Page 5 of Claiming the Tower (Council Mysteries #1)

I t was past four before Bess caught her breath.

Technically, she was seeing about making a minor change to the supper plans.

Cook had rolled her eyes but nodded, then set to work preparing an entirely different soup for supper.

Bess could therefore take a minute to catch her breath in the back stair, before going back to Madam Judson. That all was in order.

It wasn’t kind to Cook, but Cook knew what to expect, the same way Bess did.

Whatever the initial orders of the day were, it was at least a one in two chance that there’d be a change.

Cook dealt with it by keeping a number of things on hand, and adjusting what went to the staff meals as opposed to Madam Judson.

And unless their mistress were entertaining, at least it was only two portions of whatever the change was that were needed.

Because, of course, Bess would eat what Madam Judson did. Except when she was told to go eat in her room and have her meal interrupted. She wouldn’t know which of those it would be tonight until supper time.

Standing there in the stairwell, she suddenly realised she hadn’t even thought about the fact it was Tuesday.

Last Tuesday had been such a pleasant island in the larger schema of her life.

Hereswith had a brightness to her that Bess wanted more of.

It wasn’t any one thing in specific. Or perhaps it was that Bess wanted to turn both toward the kindness, and that sharp cleverness and attention to the tiniest details of what Bess had said and done.

Most of all, Bess had felt safe with Hereswith seeing.

There was logic to that. For one thing, they were both of Horse House, and generally speaking, their shared House did not trade on someone else’s weaknesses like that.

But second, Hereswith was not only established at the Ministry, but dealt with vastly more interesting secrets and tasks than Bess’s minor foibles.

No, also, it was the way Hereswith had reacted.

She’d made the whole thing a grand shared conspiracy, somehow drawing Bess along.

Making it entirely reasonable to be drawn along.

It was possible to use that sort of power in many wrong ways.

But since Hereswith had largely applied it to making sure Bess had half the tea tray, Bess couldn’t find it in herself to argue.

Being able to enjoy her food without interruption or judgement were both rare delights.

That was the problem with today, actually.

Madam Judson felt she had over-indulged at yesterday’s celebrations for May Day.

The Judsons were not Lords of the Land; that was the Beaupres.

But they were a notable family, there were traditions to uphold.

And of course, as the dowager of the family, widowed for ten years, Madam Judson had opinions about the whole thing.

Her daughter-in-law had different opinions.

In the other two homes where she’d been a companion, there had been the tacit understanding that her role was not to get into the middle of such things.

Her role was to be loyal to her mistress, and at her beck and call.

Madam Judson did not have the same sensibility about it.

She had sent Bess on a dozen different attempts to change plans at the last minute.

Elianne Judson had at least understood what was going on.

As soon as Bess had cleared her throat and offered, “I beg pardon, Mistress Judson, but Madam Judson bade me inquire...”, the younger woman had seen what was going on.

Each time she had come back with an unwanted answer, the problems had escalated.

On two points, Bess had been able to suggest an alternative that was acceptable to both sides.

The whole thing was entirely ridiculous.

She heard the bell before anyone had to come fetch her, rung loudly. “On my way.” She called it over her shoulder, picking up her skirts and trotting up the stairs.

“Where were you, Bess?” As soon as she entered the room, Madam Judson was glaring at her.

“Beg pardon.” Bess didn’t offer any excuse, and she certainly wouldn’t imply that any of the house staff had to do with the delay. “I was caught up considering what you might want for your embroidery later.”

“That’s entirely foolish of you. You can’t possibly remember without it right in front of you. Is Cook adjusting the meal?”

“Of course, ma’am. She had thought you might want something more delicate today, to suit your refined palate.” Yesterday’s meal, besides being abundant, had been rather heavy on the sauces. The younger Judsons had a new French chef and part of the day had definitely been about showing that off.

“Indeed. Well, now, I need several things from my upstairs sitting room. Go and get them, and quickly, too.” Madam Judson barely took a breath before launching into a list of ten items. Bess bobbed and went off.

Most of the items were together, at least, but the last two— the preferred scissors for this particular task and the case of embroidery thread— needed gathering from the morning room.

It did not leave her a lot of time to think, just to move through the task as efficiently as she could.

Once she came back, Madam Judson gestured her into a chair. “The children made an utter snarl of my thread yesterday. Untangle it. And no cutting, of course. We won’t have waste in this house.”

The snarl was truly incredible. Bess was sure the girls— two of the Judson cousins, old enough to be out among the adults for the afternoon, eight and ten— hadn’t done such impeccable work deliberately.

It did not make things easier to undo. Especially since there were a dozen shades of brown and yellow in there, and half a dozen of blue and green and red.

She rummaged in her own chatelaine, drawing out the small screw-top tube that held a blunt embroidery needle and a buttonhook.

“May I move to the better light, madam?”

Madam Judson waved a hand, somewhat irritably. “If you must.” Bess moved, that was the most permission she was going to get. She’d been working for perhaps fifteen minutes when there was another sharp, “Not done yet?”

“They made quite a tangle, ma’am. It will take me more time. I’ve extracted the browns, though, most of them.”

“I can’t imagine why you aren’t quicker. My last girl, she was entirely deft with her needle. Quick with it, as well as accurate. It’s the quickness that made her valuable. You dawdle, far too often.”

Bess took a breath, held it for a count of five, and let it out.

Arguing would do no one any good, especially Bess herself.

It wasn’t as if she could hope to win one of these arguments.

Instead, she bent her head over the threads in her lap, and focused on them.

She enjoyed the process if she wasn’t rushed at it, that was the thing.

Madam Judson had an absolute gift for taking something that could be satisfying and making it feel tarnished or faded.

It made Bess think of Hereswith again, who had the opposite talent.

She’d made tea, a quite ordinary tea, for The Field, into something that glowed.

That felt like a special gift, both at the time and in the memory.

Bess didn’t think it had been anything unusual for Hereswith.

Why would she bother with something special for Bess?

They were acquaintances, cordial ones, but not friends.

Bess was not permitted the sort of time needed to have friends.

Every time she tried to write a note longer than a few sentences during the day, she would be called away.

If Madam Judson was resting her eyes— never actually sleeping during the day, of course— any shift of movement more than turning a page at the proper pace in a book would wake her and make her irritable.

The proper pace, of course, was about a third the speed Bess preferred to read, but she’d learned to pace herself promptly enough.

The few moments she had before her own bed or first thing in the morning weren’t enough for much correspondence.

And there was always the chance that one of the servants would report on a letter going to the post, leading to an entire inquisition of questions.

As a result, Bess wrote in rotation to a series of mostly distant cousins and aunts, but those were not at all the same thing as friends.

Bess had been working perhaps another half hour.

It was punctuated by complaints from Madam Judson about matters in the latest issue of Albion’s Flower s, the women’s gazette that was part fashion, part gossip, and part advice.

The gossip was all blind items, of course, because at least two-thirds of the fun for most readers was the process of figuring out who was discussed.

The complaints today were mostly about the current cut of skirts and petticoats, and Bess could let that flow over her.

She dressed to suit Madam Judson’s tastes, even if that wasn’t what she might choose on her own.

Part of that was financial. The allowance she was paid wouldn’t cover much in the way of clothing, and it wasn’t as if she had any place she could wear what she chose.

Even on Tuesdays, she was with Madam Judson coming and going from her friend’s home in Trellech.

And, of course, a companion had to know her place, the muted browns and greys rather than the jewel tones that Bess sometimes dreamt about.

Bess had just got through untangling the last of the yellow threads when there was a knock on the door.

An unexpected knock. Eliza, one of the maids, came in, bobbing nervously, when Madam Judson asked what it was.

“Begging pardon, ma’am, but the vicar’s wife, the new one, is at the gate, wondering if she could speak to someone in the house.

Mrs Walton thought it might best be Miss Marley, in this case. ”