Page 15 of Claiming the Tower
“Here. Tuesdays with you. Sometimes on Fridays or Saturdays, if there’s a lecture or performance, and if I’m not needed to put on my diplomatic self. About once a month, I have supper with each of my brothers, which is about as much as any of us want. I spend a lot of evenings with Papa. I like people— well. More of them than not. But I also often finish the day and am done being with people.” There was a slight inhale. “Not you. You’re refreshing, you’re not tiring.”
Chapter 11
That afternoon
Hereswith looked up, after admitting how relaxing she found Bess. It was true, but it wasn’t the sort of thing she was used to saying to other people. Oh, she and Marcus did, from time to time, but that was about the dance or duet of their work. The truth of it was that she wasn’t willing to settle for anything less than that in a marriage, and thus far, no one had matched up to that standard.
Though Marcus was the low bar, a minimum. They worked well together. But she knew enough of his habits, and he knew enough of hers, that they were clear even if they’d been mutually interested, they would have made exceptionally bad spouses. The few times they had to travel together— as cousins, with separate bedrooms— had been bad enough. She fell into managing him in a way she did not like in herself. She liked even less how he assumed she would.
Now she waited to see what Bess said. Bess met her eyes, tilted her head, and took a breath, obviously considering her answer. Or another question. When she spoke, it wasn’t what Hereswith had expected, not entirely. “Have another bit of sandwich. Did you actually eat lunch today?”
“Not what you’d really call a meal, no.” There had been the last-minute arrangements, and three people with other questions. She’d spilled one of her cups of tea and had to spend ten minutes cleaning it up properly and making sure none of her papers had been damaged or stained. She reached for another half sandwich, and Bess went on.
“And you’re frustrated by things. Not this meeting in specific, but something about the— is landscape the right word?”
“Frustrated certainly is the right word. Also landscape.” Hereswith considered that, because when it came down to it, that was a lot of how she thought of the world. What could be seen looking across the land. She suspected it was the influence of the Society of the White Horse. It was something specific in her that made her look at the larger arrangement, not individual details.
Then she took a breath and went on. “You’re right, this particular meeting was fine, if we consider a terribly badly run war to be fine. Part of the frustration is that everyone else apparently considers this ordinary and not worth bothering to improve. Does Madam Judson take the Times as well as the Moon?”
The quick apparent change of topic made Bess blink, but she followed it. “Yes, mostly so she can complain about it. That opinion piece, last week, quite. About how this is because we know more about what’s going on, all wars are this badly run.” Bess shook her head. “That bothered me too. And I suppose a meeting about it would be more so.”
“Yes. It’s not as if the army listens to us directly. There are certainly people who can direct information through the proper channels. But we can’t offer soldiers in significant number, or Healers willing to go that far, or anything like that. Even if the Pact didn’t apply there, and it doesn’t, that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have consequences for people here.” Hereswith shook her head. “So a lot of talk about that, as you might imagine, and not a great deal of practical progress.”
She took the last two bites of her sandwich— a pleasant cream cheese and cucumber, entirely delightful for the summer— and then swallowed. “I’ve been more frustrated recently, and I haven’t been able to figure out why.”
“May I speak freely?” Bess glanced up again, then she looked down, as she must in her role as companion, if she dared be quite that forward.
“With me, always, please. I like your opinions.” Whatever else was true, Hereswith was sure of that, from the conversations already. Bess might have a sharp tongue tucked away, avoided commenting on other people’s foibles, but she was careful how she used it, and thus far, every time had been about improving something or enduring it better. Or it had been entirely accurate, about a couple of their professors at Schola.
“It seems to me that you are identifying genuine problems. Though obviously, I’m working from limited information. But it also appears that you are also being held responsible not just for solving them, but for, how to put this? Making people feel like they can be solved, and by people in the room. Which seems rather unfair on all sides, honestly.”
Hereswith blinked at her, and then she started laughing, the sort of hollow sharp sound that made people mutter about hysteria. She nodded before she could manage to say anything. When she’d caught her breath, she got out, “Yes. Like that. And either would be fine, but the combination is— it’s wearing.”
“Do you get any time off? For the Midsummer Faire?” Bess asked it as if it were the logical question.
Hereswith wrinkled her nose. “I enjoy going to the Faire, but I have to have my public face on. Dress right, not lose track of who’s around me, or who might see what I enjoy. You? Or do you not get time for that?”
“Madam Judson, being exceedingly traditional, gives the staff the day for it if she is invited to the Council Rites. Which she is this year. I’ll have six, maybe eight hours to enjoy it, depending on the timing. I look forward to it every year. I—” Bess shrugged. “I suppose I was wondering if you’d be there.”
Hereswith looked at Bess now, carefully. Her voice was suddenly deliberately neutral, a glimpse of her self at work, not putting a thumb on the scale. “Would you consider another option for your day out, or is your heart set on the Faire?”
“I— I hadn’t? What other option is there?” Bess wasn’t saying no, though.
“The Crystal Palace has just reopened in London. Non-magical, of course, but that makes it actually a holiday for me. There’s a slight chance of diplomatic families enjoying it, but I suspect not on solstice proper. And I wasn’t actually intending to do anything scandalous in public. Just— well. Enjoy myself. Art and whatever exhibits and refreshments.”
Bess was quiet for rather a long time. More than a minute. Hereswith did her best to stay still and calm, only reaching for one of the little cakes. After this, she’d suggest the chocolate, whatever Bess’s answer was. Finally, there was another question, or rather three. “How long does it take to get there from one of the portals? And what sort of— I don’t have any of their money handy or even know what to wear. Have you been there?”
Hereswith took the questions in reverse order. “I went to the original site several times, but I gather the setting of this one is rather splendid, and the palace itself rather larger. I can bring a guide, next week, so you’d have time to think about what you might like to see. I don’t wish to venture a guess of whether you’d prefer the Assyrian exhibit or the saurian sculptures on the grounds. As to the dress, anything that’s not obviously magical is fine, though you might want something with cooling charms against the heat. As to the practical, it’s about a ten-minute train ride, maybe fifteen, from near the Southwark portal. Perhaps allow half an hour on either end for that. The trains run at least every quarter hour during the week. The train ticket covers the entrance. I am glad to pay for both first-class tickets, of course, so we won’t be crushed. Along with whatever refreshments seem enticing.”
“Oh, that close?” Bess swallowed. “Would you— wait?” She held up her fingers. “May I be blunt?”
“Freely and blunt go together,” Hereswith said, firmly. “Please. I would much rather that with you.”
Bess nodded, then took a breath. A complicated thing to say, or Bess wouldn’t have checked first. “I don’t feel I could say yes, without telling you that— that as good as friendship is, I keep wondering about what something more would be like. With you. And you’ve said you’re not interested that way.”
It was not what Hereswith expected. Of course, all her diplomatic training was more about how to dissuade men if she would not use bedding to hear indiscretions that might be useful. No one had ever talked about the question of women. On the other hand, Hereswith was well-read.
“I think that would— it is.” She fumbled over the words. “It’s not a question I’ve given much thought to, honestly. When it comes to the personal. And I think I’d, I’d need to hear more about what you mean by that. There was all that gossip about the Ladies of Llangollen, for example, when we were younger. I could never decide if there was anything to be titillated about or whether they were two sensible women. Women who simply refused to play by men’s rules and made a good lives for themselves, but not...” Hereswith certainly didn’t have the language for this she wanted. “Not intimately entwined in every aspect?”
