~ TASHA ~
The sun was a ripe blood orange as it set, lighting the funeral pyre of a grim day. Tash greeted the twilight from her porch seat. A welcome breeze had crept in as evening had fallen. The sweat which had gathered on her body in the heat of the day clung clammy-cold to her skin. She should have taken off the fancy things like Sesi had told her. The overcoat, at least. But she hadn’t. She’d waited for the temperature to match her attire.
Molly Bradshaw was dead. Oliver had confirmed it, when he came out to the porch. The wounds were too grievous, the blood loss too great. By the time they’d carried her out into the fresh air, there was nothing left of her to save.
Time had seemed to freeze after the girl was stabbed. Tasha remembered a vague awareness of her cries, and Oliver’s hand squeezing her shoulder. A dozen soldiers were stood near to the dais. Any one of them could have run forward and stopped Lightness Skerrett. They’d all stayed still for far, far too long. They had let the girl die.
Eventually, one of the soldiers seemed to wake up. He’d hopped up onto the platform and dived into Skerrett, sending the priest tumbling to the ground. That had got them going. The soldier had pinned Skerrett in place as others ran to join him, pushing their way through the crowd. The Corrack, Ian Fitzhenry, got to his feet and began to run for the stairs. Oliver whispered something into Tash’s ear. She didn’t hear what he said, but she knew what he meant. They were up, following in Fitzhenry’s wake, riding the slipstream he’d made. Sesi was probably right with them. The whole gallery was. If someone had slipped then, they’d doubtless have been crushed. Tash’s heels somehow held firm beneath her, all the way down the spiralling stairs.
She’d thought about her maids down below. The throngs were clambering over one another in panic, some to escape the bloodshed and others to help. Goodwife Mabeth was big and brash enough to fight her way out of the crush if it came to it, but Eva Renet was still a teenager, and small for her age. Emmy Cordewane wasn’t much bigger. Tash hoped they hadn’t been caught in the middle.
By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was breathless. She leaned against the wall, hunched over, to catch her breath. Something was stirring inside her. Little Jem, making himself known? His kick tightened her stomach.
“Come on, Lady,” she heard Sesi yell. “Let’s get you into the fresh air.”
She didn’t remember anything after leaving the church, not until Sesi came to her with Eva. Apparently she’d cried for a while, for Molly or for the monstrosity of the situation she couldn’t have said. Her eyes were damp and sore, so she supposed it must have been true.
The two maidservants sat with her for a little while. Eva was convinced that she was overstepping her place, sitting beside a lady of society. She’d blubbered and blushed until Tash explained that Eva was as much her friend as her maid. It wasn’t strictly the truth, she barely knew the girl, but she could well imagine the bruises she’d pick up in the midst of chaos. Come the morning she’d be hurting all over.
Sesi was a different beast. She seemed entirely at ease with the company of ladies. Her tongue was devilish; she had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what to say to lift Tash’s spirits. There were only a few women who Tash had been as comfortable with, and none who gave her due respect. Mother always said there was one true friend waiting for her somewhere, a platonic soul mate. She’d thought she’d found that in Bab Flower, and in Janie Hockley before her. Janie Hockley had let her true nature show when she didn’t come to Tash’s eighth birthday celebration, and then cried to the lectors when Tash confronted her about it the next day at school. Bab was better with her mask, but it had fallen away at the Tavern. Eventually, she would come back, begging for Tash to forgive her. But really Tash ought to thank her. Now she knew her true face, she didn’t have to cling to her friendship anymore. Sesi was the only friend she needed.
“They’ll punish him, won’t they?” She wasn’t sure why Sesi might know the answer when she didn’t. She didn’t believe for a moment that Sesi would give her any answer but the one she wanted to hear. That didn’t make her want to hear it any less.
And sure, Sesi did say the right thing. “Murderers always get what’s coming to them.”
“I hope he dies for what he did. I want the rest of them to know that they’re wrong.”
“Haven’t you had quite enough of death?” Never had there been a more welcome voice than this. Oliver was walking towards her, and with him Jon Sharp and Goodwife Mabeth. He smiled that lopsided smile he always used to tell her everything would be alright. “I think we’d all benefit from a nice hot drink.”
Goodwife Mabeth nodded behind him. Her bonnet had come loose, and was hanging half-off; like her billowing skirts, its once-pure white was soiled by dark earth-stains. Her matronly smile was unaffected. “A wonderful idea, Master Oliver. I’ll run ahead and wake Nickie.” She bustled off down the hill towards the house.
A couple more of the household guard arrived, Kirkham and Quant. Kirkham was carrying Emmy in his arms, the maid weeping in a torn dress. “This one had a lucky escape,” he said. “It’s chaos in there.”
“Another minute and she’d have been trampled,” added Quant.
“We couldn’t find Goodwife Mabeth anywhere,” said Kirkham. “It’s possible she got out before the trouble started. If not, she’s a strong bugger. I’m sure she’ll be alright.” He looked worried.
“Goodwife Mabeth’s already started down the hill,” said Tash. “She’s fine.”
The flow of people had yet to abate. It came in fits and starts, but it was constant, and mainly a frantic running. Most of Skerrett’s acolytes had remained in the church. Those that left with the masses had mostly kept their heads down. One or two seemed determined to cause a scene. A big bruiser with a bushy monobrow rounded on a man and woman walking away arm in arm, backing them against a nearby thicket of trees. Before he could swing a punch, half a dozen others had jumped on him. Tash saw an officer of the Constabulary binding the hulk’s wrists in oiled rope and start to lead him away.
Elsewhere, a waifish woman in a pearly smock was embroiled in a screaming match with a wren-faced woman in a bustled dress of midnight black. A crowd had begun to form around them, egging either one of them on, and yet the entire incident had yet to be noticed by any of the soldiers trying to keep order. The skinny woman, her hand bound in a gauze bandage, suddenly dashed forward and grabbed at the other’s skirt, pulling her by her crinoline. The wren-faced woman dug in her heels to keep from being pulled further; her leg caught in a rut in the dirt and stayed fast as she was pulled. There followed a sickening snap, and she cried out in a piercing scream. The gathering crowd roared in collective fury.
“There’s trouble brewing,” said Jon Sharp, as a scrawny bearded man shoved the waifish woman to the encouragement of the watching crowd. “Will you excuse me, sir?”
Oliver gave his blessing, and Lieutenant Sharp vanished to control the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Oliver put his arm around Tash. “Come along, it’s not a good idea to stay here.”
Progress down the hill was slow despite their efforts. In the confusion, people seemed unsure which way to go. The result was congestion, only exacerbated by the darkness and the panic. All around, different shouts could be heard. “Justice,” some called for. From others came cries to “kill the fuckers”. Somebody had taken perch atop an outcropping rock, and from this vantage was preaching a vigilante sermon to an eager audience. “The church must burn,” he was saying. “We’ll light it up. If they’re so holy, they’ll come to no harm, and if not we can listen to them squeal.”
There was a rattled look to Oliver. He tugged Sesi’s shoulder. “Miss Roe, can you take over from here?”
“Certainly, Master Wrack,” Sesi purred.
Tash nudged her husband. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I don’t like this. It smells like trouble. Things are going to kick off if we aren’t careful. Quant, you’d best go ahead, make sure the path’s clear.”
Quant nodded and headed off.
Kirkham was still holding onto Emmy, and Oliver turned to him. “Miss Roe can handle herself. I don’t need you to fight her battles. If there’s any trouble on the way, run to the house and bring the others along.”
“Emmy can’t walk, sir,” said Kirkham. “I’d rather not put her down.”
“Then don’t. Carry her while you run, if needs be.” Oliver looked down the hill, into the valley, and Tash followed his gaze. It all looked so peaceful, so oblivious to the panic at the church. “I doubt there’ll be trouble. But be safe.”
“Where are you going?” Tash asked, as Oliver made to return to the church.
“I won’t be long. I need to find Captain Clifford. Before this whole thing blows up in his face, and ours too.”
He started back up the hill before she had time to respond, and running as well. “Oliver, wait,” she started to yell, but she couldn’t muster the willpower to finish her sentence. Sesi dragged her along, and she noticed that the ladiesmaid was shepherding Eva along beneath her arm like a bird under her wing. Snap out of it, she told herself. You need to stay together. It’s weakness if you don’t.
The journey passed in a trance from there. She remembered flashes of it—a man stumbling and falling into a mire of horse shit, a woman with strong arms and cropped hair crying softly against a tree, the scary moment when a roar of flame rose up somewhere up the hill only to be extinguished again almost instantly. And she remembered Sesi holding her hand tight,
When she was eventually woken to her senses, safely in her own solar, by the wafting smell of what was basically a cup of sugared caffeine, she had the dazed recollection and dry mouth of a woman just awoken from her midday nap.
Sesi was sat with her, and Eva. Across the room, Emmy was laid on a sofa, her leg covered by a bloody towel. Kirkham was crouched dutifully beside her. Goodwife Mabeth had stoked the fire, and perched beside it. In the wake of its heat, she’d removed her bonnet and the formals she usually chose, and was wearing a thin camisole dress. All were nursing mugs of coffee, and quaffing Mam Argent’s sugar-spun cakes at a mouthful apiece.
Tash stretched out her legs. “Where’s Oliver?”
“He’s not back yet, Lady Tasha,” said Eva.
“I shouldn’t worry,” Sesi added. “It has only been a few minutes, after all. He’ll need time.”
“He should have stayed with me,” said Tash. How dare he run off? Did he not think that maybe she would be scared and traumatised and in need of her husband’s touch?
“It’s a brave thing he did,” said Eva. “Going to help stop the trouble.”
Goodwife Mabeth spoke, spraying cake crumbs as she did. “Eva has the right of it. Forgive me, Lady Tasha, but if there shall be violence those at the church need his help more than you do.”
Tash scowled. “He isn’t married to them,” she spat. “I’m his wife. Why should some filthy murdering zealots take my husband away from me?”
“You’re doing them a disservice, by branding them all with the same mark. There are a great many good people within the faith, devoted people.” Goodwife Mabeth was starting to irritate Tash. She was supposed to agree, not make Tash feel stupid. Did she not have the experience to understand this? She looked more than old enough to know better. Tash was about to say something borne of the red mist when Sesi, in her magic ways, touched her lightly on the wrist. The anger dissipated then.
“Lady Tasha, it has been an upsetting day for us all,” she said. “It will do none of us good to dwell on it, least of all today. Might I suggest we occupy the time with something of a distraction? There will be time to talk of these events tomorrow, when the emotions are no longer raw.”
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“I have some cards in my nook,” said Eva, and off she trotted to fetch them.
It had to be said that Sesi was talking sense. Now was the time for her anger, her fury, that rage against the barbarous world. This was what Oliver called the heat of the blood. He always said she should contain herself until it passed, and at their Belaboran home there was a sideboard full of knife-marks which was testament to this. Better to play cards, and laugh, and sleep her way to rationality.
Eva wasn’t long returning, cards in hand. The deck was well-used, and the girl seemed to know all the games. Some of them were simple. One, which they played for half an hour or so, involved pairing cards by the value on their face. Others were substantially more complicated. Sesi proposed one with rules she promised to explain as they played. Selicke, it was called. Tash couldn’t grasp what was going on. On the surface it was straightforward, the aim being to complete sets of cards according to certain criteria. But the contraindications were plentiful. Every card seemed to have a few others that, for some reason not bound by logic, they simply couldn’t be paired with it. Some cards required the next player to add to their hand, or skip a turn altogether.
Very quickly it turned into an uphill struggle for her. Emmy, dealed in at the last minute to make up the numbers, had never been more than a pedestrian in the game. Her being unable to leave the sofa couldn’t have helped. Every time it was her turn, Kirkham came to look at the state of play, then relayed the information to Emmy before returning to make her move for her. It would probably have been easier just to have Kirkham play instead. With Emmy, Tash was competitive, but both Eva and Sesi were making headway substantially faster.
And then came the game-changer. When her turn came, she drew a card from the pile—this one bearing the number seven. Excellent. That completed a set. Cards from number four to number eight, with a queen card to boot, and she’d be down to the last one in her hand. She played them with triumph, but Sesi coughed. “You can’t do that, Lady.”
What? “It’s a set, Sesi. Five little peons and a queen to rule over them. Isn’t that the rule?”
Sesi shook her head. “That’s the Uncrowned Queen. She has no power over the peons.”
That wasn’t the rule Tash had had explained to her. “I’m sure you said a queen can command a set.”
“I did,” said Sesi, “but not the Uncrowned Queen. It’s a special case.”
Of course it was. Half the cards in this game seemed to be special cases, and they all seemed to have ended up in Tash’s hand. “Then how do I play her? I can’t be stuck with this one card forever, surely.”
“You need the familial set,” said Eva. “A king and the matching princess.” That was another element of the game that Tash couldn’t quite wrap her head around. Most games using a standard deck conformed to certain rules. The six suits were usually immutable, any two cards from the set being compatible. Not selicke. No, for selicke they had a genealogy. Matching kings and queens could not be paired together, because that would be incestuous, and the prince or princess was dependent on the combination of king and queen used. It took a focused head to keep tabs of all these rules.
Tash was far from focused. Much as she was trying to keep her head in the game, she couldn’t help but think of Oliver, up at the church. Was he alright? She should have been scared for him. Instead she was just angry that he’d left her. It was no wonder she couldn’t concentrate on all the rules.
She took her cards back and signalled that she couldn’t make any move. At once, Eva leaned forward. She placed three cards without so much as stopping to pick one up, tagging on to a set Sesi had just started. As quick as lightning it was over. Eva dusted her hands triumphantly. “That’s me cleared,” she said. “I win.”
Tash looked to Sesi for confirmation. She didn’t understand the rules well enough to know for sure that Eva’s move hadn’t gone against some obscure rule deep in the codex. Sesi nodded.
“Darkness take it,” she cursed, throwing her cards onto the table. “I’m bored of cards. What else is there?”
There was no time for any other suggestions to be made. At once, there was a commotion outside. Voices. Oliver. Tash leapt to her feet and ran as fast as she could to greet him. Pregnancy had proven a significant impediment on her mobility, so the door opened before she’d even made it halfway across the room. Oliver wasn’t the first to come through.
He wasn’t the second either. Quant led the way, with Millington close behind. “She’s through here,” Millington was saying. “We’ve kept it covered, but there’s a pretty nasty bleed.”
And Tash stopped dead when she saw the third person to come in.
“Like I said, most of our supplies are still behind the lockdown, but I’ll do my best,” said Barbara Flower, her face unmade and her hair undone, wearing a lilac pinafore over a thin cotton nightdress. There was an image of a butterfly hovering over a globe-thistle flower on the breast of the pinafore. The mark of Iscané. Her uniform. She saw Tasha, and looked away. What in the Good Mother’s name is Barbara Flower doing here? And where’s Oliver? Tash peered around Barbara, through the open doorway, but the hallway beyond was empty. Oliver wasn’t with them.
Barbara took up a position beside the sofa on which Emmy lay, crouched down with a little bag beside her. She didn’t even acknowledge Tash. The rudeness! After all she’d done to embarrass Tash in the Tavern, she had the gall to invite herself into Tash’s home and couldn’t even work up the humility to say ‘hello’.
Tash opened her mouth to say something, but spotted Sesi shaking her head. She kept quiet. It was obvious what Sesi meant. Barbara was here to give aid to Emmy. Now wasn’t the time to hash out their old argument. So Tash sat down.
“She got trampled pretty bad,” Kirkham was saying. “Two or three people stood on her that I saw, and who knows how many before we found her.”
Barbara lifted the bloody towel and recoiled when she did.
“Is it bad?” asked Emmy.
Barbara shook her head, and spoke in the soothing voice she’d always been good at. “It’s just a lot of blood. There’s a lot of superficial wounds can look horrible before they’re cleaned. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“It hurts a lot.”
“I carried her down the hill,” said Kirkham. “I didn’t think she was up to walking. As soon as we got to the house, I laid her here, and she hasn’t moved since.”
“That was wise,” said Barbara, reaching into her bag and pulling a glass thermometer. “Emmy, I’m going to need you to open your mouth so I can take your temperature.”
Emmy nodded and opened her mouth a fraction, and Barbara inserted the thermometer.
Tash turned to Sesi, sat beside her. “Is Emmy alright? I thought it was just bruising.”
Sesi was grim-faced. “That leg’s broken,” she said. “When Kirkham put her down, you could see the bone poking through the wound.”
Tash winced. “I didn’t realise.”
Barbara was walking directly towards Tash, she noticed. She stood. “Barbara, it’s good to see you.”
“Lady Wrack, I’ll need to remove your maid for a time, somewhere she can be better treated. Is there anything here I can use as a stretcher?”
“Leave it to me,” said Sesi, who disappeared into the hallway. Barbara had already returned to Emmy’s side before Tash had a chance to say anything, so she sat back down, and tried not to think about Emmy’s dicky leg.
A few minutes later, Sesi was back, awkwardly clutching a stretcher far too big for her to carry easily by herself. “It’s tarpaulin from a roll, around some hurney stakes,” she explained, presenting it to Barbara. “Will that be strong enough?”
Barbara thought for a second, then nodded. “Hurney stakes are sturdy things, I think. It’ll have to do.”
She’d run a bandage around Emmy’s leg, and given the girl an anaesthetic. She was no longer making a noise, Tasha realised. Emmy’s grunts and groans hadn’t registered with her until they’d stopped. Looking back, she’d been making an awful racket.
“I’ll need help carrying her,” said Barbara. “I don’t have the strength by myself.”
Kirkham stood. “I’ll take the other end then,” he said. “Provided you can spare me, my Lady?”
Tash nodded, not really bothered either way. It wasn’t like the household guard was doing anything to protect her now, anyway, and she’d survived the absence of Quant and Millington.
When Emmy was loaded up, Barbara and Kirkham hoisted the stretcher between them—slowly at first to be sure it would carry the weight, and then at chest height.
Eva was crying. “I hope she’ll be okay,” she said. “I’ll be lonely in my nook without her.”
Barbara wouldn’t be back, Tash realised. She was going to take Emmy and that was it. And she wasn’t prepared to let that stand. Why did Barbara think she could get away with turning up at Tasha’s house and not talking to her? She had another thing coming.
Tash met them in the doorway. It was only wide enough for one to go through, so as long as she stood there nobody could pass. So Barbara was forced to wait inside the solar, holding the stretcher behind her.
“Can we have a word, Barbara,” said Tash, a smile on her face. She wanted to be friends again. If Barbara would just apologise for putting her in an untenable position in the Tavern, they could go back to how they used to be.
Barbara huffed. She looked ugly enough without make-up—pulling a face didn’t do her any favours. “I’m trying to transport a patient with a badly broken leg. Now’s not the time for a conversation, Mistress Wrack.”
“What’s with the Mistress Wrack?” Tash asked. “It’s Tasha. Come on, Barbara, you know that. We’re friends.”
Barbara shook her head. “Kindly stand aside, Mistress Wrack,” she said. “I need to take Emmy at once.”
Tash moved away, conscious of the glare coming from Goodwife Mabeth, and Barbara strode past. Kirkham, bringing up the stretcher’s rear, didn’t meet her gaze as he went by. She followed them through the door, catching Barbara at the front entrance. “Why won’t you talk, Barbara? A friend would say hello, at the least.”
Barbara didn’t even turn around. “We’re not friends, Mistress Wrack,” she said. And then she was gone.
Tash ran up the stairs to her chambers. Nickie called out to her as she went, or perhaps Eva. Whoever it was, she ignored them. She wanted to be alone.
The door slammed behind her with such force as to make the walls shake. Tash didn’t care.
She’d made the right choice, pouring that ale over Barbara’s head. Perhaps she should have poured more. Barbara Flower, it turned out, was a bitch of the highest order. Felicity Peulion had nothing on her. At least when Felicity Peulion came calling, she didn’t treat Tasha like a stranger. Emmy’s leg might have excused Barbara not stopping for a long conversation over mugs of chocolate, but work didn’t preclude her from being civil and respectful. That was her own choice.
So good riddance, Tash thought.
She reached into the drawer in the table beside her bed, still beholden to the red mist of anger and the heat of the blood. There was a knife there, one she’d taken from her father’s possession. He didn’t know he had it. Neither did Oliver. Either one of them would have kicked up a fuss if they did. The knife was a razor-sharp monster half a yard long, with the Caerlin mark embossed on the handle. Her father would be furious that she’d taken an heirloom from him. Oliver would be furious that she was keeping a knife. She saw no need to make either of them furious.
The took the knife and slashed at her pillow. Rip. It tore with ease, the fabric giving in meekly to her blade. Down spilled everywhere, sticking to her arms. She ignored it. She slashed again, and again, until there was nothing left of the pillow but fine strips of fabric. In her mind, the pillow was Barbara Flower’s smarmy little head, and the feathers her blood. Let her suffer, the rude bloody bitch. Let her be run through by a sharp blade. Then see how superior she could act.
No, that was too far. Tash didn’t want to see Barbara dead. It was just satisfying to imagine.
There was a knock at the door. She didn’t have time to tell whoever it was to sling their hook. The door opened immediately, and Sesi stepped through. “Lady—”
“Get out,” Tash screamed, coming to her senses and seeing the mess she’d made. “I’ll clean this up myself.”
Sesi didn’t say a word. She walked forward and took the remains of the pillow from Tash, too dazed to resist, and carried them out of the room. A couple of seconds later—it couldn’t have been longer, because Tash still had her palm out where the pillow had been—Sesi was back. She had a dustpan now, and a fresh pillow. She put it on Tash’s bed without comment.
“Sesi, what are you doing?”
“It’s good to let your anger out, Lady,” said Sesi, busying herself cleaning up the scraps of loose down. “Otherwise it just builds up until it explodes. A pillow makes a good target—you can’t hurt a pillow.”
“I can bloody well try,” said Tash.
“Please don’t attack any more pillows tonight, Lady. I’ve no more replacements to give.”
Tash nodded. “Deal.”
Sesi made diligent work of the cleaning, and it didn’t take long for the room to look as if nothing had happened. As she was about to leave, a thought came to Tash. “Sesi, I couldn’t help but notice that Barbara was wearing a nightgown.”
Sesi turned. “That may well have been the case, Lady. I did not see myself.”
“She was,” said Tash. “Millington must have found her at her home. How did he know where to go?”
Sesi shook her head. “I cannot account for what Millington might know,” she said. “It’s possible he’s acquainted with the nurse.”
“Quite a coincidence, then, that she just happens to be my oldest friend. You went to her house, after the Tavern. To comfort her.”
“I don’t like your implication, Lady,” said Sesi. “I was not involved in the decision to seek help for Emmy, and I’ve never felt the need to tell anybody where Barbara Flower lives. I can scarce remember myself. It isn’t an important detail.”
Tash nodded. “You’re right, of course.”
“You should get some sleep, Lady. You’ll feel refreshed come the morning.”
“Do you know Miss Mae the Milkmaid?”
Sesi frowned. “You want milk, Lady? I’m sure Nickie has some. I can fetch you a cup.”
“No.” Tash shook her head. “It’s a story. ‘Miss Mae the Milkmaid had a pail of silver’. You must have heard it?”
Sesi chuckled. “Pardon me, Lady. Of course I know the story, though when I was growing up the milkmaid was called Molly, and her pail was of starlight.”
“Tell me the story.” Tash sat down on the bed. “I’m too old for bedtime stories, I know, but I’d like to hear it again. Everything was alright in the world when Jaina used to read me Miss Mae the Milkmaid. Everything made sense. That’s how I want little Jem to feel. I can’t have him growing up in a complicated world. I’ll read it to him every night, and it’ll be his favourite.”
Sesi smiled, and set the dustpan of feathers down. “That’s a very good idea, Lady. You get comfortable, and then I’ll tell the story.”
Tash kicked her shoes off and nestled beneath the covers. She was still wearing her dress, and Sesi hadn’t taken her make-up off, but that didn’t matter. It would keep until tomorrow. She lay on the fresh pillow, and closed her eyes. “I’m comfortable, Sesi.”
And Sesi told. “Molly the Milkmaid had a pail of starlight held upon her arm. ‘Molly,’ said her mother, ‘I will always love you. You will never come to harm.’”
The story took her back to home, to innocent days,
You hear that, Jem? You’ll be like Molly the Milkmaid. You will never come to harm, I promise.