Page 25 of Claiming the Tower
“If you say so.” Bess looked up then. “You honestly don’t find the idea abhorrent?”
“Whatever I feel about you, it is the opposite of that. Curiosity. Uncertainty, yes. Feeling like I cannot see the path clearly, that there is fog and softness and no sharp edges? But that I wish to go forward, if I can find a source of light or company. And we seem agreed on the company, yes?”
“Oh.” Bess let out a sharp breath. “So. To sum up. You are not offended by my increased desire. We are agreed we should not act on it until I have some situation that would better permit it. But we might continue to discuss it as, shall we say, a topic of shared interest when we are alone?”
“Exactly. You must be my tutor in some of it. Of course,” Hereswith could tease now, she judged, and have it go well, “that means that you may choose to tutor me first and foremost in those things you like best. I suspect I’ll be an eager student.”
Now Bess was laughing, though also turning gloriously pink. “How can you say that so easily and precisely? Is that what diplomacy teaches you?”
“Often, how to say much harder things and leave someone smiling. I prefer this, though. Your blushes are charming, did you know?” Hereswith tilted her head. “I don’t think many people have seen them or appreciated them, have they?”
Bess’s chin dropped for a second, then she was smiling. “And you. No one’s appreciated you properly, I’m sure. Your work, yes, your words. But the way you smile when you’re happy, like you were today. At ease. Or now. The way your hair frames your face, it’s striking.” She gestured. “And I am, in fact, trying not to think about your body, the shape of it, under your wrap and gown. Sometimes more successfully than others.”
“That is a thing you like?” Hereswith had largely considered her body less relevant than other things. Oh, how she dressed, her manners, how she moved, those were all parts of the mastery of Incantation. But her body itself, as an aesthetic object that people might linger on, that was not an ordinary part of her calculation.
“Oh, yes.” Bess considered. “Some day, we might go to the museum, and look at paintings and have a quiet word— or perhaps later, in private— about the women in them. The different shapes of bodies and such. Art is an excellent way to touch on that, as a whole. At least in Albion.”
“We are not overly burdened by fig leaves, no.” The sculptures at the Crystal Palace had had them added. Not that Hereswith was particularly desirous of seeing the male anatomy. “Another outing sounds splendid. Next week, perhaps? Though I’ve a meeting on Tuesday, bother.” They had settled on that for one of Bess’s afternoons off, to keep the tradition of it.
Bess nodded. “If you like.” She then yawned suddenly. “I’m sorry, that’s terribly rude.”
“We had a busy day! And I need to be in the Ministry for at least a little tomorrow. Shall we find our beds, and— let’s see. I should be home around five at the latest.”
“Your father had something he wanted me to read to him in the afternoon. I expect we’ll be in the library.”
“I would be surprised if it were otherwise.” Bess stood, moving the cart out to the door, where one of the maids could get it easily in the morning. “Good night.”
“Good night. Sweet dreams.” Hereswith didn’t want to linger on the longer path, not yet, but she wanted good things for Bess in so many ways. Starting with pleasant dreams and good sleep.
Chapter 18
June 29th in Trellech
On Thursday, Bess went into Trellech with several purposes, some of them more visible than others. Mrs Brown had let her know yesterday that Billings and Sons had two or three new blends that might be to her taste. The most sensible thing to do was to try them. She was considering the complex social maths about whether she might reasonably ask for them and let Mrs Brown know for future orders.
Second, she intended to check with the agency she’d used for her prior placements, and let them know she was open to new work. Third, she wanted to stop by the Field briefly and make a payment on her fees there. She currently had her remaining pay from Madam Judson in hand and more confidence in a forthcoming sum from the Rowans. Last, she wanted to stop by a particular bookshop.
She got to Billings and Sons perhaps thirty minutes after they opened, and they were not yet busy. She only had to wait for a minute or two for the clerk to be done with the woman ahead of her at the counter before he nodded. “Good morning, Mistress. How may we be help you?”
“Good morning.” There was every reason to be pleasant. “I am living at Verdant Court at the moment, companion to Master Rowan. Mrs Brown mentioned you had a couple of new tea blends that might be of interest.” She pulled out the neatly written note. “These three? If I could learn more about them, and perhaps taste one?”
“You would be welcome to taste all three, mistress.” The clerk was young— well, most clerks were noticeably young to Bess these days, near enough two decades younger. “Mrs Brown mentioned you might be by.” He turned away, fussing with tea kept at boiling. He measured leaves into tiny little teapots, just enough for a few sips of tea, with a practised pinch of each blend. “Mrs Brown mentioned that if you find you like any, you are to put it on the household account.”
That, Bess had not expected at all. “Oh.” She couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “If that’s what she told you, then, of course.” It would make the judgements about the decision trickier, especially since the prices were not obvious. “A few minutes for them to steep, then?”
“Yes, mistress. If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll bring them out to you and let you know more about each.” The clerk rather elegantly gestured her to a small table with a comfortable enough chair. Bess spent the minutes looking around the shop and watching people go by through the large window that faced the street.
The teas were presented on a rather darling little tray, with cups sized to let her get a good sense of the smell and a few sips each. There was even cold water to help between different teas. Each was a blend of black and green, that was common, but the trick of it was in the quality of each, and whether there was anything added.
The first blend tasted too dear for her to get fond of. That was an excellent and smooth green in the mix, and the most delicate of orange pekoe leaves. The second was a more likely blend, well-made and balanced, but smokier. The third, though, had rose petals and, as she peered at the listing, a touch of currant. Bess nodded. “The third, please. Did Mrs Brown suggest an amount, given the household needs?”
The clerk bowed slightly. “Our usual suggestion is two ounces, to begin, and of course she will be here Wednesday next, should more be needed.” He inclined his head to the first pot. “Are you certain you’d not care for the others?”
Her fingers twitched toward the first cup, and she took the last small sip left, letting her eyes half close. The clerk, above her, said, “Mrs Brown thought that might please Mistress Rowan. I’ll just add two ounces of that to the order, shall I?”
Bess certainly could not argue with him. She did not have the will to do so. And it was true, Hereswith might well like it exceedingly, given the tea orders so far. Once she had surrendered to the order happening, the clerk was very efficient, packaging it all up tidily for her to add to her basket. Bess went out, with a smile and a promise to praise his help to Mrs Brown, and went along to the agency.
That, unfortunately, was rather less successful. Mistress Fuller, who ran the agency, left her sitting for a good half hour, even though there was no sign of other conversation or visitor in the front room. Just the woman who greeted supplicants in search of work, or those looking to hire. The latter, of course, had appointments and were shown in immediately to one of the offices.
