gold Dragon said, 'I did not kidnap her. I helped her to run away.'"

Duchess Adurant and Rosanda waited in the doorway as the father went on with the story. When he finished, Andreo made a little cooing noise.

And Rosanda wondered if the Duchess' attentive behavior to her child had influenced the Duke. He seemed almost as attentive as the mother. Did they even need a nanny? Rosanda shrugged at the thought. It was good for them to have a nanny, regardless. The more support a child had, the better, and parents of a high status often had important engagements, especially during the Social Season.

"Andreo, did you enjoy Papa's story?" Duchess Adurant glided over to where her husband was seated. She knelt down at her husband's left, and she looked up at the boy with a sweet grin.

The boy smiled, his eyes focusing on his snack. Then, he murmured something.

Duke Adurant's hairless brow rose. He said quietly, "What was that?"

The little boy actually rolled his eyes.

This his lips moved.

"Baah bah."

Every adult in the general area gasped.

Duchess Adurant bounced on the floor, squealing out, "Say it again! Say it again!"

The duke's arms surrounded the child, who had a surprised, but adorable expression. The father's disfigured face was stretched out in joy. Excited, fairly trembling, the man asked, "Was that Papa? Did you say Papa?"

Andreo wiggled in his father's arms, keening out his disapproval. Duke Adurant loosened his grip, but kept him on his lap. "Come now, say it again. Please say it again."

The boy threw his little hands in the air, as if exasperated, and he said, "Baah bah ga." Then he patted his father's rib cage, like he was petting a dog, and he repeated it. "Baah bah ga." His face was lowered as he did this, but he didn't seem particularly timid.

The parents were so enthusiastic that they practically ran about the room, taking turns holding the boy, kissing him, and asking him to repeat those sounds again. Even Mildred was happy. She was clapping her hands and laughing. The handmaidens outside the nursery whispered approving words to each other. Rosanda kept quiet, but she smiled.

And when night fell upon the castle, as Rosanda slipped into the comfortable bed in the guest room that had been so carefully prepared for her, she dared to wonder if the king had ever experienced something as wonderful as that moment when Andreo apparently said his first words. Did Kutberth I feel any pride, any thrill whenever Kutberth II accomplished anything, even if he was late in doing so?

Did the king ever put little Alex on his lap and tell him a story?

Maybe not.

But, maybe so.

Alex ... Alex really did resemble his father, except for his skin. A little bit of color seemed to have been given from his mother. Rosanda was actually surprised to note that Alex didn't inherit more of his mother's features.

Oh well, it didn't really matter.

She wasn't planning on ever seeing any of the men ever again.

***

It was the fourth morning of Rosanda's visit when the locksmith arrived. She was curious enough to follow the duchess down the staircase once word got out that the door was unlocked. The handmaidens, disliking the idea of going underground, stayed behind. Two men were at the freshly opened door to the dungeon, the locksmith and Duke Adurant.

Carrying their lamps, all the people entered the dungeon with curious eyes and cautious feet. They had to be careful not to contact any spider's webs. It smelled awful too, like barely rinsed chamber pots, old rust, and rotting wood. Even the duke had a frown on his face. At one point, he said to his wife, "Darling, take your friend away and forget this wretched place."

"Please let me stay, Erdgar. I'm not yet satisfied."

The duke pinched the bridge of his nose, but he said, "I suppose it can't be helped, then."

The locksmith, a plump man with bushy eyebrows, politely ignored the exchange.

Rosanda expected they'd find mostly empty spaces with occasional ancient furniture and some torture devices, since the dungeon wasn't supposed to have been in use for who knows how many years.

They didn't, though.

The first thing they found was a bed, an actual bed with a mattress, sheets, blankets, and pillows.

The locksmith was the one to point it out, "Forgive me, Your Graces, if this seems rude to ask, but why would a bed be here?"

They weren't even in a holding cell. They were in the first room of the dungeon, where, in the past, there would have been guards employed. If there were any furniture, there should have been ancient tables and chairs. Of course, there weren't any tables or chairs for guards, because there were no more guards.

Duke Adurant had a furrowed brow as he responded, "I have no idea."

Under the orange and yellow lights of their lamps, the people examined the bed. There was a moldy smell to it, which made sense, since the area was damp and unpleasant. The fabric was thin and partially eaten by insects, but there was still a specific pattern on the pillowcases that bothered Rosanda. Careful with her lamp, she let her light source hover over one of the pillows. There was intricate embroidery on the cases, and it seemed ... not ancient.

"Your Graces," Rosanda said, her hand shaking a bit, the light quivering over the pillow.

The two aristocrats approached her quietly. The duchess was the one who asked, "What is it?"

Rosanda told them, "The pattern on this pillowcase was in the mode for a short time when I was young. This fabric, it can't be more than eleven years old."

"That's preposterous!" That was the huffy voice of Duke Adurant.

Rosanda flinched at his statement. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I'm not lying." She was curious instead. What else would be found in this place?

While the other three adults argued over the age of the bed's pillowcases, Rosanda wandered away. She went down a hallway that had the holding cells. There were iron bars and gates covering each cell. The funny thing was ... there were fairly contemporary looking beds in there too, smaller versions of the one they had recently discovered.

That was ... weird.

And one cell, at the very end, had more than a bed. There was a bunch of bones on the mattress. Assuming they all came from the same person, the body had decomposed. There was nothing holding the bones together.

Rosanda left the hallway, passed the other three people, who were still in a heated debate, and found the torture room. Manacles, racks, pointy objects, they were revealed to her a bit at a time. The most startling discovery, though, wasn't a torture device at all. It was a display hanging on a wall.

Little ... objects were tied and attached to something like a bulletin board. There was a child's stick, meant for playing games with toy hoops, a wooden top, a hair ribbon, a small horse figurine with wheels at its feet and a rope for pulling it, and a tiny pomander of silver.

Her fingertips slid under the intricate little thing of silver. It was shaped like an egg and had intricate wirework. She put her lamp closer to it.

Something was inscribed on the hinge of the pomander.

Her eyes widened and watered.

Her fingers trembled, and then they gripped the dangling pomander, pulling the silver chain off of the nail it hung from.

And Rosanda screamed so horribly that one might have wondered if she'd ever be able to scream again.

***