Page 12 of Claiming the Tower
Bess took another breath. “It is what it is.” It made it sound like she’d given up, and maybe she had. Or maybe she was just not making matters any worse. Bess wasn’t even sure she knew anymore, except that she didn’t want things to get worse. Before she had to say anything more, Mistress Roberts came down.
“Mistress Marley. Oh, and Mistress Osbourne, I hope you’ve not been waiting long. Mistress Marley, it will be a few minutes more, I’m afraid.”
“That’s entirely fine, thank you. Please see to what Amelia needs.” It wasn’t as if more of a delay would make things a great deal worse, probably. Amelia’s requests were in fact reasonably simple. They involved new skeins of thread, along with some plain handkerchiefs to work. A pattern of late summer flowers for a gift, apparently, as Bess listened to the sort of quiet chatter that filled in the silences in places like this.
Once that was handled, Mistress Roberts disappeared again, and Amelia took her leave out into the street. Bess picked up her book, but she was only a few pages in when the door opened again. This time it was Adelaide Ledger. “Mistress Marley, good afternoon!”
The woman seemed honestly pleased to see her. Bess had the momentary blink at seeing Adelaide out of her ordinary place at the Field, but she managed a smile. “A particular errand for Mistress Judson. I hope things are running smoothly for you?”
“Oh, yes, I often do errands on Monday afternoons. It is a little quieter, at least until we get close to teatime.” Mistress Ledger tilted her head. “The rhythms of the place.”
“I suppose every establishment of the kind must have its own ebb and flow.” Bess had never thought about it, particularly with the Field. Now she ventured a guess, something she’d not have done if Amelia was still here. “I assume that things are busier in the evenings, especially, oh, Thursday through Sunday?”
“Just so. And Saturday and Sunday for a roast or some such. A few families who prefer to take one of the private rooms for such things regularly, others who would like to be around other people but not actually chatting.” Adelaide glanced around. “Mistress Roberts is upstairs, I assume? I’m glad to wait.”
“I don’t think she’ll be too much longer. She was finishing finding some skeins Mistress Judson needed.” This time, Bess felt she did an even worse job hiding her feelings, but there was nothing she could do about it. The words were said.
Adelaide settled on the chair, but in a different mode than Amelia had used. She leaned forward a little, as if honestly engaged. And her day dress was a green and dark gold chintz, muted colours, but ones that would look very well at the Field. It made Bess think of a field of wheat, the way it moved as Adelaide settled down. “I hope it’s a pleasant chance to do the errand. We’re always glad to see you at the Field, of course, and it’s obvious you and Mistress Rowan have been enjoying your teas on Tuesdays.”
Bess was suddenly quite aware of the listening charms again, but it wasn’t a secret Bess was talking to Hereswith. Nor was it the thing Mistress Roberts would find interesting to gossip about. “I do.” Bess took a breath, before going on. “I enjoy hearing the stories that Mistress Rowan tells about the people she meets.” And her work, but she wouldn’t discuss that here. “I like to think that she enjoys having someone to tell them to.”
“Oh, I’m certain of that. She’s one who gets on well with many people— well, diplomacy is her work, that’s to be expected. But she doesn’t linger often with the same ones, regularly. I’ve always thought that perhaps a bit of a shame. It’s good to have many acquaintances, but also to build deeper friendships, reliable ones, that have good strong roots.”
Bess couldn’t help smiling. “That is very much of the Field, isn’t it? That acknowledgement of the roots and seasons.” She nodded once. “Hereswith has been generous with her conversation, and I enjoy it. I just hope it’s not putting her out. She has so many other calls on her time.”
“And we should have seasons— or at least moments— of rest, ought we not?” Adelaide nodded decisively. “I hope that for you as well, of course.”
“You’re very kind.” Bess could not help comparing this conversation with the one with Amelia. Adelaide was making it clear that she worried Bess was not doing well, but without ever pressing the point directly. She had her own well-honed diplomatic skills, certainly. But they— well, like Hereswith’s— came with a good dollop of kindness, where Amelia’s had been served up with judgement. The one was far more palatable than the other. Then there were steps on the stairs again, and Mistress Roberts came back down.
“Here we are. We managed to find the last two, and a good match. The same dye batch. I’ve made a note in case Mistress Judson has any concerns. Oh, and Mistress Ledger, a pleasure. I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time. It’s been a delight to speak to Mistress Marley. It always is.” Adelaide stayed seated while Bess went to the counter to inspect the various skeins, agree that they were a suitable match— and to hear how Mistress Roberts explained it. Mistress Judson would complain, but she appreciated the shopkeeper’s help. It might make it a smaller lecture. Once she’d paid, she smiled at the others, then took herself out and back to Portal Square without further comment.
Chapter 9
June 13th at the Ministry
“Thank you, Mistress Rowan. Were you the one who saw to the arrangements today?” Council Member Ventry, one of the three Council Members who’d attended this meeting, had not yet stood. That meant Hereswith also kept her seat rather than helping clear the room. Marcus had slipped out, with a plan to go beard one of the necessary officials in his office immediately. Hereswith wished him luck with it. Marcus might not succeed. But in that particular case, he’d get further than she would.
Everyone else had also left promptly. Half of them, she knew, had another meeting to go to directly from this one, and they’d run a hair long, only five minutes until the next started. She’d have expected a few people, at least, to linger and curry favour. On the other hand, the three Council Members present were not precisely known for their glowing conversational skills.
Blanch Ventry was the most junior of the three in the room, both in age and in her role. Now in her middle fifties, she’d been on the Council for nearly seven years. Like Hereswith, her magical skills lay in Incantation, but in a decidedly different mode. Before she’d made a successful Challenge for her Council seat, whatever that had involved, she’d been involved in a particularly arcane aspect of contract and precedent. She had a reputation— demonstrated three times in the past hour— of making a precisely placed comment that pierced like an assassin’s stiletto.
The two men were less obviously sharp, but none the less dangerous for it. Cornelius Tilson came from a family known for turning out excellent Army officers. He himself had fought under Wellington at Waterloo, and of course a number of battles before that, in the Napoleonic wars. He was none too pleased that the current state of European affairs meant the British were allied with the French.
Those comments, as visible as they were, almost certainly hid a number of other opinions. Hereswith had been trying to decide all meeting what the underlying layer was, and whether any of it might shift. Or might need shifting, as the case might be. Now in his seventies, he was still remarkably vigorous. He’d thumped on the table several times in the course of the meeting’s debate.
The third, Jacob FitzHugh, had made a reputation for himself by being difficult. That was a trifle unfair. He was the sort of person who would see the flaws in every plan, and how they might lead to unintended outcomes. That skill was priceless, if it applied at the right time and in the right mode. He, however, had not been deft with his timing today, and it had left ruffled feathers.
Now, Hereswith took a breath, not to make them wait, but to give them a calm and dignified answer. “I was, yes, Council Member Ventry. Is there something you’d prefer done differently next time?” There would be another meeting, if not next week, in a fortnight. It depended a bit on how quickly additional news came back from abroad, whether there were any substantial battles or only skirmishes.
“Oh, I was far more interested in your thoughts. I noticed you shared them judiciously today.” Council Member Ventry stayed put, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The two men were, functionally, stuck here by etiquette. Hereswith had figured that out, though she wasn’t certain if FitzHugh had realised it consciously just yet.
“I’m sure the reasons are no surprise to you, Council Member.” Hereswith could match that one smoothly enough. “I certainly made the arrangements and invitations, and detailed the topics for discussion. We wished to convey specific information and hear your thoughts. My thoughts on the details are not the point.”
“Yet, I wish to hear them. What did you not say?” Then Council Member Ventry met her eyes, held a stare for a good count of ten. “Actually, no. First, I would like to hear how you prepared for the meeting, decided on the arrangements. You spend some of your time in London, I gather, tending to various diplomatic relationships.”
“I do, yes.” Hereswith had not expected this particular inquisition, but it was one she knew well. Every year or two, this line of questioning came up, usually from people who could not decide if what Hereswith did was worth anything. “You know my family, of course.” That was a given in this situation. “My mother died in my first year at Schola, but I learned a number of skills involved in creating a gathering of a specific kind from my aunts and great-aunts. Some of those touches are old-fashioned, now, but the underlying principles remain consistent. People have not changed as much as all that.”
