Page 37 of Claiming the Tower
“I, on the other hand, find you charming, interesting, and, mmm, certainly inclining me to your bed and your company in private as much as might be arranged,” Bess said. “Here, sit down. Let me see what I can do with your hair.”
She was pleased that Hereswith did, with no argument. Bess was not the most skilled at this, but she had done it before, for some of the ladies she’d assisted, if their lady’s maid was not available. And Hereswith’s dark hair was glorious, thick and glossy. Perhaps she’d share whatever oil or balm she used. Perhaps Bess would figure out a way to make the asking into a treat of its own. No matter that right now, she began brushing it out, beginning at the bottom to avoid painful snarls.
“Watching you get dressed, that makes me wonder. What do women wear to a Challenge?” Bess could see several ways that might go, and she was not at all sure what applied.
“An interesting question. Is it clothing for duelling or some specific magic? Or is it a matter of dressing fashionably? And if so, in what mode?” Hereswith was well-trained not to move her head while someone was working on her hair, but Bess felt the tiny shifts there. “A question for Magistra Ventry, even if the idea is terrifying.”
“The kind of thing where you might go at it by asking how to be respectful, but also practical?” Bess suggested. “Though you’ve obviously given that some thought. Shoes. I suspect you want to make sure of the right sort of shoes.”
Hereswith snorted, but it led her into talking about her usual sort of clothing and her usual shoes, both for a day in Trellech and for more visible diplomacy. That got Bess through brushing out her hair, smoothing it with charms, and then braiding, coiling, and pinning it all neatly. About the time she finished, Hereswith’s voice got softer. “Are you managing me?”
Bess grinned. “Yes. Do you mind? I can try to stop.”
“Oh, no. Please do it some more. It’s rather a delight not to have to think through all of it on my own. Papa knows many things, but not dresses. Or shoes.”
“If you were going about in whatever an Anglo-Saxon queen wore, I suspect he’d have more thoughts. Symbolism and signs of power and such,” Bess said thoughtfully. “I wonder if you might get something made up for when you’re here, in your rooms, if any of them are actually comfortable.
“Tunics and shifts, I believe. Linen, silk, wool. I don’t know, it might be pleasant if I could convince my dressmaker to give it a try.” Hereswith sounded like she thought that a fine distraction. Bess considered what it would take for her to sew something. It should be simple enough lines, in that case, if she could get the measurements and some fabric.
It made Bess think she should ask something else. “Will your father— will he notice? Your brothers. If I stay here.”
Hereswith, to her credit, didn’t just dismiss the question. “Papa’s not inclined to notice things that aren’t actually under his nose. And my brothers won’t be here. I think if we play it— right now, that you’re here for Papa. That once we know what happens with the Challenge, we can make choices from there. If I am successful, having someone who can be here with him will be even more important. And if I’m not, well, having someone with him is still helpful. You don’t mind?”
“He is much easier to deal with than many people. Mind, I’m sure it helps that I enjoy his historical stories and interests.” Bess leaned down to kiss the top of Hereswith’s head. “You should eat, though. If you have a busy day.”
“I do. But I like this.” Hereswith leaned her head back against Bess’s stomach for just a second before she straightened and stood. “I like this, with you, very much.”
Chapter 25
Tuesday afternoon at Bourne’s in Trellech
Hereswith waited for the woman who’d escorted her to the upstairs hallway. There were a row of small rooms along here, some with views of the street, designed for private conversations. The workrooms, with less need for windows, were along the back, nearer the tangle of service streets and mews.
The attendant knocked once on the central door, one of the more prestigious spaces. This was one of the smaller private rooms, decorated in oxblood and deep blue, with two chairs set out. They were angled toward each other, facing the window. For a moment, the angle of the light didn’t seem quite right. Then Hereswith realised there was a charm, filtering it, and avoiding the afternoon angle shining in their eyes. That was not an ordinary service, even here at Bourne’s.
Magistra Ventry was seated in the far chair, wearing her usual unrelieved black, though this one shaded a little towards a green-black. She nodded just once as Hereswith came in. “Thank you, Maisie. We have everything we need.” There was a tea cart, not the Hereswith would so much as gesture toward it without encouragement. Not in this case, in this room, or in this company.
She heard the click of the door behind her and then spoke as clearly as she could. “I appreciate your time, Magistra Ventry.”
“I appreciate that you are a woman who is not slow on the uptake. Your note came just about when I expected it might, given what I knew of your schedule and situation.” The older woman arched one eyebrow. “If you’d pour a cup of tea for me— just lemon, thank you. Whatever you like for yourself.”
The tea in the pot was first-rate, Hereswith could tell that immediately, and already had some lemon in it, she thought. She poured a cup, adding a slice of lemon, then brought it over with no hint of a spill, before pouring her own. It wasn’t until she was seated again that she looked up to see what Magistra Ventry would do next.
“You had obligations on Friday and Saturday. I would think less of you if you had not taken the time to discuss with relevant parties.” Magistra Ventry said it with an entirely neutral voice.
Hereswith considered, taking a sip of her tea— excellent, yes, a clarity of taste that was a pleasure and also underlining the conversation as a whole. It was as deliberately chosen as the room and the time. Then she looked up. “And to do a bit of research, Magistra Ventry.” It was why she appreciated this conversation being today. She’d been able to do a fair bit of it yesterday afternoon.
That earned her a snort of approval. “Just so. Indulge my curiosity, if you would. Who have you spoken with about that letter?”
It was a telling question, of course. And yet, Hereswith had come here seeking help, a guide in uncharted lands. She had known full well that coming here would mean giving up information. It was like one of the Fatae tales, and surely Magistra Ventry knew how those went even better than Hereswith did. She took a breath, setting her teacup down. “First, I spoke with Marcus Everett, my partner in the diplomatic work. He was the one that brought your letter to me. And therefore he was in the room when I read it.”
“While I am certain you are adept at holding your expression in a number of situations, perhaps not that one.” It had a warmer note that in others, Hereswith would have identified as teasing. She was not at all sure she dared assume that here, or wanted to.
“Just so, Magistra.” She inclined her head again. “We had a number of obligations until late on Saturday. Saturday evening, when I returned home, I spoke with a friend, currently living with us as companion to my father. And then, on Sunday, with Papa. Later that evening, my brothers and their wives came for supper. I made my plans clear to them.”
“Informing them, I gather, your brothers. But wanting the backing of your father and friend.” Magistra Ventry’s gaze shifted. “And Master Everett.”
“Yes. Especially since I do not— yet— have a full understanding of the preparation required. Whatever else, I suspect it will require Marcus to take on additional obligations for ongoing work, and he deserved a chance to raise an objection.”
