Chapter 264: The Sisters Wearing Comfortable Clothes

“Why did he tell us to be ready and join him first thing in the morning?”

Hermione frowned at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Behind her, Esther drew a brush carefully through her silver hair, gathering the long strands in one hand so the brush would not pull whenever it met a tangle. Hermione had already brushed Esther’s hair and tied it back neatly; now Esther was returning the favour with far more patience than Hermione had shown.

“I don’t know, Big Sister,” Esther said. “He told us to wear comfortable clothes too.”

“That tells us very little.” Hermione watched Esther lift a section of hair away from her shoulder. “Comfortable clothes for what? Grandmaster Strelley sometimes asks us not to wear heavy gowns during his lessons. Perhaps Ulrich means something like that.”

Esther considered it. “He sounded as though he meant something different.”

“He could have said what he meant, then.”

“No,” Airam said from the doorway.

Hermione turned in her chair, and Esther’s brush stopped halfway through a stroke. Both sisters stared.

Airam had come in wearing breeches and a shirt.

For a moment, Hermione thought she must have taken them from a young page or one of the household servants. Then she looked more closely. The fabric was too fine for that, and the stitching along the cuffs was careful enough that even years of storage had not spoiled its shape. The shirt was pale, the breeches dark, and both had plainly been made for a child of noble birth. Airam had rolled the sleeves back a little, but otherwise she wore the clothes with such ease that she might have dressed like this every morning.

Esther lowered the brush. “E…Eldest Sister?”

“Where did you get those?” Hermione asked.

“They’re Ulrich’s.”

Airam glanced down at herself, and the faint smile on her face made Hermione stare harder.

“Lord U—Ulrich’s?” Esther repeated. She stepped away from the dressing table, her eyes widening. “Did you ask him? Won’t he be angry if he sees you wearing them?”

Hermione rose from her chair and looked Airam over again. “H—How are they even fitting you? They’re loose here and there, but I expected his clothes to be much larger.”

“They were made when he was our age,” Airam said. “Some are older than that.”

“Y—You went through his wardrobe?” Hermione asked, speechless.

“I asked Fabian.”

Hermione blinked. “You asked Fabian for Ulrich’s old clothes?”

Airam nodded, apparently seeing nothing strange in it. She stepped back into the corridor and reached for something they could not see. A moment later, she pulled a large case across the threshold. Its weight made it scrape faintly over the floor, and Esther hurried forward to help her lift one end clear of the rug.

“Fabian kept them,” Airam explained as they set it down. “Ulrich can’t wear them now.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re yours,” Hermione said.

“He gave them to me.”

“Fabian did. Did Ulrich?”

Airam did not answer. She shut the bedroom door, dragged the case into the middle of the room, and knelt to open its latches.

Hermione and Esther joined her despite themselves. The lid rose to reveal rows of folded garments, with thin cloth laid between the layers to protect them. There were shirts of different sizes, breeches, waistcoats, and several neatly rolled neckcloths. Nothing looked worn beyond use. Someone had taken the trouble to have every piece cleaned and put away properly rather than leaving it to be forgotten in a storeroom.

Esther crouched beside the case. “These really are Lord Ulrich’s clothes from when he was young?”

Somehow she felt like she was looking at some kind of treasure.

Airam lifted a dark waistcoat and turned it so Esther could see the Rubenhart stitching on the inside.

“He dressed almost the same way even then,” Hermione mumbled.

She could picture him in the clothes too easily. The dark colours, the plain cuts, the absence of anything chosen merely to be admired, all of it suited the man she knew. Perhaps his taste had changed less than she would have expected. Or perhaps, even as a boy, he had already insisted on dressing as though he had important matters waiting for him.

“Pick what you want,” Airam said.

Hermione looked up. “W—Wait! You brought this here so we could wear his clothes?!”

“He told us to wear something comfortable.”

“I heard that! But these are his!” Heat crept into Hermione’s face. “These are clothes Ulrich actually wore, Airam!”

Airam glanced at her, then held out an arm. The cuff of her shirt had been rolled back twice, and there was still a little room at the shoulder, but the garment did not hang off her.

“They fit well enough.”

“That isn’t what I meant!”

“What did you mean?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. Airam knew perfectly well what she meant.

Esther, meanwhile, had found a shirt near the top of the case. She lifted it by the shoulders and held it against herself. It was still too large, though not hopelessly so, and the fabric felt soft between her fingers. She looked down at the neat row of buttons, then at the sleeves that would need folding.

“I—I’ll wear this one then,” she said.

Hermione turned toward her in disbelief. “E—Esther?”

“It looks comfortable.” Esther’s cheeks flushed, and she hugged the shirt a little closer. “Lord Ulrich asked us to be ready. I don’t want to arrive wearing the wrong thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you must choose something he wore!”

Esther looked at the shirt again. “I know but big sister…”

Her answer did nothing to help Hermione. If even Esther could choose without making a great debate of it, Hermione would look ridiculous for refusing. Airam would make certain of that.

Airam reached for the lid. “Then Esther and I will take them. I’ll keep the rest.”

She had already chosen a considerable number for herself before coming to their room. Another case sat hidden beneath her bed, filled with the pieces she had no intention of sharing. Hermione did not need to know about that.

“N—No, wait.”

Hermione caught the lid before Airam could lower it. Airam paused and looked up at her.

“I—I haven’t said I won’t wear them,” Hermione muttered.

“You sounded as though you wouldn’t.”

“Hmph. Ulrich asked us to wear comfortable clothes, so I will wear comfortable clothes.” Hermione lowered her gaze into the case and reached for a pair of breeches. “R—Right, that is all…”

Airam moved her hand away from the lid and let her search.

Finding clothes for all three of them took longer than Airam had expected. Esther chose quickly, but needed help folding her sleeves and fastening the breeches so they would stay in place. Hermione rejected one shirt because it was too loose, another because its collar sat awkwardly against her neck, and a third because Airam remarked that she seemed particularly eager to wear it. By the time Hermione settled on one, she was blushing too mich to look either of her sisters in the eye.

Half an hour later, they finally left the room together.

Airam walked ahead, apparently unconcerned by her appearance. Esther followed beside her, touching one folded cuff now and then to make sure it had not come undone. Hermione came last. She had inspected herself in the mirror before leaving and found nothing wrong with the fit, yet stepping into the corridor made her suddenly conscious of every seam and button.

They had not gone far before the first servant noticed them. A maid carrying a stack of fresh linen stopped in the middle of the hall and stared. Farther on, two others glanced up, recognised the girls, and then looked again at their clothes. One recovered enough to bow. The other remained still until her companion nudged her.

Hermione’s face grew hotter with every step. The servants might not know exactly which garments they wore, but they knew the quality of them. Soon enough, someone would ask where the case had come from. Soon after that, the entire household would know.

In fact, some elder servants knew exactly whose clothes they were, having seen Ulrich wearing them when he was younger. They simply smiled fondly, seeing the sisters wearing them.

“This is so embarrassing,” she whispered. She folded her arms across her shirt, though they did little to conceal it. “Perhaps I should go back and put on a gown…”

“Come on, Big Sister. I’m sure Lord Ulrich will think you look pretty in it,” Esther said with a giggle.

“I—I don’t care whether he thinks I’m pretty!” she said, snapping, her face going another shade of red. “I’m changing right now!”

She spun toward their room, but Airam caught her by the arm before she could take more than a step.

“We’ll be late.”

“Then go ahead without me. It won’t take long to put on a gown.”

“You took half an hour to choose that shirt,” Airam replied. “It will take you another half hour to change your mind about it.”

“I did not take half an hour!”

Esther came around to Hermione’s other side and took her hand. She was still smiling, though she looked ready to apologise if Hermione became truly upset.

“Come on, Big Sister. Lord Ulrich asked us all to be there.”

“That does not mean I have to go dressed like this…”

“You said the clothes were comfortable,” Esther reminded her.

“I said they were suitable. That is different.”

Neither of her sisters released her. Airam drew her forward by the arm, while Esther gave her hand a gentler pull. Hermione could have planted her feet and refused to move, but that would only attract more attention from the servants watching at the far end of the corridor. With an indignant huff, she walked between them.

She avoided looking at anyone they passed. It did not help. She could still sense heads turning behind her, and every time Esther glanced up at her with that pleased little smile, Hermione felt her face grow warm again.

They made their way through the estate toward the backyard where Grandmaster Brian Strelley usually held their magic lessons. Hermione knew the route so well that she could have walked it with her eyes closed. Normally, she would have been thinking ahead to whatever new Formula Rings he intended to teach them. This morning, she could think only of the shirt she wore and the possibility that Ulrich would recognise it.

Of course he would recognise it. They were his clothes.

She considered turning back one last time, but Airam’s grip on her arm had not loosened. Esther was still holding her other hand. Between them, her sisters guided her through the rear doors and into the morning air.

Ulrich stood alone in the yard.

There was no sign of Brian Strelley, no books laid out for a lesson, and no servants preparing equipment. Ulrich had chosen a place the girls knew well, but he had given them no indication of what he wanted them to do there. He stood with his back to them, waiting.

At the sound of their footsteps, he spoke without turning.

“You took your time.”

He made no effort to hide his annoyance. Hermione immediately looked toward Airam, as though to remind her that they would have arrived sooner if she had been allowed to change. Airam ignored the look.

Then Ulrich turned around.

His gaze fell first on Airam, then moved to Esther and Hermione. He looked at their shirts, their breeches, the folded cuffs, and the familiar cuts of garments he had not seen in years.

For a moment, he said nothing.

“…”

The silence stretched long enough for Hermione to wish she had stood her ground upstairs. She pulled one arm free of Airam’s hold and resisted the urge to straighten her collar. Esther’s fingers slipped from her hand; even Esther had stopped giggling.

Ulrich’s eyes returned to Airam. He looked again at the other two, as though a second inspection might make their choice of clothing easier to understand.

Clearly, it did not.

Lately, he had begun to think he understood the girls better. They argued with him, disobeyed him, and sometimes made decisions he could predict before they spoke a word. After everything they had endured together, he had believed he was finally learning the way each of them thought.

Then he asked them to wear comfortable clothes, and they arrived dressed in his childhood wardrobe.

The longer he looked at them, the less certain he was that he understood them at all.