The Lost Scribe of Justitia

The Fruit

     "You look pensive, Master Hollenburg." Lady Lydia commented, cracking her egg with the back of her spoon.
      Petrich nodded. "Please excuse my condition, My Lady.  I had an awfully busy night. Wanted to get as much done as possible before catching the train back to Astrea."
      "That must be quite a journey. A week or so?"
"Almost. Six days."
"Gracious." She mused. "And when will you be leaving us?"
"I catch a train tomorrow morning."
"Then we won't see you again until the Grand Showing."
"No." Petrich answered simply.
"I've never seen your work. But I've heard it was like no other. Magic, even. I'm sure it will be beautiful."
Petrich grinned. "I'll do my best, My Lady."
        "Will you be out in the garden today?" Lydia asked, keeping her eyes on her cracked egg.
         "Thought I might have one more look at it before leaving, yes. And will you and the little Lord be taking a stroll?"
        "Yes. We will. If we meet you there, maybe you can hold him one last time." she replied in a tone Petrich could not quite interpret.  It wasn't so much mournful, as it was, just cold. Like a tomb. Petrich thought.
        But Lydia's tone nor demeanor did not remain grave. She smiled happily when Petrich decided he was hungry, famished, to be exact, and bothered the kitchen servant for muffins and marmalade. Afterward, he took himself back to his quarters to review and organize his drafts, which gave him no different information than when he left it.  He did not expect it to change.
        With leather bound journal in hand and a couple of sketching pencils, Petrich arrived in the garden in search of the purple orchid, the Rykindella family flower. He found a whole bed of them at the wading pool just in front of the garçonniere. Seating himself on a nearby white marble bench, he sketched the blossom of the flower in over a dozen attempts.
         It was Lydia who caught him unaware this time. She was pushing the pram again and today the little Lord, although not asleep, lay content.
       Lydia took a moment to admire Petrich's sketches.
       "You're a natural artist, Master Hollenburg."
          "Oh, not at all, My Lady." Petrich assured her, "I am much more comfortable with the sciences and mathematics. The art of my work is something I have to continuously practice, but I appreciate your admiration."
          "Mind walking with us?" Lady Lydia asked, "I would like to show you something."
         Petrich closed his journal and stood from the bench. "Lead the way."
         They walked deeper into the garden, into a sort of a hedge maze. Petrich could not see the manor at all from where he stood.
"Don't know if I could navigate my way back to the house from here." Petrich commented, looking up at the sky. "I'd have to wait until nightfall if you weren't with me."
Lydia laughed lightly, as she stopped the pram and lifted the baby out of it. "Come, Master Hollenburg." She walked to a shrubbery covered in light pink berries among light green leaves. It had a pleasant, floral and fruity smell. "Do you know what this is?"
Petrich shook his head.
"This is a Pink Lady shrub. I'm sure it has some other complicated name, but I only know it as a Pink Lady."

(Symphoricarpos Orbicalatus a.k.a. The Pink Lady)

         Petrich smiled and shrugged. "Good enough for me." He peered closer at the berries. "Are they edible?"
"They are poisonous."
"Ah. Good to know. They smell delicious."
"Yes. Julian warned me about them when he saw them here. But a great many fruits that grow in gardens are dangerous to eat. It's their only defense." Lydia said, offering Petrich the baby. "If you don't mind. . ."
"Oh, alright then." Petrich quickly slipped his journal into his waistcoat pocket and held out his hands. "Come here, little man."
Lydia watched them for a moment as Petrich continued saying all the little nonsense things adults tend to say with a baby in their arms. Then she turned and began plucking the Pink Lady berries.
Petrich stopped talking to the baby and merely stared at her as Lydia took the few berries and wrapped them in her handkerchief.
Lydia looked back at him and gave a sad little smile. "Just a few of these in some tea ought to do it."
Petrich was stunned and for a moment was at a loss for words.
"See, all I have to do is have some tea, then feed him and we'll both be out of the way within hours."
Petrich finally found his voice again. "Lydia. . .please don't do this."
"And why not? He is not Lord Rykindella's son. Or maybe I have no need to inform you, do I?"
The pram was within just a few strides and Petrich had already backed away toward it to lay the baby down.
"Well? Do I?" her voice took a more hostile turn.
"No. You do not." Petrich answered softly, approaching her slowly.
"How awfully horrible for you to have to know. What you must think of me and my son." Lydia held out the bundle of Pink Lady berries. "If I could just end it for both of us, with these, then, perhaps I could save everyone from all the trouble of quietly discarding us. I know the act of L'enfant Oublies, Master Hollenburg. My family has been a part of this region's aristocracy for nearly 500 years. Tradition and the importance of lineage is not taken lightly here."
"Tradition, is it?" Petrich sneered. "The brutal mentality of this region is beyond my realm of understanding."
"You were neither born in this region, NOR are you an aristocrat in your own!" Lydia snapped back through angry tears. "And yet. . .you," She pointed at his chest, "YOU and all other celestial scribes gladly take commissions from whom? Aristocrats! We are the only class that can afford your services, so where would you be without us??"
"Still be among the living, at least!" Petrich shouted. "Just please. . ." He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "As soon as I get back Astrea, I'll speak to someone about getting you and your son away from here. By the time of the Grand Showing, I will have something figured out."
"So, we'd be in exile." Lydia replied, trembling.
"You'd rather be DEAD here, than LIVING elsewhere??"
Lydia didn't answer.
"Or would you rather your infant son be taken from you just for Lord Huxley Rykindella to impregnate you again whether you want it or not?"
Lydia shook her head. "I find the touch of a man in such a way revolting. I always have."
"Understandable."
"Is it? How can you have such understanding?"
Because I felt your fear. Petrich wanted to tell her, but did not.
"Men, even celestial scribes who claim chastity, will never understand. Hypocrites! All of you!"  Lydia's fingers busily unwrapped the handkerchief, and just almost got one of the berries into her mouth.
            Petrich snatched her wrist firmly, and all the berries fell to the ground with the handkerchief.  She struggled against him and her knees buckled. Petrich caught her and lowered her down to the ground with him. She grasped the lapels of his waistcoat and sobbed against his chest.
           "I don't want to be thrown away and forgotten!" she cried, "I want to live!"
          "Of course, you do." Petrich replied soothingly, "Let me help you. Please! Just keep yourself alive until I return."
           Lydia continued to sob, but then after a moment, shakily nodded her head against him. "I-I come into my personal trust in three weeks, when I turn 21. It will be my own to use. . .and maybe we can find a-a way to live."
         "Perfect! Yes!"
          Dietfried Baugainvillea popped into Petrich's mind for no other reason than the vast social circles in which Dietfried moved.  Petrich wondered if the former naval captain international playboy was still at the resort spa in Blyden.  It might be worth a shot at sending a telegram to the most elite of  the resorts, for Dietfried Baugainvillea would be nowhere but the best. 
         "I know someone that I think can help." Petrich said encouragingly, as he rose and brought Lydia back onto her feet.
        She gave him a feeble smile. "Thank you, Master Hollenburg."