Page 7 of Claiming the Tower
She took a breath. “My first place, my room was up in the servant’s hall, which isn’t really the done thing for a companion. It meant I was endlessly going up and down the back stairs. And the window leaked, there was a terrible draught half the year, and simultaneously, even with charms, it was stuffy.”
“I suppose you’ve learned a fair number of those. For your own sake, besides keeping the household in order.” Hereswith tapped her finger on her other wrist, as if thinking. “There are rather a lot, aren’t there?”
“Well, some of it is about scope. Madam Judson drinks a little wine, but not much, but rarely serves spirits unless her male relatives are visiting. Not that they do that terribly often. It saves rather a lot of bother making sure that the port or brandy is properly handled. She prefers poultry or fish, so the cleaning charms that work best for beef or lamb are less relevant, and so on. But in another house, it would be a different set. And then, of course, all her other preferences, in how the people around her dress, or do our hair, or any of that.”
The conversation that followed wandered through a good dozen examples. It became clear that Hereswith had given a tremendous amount of thought to how certain aspects were arranged, particularly what people took away from them or assumed because of them. She was less skilled in the details of making that happen, but of course, in her work, there were household staff to manage the details. And, from what Bess could tell, her home with her father was much the same. Excellent staff. Hereswith handled certain details, but others ran as expected. Bess rather envied someone having that.
By the time Bess had to go, they had in fact eaten near all the food, and Bess was savouring the last sip or three of the chocolate. “Drinking chocolate again next time, then.” Hereswith said, with an obvious satisfaction. “I like the expression on your face when you enjoy it.”
“I should refuse,” Bess said. “It’s exceedingly generous.”
“It is a small pleasure I can give you. The money’s not a concern for me. And I’d far rather share the drinking of it with you.” That did not actually clarify any of Hereswith’s feelings other than friendship. But it held the promise of more excellent conversations, and chocolate to come, and that was far better than Bess had had before. “I suspect I shouldn’t offer to send food home with you, but perhaps a book?”
“A book. No food. The staff will know.” And if the staff knew, Madam Judson would know, and that would be all kinds of unpleasantness. “Oh, and perhaps I’ll have more for you in a week or two about plans for the village festival.”
“I look forward to that. You can learn a great deal about the world from a village’s dynamics.” Hereswith looked honestly pleased, that same glow of a smile and the ways her eyes crinkled.
Bess smiled back, gathering up her things, and going off to meet Madam Judson. Or likely, wait for twenty minutes, but that was as expected. The afternoon had at least restored her to a vastly better mood than she’d began.
Chapter 5
June 6th at the Ministry
“Is competence too much to ask for? Apparently.” Hereswith had barely refrained from losing her temper while still in earshot of anyone else from the meeting that had just finished. Also, her office was naturally thoroughly charmed for privacy. Marcus leaned against the door as she tossed the portfolio with her notes onto her desk.
It was not a large office. She was no longer junior in this arm of the Ministry, but becoming senior would take another twenty years, at the very least. Those in power tended to want to cling to it. It was one key principle of diplomatic work. Acknowledge the reality, even when it infuriated. She took a breath, wanting to be done with the day, and she couldn’t. Another two hours, and then she could retreat to the Field, and someone who would at least be sensible.
That was unfair to Marcus. He had been sensible in the meeting. He had backed up her statements several times, making sure they were acknowledged. “Sorry.” She said it to him with feeling. “Just. Good grief. Any woman of forty-some years with a marriageable daughter could organise a campaign better than this war is apparently being run.”
Within the last week, several pieces had appeared in the London paper about the atrocious state of the most basic needs of those on campaign in Crimea. Well, the British Army. The French were apparently vastly better provisioned. The letters had caused a good bit of uproar, not only for the content but for the fact they appeared in the papers at all. On the third, there’d been a fairly sensible letter about it, noting that all wars apparently had these issues, but that this time, the news came back more quickly.
The unnamed author— she could probably find out who if she exerted herself a little— had gone on to point out that what was appearing in the London papers would not be news to Russia, their opponents. The distances involved ensured that. The Czar would hear within three or four days what took twelve or more to make it back to England.
Marcus nodded. “You are right, of course. But being right is not,” his shoulder twitched, “an actual solution. May I sit?”
“Please. Tea?” He nodded, and Hereswith went to put the kettle on, then preparing the pot. It was one more way they were surprisingly compatible. In fact, he’d given her the Ceylon tea in the current canister. It gave her a little more time to gather herself. Marcus agreed with her. He should not be a target for her frustration. There were far better ones.
When she came back with the teapot and cups on a tray, he’d taken his usual chair on the other side of her desk. He waited for her to sit down before he spoke. “You know we’re going to be asked what we can arrange. And what we can explain and arrange, in particular.”
“There is that problem.” Hereswith ticked off on her fingers. “We cannot produce Healers on no notice, much less Healers willing to traipse across the width of Europe. More to the point, Healers need food and shelter and people who can lend vitality. And apparently there’s none of that on offer. We are being shown up by the French. You would think a certain amount of national pride would apply here even if common sense didn’t.”
The French apparently had a well-established system of communal ovens, shared food rations, people to cook them, and the same sort of thing when it came to care for the sick and injured. The British Army apparently just handed soldiers individual rations and expected them to work out the cooking. That seemed like a flawed idea on dozens of levels. Hereswith herself was not a skilled cook— she would not interfere with the household staff like that— but she had the rudiments of it. Cooking over an open fire, wherever camp had been made, and in all weathers, was an entirely different sort of problem.
Marcus nodded. “And it’s not as if we can readily provide most of the materia that might help. For one thing, there’s absolutely no assurance it might get to the right place, given what was in the paper and what little they admitted to just now.” There were, in fact, potions and tinctures that could go a long way toward purifying water or identifying food that was no longer remotely safe to eat. But they needed a touch of magic to use them and to get to the right place. Even if they could manage the former, the current arrangements gave no hope of the latter.
“Nor that anyone would listen to us about what might work. Government observers, or whatever bureaucratic nonsense might apply.” Hereswith let out a long sigh, then reached to pour the tea, deftly, but with none of the flourishes she’d use if pouring for company.
He glanced at her. “No sugar for you?”
“I have plans to meet a friend, and will make my supper out of that.” Hereswith had not particularly talked about Bess with Marcus. They’d been in opposite directions for much of the last few weeks, one of them in London while the other was in Trellech and vice versa.
“A friend?” Marcus flicked a finger. “An actual friend?”
“You have William. Who, admittedly, is a number of other nouns besides friend. I know you occasionally have supper with others. Beyond the ordinary sort of thing we both do, people from school.” Hereswith could not deny that he had some right to tease. “House club, in this case, but enough older we weren’t at school together.”
Marcus set down his teacup and peered at her. “It’s just usually you’re eager to get home when you can. It makes me curious. And nosy.”
“Someone in constrained circumstances. And you know what I think about that.” She and Marcus had a regular habit of going around about it, how particular expectations hemmed in, but also could produce unusually creative solutions. “We started chatting a few weeks ago. More than a few. She can only get free Tuesdays.” Hereswith shrugged. “I enjoy being a steady moment of something pleasant, it turns out.”
