how amusing, how delightfully droll
The landspeeder swept a wide curve in the gravel drive and eased to a halt ten yards from the front door.
Normally, upon arriving to Herevan Hold, Reima would be greeted by an honor guard of sorts: servants flanking the doors to welcome a visitor. Today, there was only Hendersmith, the stalwart butler, who opened her door and helped her out before bowing deferentially. Even in his heartbreak and outrage, he could not escape the deference that was inbred into the Galidraani servant class. Normally, Reima would have found the irony somewhat amusing, but today she felt rather heartbroken herself. "My lady," said Hendersmith, his deep voice carrying just a touch of resentment.
"Good morning, Mr. Hendersmith," Reima said. "I've just come to see that everything is -- " Her voice faltered. "To be sure everything is ready."
Hendersmith made a noise somewhere between acknowledgment and objection and bowed again, sweeping a hand towards the entryway to the house. It was, after all, her house. For another few hours, at least.
Reima took a breath and, gathering her coat tighter around her frame, walked over to the open door and stepped into Herevan Hold. The house had always been massive, doubly so for Reima who had been a small child there. But now, with all the furniture and pictures, all the rugs and personalized touches gone, it felt cavernous. Even the heraldic symbols had been removed from the gallery balustrades and over the massive fireplace. The masons had cleaned it up, so it didn't look like anything was missing. They did rather a good job, Reima thought.
Without the large carpet to dampen her footsteps, her heels clicked on the flagstone floors. She crossed into the drawing room and it was the same story: familiar and foreign in equal parts. The paintings and furniture that had made the room so comfortable and cozy were gone, leaving the room looking rather sad. The silk that lined the walls had been left there; she wasn't sure the new owner would keep it, as it was rather old fashioned and feminine, and as far as she understood the new owner, he was neither.
Her journey through the house took her nearly an hour. She went through all the rooms in the house, sending very little time in any of them. She was there to ensure that all of her belongings were removed. Letting go of Herevan was wrench enough without inadvertently leaving behind any furniture or other belongings, each of which probably had centuries of history behind it.
But letting go of Herevan was quite necessary for Reima.
The house had a lot of memories for the young woman. Each room held a fond memory of time gone by -- primarily with her brother George, but occasionally with her mother. But as she approached the attic, she was reminded of a less pleasant memory. Her brother, his bodyguard, and her mother had disappeared from this place some years ago now. In the eyes of the law, George and Natasi had died in the room into which Reima finally allowed herself to look after pushing the door open.
A shiver ran through her. The room had been carefully packed away, with the movers tethered one to another and to an anchoring point in the hallway. It seemed that whatever malevolent spirit that had infested the room had left as mysteriously as it had come. The movers had all escaped with their lives, each accounted for and paid extra for the danger they didn't know they were in. Reima still refused to enter the room.
She looked from the doorway, eyes tracing the floor and the walls, over to the window on the far wall, as if by looking, she might cause George to materialize. Her eyes shimmered with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, and she drew a handkerchief from her handbag. "George," she called softly into the room, her voice breaking with grief. "George, are you in here?"
Only silence greeted her. Just as it always had.
A few moments later, Reima descended the main staircase, tucking her handkerchief (now smudged with mascara) into her handbag. Hendersmith was there, waiting. "Is there anything amiss, my lady?"
Reima tried to smile. "All shipshape and Bristol fashion," she confirmed. She turned towards the door, heading towards the exit, but something stopped her. She turned again and cleared her throat. "I know you don't approve," she said, as if daring the wizened butler to contradict her.
He inclined his head and avoided looking at her. "It is not my place to disapprove, my lady," he said firmly.
"If it's anyone's place, it's yours," said Reima. "You've served my family for three generations as butler. You came to my great-grandfather as a footman. If anyone has a right to disapprove of my selling Herevan, it's you."
His jaw tightened, and a moment passed before he turned towards her. "I appreciate your saying so, my lady. I -- well, I wish there was another way."
Reima frowned and walked back towards him so they didn't need to shout at each other across the room. "So do I," she said. "But with George gone... with mother gone, I just don't have it in me to run this place. I wasn't raised for it." Hendersmith frowned slightly at the implicit criticism of Natasi, of which the old man was exceedingly fond. "And as you know, things are changing for Galidraan. It won't be long before the New Imperials take Galidraan, and for whatever reason mother was utterly convinced that they would not welcome us with open arms. It is better to put Herevan into the hands of someone else, someone who will not attract the attention and malice of the new regime and other parties that will likely be vying for influence over it."
Hendersmith softened. "I suppose that is true."
"I appreciate you agreeing to stay and help the new owner settle in," said Reima. "He will need someone who understands how it all works and where all -- " She stopped herself from saying where all the bodies are buried, and instead finished awkwardly: " -- where all the keys and secret passage ways are. And you have the house in town." Reima retained ownership of a few properties in the village, including the Dower House and a few other houses, to which she had given Hendersmith and the housekeeper and cook life tenancies in recognition of their service. "It's a small consolation, I understand."
"I wouldn't say that, my lady."
Reima gave one last look around the place, then took a deep breath. The last time she would smell that distinct Herevan Hold air, the last time she would see the place. "I should go," Reima told Hendersmith, who bowed slightly and then escorted her towards the door, then carefully helped her into the car. "Do take care of yourself, Mr. Hendersmith. And if you need anything -- you know how to reach me."
"Thank you, my lady. Safe travels."
Reima started the speeder and, after one last look out the window, she piloted the speeder away from Herevan Hold for the last time.