The Twisting

by Laurel Wanrow

Daeryn ran a hand around the back of his neck. Perhaps they did and were looking out for themselves. Jac wouldn’t prioritize others’ needs, just work… “That’s it. Prioritize. We’re still trying to guard every field, like we always have. We can’t, not with fewer workers. But we can guard the most valuable crops. Let’s ask Hortens and the plantas which those are and then put them there.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Well—”

  “Look, Jac, it needs to be done, or we’ll lose the lot of the growers.”

  She crossed her arms, eyes flashing, hair puffing up as much as it could without a shift to raise her hackles.

  Daeryn put up his hand. “Hear me out.”

  Jac pressed her lips together and nodded.

  “You’ve had your word with Hortens, and he’s refused. I don’t want to bring Miz Gere into this unless we absolutely have to. That means a different plan, maybe not the one you see as the best, but one Hortens and his growers will agree to. But before we can ask that of them, we have to agree. Will you give my idea a try?”

  Jac frowned, scratching her long nails through her thick hair. “I don’t have anything better, so yes.”

  “Thanks. They should be more willing to work if we let them make their own decisions. I’m not guaranteeing it, but it’s my best idea when we don’t have a lot of time before the gobblers arrive. I’ll ask them.” He tilted his head toward the greenhouses. “Once I know the priority fields, you reconfigure the assignments and the shifts. Maybe we can keep the remaining growers working and happy.”

  Jac wrinkled her nose, then threw up her hands. “Might be doable.”

  Her scent wafted to him with the motion. Calm. Her body language, too. Her nerves had come down a notch since she’d divulged their problem. Well, this was better than he’d expected.

  She heaved a sigh. “But before you head over there, I should mention an additional…situation. They noticed you’ve been arriving late every evening. I defended your ass, saying you had to guard the artist. Prepare for some barbs.” Jac lowered her voice. “Since we agreed to not reveal what Annmar can do, they don’t know about her skills and have identified her as dead weight. They’ve approached Miz Gere with a demand: Let her go, along with other farmworkers not vested in the Collective.”

  Daeryn’s heart leaped to his throat. No, Annmar couldn’t leave. “What did the lady say?”

  “Nothing. Yet.” Jac drew a breath. “I’ll support Annmar staying. We owe her, and we might need her again.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “I can take their insults. Tempers have to improve with the other ’cambires I just sent out. Three new ones, so they’re at least a partial substitute for the growers on break tonight.”

  Jac’s face brightened. “Tell them it’s like rotating substitutes. The promise of a scheduled night’s sleep should smooth the growers’ ruffled leaves. Great idea.”

  “Speaking of ideas…” He told her about Leander’s cat trails.

  “Send him now,” Jac said. “Before the gobblers arrive for the night.”

  “When he returns with the delivery, I’ll ask if that’s possible,” Daeryn said, hoping Jac would catch the emphasis. “And while we wait to see if the message arrives, it’d be nice to find some other town ’cambires. Can you ask Molly if she knows anyone else? Mary Clare and her sisters can’t know everyone in town.”

  Jac rapped him with the backs of her knuckles. “Daeryn Darkcoat, that’s at least three good ideas you’ve had. I hate to admit it, but I might learn a few leadership skills even my gran doesn’t know.”

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Late that afternoon, Annmar leaned over the sideboard and scooped a helping of the autumn squash and apple casserole, mouth watering at the heavenly smell of steaming cinnamon and cloves. Her plate full, she turned as one of Mary Clare’s sisters led in a boy dressed more formally than any farmworker, tweed trousers and a waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. A cap topped his head.

  “That’s her,” said Mary Delia. “Annmar.”

  The boy looked at the envelope in his hand. “That’s not what it says here. I’m to deliver this to the woman doing art for Wellspring Collective.” He held the small rectangle up for them to see.

  The familiar lettering leaped from the paper like a blow to Annmar’s belly. That script had comprised every note of instruction she’d received from Shearing Enterprises. She wiped her abruptly sweaty hand down the side of her bib-and-brace and swallowed. “That is me. Ann Marie Masterson.”

  Giving a scowl, he shoved the envelope at her. “Why don’t they know your name here?”

  “Ah, don’t be so grumpy, Timothy,” Mary Delia said. “Minute ago you were crowing how much better this man paid you than the hotel’s regular patrons.”

  “Said he’d track me down, too, ifs I didn’t get it to her prompt.” He eyed Annmar again. “You sure that’s you?”

  Annmar took the envelope with a nod and a clenched stomach.

  “Timothy.” Mary Delia pulled his arm. “Come to the kitchen and have some apple walnut muffins. Ma says people have a right to read their mail in private.”

  True, Annmar didn’t want to risk interruption. Whatever this letter said, she was going to have trouble composing herself. Taking her plate, she skirted through the kitchen, receiving a raise of the brow from Mrs. Betsy.

  She was still watching as Annmar stepped into the screened vestibule.

  “I’m going to sit right here on the step.”

  Mrs. Betsy nodded. “See that you do, duck. We’re expecting that delivery any minute now, and we’re not sure who’s making it. Mistress dropped the protection soon after you got to the house.”

  That explained why James, who Mrs. Betsy had said oversaw operations, had been loitering in the workshop and then closed the doors behind them when he walked her to the house. She’d welcomed his company since Daeryn had left before she woke, but she hadn’t thought much about it. She’d been too busy cursing—yes, cursing!—her body at sleeping through the dinner bell and Daeryn’s departure. With everyone preparing for tonight, when would she have a chance to talk to him about the Harvester?

  She sat on the kitchen step and tore open the envelope. The note inside was short:

  My Dear Miss Masterson:

  In my surprise at seeing you this afternoon, I acted in a manner most unbefitting the gentleman you know me to be. It distresses me to see you isolated and alone in this savage area. If I had but known of your dire circumstances, I would have corrected the situation immediately.

  I must return to Derby to attend to business for a few days. Join me. I consider you a key adviser on how to proceed with several decisions I must make. I’ve enclosed paid passage for your return. As we discussed, you may plan to use my private suite at The Grand. I will see to any expenses you deem necessary to remove yourself from the hinterlands and spend the night as my guest. There we will explore what arrangements might be necessary to conclude transferring ownership of Number 8 Bond Lane to your capable hands. I expect your costs might run to a thousand gold-backed banknotes, which I will have waiting for you.

  Annmar gasped at the proposed amount. He offered a thousand banknotes? To spend the night with him. She had never imagined his…sponsored girls were collecting this amount. Or were they?

  It wasn’t something she could ask. Anyone.

  She peeked at the closing—

  I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.

  Your willing servant,

  George Shearing, Esq.

  —and read the letter again. In my surprise—ha. The scoundrel knew full well she lived here. And his attempt to correct the situation was to kidnap her? Annmar folded the tickets back into the letter. He’d lied, and he’d lie again—or avoid the truth—to turn the situation to his liking. She put the packet in the snap pocket of her bib and hugged her knees over the whole mess.

  He’d tried to abduct her twice, and now bribe her, though the tickets and the thousand pounds represented spare change to a magnate like Mr.
Shearing. Unless she figured out a way to protect herself, he’d try something else. The more she thought on it, the stronger she felt her confusion was related to the crawling sensation when he’d stroked her skin. She hadn’t felt either in Derby where he’d managed enough surreptitious touches. He said his talent worked on people growing their own food. That certainly fit Mistress Gere, but didn’t explain how his Knack could work on Annmar. She didn’t grow her own food.

  Annmar had no new ideas on how to convince Mistress Gere, or protect her, other than the man should be slapped for his forwardness. If only she’d done it long ago, and just left Mrs. Rennet’s employ—heavens, now she could. And she would the very next time she saw him, because knowing him, he would find some excuse to come see her when she didn’t respond to his letter.

  Which would only mean trouble for her, and Wellspring.

  From her corner at the kitchen wall, Annmar watched the farmyard activity pick up earlier than usual—growers unloading the last of the day’s harvest, the wagons pulling between the buildings and people crossing every which way instead of heading inside.

  Including Jac.

  Annmar smiled. She might have a chance to do more than slap Mr. Shearing. She rolled to her feet and intercepted the older girl as she reached the back door. “Jac, could I talk to you for a minute in private?”

  Jac gave her a curious look and tossed her thick hair over her shoulders. “As long as I have time for dinner.”

  Annmar led them into the empty library and closed the door. “A man I know from Outside tried to make me leave with him today. I need to learn to fight better than a girl.”

  Jac threw up a hand. “Girls fight just fine.”

  Oh, now she’d ruined her chance—

  “When you tried to fend off Paet, I said you fought like a city girl. You want to learn to fight like a Basin girl?” Her lips twitched.

  Annmar grinned. “Yes.”

  In minutes, Jac demonstrated the moves and relayed quite detailed descriptions of how to lay out a bloke. “Without claws or teeth, you humans need to fall back on determination. This requires a full hit right to the bollocks. No going halfway. If you only tap him, he knows what you’re trying and will stop you.”

  After Annmar practiced knee kicks into a pillow held at waist height, Jac showed her how to break an arm hold, then gathered a plate of food and sat with Annmar on the kitchen steps, showing her how to form a fist and which spots to punch so she’d have time to run. “Practice those,” Jac said when she finished eating. “Another time I can give you more pointers.”

  Alone again, Annmar reviewed each technique, thinking of when she could have used it against Mr. Shearing this afternoon. Next time, she’d know her opportunities.

  Hoofbeats broke into her thoughts. Annmar lifted her head as the back door banged. Mistress Gere walked across the adjacent paving stones, her boots landing a solid tap, tap, tap below the swishing of her walking skirt, her gaze on the wagon pulling into the farmyard.

  Just as Annmar had a little over a week ago, Mary Clare sat alongside the same livery driver, Leander. But quite unlike how Annmar had ridden with the shy, muttering youth, Mary Clare was snuggled right up to him, her hand on his thigh.

  Annmar rose and advanced behind Mistress Gere, unable to believe she was seeing her friend with—clearly with—Leander. Anyone could see this, no Knack involved.

  Perhaps there should be a Knack involved.

  What in heaven’s name would Rivley think when he saw them together?

  “Leander,” Mistress Gere said, “is this all? I expected three machines.”

  The large flatbed wagon held just one long, low, metal box with a water tank mounted on the midsection and an engine on either end. No logo graced the machine, nor was it a construction Annmar had seen.

  “Yes’m.” Leander jumped down—the leap of a giant tawny cat to Annmar’s Knack view—and handed Mistress Gere an envelope, one suspiciously the same size as Annmar’s. Then he turned to offer Mary Clare a hand down.

  Other farmworkers gathered, including James. While he and the others watched Mistress Gere open the envelope, Annmar edged over to Mary Clare, who still had a hold of Leander’s paw—hand.

  “I rode down to the livery with Leander,” Mary Clare said. “They had a request to deliver three, but at the station just the one machine was waiting with the note.”

  Mistress Gere looked up from the letter. Her gaze went from acknowledging Mary Clare to meeting Annmar’s in a speculative fashion, before shifting to the single machine. “Well, this leaves us short. Apparently, Mr. Shining miscalculated his inventory and isn’t sure what’s been promised out. He’s returned to his business to resolve matters. After meeting with”—she glanced at the letter again—“key advisers, he’ll have an accounting of his property and be able to give me a revised delivery estimate. He says if problems arise, he will meet with me again.”

  Key advisers. Annmar pressed a hand to her pocket, flattening her envelope. Using the same words couldn’t be a coincidence. Her stomach twisted.

  Then Mistress Gere looked at her. “He writes I should verify with you that he will deliver on his promises.”

  Oh, Lord. Annmar swallowed the bile rising in her throat and managed a nod.

  James snorted. “Did he mention a refund?”

  “Wellspring will receive the machines we purchased at the price he quoted, but if I cancel, the cost for future machines may rise. Demand. He’s hiring more steelworkers for additional shifts.” She drew a breath. “At this point, I am far more interested in Master Brightwell’s progress. It makes those two Harvesters in Derby very desirable. I’d ship them in a heartbeat, if I had any way of doing it, and wash my hands of this man’s games.” Mistress Gere pressed her lips together.

  Annmar stared. Mistress Gere had changed her mind. She no longer wanted the Eradicators. She had been under Mr. Shearing’s influence. Now her decisions made sense.

  But what if the scoundrel returned? Mistress Gere said he might if problems arose—oh. Those problems were if Annmar didn’t appear in Derby to meet with him.

  No!

  James jerked his chin to Leander. “Let’s move that machine out there.”

  Mary Clare followed Leander around the other side of the wagon and hugged him good-bye before he climbed aboard and led the way to the fields.

  Everyone dispersed, and Mary Clare walked over to join Annmar. “What’s with you? I didn’t want to say around the others, but you feel positively ill at ease.” She put a hand to Annmar’s arm.

  Annmar slipped loose and crossed her arms, but the question—and Mary Clare’s Knack—prodded her more than she could bear. “I should like to maintain some modicum of privacy in this loose society. Please?”

  “I-I…” Mary Clare closed her eyes and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  And then so was Annmar. She shouldn’t have lashed out at her friend. “Me, too. I…I’m not having a good day, but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”

  After they’d moved a few paces toward the house, Mary Clare muttered, “Have you heard all the new plantas have forfeited their season’s pay and left for farms farther south?”

  The changed topic twisted Annmar’s stomach into further knots. “Why would they do that?”

  Mary Clare sighed. “Places down there are a week behind for gobbler invasion. They’re begging for workers and paying cash by the hour worked to bring in their crops.”

  “But what about Wellspring’s crops? What about loyalty?”

  “Only after completing two growing seasons is a worker made an offer to join our Collective—and at that time he or she becomes vested in the business. Even then, an offer isn’t guaranteed. This is the type of year that tests loyalty. For all sorts of things.”

  The meaning of her words registered. Mary Clare had taken offense that Annmar hadn’t accepted her consolation. Annmar stopped. “I thought we’d changed the subject.”

  Mary Clare shrugged. “You can
change it if you like.”

  Did she? The knot in Annmar’s stomach hadn’t gone away.

  “I asked because I wanted to help. We’re friends.”

  Very loyal friends for Mary Clare to keep at her. Annmar pinched her eyes against the tears that had been threatening once Mistress Gere had delivered Mr. Shearing’s threat. She slung an arm over the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she mumbled as they hugged. “We are. That doesn’t mean I can bare everything before I’m ready. You and Rivley are friends. Do you ever give him a chance to tell you news in his own time?”

  She huffed out a breath. “I don’t have to worry about that now.”

  Things had obviously changed with Rivley, but whose idea had the break been? Annmar didn’t dare ask why or how he felt about this. Mary Clare’s feelings were what she had to fix now, because Annmar did need her advice. “So Leander’s a pretty nice fellow?”

  “Now there’s a subject.” Mary Clare smiled. “He has his own place now, above the livery. I’ve known him forever, but kind of lost contact when I moved here to work and he still lived at home and worked his family place.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Eighteen, same as me. Younger than most of the fellows here at Wellspring. Not nearly so experienced either.”

  “In—oh, my.” Annmar gasped. “You did not just say that.”

  Mary Clare laughed. “I did. Though it’s not really funny. Just your reaction.”

  Annmar swatted her shoulder with the back of her hand and tried to muster up a smile, but she couldn’t. “I do feel ill about something and need your advice and it’s not really funny either.” She told Mary Clare what had happened that afternoon with Mr. Shearing, to much tsking and oh, you poor thing.

  “Right before you rode up, this arrived for me.” She handed Mary Clare the letter.

  Mary Clare read it. Twice. She bit her lip.

  “See where he mentions key adviser? Before he tried to force me to return to Derby, he told me I was one of the keys to his success. Then he referred to key advisers again in Mistress Gere’s letter, and prompted her to tell me so I’d notice. That he will deliver on his promises was a veiled threat.”