Page 5 of Claiming the Tower
Bess took a breath, held it for a count of five, and let it out. Arguing would do no one any good, especially Bess herself. It wasn’t as if she could hope to win one of these arguments. Instead, she bent her head over the threads in her lap, and focused on them. She enjoyed the process if she wasn’t rushed at it, that was the thing. Madam Judson had an absolute gift for taking something that could be satisfying and making it feel tarnished or faded.
It made Bess think of Hereswith again, who had the opposite talent. She’d made tea, a quite ordinary tea, for The Field, into something that glowed. That felt like a special gift, both at the time and in the memory. Bess didn’t think it had been anything unusual for Hereswith. Why would she bother with something special for Bess? They were acquaintances, cordial ones, but not friends. Bess was not permitted the sort of time needed to have friends.
Every time she tried to write a note longer than a few sentences during the day, she would be called away. If Madam Judson was resting her eyes— never actually sleeping during the day, of course— any shift of movement more than turning a page at the proper pace in a book would wake her and make her irritable. The proper pace, of course, was about a third the speed Bess preferred to read, but she’d learned to pace herself promptly enough.
The few moments she had before her own bed or first thing in the morning weren’t enough for much correspondence. And there was always the chance that one of the servants would report on a letter going to the post, leading to an entire inquisition of questions. As a result, Bess wrote in rotation to a series of mostly distant cousins and aunts, but those were not at all the same thing as friends.
Bess had been working perhaps another half hour. It was punctuated by complaints from Madam Judson about matters in the latest issue of Albion’s Flowers, the women’s gazette that was part fashion, part gossip, and part advice. The gossip was all blind items, of course, because at least two-thirds of the fun for most readers was the process of figuring out who was discussed. The complaints today were mostly about the current cut of skirts and petticoats, and Bess could let that flow over her.
She dressed to suit Madam Judson’s tastes, even if that wasn’t what she might choose on her own. Part of that was financial. The allowance she was paid wouldn’t cover much in the way of clothing, and it wasn’t as if she had any place she could wear what she chose. Even on Tuesdays, she was with Madam Judson coming and going from her friend’s home in Trellech. And, of course, a companion had to know her place, the muted browns and greys rather than the jewel tones that Bess sometimes dreamt about.
Bess had just got through untangling the last of the yellow threads when there was a knock on the door. An unexpected knock. Eliza, one of the maids, came in, bobbing nervously, when Madam Judson asked what it was. “Begging pardon, ma’am, but the vicar’s wife, the new one, is at the gate, wondering if she could speak to someone in the house. Mrs Walton thought it might best be Miss Marley, in this case.”
“Did she.” That did not bode well for the housekeeper, even if she was right. Bess had more status in the household than a housekeeper, that liminal space between servant and family. Not that other family lived in the house. Madam Judson thumped her cane once on the floor. “Bess, girl. Go send her away, without drawing attention. I’ll be watching you out the window.”
“Of course, Madam Judson.” Bess took a moment to coil the rest of the thread she’d sorted so they wouldn’t tangle again. “I can come back to the threads later.”
“Tonight, once I’m gone to bed, if you please. I’ll want you to read to me before supper.” That meant Bess would be up late, far later than she wanted. And that she’d get none of her own reading done, and she’d hoped for at least a few pages. She didn’t let any of that show.
“Of course, ma’am.” Bess waited to be dismissed, then hurried down to go out the front door, pausing only long enough to make sure she looked tidy. At the great wrought-iron gate at the far end of the drive, she saw the new vicar’s wife. She was a younger woman, still in her middle twenties, with all the optimism of the age.
Bess could see James, one of the footmen, settled in his usual place by the gate, in case of callers or messages, and she nodded at him once. “Mrs Halston? I’m Elizabeth Marley, companion to Mrs Judson.” She used the terms suitable for the non-magical. This was why it couldn’t be left to one of the staff as easily.
“Oh, just the person! I’ve heard rather a lot about the estate, and I hoped that someone might contribute to the fete next month. It’s a rush to get everything together, but the church roof needs a fair bit of work, we gather. Everybody doing their bit will make light work.” At this point, Bess had been through three different vicars and their wives here, as well as others she had known in earlier positions. This one was decidedly optimistic and would need letting down gently.
“Ah. Mrs Judson is, well, her health plagues her. I’m afraid she’s not able to lend a hand, and she keeps me close in case she needs anything.” Bess would, actually, enjoy the challenge of organising a church fete on short notice, even without having enough of a sense of the personalities of the village. “I’m afraid we don’t get to the village often ourselves, even for church.”
That part was at least a tiny bit of a lie. The Judsons kept their own family traditions, a mix of Roman revival and family magic that was not so much religious as a point of fact. Bess hadn’t been able to keep her own family customs for years, and she tucked that far away inside her head because dwelling on it made her angry. “Oh.” Mrs Halston looked overset, as if she’d assumed this was the answer to all her needs.
Bess considered. “Let me have a talk with our housekeeper and cook. There might be some jam or some such that we could give to the cause. And we could perhaps lend one or two of the footmen to helping set up the stalls and games. What date did you have in mind?”
“Oh, June twenty-first, we thought it a decent chance of sun.”
“Ah.” Bess took a breath. “I’m afraid the household already has some obligations, then. A family gathering, and our staff will be needed for that. But perhaps a day or two before. I’ll ask.” Solstice week was always chaos. There were the expectations of the Judsons, but also the Council rites, parties after, and the gatherings around the Midsummer Faire. “Jam, or something of the kind, that’s more likely. I’m afraid you’ll find we’re sometimes a little out of step with the local calendar, as an estate. You know how ancient family traditions are.”
“Oh, I suppose.” Mrs Halston glanced up at the house. “May I ask, are you related to the family?” That was often the case for companions, some poor cousin or spinster aunt given a place. The family would say it was out of charity and pity, but really it was an excellent way to get household staff on the cheap. Bess didn’t even have that going for her.
“Ah, no. My parents died some years ago, and I needed to make my way in the world. I’d been a companion to two other women. M...” She caught herself before saying Madam again. “Mrs Carlton died of old age, poor dear. But one of her friends suggested me to Mrs Judson.” There, that was all proper, and if it came out in gossip, well, it wouldn’t get Bess in trouble. “I’m grateful to be here.” That was true.
It wasn’t as if she had much in the way of other options. She’d gone to Schola, but then her parents hadn’t been able to arrange a useful apprenticeship for her. She’d learned from half a dozen aunts and their friends all the domestic skills of managing an estate. Right around when she might think of looking for a place of her own, Mama and Papa had died a year apart. They’d died of the sort of illnesses brought on by needing to skimp a little too much on everything. It had left Bess with little in the way to draw on at a time her yearmates at Schola had been finishing apprenticeships and moving into rewarding work. She’d had good breeding, but hadn’t had the connections to get taken on at one of the tutoring schools or as a governess. Being a companion was better than the other options.
“Ah.” The vicar’s wife nodded. “I won’t take more of your time then. But I hope we see you some Sunday, soon, if not for the fete itself.”
“Perhaps. It depends very much on Mrs Judson. I will send a note along about whatever we might offer, though, in a day or so.” They parted at the gate, and Bess turned to make her way briskly back up the drive to report on the entire conversation.
Chapter 4
May 16th at the Field, Trellech
That next Tuesday, the ninth, Hereswith hadn’t been at the Field. Bess had had a pleasant enough cup of tea— but none of the food— chatting with Emma George, who’d been the year behind her. Emma was in the comfortable stage of adulthood where her children were more independent, and she was deciding how to spend some of her free time.
It was not a mode Bess ever expected to attain. She might do better than Madam Judson, but any change was a risk, and it wasn’t as if she had other offers in hand. But a chance to catch up with a near enough yearmate was pleasant enough. It wasn’t until she was leaving that Adelaide caught her attention. “Oh! This came since you came in, but it wasn’t marked urgent.”
That was a polite little note saying that Hereswith was caught up with something, but hoped to be at the Field next Tuesday. Bess eyed it: a pleasant few sentences, impersonal except for the fact they were in a rather glorious emerald green ink. Not the pen she used for professional work, presumably. Bess pulled her watch up from where it hung off the chatelaine and glanced at it. She had five minutes. That was enough time to write back and not long enough to fuss about the perfect wording.
Four and a half minutes later, she’d offered the note back to Adelaide. “If you could make sure Mistress Rowan gets that when she’s in next, I’d appreciate it.” That was the cheapest option, since of course it took the club almost no effort.
“We’ll likely have another note or two going to her tomorrow, if you’d like to have us send it along with the others.” Adelaide met her eyes directly.
