Page 49 of Claiming the Tower (Council Mysteries #1)

H ereswith resisted the desire to rub her forehead. Barely. She had been listening to a discussion for the last two hours, with no chance to ask a question. And, worse, many of the details were going entirely over her head.

She was certain it was not some fundamental lack on her part.

Rather, it was that everyone was talking in what was near enough code.

They had patterns to how they interacted that seemed like the worst parts of custom and tradition, and not any of the better ones.

Hereswith had been directed to a seat at the end of the table, with the people most involved in the discussion at the other end.

It was the patterns that caught at her, as much as anything.

Gervase had been chairing the meeting, of course, as expected of a meeting he was at.

Blanch had been present, but quiet. Actually quiet, not people talking over her.

She’d watched and listened, with a bare two comments in the course of ninety minutes.

The argument at hand was not about the ritual negotiation that was rapidly approaching in ten days’ time.

Instead, it was about an entirely other matter, problems on one of the borders between the demesnes of southern Nottinghamshire and southern Derbyshire.

There was an argument about who should have access to water from a particular well on a property.

Hereswith followed that part of it easily enough.

The hall in question had passed from childless brother to married sister the previous year, when the brother had died.

The well was on a notable estate, though not the Lammington demesne estate, of course.

In this case, the demesne estate was a little north of Derby, rather than southwest. The trick was, of course, the political prominence of the sister’s husband.

Not only had they made their home elsewhere, in Hampshire, but no one had been sure how to gain the proper permissions.

The well in question stood on the hall’s grounds.

The Lammingtons had had charge of the arrangements, but the Herricks had, for more than a century, the right, due to some ancient negotiation, to a certain number of pitchers of water from the well.

And it was, apparently, one of those wells that everyone agreed was magical, but no one was sure why.

More than one person today had made comments about the sulphur.

But Hereswith had been more caught by the piece of poetry over the well, especially the quatrain that said, “There’s virtue in the draught, for health that flies, From crowded cities and their smoky skies, Here lends her power from every glade and hill Strength to the breeze. ”

The problem, though, at least to Hereswith’s ear, was that everyone had their own idea about how to solve the problem.

None of those solutions seemed efficient at all, and no one seemed to be trying the idea of talking about it.

Not amongst themselves, not with the Lammingtons or Herricks, and certainly not with Lord Palmerston or his wife.

Hereswith did not know the man directly.

He moved in circles beyond what she’d had access to.

But she certainly knew a great deal about his policies, both good and ill.

For all the problems, she had rather suspected for a year now that events in the Crimea might be different if he’d still had charge of the Foreign Office. Not that she could say that, either.

Instead, she’d listened, biting her tongue half a dozen times.

There must be some reasons for how Gervase was handling matters.

The whole situation actually made her think of Britain’s government, which suffered the same sort of odd isolation of the current discussion.

Each person was like a dog with a bone, none willing to share or lend their expertise to some common goal.

As the others finally made their curt goodbyes and filed out, Hereswith stayed where she was.

Blanch was next to last to leave, with a raised eyebrow but no comment.

Hereswith wondered if the older woman had expected her to speak up, or judged her for not doing so.

She was still sitting there several minutes later, staring at her notes, when there was a slight knock on the door and she saw Anselm Davis.

He was not that much older than she was— five years, he’d have overlapped with Bess at school.

He was quiet, the sort who only spoke when he had something to say.

And Hereswith thought he cared little for the larger meetings.

He went to where he’d been sitting, and rummaged for a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor, and then disappeared again, back to his own little office.

Hereswith sighed, once she was sure no one was nearby, and then decided she would go home herself.

An hour later, she was in her own rooms, snug and comfortable, and there was Bess to talk to. Bess had been thinking hard, furrowing her forehead. “What was it you expected to be different?”

“Oh, I expected everyone to have their own pet projects and preferences and all that. People do that, they will keep doing that. It’s not as if wishing it otherwise made any different.

I have my own such things too, and I do try not to be a hypocrite.

But it felt as if the shapes were rigid, somehow, no room to step out of line of the expected.

It made the arguments more like a military parade than a dance.

Certainly more like a fixed rule than a negotiation. And surely we need negotiation.”

“People like their straight lines,” Bess said, quietly. “Their tidy containers. People behaving as they ought. There’s been gossip about you, of course, several ways around. Challenging in the first place, doing so when you’re of Horse House and ought to know better.”

“Assumptions. People making assumptions. And it’s the assumptions that get us in trouble. Though also, the assumptions that can protect us. Did you know I got a note from Hildegard Warren this morning thanking me for whatever it was you did on Monday?”

“Made an introduction by letter to Amelia Hopkirk,” Bess said promptly.

“No bother for me to do it. I could do it from here. And now Mistress Warren might be more favourably inclined to at least hear me out if I need something in the future.” She added after a moment, “It may be of some relevance with the Delongues, actually, but I don’t know yet. ”

“There, see? That’s building a connection.

” Hereswith suddenly had a thought of another way around the problem.

“I could— I should— put out a word with the White Horse and see if any of them have a connection. To an estate steward, or an excuse to gather some water, or something of the kind.” Then she turned back to the larger topic.

“I’m used to the idea of all those little boxes. That doesn’t mean I like it.”

Bess opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again. “I would have thought you were someone who did like them. You’re certainly traditional enough in some ways.” She gestured at the house, broadly. “The way you present yourself, overall.”

“Traditional enough to not have a great deal of patience with the sort of faux show of it, I suppose,” Hereswith said, after considering. “Why?”

“Well. Take your situation in general, before the Council. A younger daughter staying unmarried to tend to a widowed father is traditional enough. Though a fair number of people would have encouraged a marriage. Or perhaps assume you will now find some widower with children needing a matronly figure.”

Hereswith wrinkled her nose. “I rather like children, or at least some of them, but no. Not like that. That’s the sort of thing I mean, maybe.”

Bess considered, then said, carefully. “Mind moving to the bedroom?”

“Of course not.” Hereswith had finished eating, and of course, that offer came with some other benefits.

Ten minutes later, they were curled up in her bed, her head against Bess’s shoulder, comfortable and relaxed.

Bess considered. “There’s a particular pattern I’ve noticed.

In women like me, who prefer women, and have no interest in men. ”

“As opposed to ...” Hereswith wasn’t entirely sure how to put this, and she didn’t want to offend. Her training was rather less help than it might be here.

“You’ve said you’re not sure. Though I have a related question, actually.

A potentially distracting one, in an exploratory way, so I will save it.

” Bess spread out her free hand. “Some people like me, they go running in a particular direction because they want that. They want women, the general idea of women, and they run towards it.”

“Some, therefore, are running away from men.” Hereswith could see that.

“Not without some reason, given the range of reactions I’ve had from men recently.

” She grimaced. “I don’t think I’m going to get any of my new colleagues proposing I marry them, but I’m none too sure about some of their relatives. ”

“Rather, no. Will that be awkward? Was it awkward before?” Bess asked. “Did people make assumptions about you and Marcus?”

“Oh, Marcus’s preferences have been well known for a long time.

Sometimes people would ask me how I could put up with him, but honestly, that wasn’t a problem.

He didn’t shirk his share of the work, and he understood the places people reacted to him and he had more reach than I did.

And where I did, because it was one of those subtle problems of half a dozen sentences over two hours and several cups of tea.

” She added, because it had brought it to mind, “He’s settling in well with the new arrangement.

A different cousin, other side of the fictional family— she’s a rather striking redhead, actually.

Her hair is brighter than yours.” Hereswith added almost immediately. “I like yours better.”

“Well.” Bess sounded pleased. “That works well for me. The thing I was thinking about was the ways people claim who they are, and the ways some people refuse to. As if naming it makes it too real. You haven’t done that.

You’re not standing up and shouting about your preferences.

Or me. But I’ve got the sense you’re not— what’s the word? ”

“Eliding, not lying,” Hereswith said, promptly.

“I can make it clear I value you, without making it clear what we do in private.” Then Hereswith considered.

“I felt badly about part of it. That the reality of things means you are always visible as my companion, and only visible as my companion. I can go off and do what I do because you are tending things here, because when I come home, there will be supper. Whatever needs my attention or signature, you’ll have ready.

I cannot imagine keeping the estate going without you, even just this far. A fortnight, nearly.”

“You have been tending the place for a long time, and you know what it needs.” Bess let her fingers brush against Hereswith’s shoulder.

“I suppose I have the wife’s part, and you have the husband’s.

If we are being like that about it. But I do not much want to be out in public and visible.

I want to get things done. Visibility often makes that harder, not easier. ”

Bess’s tone— rather put upon— made Hereswith giggle. “It does. So, what do you want to do more of, that’s hidden?”

“Learn about the house and estate. Take care of you. See what happens when you let someone take care of you for weeks and months and perhaps years at a time. What you can do because you have that there, that you haven’t yet.

” Then the fingers moved a little lower, into the edge of her nightgown.

“As to the distractions, I wondered. I don’t care much for the sort of thing that goes inside you, a dildo, for pleasure.

But I suddenly realised I shouldn’t assume what you like. ”

“Inside. I’ve seen the— your books, the ones you gave me.” Hereswith had, honestly, been divided between curiosity and uncertainty. “Why don’t you care for them?”

“That whole matter of running toward or running away. Using them has seemed to me a bit like making the whole question of pleasure dependent on the male organ. I don’t care about the male organ, the male anything.

Not in bed, anyway. I care about other things.

But you shouldn’t let me decide for you.

You’ve never tried? Fingers are different. ”

“Never.” Hereswith wasn’t entirely sure what to say next.

“Shall I see about finding something— there is someone who makes them, safely designed and all that— and you can try? I don’t care for them in my own pleasure, but I do like seeing yours, and if you like them, I’ve no objections.”

“If we are exploring the way out of the boxes in which we have been placed, this seems a good enough one to explore, yes?” Hereswith felt Bess kiss the top of her hair.

That was answer enough. “Don’t go to any particular bother, but yes, I’m curious about trying it, now we’ve talked about it.

Spend my coin on it, please, not yours.”

“One of the increasingly many things I like about you is that you are clear about that. Which choices you’re making. Both the toy and the, what’s the word? The circumstances of acquisition.”

The tone in Bess’s voice made Hereswith twist a bit, then nudge Bess toward the bed. “Enough talking. Let me stop your mouth, and we might do something better with it.” The laugh she got in response was only the beginning of the evening’s satisfaction.