“And Talia said they can film outdoors even when the tourists are here?” Emma asked.

“My staff agrees the filming could serve as a draw for locals to see a real movie in production, but I was under the impression there were still a few details to be made out around sound?”

“We can certainly make tourist presence work on several days,” Talia said. “The script calls for places where the instrumental score would more than cover, and also a montage where no one has any lines to deliver, so our sound mixers wouldn’t have to differentiate between actors’ voices and crowd noise, if we do decide to admit a crowd.”

Vic nodded resolutely, but as she turned to Emma, her smile grew warm. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She started walking again, then stopped, causing the rest of them to bunch up behind her. “Actually, if you’re going to admit locals to observe filming, would it be possible to give preference to young arts students, either from the upper school or nearby universities?”

Talia shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Good,” Vic said resolutely. “Let’s see if we can inspire a new generation of Northlandian filmmakers.”

Emma beamed at her, and Talia once again seemed impressed. Sophia would grant, it was a nice touch for her to consider the peasants as she paraded around her castle, but she’d yet to see anything in Vic to inspire the devotion the other two women had clearly developed for her. It wasn’t as if she walked on water. Though she did walk fast once she got going, and backwards, like some tour guide on speed.

“This wing of the estate was built in the early thirteen hundreds and refortified after a siege during the Wars of the Roses. With your movie taking place in the late eighteen hundreds, it would’ve all been decorated differently, mind you, but actually”— she backed quickly through a doorway she couldn’t have possibly seen unless she had eyes on the back of her head— “the wallpaper in here is authentic Victorian.”

A startled man glanced up from a large table where he stood polishing a silver tea tray.

“Oh, hello Lawrence,” Victoria greeted. “Sorry to barge in.”

“Not at all, Miss.” He grabbed his rag and started to shuffle past them, but Vic didn’t budge.

Instead she met his eyes. “How’d the cricket go this weekend?”

“Very well, Miss.” He grinned, a crack in his formality. “A good bunch of youngsters on the pitch.”

“My father will be thrilled to hear it,” she said warmly, then turned on a heel. “Moving on.”

Sophia had to scamper to keep up with her. She was wearing flats instead of the high-heeled boots her full costume called for, but the lower stance may have actually made the large skirt more unwieldy, as the hem now dragged on the ground.