[PM to Join] What am I Bid? (Antra, Ana, Abe)

[caporushes]

29th of Ophus, 2719
The Green Parlour, Briarwood Hall

"Ah, I never thought I'd leave either! And yet," Ana laughed, leaning in for that particularly Bastian style of greeting. She was, truly and genuinely, rather pleased to see Umberto. Despite the rather disastrous (if informative) circumstances of her attempt to call upon him in his home. And even if it were in circumstances such as this, the auctioning off of some of her parents' priceless antiques.

Well, circumstances were circumstances—she surely wouldn't let them deter her from being a good hostess. Gracious Lady, no. However her relationship had been with Mother and Father, there was the Steerpike name to consider. And her own, to boot! She laughed again, something of a sparkle in the gold of her eyes as she pulled back.

"Of course it is. What is worth doing at all is worth doing well—this is just as true with wine as it is with anything." She let a little mischief enter her expression. "It's good to see you as well. And—my!"

The parlor was rather awash in familiar faces today. Two of them, at least. The smile she graced Ms. Ixbridge with was a touch tilted, compared to the one she had given her cousin. She had always liked Abeline, much as they'd clashed in their school days. No—because they so often found themselves at odds as students. The woman was singularly strange, just as eccentric as her Bastian cousin, from the bridge of her nose to the tip of her rather masculine shoes. Eccentric was much, much better than dull, in her estimation.

There was, also, their shared interest in literature to consider.

"Abeline! How long has it been? Not since we were schoolgirls, surely!" Ana looked at her former schoolmate, taking measure of her current status. The smile never left her face. "I had no idea you were interested. What a delightful surprise."

The third, unknown member of the party didn't introduce himself at all. Ana took that, and his appearance, in stride; such was her policy with all inconveniences. Ana merely bowed, and when she rose, she had a dazzling smile in place for him, too. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name! Mister...?"

[Antranig Borna]

Ophus 29, 2719

Briarwood Hall, late morning.

The thought occurred to him only too late. Miss Steerpike had spent time in Bastia, and recently. Bastia, as far as he knew — as far as he cared, really — was where his ex-wife had absconded to with her new beau, the painter. High society was where they had met, and he had little doubt that high society was where Morena would insist she remain. Where he was certain Miss Steerpike had spent most of her time.

Suddenly, the prospect of coming across his in-laws was the least of his worries. He hoped it did not show on his face. He focused instead on seeming very interested in what Miss Steerpike had to say to his two companions, hearing absolutely none of it over what he could only describe as the sound of angry bees buzzing about in his mind. Surely someone such as this lady before him, who commanded the attention and respect of those around her, would not bring up such things in polite company, if she were privy to the details at all. He tried to stop himself from wondering what sort of lies Morena would sow against him in a place where no one knew him, in a place he would never be to defend himself. Her parents were still, nearly eight years on, utterly convinced that he had driven her away.

He noticed Miss Steerpike’s intent gaze on him too late, as well. What had she been saying? And the others? Had he not been introduced, as he expected? That must be the problem. He cleared his throat, offering her his most polite and practiced bow.

“My most sincere apologies, Miss Steerpike,” he said, his softly accented voice coming as even as could be, “I was… distracted, by the splendor of your abode.”

Yes, that would do. He reached into his jacket pocket, presenting the hostess with one of his business cards. “I am Antranig Borna, an expert in rare and old books, here at the request of Mr. Bassington-Smythe. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

[Umberto Bassington-Smythe]

The Country, Between Brunnhold and Vienda - At Briarwood Hall

The 29th of Ophus 2719 - Late Morning

T

he renewal and forming of acquaintance carried on reasonable lines. Banal pleasantries exchanged, Abe with her customary dry wit, Borna with what must be his usual diffidence. And as for himself? Badinage and far too many words. Brianwood Hall rendered him nervous, oppressed by an antiquity of architecture and seemed content to lour with disapproval on one and all. Briarwood Hall stripped him of all sense of social propriety.

“Oh I am sorry, I have forgotten myself. Miss Steerpike,” He gestured first at the gravetic presence of the host,“the worthy Antranig Borna, one of the shrewdest book dealers to be had, and a fine fellow into the bargain.” It was reasonably true, if Mel was to be trusted, and Mel was always to be trusted. He sighed at the memory of her. It would do him no good. Pining for lost love had no place in business, even if it was the business of books.

“Borna here is my expert, as I say, and we would be very much obliged if we can have the merest peak at your collection, before the bidding starts.” He swirled his wine at Ana in an offhand way, just as he would have done at one of the social gatherings where they had periodically met. “It seems you are liquidating the whole of the collection? I take it, then, that you do not plan to continue to live here at Briarwood? An estate sale and then back to Florne?”

It would be in character. She had the grandeur and gravatas to dwell in the place, true, but not as a woman alone. That would be like something out of a dreary novel. A rich lady exiled within the labyrinthine halls of her ancestral home, wandering alone by day and by night with no one but servants to attend her, and nothing but the ghosts of dead relations of company. That did not suit Ana, at least not as he had known her. Sparkling wit and a magnetic persona would wither in this plather. The house required a whole family to inhabit it. A cabal of endless intrigue. Cantankerous old dowagers, a master and a mistress, various wards and cousins, aunts, uncles and wastrel nephews, children, brothers and sisters. Sisters. That had been a sad affair, the matter of Ana’s young sister. Not that he had ever met her, nor did much to inquire after her. That would never do. Passivity was like a death in the family, and he had no desire to open old wounds for no good purpose.

Perhaps she would sell off Briarwood. The house itself would be worth a fortune, and there were always grasping up-and-comers who would wish a storied and ancient estate to their name. How many estate agent vultures were crawling over the place now? They might pass under the guise as collector’s agents, but scratch the surface, and their inner serpent’s hearts would be clear for all to see. And are auctioneers and antiques dealers any better?

He could only hope.

Well! My dear nephew Bardo!” The voice, all Flornese Riverword uttered with casual disregard, came from somewhere to his left, where a few choice pieces of porcelain were displayed upon plinths. I thought it was you I espied. Several hells and all the netherworlds! This would only make matters worse. Worse, and futile.

It was his first language, the Riverword. At home in Florne, the House of the Galeazzi spoke it amongst themselves, as did so many others who wished to keep the specifics of their business at least a little concealed. Bastian to the core, the Galeazzi, going so far as to speak the old language and give a small mild curse to the tastes of the fine ladies and gentlemen with their cultivated Estuan accents.

Uncle Dziann, he said, dropping easily into that language as easily as if it were the water of the canals, what are you doing here? Just his luck. His devious uncle, the uncle he had hoped to best, had gotten word ahead of time and took no time in showing up. Damn Uncle Gian, and damn his timing.

Business dear boy, business. An estate such as this cannot go without at least some careful perusal. I was already abroad, doing some work for a client who needed to salvage what he could from his house at Dorehaven. A sorry collection, alas. Mostly matchwood by the time I got there. He shook his head and ran his hands through his greying hair. Nothing like this magnificent collection. And perhaps our elegant host might be in the market for a proper auctioneer and agent to handle the sales. I have broached the subject, but delicately. He gave his perpetual rogeish wink, arching his dark eyebrows. Whoever it is that she has contracted to handle this auction is competent, but lacks the subtlety that really gets the punters buying.

Uncle Gian turned a bit, and gave Ana a most civilized nod. The Riverword dropped and his accented Estuan flowed forth with perfect ease. “Your pardons Madame, but this is my beloved nephew.” He draped his arm with proper avuncular affection about Umberto’s shoulders. “It is so easy to slip into our old way of speaking.” Gian’s eyebrows rose again and he caught sight of Abe. “Ah! And this is my most beloved niece. I suppose it fits to have a family reunion in such a place and among these books.” He gave Abe a warm smile and clasped her too about the shoulders. “It has been too long since I have seen you. You really should make your way to Florne more often. The medical community could use your skills.”