“I was glad to.” He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “I heard the Brothers raided the convent. I thought you would be safe there. I thought that was the entire point.”
“There isn’t anywhere safe anymore.” I stare past him at the carefree ducks, remembering the terror in Hope’s voice. “Have you heard anything about the girls they’ve arrested?”
“One of them died yesterday—the simpleminded one. They tortured her. I daresay the others won’t last long. They’re interrogating them night and day, refusing them food or water or sleep.” Tess inches closer to me, and Finn’s cherry mouth tilts into a frown. “I’m sorry—did you know the girl they took from the convent?”
“She was Tess’s friend.” I fight the urge to put my arm around her, knowing it will embarrass her. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip with her two pearly front teeth, a bad habit she gets from me and a sure sign of distress, so I change the subject. “Was it difficult to get away?”
Finn shrugs. “Ishida gave me leave to skip the council sessions to meet with my new boss. Denisof will assume I’ve been in the sessions all afternoon. They’ll never mi {l Tss me.”
I grin. “Does that mean you got the position?”
“I had word this morning.” His brown eyes are earnest behind his spectacles, but he bows theatrically, lightening the mood. “What’s my assignment, milady?”
“Find out when the next Head Council meeting is, and where.” I run a hand along the back of the bench, tracing the curves with my fingertip. “I hate asking this of you.”
“I volunteered, remember? And I’m eager to do it, so stop apologizing, Cate.”
My heart thrills at just this: the sound of my name on his tongue.
“Besides, it’s hardly a swashbuckling adventure.” He looks faintly disappointed, and my lips twitch at his urge to play the hero. I’m glad it’s not more dangerous; after all, this isn’t one of his books. “Denisof’s a member; I imagine he’ll have me clear his schedule. What’s Inez planning?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. “She’s been teaching us how to glamour ourselves as Brothers. Perhaps she’s going to kidnap one of the Head Council members before the meeting and put one of us in his place to find out what their plans are. Has Brenna said anything new?”
Finn takes off his cloak and spreads it across the damp bench. I sit perhaps a tad closer than is strictly proper, my hip almost brushing his gray trousers. He’s dressed in his fine Brotherhood clothes today: gray vest, white shirtsleeves, black boots speckled with mud. Tess plops down on the other side of me.
“Er—yes, actually.” He clears his throat. “She’s predicted that one of the Brothers’ own will betray them by siding with the witches.”
“What?” I shriek, rocketing to my feet, almost tripping over the cobblestones lining the path.
“Shhh.” Finn grabs my wrist and tugs me back down. “She didn’t give any specifics. There’s nothing to identify me.”
I take a deep breath. I stood up for Brenna, but if her prophesying keeps putting the people I love in greater danger, what can I do? Are Inez and Maura right?
“This is entirely too dangerous now,” I begin. “I don’t want—”
“It’s not up to you. It’s my decision. I’ve heard some rumblings about the Sisterhood, too,” Finn continues. His freckled hand lies on his knee, inches away from mine. He has a smudge of black ink on his forefinger.
“What kind of rumblings?” Tess demands, craning around me to see him.
“The strictest members of the council wanted to close the convent school. They were outvoted. The vote to forbid women’s education wasn’t unanimous, you know—at least a third of the council was against it. As a concession to them, the convent school was permitted to stay open.”
“As though fifty educated girls make such a difference,” Tess snaps, bouncing her fists against her thighs.
“O’Shea’s faction argues that they do. He claims that any stronghold of feminine learning is a bastion of wickedness. A source of potential rebellion.”
I give a mischievous grin. “Well, he’s not wrong in that.”
“His faction believes there should be no exceptions, no exemptions, and that the Brotherhood should have more control over the daily workings of the Sisterhood. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s on the agenda for the Head Council meeting.”
I laugh in disbelief. “How? What do they mean to do, move a man in to run the place?”
Finn adjusts his glasses again. “That’s exactly what they mean to do. O’Shea thinks a Brother ought to be made headmaster. That if the girls there must be educated, a man ought to oversee the curriculum.”
I utter a few very unladylike words. “We’d have to modify his memory every other day! {ry ove He’d turn into a vegetable.”
“Or we’d have to study nothing more taxing than watercolors and Scriptures and French,” Tess huffs.
“Not French. Now that French ladies have the vote, it’s been forbidden, lest our impressionable girls find the language a gateway to immorality.” Finn’s mouth twitches as though he wants to laugh. “Brennan, another member of the Head Council, is opposing O’Shea. He’s a good sort. Has three daughters of his own, which I daresay makes a difference.”
“I find it hard to believe that any member of the Brotherhood is a good sort,” I grumble. Finn flinches, shifting his weight on the bench, and I wish I could stuff the words back down my throat. What is wrong with me today? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you, obviously. I know you don’t want to be there.”
“I can’t be the first man who joined to protect his family.” Finn stares down at the engraved silver ring on his right ring finger. “It’s easier to stay silent than to have your values questioned—your dedication to the Brothers and to the Lord himself.”
“That’s cowardice. If there are as many as you say, they could change things by speaking up!” I hiss. A few yards away, two pigtailed girls play with dolls on a bench while their mother pushes a pram around the duck pond.
“Then I’m a coward myself. I was there the day the new measures were debated. I didn’t have a vote yet, but I could have argued against them. Perhaps I could have made a difference.” Finn’s voice is rich with self-loathing.
“No. You couldn’t risk calling attention to yourself! That’s different,” I insist, putting my hand over his. I don’t even think of who might see us—I only want to comfort him, to atone for my reckless words.
Finn slides his hand away. “It’s not. These men are husbands and fathers and brothers, too. I believe there will come a time when they do speak up.”
“That’s grand, but how bad will things have to get for us before they rouse themselves?” I shift away from him on the cold marble. “What will it take? The Brothers are murdering innocent girls as we speak!”
“And what are you doing about it?” The question feels like a slap—an echo of all of Maura’s criticisms. “You’re powerful, Cate. The Sisterhood together must be incredibly strong, and yet you’re just—biding your time. I’m not blaming you, but—”
“It sounds as if you are. What are we meant to do without giving ourselves away?” I demand. “It’s not as simple as just speaking up. Not for women.”
Finn frowns. “I know that. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk, Lord knows—but if everyone felt that way, how would we ever move forward?”
We stare at each other in melancholy quiet. It’s our first—not fight, not exactly. But the first time we’ve seen something big so differently. Is it up to me to act? It is so much easier to put the blame solely on the Brothers’ hateful policies. I know he has a point, logically; I know the Brotherhood cannot consist entirely of hateful, smarmy hypocrites like Brother Ishida who would deny their own daughters. But I can’t reconcile that logic with the fear I’ve felt for them my entire life.
Is that how most people feel about witches?
Tess stands, head cocked. “What’s all that noise?”
I’ve been so preoccupied with our argument I hadn’t even noticed, but now I hear the shouts coming from Richmond Square, the steady roar of voices chanting in unison.
I can’t make out the words, but whenever a crowd assembles, it’s rarely good for girls like us.
Tess is already hurrying down the muddy path toward the front of the park.
“Tess, wait!” I cry, chasing { crlogic wi after her. I’m practically running, my boots sliding in the mud, hardly conscious of Finn scrambling after me. Once I get past the trees, I can see the crowd gathered in Richmond Square, spilling over into the cobbled street that runs in front of the cathedral itself, pressing up against its wide marble steps. It’s not dozens of people shouting. It’s hundreds. Maybe thousands.
There are more people assembled here than I’ve ever seen in my life.
Are they burning more than books this time?
Tess has stopped, wide-eyed, at the very edge of the crowd.
“Let our women work! Let our women work!” The people chant it, over and over. Some hold brightly painted wooden signs proclaiming LET OUR WOMEN WORK and WOMEN’S WAGES HELP FEED FAMILIES and OUR FAMILIES ARE HUNGRY. The crowd is mostly working-class: men in patched trousers or the new blue jeans, shirtsleeves rolled up to their elbows, wearing caps and muddy work boots. Some of them sling mugs of cider in the air as they shout. There are a few women in the crowd, shouting alongside their husbands: “Let us work!”
Dozens of people clutch printed pamphlets. A passing man crumples one in his fist and drops it, and I snatch it as it flutters toward the ground. There’s a cartoon of two thin, big-eyed children with empty plates looking pleadingly at their mother, who sits knitting in her rocker. In the next panel, two fat men in dark cloaks gorge themselves on a rich feast of ham hocks and chicken legs and cake. The caption says simply Let Our Women Work! Come to Richmond Square and protest the Brothers’ new measure against women’s employment. Our families go hungry while our women sit idle.
“I don’t think we ought to be here,” Finn says over my shoulder.
“I’ve never seen a protest before,” I breathe. “This is splendid!”
“I’m not certain there’s ever been a protest before. Not against the Brotherhood, anyhow,” Tess says. Her gray eyes meet mine, and I know what we’re both thinking. There were protests against the Daughters of Persephone. I’ve read about them. That was how it started.
A burly man with a slouchy corduroy cap approaches us. “Come to join us, Brother?”
“We were just leaving,” Finn insists, grabbing my elbow.
The man hands him a leaflet. “Stay. You should see what people think of your new laws.”
“It’s not my law. I believe in women’s right to work,” Finn declares.
“Voted against it, did you?” Finn hesitates, and the burly man laughs. “And why would you? You sit back and get rich off our tithes, while our families starve. Easy enough to think about morals when you’re well-fed.”
A square-jawed, olive-skinned man with a red flannel shirt saunters up. “Not so sure this one’s moral, Ted. Carrying on with two girls bold as brass. Hypocrites, the lot of them.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head. These ladies are novitiates of the Sisterhood.” Finn pulls Tess behind him.
“Those convent girls are no better than the Brothers. Never done an honest day’s work in your life, I bet,” the dark-haired man drawls. He has the same Spanish accent as Sister Inez.
I’m surprised by my own outrage. “We do. We nurse the sick at the hospital. We take food to those who need it.”
“But you don’t go without, do you? You still go to sleep at night with full bellies on your fine feather pillows,” Ted points out.
“We don’t want your charity,” the Spaniard says. “We want to do for ourselves.”
I eye them both distastefully. “You hardly look like you’re starving.”
The dark-haired man laughs and grabs my arm, pulling me away from Finn. “Feisty one, aren’t you? I doubt he approves of that,” he says, nodding at Finn. “I could show you a good time, Sister.”
His breath smells of liquor, and now I understand why Finn was wary. This protest is a powder keg ripe for violence, heightened by alcohol and the hot sunshine and a mob mentality. I plant my feet as much as I can in the sodden ground. If this oaf thinks he can manhandle me, he’s sorely mistaken. “Take your hands off me. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Come on, just have a look around with me. I betcha I’m more fun than he is. You ever had whiskey?” He fumbles in his pocket for a flask, and his dark eyes rake over me. “You ever been kissed, Sister?”
Oh, this is too much. I slap him across the face.
His friend laughs. “She showed you, Marco!”
Flushing red, Marco rubs his cheek and glares at me. “Uppity chit.”
Finn steps toward us, eyes snapping. “Is this how you show your respect for women?”
Marco grins. “You’re right. My quarrel’s with you.”
He shoves Finn, who staggers back and bumps into Tess. She slips, falling to the ground. The mud is thick here—it splashes across her cloak and spatters her face. Finn comes up swinging, but the dark-haired man twists away easily and lands a punch. Finn reels back.
“Stop it! You should be ashamed of yourself,” I spit, helping Tess to her feet. “Look what you’ve done. Does hurting a child make you feel manly?”
Marco advances on me again, but this time he stumbles, tripping spectacularly over his own feet and sprawling in the mud.
Tess. I can hardly disapprove—I don’t suppose a subtle bit of magic’s much worse than public brawling. I flex my fingers, which are still tingling from slapping him.
“Come on, Marco, you’re foxed. This isn’t the kind of trouble we’re after,” Ted says, hustling his friend away into the crowd.
Finn takes my arm and Tess’s, hauling us speedily in the opposite direction. “Splendid protest, is it?” He glares at me. “Come on, I’ll see you home.”
I open my mouth to argue that he shouldn’t be seen anywhere near the convent, but he gives me such a murderous look that I don’t dare utter another word.
We pause when we reach the market district, a few blocks away from the city center.
“Here,” Tess says, handing Finn her handkerchief. Blood is trickling from his nose, and his cheek is already swelling. It looks painful.
Finn pauses and rips off his cloak, instructing us to do the same. “If the rest of the city’s in this mood, we’ll be safer this way.”
It is strange, walking down the city streets uncloaked, my hair uncovered. I haven’t risked it since I was a little girl. In any case, no one challenges us. That’s strange, too. I couldn’t walk the length of Church Street at home without someone greeting me or inquiring after Father. In the length of one block here we encounter two fine ladies leaving a dressmaker’s, a maid trailing after them carrying several new gowns; a mother dragging three squalling, sticky-faced boys out of a candy shop; a man standing outside a butcher’s hawking fresh cuts of meat while a pig’s head stares at us unnervingly from the picture window; and another man carrying four hatboxes stacked up to his chin, who jostles me and sends me tripping into Tess. No one smiles or wishes us good day. No one looks askance at us for not wearing our cloaks, either. They’re all intent upon their own business.
We walk in silence punctuated by the creaking of wagon wheels and the clip-clop of horseshoes, the shouts of Sentinel newspaper boys and vendors hawking flowers and roasted c {andree squhestnuts and savory meat pies. It’s the end of the workday, and the streets are crowded. I press close to Finn, my arm brushing his, and keep Tess ahead of me where I can see her. As we pass into the residential neighborhood near the convent, the houses get bigger and the noise falls away, until there are only a few passing phaetons and the sound of water rushing down the gutters.
Finn stops a block away from the convent. “May I have a moment?” I ask Tess.
&nb
sp; She nods. “Thank you for defending our honor, Finn.”
“Fat lot of good I was,” Finn mutters.
“You were brilliant,” Tess insists, touching his arm. Then she steps a discreet distance away, fussing with the holly that grows over the neighbor’s gate.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you said we should leave. Are you terribly angry with me?” I reach out and touch his cheek, wincing in sympathy.
Finn shakes his head, not quite meeting my eyes. “It was hardly the first time I’ve been beaten in a fight, but I hate that you saw it.”
Oh. I always think of Finn as so certain of himself, so confident and clever. But the boy I knew growing up was altogether different—a pompous know-it-all, tall but skinny as a string bean, and prone to getting his arse kicked in the school yard.
“I don’t think any less of you. In fact, if we were somewhere a bit more private, I’d show you how very much I think of you,” I flirt, and his lips twitch in a reluctant smile. “Brawling isn’t the only way to be brave. Joining the Brotherhood for me and spying for us—that’s brave.”
“I want to be able to protect you,” he mutters.
“I can protect myself.” I squeeze his hand, concentrating on his injuries. It takes onl
y a moment to heal them. This time I don’t even feel dizzy.
Finn examines his cheek with his fingertips, confirming that it’s no longer swollen. “You didn’t have to do that,” he mutters.
“It’s easy enough.” I’m hardly going to let him go around bruised and bleeding just to salvage his pride.
He shoves the stained handkerchief into his pocket, scuffing his boot against the sidewalk. “I wish there were more I could do to keep you safe. I want to be your husband, Cate. Sneaking around like this—”
“I know.” A stray tabby cat is rubbing against Tess’s ankles, and she’s bending to pet it, cooing endearments. This is the girl the Brothers are so terrified of? “It’s not what I want, either. Whatever Inez is planning, it’s got to work.”
Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two Page 17