Page 9 of Claiming the Tower
But she might pick up some yarn, in a colour of her choice, or some embroidery thread. Perhaps even a little bright silk ribbon, to tie up her braid at night in the privacy of her own room. It could be kept tucked away under her hair and her nightcap as her own secret. Bess had learned over the years that the anticipation could hold quite a lot of weight.
The Faire, of course, was tremendously better managed than this would be. It had to be, with thousands of people coming through, all sorts of livestock competitions and judging, along with all those selling wares and food and baubles. That was before she counted the performances, or the country dancing in the evening, or the lectures.
That thought meant she almost missed Mrs Halston’s cry of alarm. “Oh, dear, you are right. Of course you’re right, you’re ever so sensible. See, look.” The ball had rolled quite some distance away, halfway to the stream at the back of the field. “What shall we do?”
“Well. Let’s take another look at the map, then.” Bess guided Mrs Halston back over to the folding table that had been brought out, the diagram held down with a couple of stones. “You plan for what? Five tents?”
“Yes, tea and cakes, sales, the band, and then games. And a tent to sit under. We can’t be sure of the weather, of course.”
“Well, let’s see. The tea and cakes need a sturdy table, but the band might need less space. Or the games, outside, the tent at the edge of the field to let people get what they need, there.” Mrs Halston bent her head over the diagram until Bess had an idea. “Just a moment. I think I know what to try.”
She pulled out a piece of scrap paper tucked into the back of her notebook. She added a small pair of scissors from her reticule, usually kept for trimming a loose thread from a dress. Bess neatly trimmed the paper to be about the right size for the tents, given the diagram. “Here.”
From there, Mrs Halston could move things around, peering up at the space and back down again, until she was reasonably satisfied. Then, the tents could be drawn on the plan, labelled in a neat hand, and Bess could lean back. “You are clever, Miss Marley. I’m sure Mrs Judson wouldn’t know what to do without you. Does she entertain much?”
Bess had to hold her tongue. She placed a smile on her face. “Oh, no, not often. Just her close family, these days. Before her husband passed away, oh, that’s a good fifteen years ago now. I gather they entertained more frequently. But that was before my time.”
“I looked, but there are no Judsons in the cemetery. Or on the church register.” Mrs Halston did not look up at that. It was a skillful enough bit of artfulness.
“Ah, no. There’s a family cemetery and a family estate. Down in Wiltshire, Mrs Judson’s eldest son and family are there now. And as I said, she is not well.”
“My husband was wondering if she might like him to call?” That was another deliberate pressing.
“Thank him, please, but no. I don’t— she is particular in her ways. She goes to services when she’s visiting her son.” That would probably be taken as having high church ways, here, or something of the kind. Bess considered how to navigate through this, then thought about how Hereswith might go about it. “I’m afraid she’d be rather rude about it, and all for no useful purpose. Your husband must be desperately needed here.”
It was not a well-off village. Even just the fragments of gossip Bess got, via the household staff, suggested it had been a bad winter for illness and the spring weather had been a challenge.
“Dear Andrew wanted me to ask. He feels so strongly about meeting each soul in his parish, seeing what he can do for them. In our previous living, there were a couple of older gentlemen who would not come to church, but would play a game of chess.”
“Ah, unless your husband is skilled at embroidery, I don’t know that he’d hold Mrs Judson’s interest for long. She plays cards, but only whist with a few friends, people she’s known for decades. She won’t play with me.”
Mrs Halston made a muffled sound, a snort. The thing of it was, Bess was getting to like the other woman. Oh, she was younger, too optimistic by a mile and then some, but she was good-hearted and willing to do the work. That was a rare enough combination to be appealing. But this was one more thing Bess could not have. Madam Judson had permitted her to help these two days because not doing so would draw comment. Bess had worked round to that over several weeks. It would ease gossip in the village.
Not that Madam Judson cared or should care about gossip from the non-magical. But having Bess spend an afternoon or two being visibly helpful would likely make things a little easier for Cook and the other household staff. They did most of their shopping via the portal or one of the grocers in Trellech, but sometimes there were reasons to go to the village grocer.
More usefully, the grocer here bought extra eggs from the estate, when they had them. Sometimes packing them up for longer transport and jostling at the Trellech portals wasn’t worth the bother. “I gathered she keeps to herself. Even more, perhaps, than you’d said. Please convey my best wishes and my appreciation for your help.”
That would not do Bess much good, but she couldn’t argue sensibly with people thanking her. “I’ll pass that along, of course. Now, I’m curious what you make of the village so far. You’ve been here for two months? And your children?” The children were quite little, of course, so their opinions of a new place were limited. One of Mrs Halston’s daughters had discovered the delight of lambs nearby. The son, a little older, was in raptures about the abundance of frogs. And there was some chatter about getting a fat little pony for them, as well as sorting out a better option for the vicar’s pony cart.
Bess let Mrs Halston chatter along, though at the end of the conversation, the other woman paused. “I do feel, perhaps, like we might become friends. Please, call me Elaine, if you’d feel comfortable.”
Bess blinked, then took a breath. “I really, I don’t know that I can hold up my share of friendship. Mrs Judson really is quite particular about my time. But.” She let out the breath. “I’m Bess, to my friends.”
“Bess. Now, that’s a nice sturdy name, to go with all your helpfulness. And it’s a callback to good queen Bess, of course, and she was surely entirely competent, wasn’t she?”
Bess had certain opinions about the Tudors, like many of Albion, but she was also entirely aware they were not commonly held by the non-magical. Elizabeth had been rather less of a difficulty on that front than some, though it depended on how one defined difficulty. There were volumes and volumes written about the problems John Dee and others of his kin had caused when it came to the Pact, for example. But here she just nodded. “Mrs Judson thinks it a tad common, but of course, I’m always Marley to her.”
“Ah.” Mrs Halston— Elaine— opened her mouth as if to say something, and then let it be. “Well, let’s see if you can give me some excellent advice about the games, and which of them should be actual competitions, shall we? I don’t want to keep you too long and cause you trouble.”
By the time Bess left to walk back up to the house, the plans were well in hand. Bess was invited to the vicarage for the next meeting to come up with the proper lists of what would be needed where. That likely also came with cakes, or at least Elaine had strongly implied it. Bess was certainly willing to meet the children. She liked small children, at least when she would not be judged and found wanting in every interaction with them.
She might in fact have made another friend, except for the problem that she had no time to spend with such a friend as Elaine. And the part where Bess could not talk freely about most any of her life, her education, or her interests. All of those had at least something to do with magic, and the Pact bound her against speaking about them with anyone non-magical.
Chapter 7
June 10th at The Field, Trellech
Hereswith lowered herself into the chair with a slight sigh. Matters at work had not improved, but they had also not disintegrated further. That was something. Now it was Saturday night, and she could at least look forward to a few hours of something different. She had half-closed her eyes when someone nudged her hand with a mug. “Tea. Herbal, that blend Laura Hennings makes that you like.”
