Chapter 13

C HAPTER 13

"I have told you not to fall in love with Master Strauss, have I not?" snapped her mother, as soon as the door was closed.

Cordelia gaped at her. "I—but I wasn't—I haven't—I didn't even—"

"You appeared to be hanging on his every word," said Evangeline, in a deceptively pleasant voice. "And batting your eyelashes, no less. Has young Master Strauss charmed you after all?"

"No!" said Cordelia a bit desperately, wondering how she had been batting her eyelashes, maybe she'd just been blinking, oh god, she was blinking wrong, she knew it, she'd been worrying about it ever since visiting the dressmaker. "He—uh—" She closed her eyes, feeling a blush climbing her face. "He had a pimple," she said, to the backs of her eyelids. "I was trying not to stare at it, but it was… he kept talking and it was wobbling…"

She steeled herself for a lecture on ladylike behavior.

A snort broke the silence. Cordelia's eyes flew open to see that her mother had a hand over her mouth and her shoulders were shaking with laughter.

Oh. Well. That's… good? I guess? She was never certain what to do when Evangeline was in a good mood. Bad moods were at least predictable.

"Oh, Cordelia," her mother said finally, wiping at her eyes. "Oh my. I should have known that no daughter of mine would be fool enough to fall for such a wretched boy." She stood up and held out her arms. "Come here."

Cordelia's heart sank, but she knew better than to let her dread show on her face. She shuffled forward and let her mother embrace her. Wormwood tickled her nose, chokingly familiar.

"Everything is going so well," Evangeline crooned against her hair. "The Squire just needs the slightest little push. Then we'll have enough money to find you your rich husband, and we'll be really wealthy. Then life will all be easy, you'll see. Like it should have been all along, if your father had done the honorable thing."

Cordelia stood quietly in her mother's arms. Her skin crawled and she wanted to pull away, but she knew better. And part of her—a tiny part that she had never quite lost—wanted to be there and wanted it all to be true so that her mother would love her and maybe things would change. Maybe she would do everything right and she would never be made obedient again.

She watched that part of herself dispassionately, as if it belonged to someone else. She knew better.

Most of her knew better.

She wished that she could find that tiny part and drag it out and stomp it into the dirt. But she couldn't, so she waited until her mother released her.

"This Lord Evermore may be promising," said Evangeline. "He's wealthy, by the sound of it. Charm him. It will be good practice, if nothing else. And who knows? Perhaps he'll come up to scratch. If you don't need to compete against other debutantes, so much the better. And he's as old as the Squire, so we may both be widows before we know it!"

"Yes, Mother," said Cordelia, despairing. Charm him? I don't know how to charm anyone. But if she said so, she would practically be asking to be made obedient so that her mother could charm the lord instead.

"I promised to help Lady Hester with embroidery," she said, keeping her eyes on the floor. If she didn't look up, no one could read the hate in her eyes, for her mother, for herself, for the whole world that had conspired to put her in this position.

"Good," said her mother. "Keep her distracted."

As she climbed the stairs to the solar where Hester spent most afternoon, Cordelia thought to herself— That's not why I'm doing it. At least, I don't think it is, is it?

The thought nagged at her that by talking to Lady Hester, she was serving her mother's purpose, even if she didn't want to.

Would it really be so bad if her mother married the Squire, though? Hester was kind to her and answered all her questions like Ellen had, without making her feel like she was strange for asking. Alice was more than kind. And I could live in this house and not eat potatoes at every meal and not have to wash the dishes between meals because there's so few of them. And even the Squire is nice, in a distracted sort of way. Would it be that bad?

Maybe it wouldn't be.

But I also don't want Mother to hurt any of these people. I don't want her to turn the butler off without a reference, even if he scares me. And Alice stood up to her once, what if she remembers that? Cordelia shuddered at the potential ramifications.

I could tell Hester what Mother is. I could warn her. I could say…

What exactly would she say?

My mother's a sorceress and she controls people's minds sometimes—but she hasn't controlled your brother, because she wants to marry him—but I think she drove my friend's father to kill his family with an axe—and she's dangerous and her familiar is a horse and she won't let anyone close doors—

Did that sound ridiculous? Cordelia couldn't tell. She was afraid that it might be. People didn't seem to believe in magic the way that she understood it. The man at the carriageyard had been annoyed but not frightened. He'd thought that Evangeline was trying to cheat him, not that she might be dangerous.

You could just ask Lady Hester about magic. If you ask, then you'll know what she thinks, and you'll know where to go from there.

Even asking seemed horribly difficult. If her mother found out, surely she'd know why Cordelia was asking. It would be safer not to say anything.

And what if what happened to Ellen happens again, because you didn't say anything?

The thought sank in like a needle into her finger, a bright stab of pain that made her flinch.

No. I have to say something. Somehow.

Cordelia glanced around in the hallway, but saw no one. She set down her basket of embroidery, pressed on her temples, and made a tiny sound, just one, to let the pressure out. Immediately she felt better, or at least as if the ratcheting tension wasn't getting any worse.

Afterward, she sat for a moment, hugging her knees. The carpet runner was a little worn here, and there was a ridge in the wallpaper where it had bubbled and been pushed back down. A week ago, Cordelia would have wondered if the Squire lacked the money to fix it. With seven days of hard-won wisdom, she had realized that the Squire was so wealthy that he simply didn't need to care. No one was going to look at Chatham House and think that the inhabitants were poor, so why bother rehanging perfectly good wallpaper because of a minor imperfection?

It was a strange reflection that, like Hester turning the cuffs on her gowns, you were somehow allowed to be poorer if you were rich than if you were actually poor.

She reached the door of Lady Hester's solar. Just ask about sorcerers. It's not that hard. She slipped inside and saw that Lady Strauss was in the room as well. "Oh," she said, uncertain whether Hester wanted to be interrupted. "I… err…" She held up her embroidery. "I can come back later if you'd rather?"

"Sit, sit," said Hester. "The more the merrier. Just don't play cards with Imogene here."

Lady Strauss made a tsking sound. "For shame, Hester. You make me sound like a swindler."

"If you ever run out of money, you could go to any gambling hall in the city and break the bank."

"She exaggerates," said Lady Strauss to Cordelia. "It makes her feel better about losing to me. Now tell me, child, where are you from?"

"Little Haw, my lady." Cordelia drew out her embroidery. She had made some progress on the flowers and butterflies, and showed it shyly to Hester.

"Oh, very nice! You're getting the hang of this nicely. Here, let me show you a cranefly knot. Very handy for some things." She demonstrated twice, then handed the square back. Cordelia bent her head over it.

"Little Haw…" murmured Lady Strauss. "No, I can't say I know that one."

"It's very small," said Cordelia.

"Yes, of course. And Hester tells me that you came into town to buy dresses?"

Cordelia nodded distractedly, focusing on the knot. She thought that they were probably waiting for her to answer, so she added, "For my coming out. Mother says I'm to marry a rich man."

She did not see the looks exchanged over her head. "Every girl's dream, of course," said Lady Strauss, with a gentle bite of irony. "Any particular rich man?"

Cordelia shook her head. Evangeline had never suggested that there was a difference between them. They were all the same so far as she knew, a faceless class of humanity that existed somewhere off in the distance, like the old country across the water.

"Have some tea," suggested Hester. She leaned forward and poured, then handed the teacup to Cordelia.

"Have you met many rich men yet?" asked Lady Strauss, as Cordelia dropped a lump of sugar in her cup.

Cordelia shook her head again. "No. Not yet."

"That's probably for the best," said a voice from the doorway. "If they didn't earn it themselves, they're usually wastrels, and if they did earn it, they're usually so focused on earning more that they've no conversation at all."

"Penelope!" Lady Strauss leapt to her feet. Hester didn't, but she banged her cane on the floor and laughed in clear delight.

Cordelia tried to turn her head all the way around like an owl, failed, jumped to her feet, and managed to upset the sugar bowl. Lumps bounced across the table. She turned scarlet and began attempting to corral the wayward sugar.

"Oh dear," said the newcomer, kneeling beside her to help. "It's my fault for popping up behind you like a jack-in-the-box. Here, there's one by your embroidery—there. At least it's only the sugar!" She sat back, grinning at Cordelia. "Imagine the mess if you'd overset the bowl of live mice!"

Mice…? Cordelia blinked at her, astonished. Hester snorted. "We stopped serving live mice with tea ages ago, Penelope."

"Strictly for formal occasions now, is it?" She put the back of her wrist to her forehead. "And when I think of the extraordinary rodent teas I've had over the years… oh, the heart bleeds, so it does."

Rodent teas ? What?

Lady Strauss shook her head. "Your humor is still as peculiar as ever, Penelope. Best introduce yourself before our young friend here thinks you've escaped from an asylum."

The woman made an abbreviated curtsy, given her position on the floor. "Penelope Green, at your service."

Penelope Green was tall and beautiful, except that she wasn't. Cordelia's brain insisted that she must be, but her eyes were reporting that she was actually no taller than Cordelia, that her cheeks were heavily scarred with the cobblestone marks of smallpox, and that she was wearing a silk gown in a staggeringly vivid shade of green that should have made her look bilious.

And yet.

Cordelia's brain told her eyes to look again, because when Mrs. Green stood up, even though she wasn't tall, she was still the most important thing in the room. It was like she stood in a personal sunbeam, even though it was overcast and the sky outside the windows was quite gray.

It occurred to Cordelia that she had been staring at Mrs. Green while still half bent over, holding the sugar tongs, and immediately flushed. "I'm… er… Cordelia." She hastily returned the tongs to the bowl.

"Cordelia and her mother are my brother's guests," said Hester, "and Cordelia's been kind enough to keep an old lady company up here."

"How good of her. Who's the old lady, then? I don't see her."

Hester made a rude noise. "I'm fifty, you know."

"Yes, and if you were a man, you'd be considered barely old enough for politics. People would call you ‘that young Hester lad.'"

"Look at you," said Lady Strauss, taking both the newcomer's hands. "You look spectacular, as always. It's infuriating, you know."

Mrs. Green laughed. "You look beautiful yourself, Imogene, and you know it. And you, Hester…" She settled herself on the arm of Hester's chair with as much grace as a queen taking a throne. "Hester, love, you have been sleeping badly and worrying too much, haven't you? Is your knee bothering you?"

"Oh, partly, partly." Hester shook her head. "We can discuss all that later, I imagine."

Cordelia wondered if later meant when there isn't a stranger present. She swallowed a too-hot gulp of tea, then pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feeling the pebbly texture of a burn starting. This probably isn't the best time to ask about sorcery. Not when they're all getting caught up. It would look odd, wouldn't it?

She put her head down and focused on her embroidery while the three women talked over her head about places she had never been and people she had never met. Almost she thought that she had succeeded in becoming invisible, but then Mrs. Green nudged her. "Now then, we are being frightfully tedious, aren't we, Cordelia?"

"No, no, of course…" Cordelia hoped that her lack of interest had not been obvious, but feared that it was. "That is, I didn't mind, really I didn't."

"Bah. There is nothing more boring than listening to people talk about total strangers. At least unless the strangers are doing something scandalous. Imogene, tell us something scandalous to entertain our young friend here."

Lady Strauss rolled her eyes. "I have no illusions about who I'm actually entertaining, Penelope. Oh, very well. Let me think. Do you know that Lord Ryhope's wife was caught with one of the footmen?"

"Scandalous, but hardly unexpected," said Penelope. "Ryhope's, what, two or three hundred years old? At least? He's keeping a sorcerer in the cupboard to keep him from turning to dust."

"He's seventy-two," said Hester, with some asperity.

"Never say it." Penelope stirred her tea, shaking her head. "That sorcerer is doing a terrible job, then."

Cordelia could not imagine a better opening. She licked her lips. Just ask. It's not that hard. It's just gossip. They've been doing it all afternoon. Try to phrase it like you're curious, that's all.

"Do people really keep sorcerers for that?" She ducked her head immediately, in case they were staring at her, and became very interested in her tea.

"No, no," Hester assured her. "They can't do that. Penelope's making one of her jokes again."

"They can't keep you young, anyway," said Penelope thoughtfully. "I imagine they could make you look younger, though, at least for a little while."

"They can?" Cordelia's eyes went wide.

"If they can make a broken-down horse look like a champion long enough for money to change hands, they ought to be able to make us all look twenty again." Mrs. Green glanced at Cordelia, then grinned ruefully. "No, I'm not really serious. Illusions are all that most of them can manage. If you're looking for a sorcerer to change your hair or your horse's coat, I'd advise against it, though. A rinse with lemon water is more effective on your hair, and you're better off buying a new horse."

"Not to mention that such things always fail at the wrong time," said Lady Strauss. "Like that silly girl last week who had one turn her hair blond, and then of course it failed in the middle of the wedding."

"Water, wine, and salt to break the spells," said Cordelia, repeating what her mother had said about weddings.

"Yes, exactly."

"Hmm." Hester tapped her fingernail against her teeth. "Was a fellow came through the village a while back, as I recall. Sold a load of ewes to one of our shepherds, and then as soon as he was out of town, most of them suddenly grew b—"

" Hester, " said Lady Strauss.

Hester coughed. "Sorry. I forget that not everyone follows animal husbandry as I do. At any rate, they were, uh, boy-sheep. Culls, by the look of them. Not fit for anything but mutton. He was furious, but of course the fellow was long gone."

Cordelia's heart sank. Illusions, making a shepherd think rams were ewes… was that really the only kind of sorcery people believed in? "Is that all that sorcerers do, then?"

"Pretty much," said Lady Strauss, laying down a line of cards. "I've gambled with a couple of them. One was pretty good at muddling the cards, but he still wasn't a great player." She pulled a face. "One, though… he walked away with the whole table's money. I had an inkling that he must be cheating somehow, though I couldn't catch him. I wasn't in deep, thank god. Two days later I hear that he tried it with a fellow from the southwest, where they still take these things seriously. This man had been wearing a ward and it went off when the first fellow went to lay down his first hand."

Cordelia stared at her embroidery and wondered if it had flashed green and smelled like burning hair.

"Anyway, the fellow with the ward took offense and pinned the sorcerer's hand to the table with a knife." Lady Strauss's lips curled in a feral smile of satisfaction. "And that's why if you're going to cheat, you had best be smart enough not to get caught."

"I'm surprised there aren't wards like that in every gambling club," remarked Hester.

"Too hard to come by," said Lady Strauss. "I looked into getting one myself after that, but they want a fortune for the things. High-end horse traders keep them, and racetracks, but other than that, how often does it really come up?"

"Can't they just use water, wine, and salt in the gambling club?" asked Cordelia. "If it works at weddings, wouldn't it work somewhere else?"

"Only on holy ground," said Lady Strauss with clear regret. "That's the fourth part."

"Well, then Cordelia's come up with a brilliant solution!" Mrs. Green ducked her shoulder and nudged it into Cordelia's arm, almost as if they were friends. "Imogene, when you build your gambling hall, you simply must do it on holy ground, that's all."

"I'm sure the Archbishop would love that," said Lady Strauss dryly.

"Why not? He's always complaining that not enough people go to church."

Cordelia let out a shocked giggle at that, and Mrs. Green laughed herself, winking at Cordelia.

"What makes something holy ground?" Cordelia asked, when the room had fallen quiet again.

Lady Strauss played another line of cards and scowled down at them. "The Archbishop would say that the Church consecrating a patch of ground makes it holy."

Mrs. Green arched an eyebrow. "You say that like you disagree, Imogene."

"Not in public I don't. But I do think… oh, I don't know what I think. Not really." For the first time since Cordelia had met her, Lady Strauss seemed indecisive. "The Church isn't so old, you know. Not compared to some places I've seen. In the old country, there were ruins from a thousand years before anyone like the Archbishop was around to bless them. But I still felt that those ruins were on holy ground."

"Because the people who had lived there had consecrated the ground?" asked Hester.

Lady Strauss shrugged helplessly. "Maybe. Maybe what we call holy ground is only holy because I believe it and you believe it and hundreds of other people have believed it, and all that belief builds up like snow on a patch of ground and makes it holy." She looked back down at her game. "Don't ask me. I don't know how the world works, just how cards work."

It was an interesting idea. It tugged at Cordelia's brain and made her think about things she didn't usually think about. The needle moved over and under her piece of fabric, and her thoughts moved over and under each other, and for a minute or two, Cordelia almost forgot that her mother was somewhere in the house, only a few closed doors away.