Mr. Bassington-Smythe's Residence
No, it had not been her choice--but she remained optimistic about what could have been, and she had other business while she was still here besides. Her heels struck brisk, measured steps on the stone streets of Brunnhold that morning, neither too quick nor too slow. The dark saffron and brown of her visiting gown swished quietly around her, her cosmetics restrained and precise. One would never know to look at her how she had spent her evening; that was rather the intent.
Her thoughts wandered, as they did from time to time, to her sister's small freckled face--angry, stubborn, sad. Not a step faltered. Ana was optimistic about this, too. Aurelie was stubborn, a Steerpike down to her bones. But Ana was a Steerpike too, and more importantly, she was right. Time enough to revisit this discussion--not an argument, she refused to think of it in such terms--when she had the paperwork in order. Plenty of time; though, she hoped, not too much.
Her business now had nothing to do with her sister at all, and nothing to do with Nicolette Ibutatu either. Hardly even business, except that of keeping up with those who she used to know. Since her return to Anaxas, Ana had found herself falling out of touch with a great many people. This, she thought, simply would not do. One must always keep up with one's acquaintances; it proved to be useful in the most unexpected of circumstances.
Fortunately, one such connection had come to Anaxas before her. She had heard (for she was not completely out of touch) that he was a visiting lecturer at the University, of all things. A curious man, to be sure, but his family's connections had always proven valuable to her both in Anaxas and in Florne, and they had several rather more social relationships in common.
She had been put in mind, of late, of one such person--a young woman they had both known, Ana with what she thought was likely to be a great deal more intimacy. While she was in town, it seemed to her a good and valuable use of her time to go calling on Mr. Bassington-Smythe.
It was to his home that she journeyed now, the first in a series of small errands for the day. She would take her carriage back to Muffey in the early evening. Truthfully, she could have left any number of these tasks for another visit; they were none of them pressing. But she wanted to do at least one of the things she had set out to do, and certainly paying a visit was one she thought she could manage quite handily.
Ah, and there was the address now. She checked it against a small card, neatly written, that she pulled from her reticule. Yes, this was certainly the place. Reasonable standard of living, it seemed to her, for a lecturer--more than she would have expected for one who was only visiting. Ana placed the card back inside and snapped the bag shut.
A few more measured strides took her to the door. She knocked with a white-gloved hand. Now, she reflected, was not necessarily the best of hours--it was a six, after all, and early enough in the day that there was a strong likelihood that he would be out. No matter; if the man was at home, wonderful. And if he proved not to be, she would leave her calling card with her Muffey address. Should he choose to want to get in touch.