Page 26 of Claiming the Tower
When Bess finally was shown in, Mistress Fuller glanced up, then waved her to a seat. “You won’t get a character from Madam Judson. The way she’s been talking about you, I can’t imagine someone taking you on.”
Bess pulled her basket onto her lap, a wall between her and the world, her stomach twisting. She kept her voice even. “I’ve a position with the Rowans at the moment. Master Cenric Rowan and his daughter, Mistress Hereswith. A month’s term, to see if I suit Master Rowan’s needs. I’ve the promise of a good character if my work is competent— as you know it will be— but I am not what he prefers at the moment.”
That brought Mistress Fuller’s chin up. “And will they give you a good enough character to drown out the gossip?”
Bess wished she could ask the details of the gossip, but really she couldn’t. It would be showing her vulnerability entirely too much. “Bryce and Howell ensured that Madam Judson fulfilled the terms of the contract she’d made on Friday. They also saw that my side of leaving was sworn under oath, properly in the record, that it was no fault of mine. That confirms that Madam Judson breached the contract, and for no proper reason. That does nothing for the gossip, of course, but you are welcome to verify the truth of the matter yourself.”
“Ah.” Mistress Fuller leaned back, now peering over her glasses at Bess. Bess took a deeper breath and released it. “You are correct that changes the situation, but it would take time. What are your requirements for a position?”
Bess laid out the terms she was seeking, similar to what the Rowans had offered with no quibbling. She noted it was the standard rate, an afternoon off a week, and a full day once a month, along with what was to be provided. Mistress Fuller listened without comment, but at the end, she nodded. “Nothing now, but perhaps in a month or two. There is a chance the upcoming Council Challenge might bring some rearrangements to one or more households. I will write, if I hear of anything plausible. Don’t bother to come by.”
Don’t risk bringing more gossip to her doorstep, in other words. “As you say. Good day, Mistress Fuller. I know my way out.” The benefit of it being summer was that she could sail out the door. There was no need to stop to put on a cloak or warm gloves. It wasn’t until she was away from the offices and a good way down the street that she could stop and think.
She ended up turning, going to the Field. There might be gossip there. Oh, there absolutely would be gossip there. But holding her head up at the Field might go some way to being a help in the weeks to come. Once she was inside, Adelaide took the basket to set aside for her, and found her a seat in one of the more conversational nooks. Bess settled comfortably, accepted a cup of tea from the pot on the table, and let the conversation flow around her until someone asked how she was doing.
“Hereswith’s asked me to be at home with her father for the time being. He’s rather delightful. Very much still deep in his particular interests, but I’m finding it quite interesting to learn more about that. And the household is lovely, well-run in all the details. Such a pleasure to see to people who have high standards.”
That got the necessary gossip up on the right foot. This group were people who ranged in age from a little younger than Hereswith to a bit older than Bess. They were all married women with children, and who didn’t have particular professional interests of their own. Anyone who did wouldn’t be having tea a bit before the usual luncheon hour on a Thursday, after all. But it included two particular gossips, and with any luck the story would spread from here.
Bess worried a little, as the conversation went on, that she might have leaned too much on Hereswith’s goodwill, but everything she’d said had been the truth. And Hereswith’s father really was a delight, even compared to the mixed experience of her previous employers. She did at least get a hair more sense of the gossip. Madam Judson had, apparently, been putting it about that Bess’s service had been entirely unsatisfactory, ending with items going missing. That had only lasted until mid-afternoon on Friday, after which she’d been compelled to note more quietly that there had been an error.
And the matter of the Council was interesting. Besides the work itself, the positions came with a fair bit more entertaining. In two cases, the announced Challengers had wives who were already kept quite busy. A companion or social secretary or someone to manage a variety of household needs would be welcome in those cases. And in another case, a bachelor— Basileus Martin— would be looking for someone to deal with the various hostessing duties should he be successful. None of those were terribly likely to prefer Bess over other options, but it rather depended on a number of factors.
On the whole, it was a pleasant conversation, and one with some future considerations. When she excused herself to finish her errands and get back, the others all insisted she come by again when she could. Bess sensibly said she’d try, without making any particular commitment.
The last stop was the bookstore. Bess slipped in as another woman was leaving, and the bookseller glanced up and took her in. Bess nodded. “I was wondering if you’d had any particular books in, recently?”
“Ah.” The woman came around the counter, flipped the sign on the door to indicate the shop was closed for the moment. “I was just about to put on the tea for my lunch. Have a look in the back room, take your time.” She went to the back door, what in some other building might have been a maid’s bedroom, and opened it with a press of her hand against the warding panel.
This was the treasure trove Bess had in mind. She understood, from conversations, that men had similar rooms in other shops, though more of theirs might be engravings or prints or something of the kind. It was a difference in the experience and preference that deserved a proper analysis, and was unlikely to get one. The conversations she’d had, snatched here and there, had suggested that men preferred the visual and also that men had more spaces they could store such things. Women often found a book in an unappealing binding with a vague title easier to hide among household accounts or whatever other volumes they had.
The books here covered three sets of shelves in the narrow room, the last wall being mostly window and not suitable for shelving. Each had been printed privately, and Bess went through the titles, running a finger along the spines. She pulled out one that she’d long preferred for an explanation of the sort of things women might enjoy. It was couched as a story rather than an explanatory text, two young women exploring and trying all manner of ideas, ranging from touches to toys. The latter, Bess certainly couldn’t just bring back, absolutely not now, and the well-made ones were more money than she ought to spend besides. But knowing the range would be helpful to Hereswith, she was sure.
After browsing a little, she selected two other volumes, new since the last time she’d been in here three years ago. They seemed the right sort of story, even a bit of mutual adventure and care, but not focused on ingenues, either. That was a rarer thing in the literature than it ought to be. When she came back out, making enough noise to give the shopkeeper a warning, she found the woman perched on a stool by the counter.
“Ah, good. Close the door, if you don’t mind?” Bess did so, then brought the books over. “Wrapped up in brown paper?”
“Yes, please.” Bess caught the glance the woman gave at the particular favourite. “That’s for a friend who’s curious.”
“You always were a woman of good taste.” The bookseller— they’d deliberately never traded names— glanced up. “I heard you lost your post. Was it…” Her fingers flicked over the books.
“Oh, no. Not that. Madam Judson was in error, but I’ll not go back. I’ve a position for at least a month.” Bess hesitated, but then was brave enough to go on. “Why do you ask?”
“Sometimes a woman might help another out, in that case. Or a woman of like mind. If I hear of something, is there a way to reach you?”
“A message to the Field.” No need to slip a card across. The woman clearly knew who she was. “I’m glad I could come in again. My current place, I’ve more privacy.”
“Ah. That’s a hard burden, isn’t it? When even your bed and whatever you dream there on your own isn’t entirely safe.” The other woman nodded at the books. “I remember those days before this. I hope you can come by again. To browse, even if you don’t buy. Or a few of us get together for tea, evenings, if you’re ever free.”
“Not at the moment, I’ve duties. But I’ll keep it in mind.” Bess paused. “You remember me, then?”
“Oh, I always remember the steady ones. The ones who aren’t— how to say this. Who have the desire like a river that keeps flowing? Not simply curious, or a matter of a schoolgirl passion. It’s easy to see in the eyes, if you know how.” The woman considered, then added, “I’m Maud. Do come by if you need a friendly ear, all right? Not so many places that can offer that.”
“Thank you.” Bess put all her earnestness into it, as Maud handed over a neatly wrapped brown paper package of the three books. “Sooner than three years, I hope, even if I don’t need the ear.” She then gestured. “I’ll leave you to your lunch?”
“Flip the sign as you go, if you wouldn’t mind? And a good day and all the best.” Maud nodded, and Bess went out, turning the sign over as she did so. It was time for her to go back to the Rowans’ home and learn more about Anglo-Saxon queens.
Chapter 19
