Without a Summer by Mary Robinette Kowal Page A

you like to draw?”
    Melody rolled her eyes. “I am not a child that you need to amuse. I merely sighed.”
    “All right.” Jane held up her hands in surrender and returned to work. Melody could suffer ennui if she liked. It was the affliction of the fashionable, after all.
    At the other end of the room, Vincent had his feet spread wide in his operating stance. He had greater stamina and reach than she did, so he was placing the glamour along the ceiling. To someone whose eyes were only adjusted to the visible world, Vincent appeared to be waving his hands at random while washes of colour came into view overhead. When Jane let her vision expand to include the ether, his real work became apparent. Vincent pulled skeins of pure glamour and folded their light to his whims. Almost like a puppet showman working a marionette upside down, he wove a pattern on the ceiling with the folds.
    Scholars of glamour found that it had properties resembling textile, water, and light. The nature of glamour caused it to want to sink toward the earth once it was brought out of the ether. A glamourist who wanted to work at a distance had to think of it as a jet of water, diffusing and curling toward the earth. This made distance work doubly hard, due to the effort of supporting it while attempting to work with any degree of precision.
    Though the room had the bite of winter still, Vincent had removed his coat and worked only in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves so he did not overheat with the effort of working across so great a distance. Jane paused to make certain that he was not breathing overquickly. Like any activity, glamour required energy to manage, and Vincent had been known to work past his limits.
    Satisfied that he was not straining himself, Jane began to work again. Scarcely had she pulled a new fold from the ether when the door to the ballroom opened. Lord Stratton entered with a footman bearing a small tray of comestibles.
    “I thought you might need some refreshments.”
    Jane released her fold without troubling to tie it off. “Thank you, my lord.”
    Likewise, Vincent stepped back from the work he was doing and rolled his shirt sleeves down. “That is very kind, sir.”
    The Baron glanced at Melody and raised a brow in question. Jane stepped forward beckoning Melody, who rose. “May I present my sister, Miss Ellsworth.”
    “Ah, they had mentioned you had a companion, but not how lovely.” He bowed very correctly over Melody’s hand. “Are you also a glamourist?”
    Melody shook her head. “No, alas. I confess that I came to escape our house. The weather, you know.”
    “Quite understandable.” He hesitated, then said, “If you would like to use our music room, you are more than welcome.”
    “That would be very—” Melody broke off and glanced to Jane, seeming to recognise that this was not a social call. “That is, if it would not be any bother, I should be grateful.”
    “None at all.” He bowed to Jane. “If it will not deprive Lady Vincent of your company, that is.”
    Jane managed to reassure him that Melody was welcome to go, without making it sound like she was eager for her sister’s absence. But in truth, once Melody left the room with Lord Stratton, Jane was significantly more comfortable concentrating on her work.
    It astonished her how distracting a sigh could be.
    *   *   *
    At the end of the day, Jane’s arms ached as she pulled her pelisse back on. They had managed to place much of the underlayer of the glamour, but they still needed to tackle the musicians’ gallery before they were ready to begin sketching the broad strokes of the forms they wanted to add. Vincent often added an underlayer of paint, but they did not want to disturb the ballroom’s panelled walls, so they had decided to create the whole of the glamural with illusion.
    With Lord Stratton’s offering, they had not needed to eat the bread and cheese that Cook had packed for them. Vincent stooped to pick up their basket