It is ironic, I suppose. I spent the wagon ride to Bois-de-Bas alternately pondering how best to study Master Grenadine’s writings and wishing for a peaceful soak in the hot springs—for I may say that while traveling by wagon is much quicker than walking, it has its own discomforts.
But I have been bogged down in town matters since my return. Mme. Golombaque, it seems, has been stealing flowers for her table from the garden of Mme. Poquerie. M. Alemagne’s dog has been terrorizing chickens at local farms. My goat, Patches, has…but I do not want to think of my goat, Patches. I am simply grateful that Patches did not take it into her knobby head to join me in Mont-Havre, or I should be getting complaints from Honfleur or even Petit-Monde as well.
It seems that no one in Bois-de-Bas can settle any dispute without my aid.
I did get my soak this afternoon, of course, but no peace, for the town matters joined me there. I am increasingly attracted to the notion of moving my family to Mont-Havre. There, at least, I could continue my studies in peace! I said something of this to my Amelie just now.
“Oui,” she said. “In great peace, between visits from the servants of le Grand Parlement and those of Lord Doncaster, and visits to the tailor for les vêtements de cérémonie, and invitations from tout le Monde, n’est-ce pas? For you are the Grandmaster, and there you must play le Grand Homme.”
I believe I shuddered. I saw the beginnings of that dance myself at my meal with M. Archambault—and I have been familiar with the body of it from boyhood.
“Mais non,” she said decisively, and kissed me on the cheek. “You will stay here, where you truly are le Grand Homme.”
Ah, well. There will doubtless be further matters to settle tomorrow, and then perhaps I shall be able to settle down to my reading. I will take some time! Master Grenadine’s grimoire is neatly written (at least in the earlier pages) but poorly organized, as grimoires generally are; and his Sur la Thaumaturgie has proven to be entirely opaque to me so far. I understand the words, but they seem to have no relation to anything in my experience as a former. But it is a book of reflections; and perhaps it will grow more concrete as I proceed.