“It looks different, but it is not really so different from what we wear today. We may use panniers rather than a farthingale, but the skirts are still full, the bodices still press our assets upward and make our waists look quite small. Seven women have worn this dress; why, ‘tis nearing two hundred years old, I’d say.”
Bonny blinked. “‘Tis pretty enough, aye, but it quite looks its age! While I respect the idea of a family dress, and think it quite quaint that ... what was it that you told me? That the ghosts of the mothers who wore this dress look after their daughters and help assure a good start to their marriage...is rather sweet, I am not sure that it is entirely the thing, you know? Perhaps we can start a new family dress. I mean, surely, this isn’t the only wedding dress your family has ever had.”
“No, indeed, but that one was burnt in a castle fire, and replaced by this one.” Tasmin decided not to try and explain the concept, that it wasn’t the ghost of the previous wearers that haunted the dress, but their energy. Their happiness, their hope, their determination. These things would strengthen the bride who wore it, and would help the marriage begin well.
“Fire. Indeed. That’s a solution,” Bonny muttered as she bent over to inspect the hem.
“It looks better on, I assure you,” she said with a bit of grit in her teeth.
“No one disputes that it’s a very pretty dress. I doubt anyone could afford to purchase that much silver and pearl decoration anymore, but sweetheart, it belongs in a museum, where people can go and gather around it and sigh and say, ‘Well, they don’t make dresses like that anymore, do they?’ or, ‘I wish I could wear a dress like that.’”
Tasmin tried to break in to make a point on this, but Bonny waved it off.
“No one means it, you know. No one would, really, if they had a choice. They would rather wear what everyone else wears.” She smiled brightly, as if this was a good thing.
“Why is it so desirable that we all wear the same thing?” Tasmin wasn’t being derisive; she never bothered with derisive questions, for they only provoked arguments and were a waste of time. She genuinely wanted to understand, hoping for insight into this new culture. Perhaps marrying in the family dress, which she had dreamed of doing for ages, would be a disastrous move?
“Not the same thing, silly. The same style. Generally.” A huge sigh escaped her, as if the situation was completely hopeless. “I know what we shall do. We shall go to the Crown market and take a look around. Come, now, I shall show you a few things and we can discuss what to do.” She tugged on Tasmin’s sleeve. “And we can buy somewhat for your hair. You will have to get ribbons, and perhaps some flowers, and something with a bit of sparkle.”
Tasmin rolled her eyes. In the corner a dresser’s dummy stood. Tasmin had rented it from the dressmaker a few stores down from William’s shop (about the only thing she had accomplished during her attempts at finding information was to get the dressmaker to send an old form over to her house), and she would use it to fit the dress to herself, for she would not allow anyone else to do so. “Wait for a moment. You may not like it, but I am going to put it on the form before I go. At least I can enjoy the display of it before you talk me into something else.”
Bonny smiled and helped her, even lacing the back up and placing the sleeves just so, which Tasman would not have bothered with. As Bonny pulled the shift through the slashes in the sleeves, she said, “See? It would be to die for in a museum,” and Tasmin stuck her tongue out, then gently draped the sheet over it, and they finally left.
Chapter 13
Ferou 24th, Sphr. Mn. Qtr. 1788
Tasmin,
This will be the last letter I send from your shores; my business has been completed and as I write I am watching a large quantity of ice being packed into my hold. From here I shall go further North, then East, until I bear around to the plains of Selou, where we hope that the weather is still holding cool, to deliver this burden straight to the capital. With that neat sum in the ship’s coffers we shall pick up a few more things and head straight home. I shall only be there a fortnight before I begin my travels again. Perhaps then I shall have more exciting things to relay, but until then I am sure that you will have many adventures of your own. You must tell them to me; ‘tis only fair.
Yours,
William
He had managed to maintain a good mood. Positive, even, through accusations of madness when he left the family business, through imprisonment for murder, and through a lecture from his father and then from his mother about the relative merits of putting off his wedding yet again until he got his things in order and the mess was forgotten by all. Even when he realized his father had bought him an out, William had remained optimistic.
But now, William was in a foul mood. A truly foul mood. His very gaze would melt paint, he was certain. Pity it would do him no good.
“But,” he explained patiently, “those are my stores. Put here for me by my brother. In my father’s storage house. You used to work for me. I hired you myself. Don’t you bloody recall?” He smiled as he spoke, but his tone was hard.
The clerk swallowed heavily and said, “Well, yes, indeed. And I know well who you are, sir, I could not doubt it a moment, yet I tell you, there is nothing marked here as belonging to you. Even if it was marked as your brother’s, I’d give it to you, but I have nothing at all.”
“Then it must not have been marked in the ledgers. Maybe Andrew even suggested it not be marked. Let me take a look around. I know what the crates should look like. They have a blue seal.”
“I’m sorry, sir, we’ve been through this. You are no longer a part of the company, I cannot let you in. Besides, I’ve not seen anything marked as you described.”
“I shall speak to my brother, then.” He gave his best imitation of a smile, and said: “Thank you for your time, Philip, I am glad to see I left the warehouse in such capable hands.”
The other man relaxed visibly, a bit too visibly. Did he really think the matter over? He certainly had no reason to.
So, William went to another warehouse and asked to see if anything was being held for him. This time he asked with much less insistence, simply because he did not wish to replay the same undefeatable argument everywhere he went. He thought he’d caught a bit of luck at the portside dock. “We are holding something for you, sir. We were wondering when you would come and get it.” And found himself the owner, again, of a set of nested mixing bowls, wreathed with blue flowers that he had bought for some long ago matronly birthday and thought lost. He carried them under his arm, half hoping someone—preferably large and brutish—would jostle his arm and he could use the broken crockery as an excuse to start a fight.
It was her laughter he heard first, unexpected and rather lovely. He sought her, surprised that he should meet her by mistake. Technically he was supposed to leave the area, but he was tired of technicalities.
He finally found her. Tasmin was trying on masks with his sister-in-law and Bonny pointed him out, gesturing that they should go into a dressmaker’s shop and let him pass.
William felt a bit like a dullard, overheated despite the chill in the air, and a mess from walking from one corner of the town to the other, his stockings filthy. Yet those same feet were frozen in place, partly from surprise, for the thought of being ashamed of his disarray had never before occurred to him. It was a novel notion, indeed more novel still was the feeling he couldn’t place as she turned to look at him, lowering the mask from her eyes and smiling at him.
She took a step forward and Bonny reached for her, but she thrust the mask into Bonny’s hands and walked swiftly, half skipping once, to him.
“Mister Almsley! A grand day, is it not?”
He nodded, grinning like a fool. “Fare met, milady.”
She sketched a curtsey. “So? What do you have there?”
He didn’t really know what to say, so he just moved the
box so she could open it and see for herself. He didn’t want to confess that they had been meant for his mother, especially not when he saw the look in her eyes.
“These are very fine,” she said. “Beautiful but practical. They have a lovely feel to them, perfect weight. Did you choose them?”
He nodded. “I thought someone might find them useful in our kitchen,” he said softly, and she gave him the most pleased smile, so pleased he had to return it.
“You’re different, away from the house,” she said approvingly. They both looked at Bonny, who was taking a turn as an actress, pretending to be sincerely interested in some cloaks while she kept an eye on the proceedings.
“Well. I do not have to explain why,” he said, they both knew the house was not the most pleasant of places for him to visit. “We have no time. I ... ” He swallowed. He felt unnerved, half disbelieving what he was about to say, but as the words tumbled out, they made sense, and seemed to be the only thing he could say. “I hate to be abrupt, but time is not with us. I am not satisfied as to the conclusion of recent events.”
He spoke low and she leaned closer, bending her head, which exposed her ear and the back of her neck. It made him feel as if he were dropping the words directly into her ear, and oddly intimate in the middle of a crowded street.
“I guessed that from what you said yesterday.”
“It is certainly not in my father’s or even in my brother’s interest to stir the pot.”
“Nor in yours, my William.”
“Will you help me? I do know what is not in my best interests is also not in yours.”
She surprised him with a smile. “I can leave if things get too uncomfortable for me.”
“But you won’t.” It wasn’t a plea or a command, but a statement of fact.
Her eyes seemed to sparkle. “I won’t. I will see you tonight. I need to make sure you’re taking care of my sprites.”
“Leave by the servant’s gate at eight bells. No one will note it, I swear. I will contrive a way to get you back in unnoticed. After all, I still have the key.” His eyes raised, and he realized Bonny was closing in.
“To my heart, I know.” She said a little louder, and turned and smiled at Bonny. “And yes, yes, ‘tis very improper and we shall be parting now.”
“Don’t make me tell on you.” Bonny made a moue, pointing at William, and William bowed.
When they left, moving on to other stalls, he went back to the mask seller. The Light Day celebration was coming soon, when the Magister’s Ball would take place. He lifted the elaborate mask of feathers and looked through it, remembering how mysterious her eyes had looked, and he bought it. It was placed on a bed of lavender tissue, and boxed with a ribbon. He carried it and the crockery home with much more care. The mask was not a gesture of romance, not quite. He was beginning to form a plan.
Chapter 14
Marco first, Pale Moon Quarter 1789
Dear William,
Adventures of my own? Hardly. I do not fight pirates or deliver treasures to far off lands. The closest things I have to any adventure are learning the wind sprites’ ways and teaching students who are at the age where they are much more interested in their future intended than they are in their future vocation.
I have discovered that the sprites do not think as we think. That is my belief, and the only way I can explain the enigma of them. They have incredible, unfathomable abilities. Last night they were playing a game where they froze water into such intricate patterns that my mind had a hard time comprehending what I was seeing. They treat me like a child, yet they all act quite childlike; they do not speak much, but I do not know if it is because they are still learning my language (for you will recall, they did not speak at all when I first met them) or because they would rather feel what they are thinking to me. I cannot hear them unless they are right at my ear, anyway, but I can sense what they are thinking, though it’s more their emotional response than words. They act like they are three or four, but they often demonstrate knowledge far, far beyond me, so I think that their minds are so great, yet so different from our own, that perhaps the only way they can communicate is at the level of the utmost simplicity.
They are very sweet, though, protective and loving. I try to treat them with great respect, and hope that I always seem to, but sometimes I feel like they are a gaggle of children placed in my care, and love them as such. It is hard to address their king with the proper deference when but a few moments before he was playing hide and seek in your clothes.
By now you will be setting your sails for the turn around the Arch of Neris. A place of great sorrow it is, and I pray, fervently, for your safe passage.
Yours, eventually,
Tasmin
She counted the bells as she stood at the top of the stairs, playing with a shard of clear, golden topaz, holding it up to the candle light and looking at the golden flame of it that burned, refracted in the center of the stone. She was not sure if she truly wanted to use it, but knew she had no choice. There was no other way to get out of the house unseen.
She heard footsteps on the floor behind her, coming closer, and forced herself to breathe calmly as she slipped the smooth-edged stone, cold and glassy, past her lips and under her tongue, her eyes on the mirror at the head of the landing.
Her form flickered out like a candle as the maid came round the corner with a bed warmer.
Tasmin stepped aside slowly, letting the woman pass, then followed her past the main stairs and further down the hall.
She opened a concealed door in the wall. A window, framing the bright sapphire moon, was the only illumination as the woman started down the creaking servant’s stairs.
Tasmin followed, timing her steps with the other woman’s, grateful that the full moonlight made the movements so clear.
She paused and Tasmin barely managed to catch herself, balanced on one foot, her weight slightly forward, her breath held. The stone was starting to itch under her tongue, and she swallowed what excess moisture she could without sending the stone into her stomach. Her greatest fear was swallowing it, for that would make her invisible for an indefinite amount of time.
The maid stood there for an age, listening, and Tasmin, scared she was going to fall into her, slowly reached out for the banister, wrapping her fingers around it. The woman turned, slowly, and looked back up the stairs. Her eyes widened as she looked at the wall, her head moving back and forth, horror plain on her face. Tasmin moved her own head slowly, and saw two shadows, one holding the banister and standing very still, the other not, head shaking. The woman screamed and ran down the stairs.
“Oh, blast it all,” she muttered, and ran down the stairs after her, threw herself against the wall, and scooted until she could see around the corner, fearful something else would give her away. She felt guilty—a good and honorable person would reveal herself and apologize—but she wanted to see William.
The woman ran outside, leaving the door open. Tasmin took a breath and followed her, running through the kitchen, jumping over a basket of potatoes in the way, and on past one of the skivvies who had decided to add her voice to the chaos for God knew what reason. It looked like she was in the clear, at least until she tripped on the discarded bed warmer. She breathed in, surprised, managed not to scream, but felt the stone go over her tongue and down her throat. She started coughing, hacking, trying to get it out, desperate not to swallow or choke on it.
William came out of the shadows, and she wanted to call to him, but she was too busy doubled over and gagging. He stopped, watching the wall next to her intently before going behind her and thumping her back hard.
She felt the stone dislodge and she cupped her hands over her mouth to catch it as it fell.
He pulled her against him and she wiped her face with shaking fingers before slipping the stone into the pocket in her skirt. “Thank you,” she breathed, trying to r
ecover.
“I saw her on the stairs, I did! The dread lady has returned to haunt us.” The maid’s voice was strident, not from fear, but from not being believed.
“Nonsense. The Master’s father had her exorcised years ago. Do not spread panic about things you do not know.”
Tasmin thought the other voice was the butler’s, but she wasn’t sure. William groaned and straightened his hat, then wrapped her in his cloak, pulling them backward through a tiny hole in the hedge. His move was not for magic, but practicality, as the wool would take the rough scratching of the branches better than her own clothes or skin would do.
“I hope,” he said dryly, as he plucked some needles from his cloak, “that you are a better detective than you are a ghost.”
She reached over and brushed off his cloak. “Twas a brilliant plan, save that the moonlight gave me away.”
“Well, it saved you as well, ‘twas how I was able to discern where to strike. I heard someone coughing and saw the shadow on the wall, all hunched over, and was able to logic it out, especially since your own visible presence was quite significant in its being missing.”
He offered his arm, and she took it, matching his brisk pace easily. The night was a touch bitter, and she was glad she had worn her warmest clothes.
“Ah, so you didn’t think it was the Dread Lady, returned to haunt you?” she asked in a shrill, panicked voice.
He coughed. “Nay. I certainly do not believe in ghosts or spirits, and I never thought that the Dread Lady was one.”
“But we have many documented cases of haunting,” Tasmin said, who was of two minds on the issue. Neither religious teachings nor reason left room for ghosts. Magic not only left room for them, but it threw all the doors open and invited them for tea.
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