by T L Ford
"Don't see why not?" Angela replied, leading them inside. For the next two hours, Kent was bored to a point of nearly ripping his hair out in frustration. Angela discussed features of the types of materials, while Robbie pointed out the benefits of the different styles, and the woman running the shop brought samples, took measurements, and drew quick sketches of potential outfits. Even Kent ended up ordering one new plain, functional outfit, just to get Angela and Robbie to stop nagging him. Robbie ordered himself three dashing suits that would make him look like the wealthy gentleman he was while still giving him the freedom of movement necessary for the assassin he was.
As they left, Robbie suggested they visit a woman's clothier and get Angela something, perhaps a new corset that would satisfy a governess while not annoying her. Kent shoved him and Angela snickered. "So what would you like to do, Kent?"
"Find ale, a card game, and a whore. In that order."
"Sleeping with Angela wasn't enough for you?" Robbie teased.
Angela grinned. "Well, we might do something about the ale. It's about lunchtime, isn't it?" Angela peered up at the bright sun. She spotted a young boy, obviously a street urchin by his dirty, varyingly-sized clothes and went over to him. "Where's a good place for lunch?"
He studied her dress briefly and obviously couldn't decide if she were a real lady or not. While he couldn't quite figure out what was wrong with her dress, he knew something was. "You want fancy or common?" he asked finally.
"Somewhere that has been nice to you," she answered.
"The Market Tops is a good place then. I'll show you where it is for a copper."
Angela remembered passing it on their walk and knew where it was. "Excellent! Which way, Young Guide?"
The boy led them back toward the docks, but down a different street. Along the way, they learned his name was Marcel.
"Wait, is that a dye shop?" Angela stopped to look in the window.
"Yeah," the boy said. "You like dyes?"
"I know someone who does. He paints with them."
"Oh, don't go in that one, then," Marcel advised. "There's a better place a few streets over."
"Mind if we detour, Kent?"
He waved his hand tiredly. "Not at all."
The boy looked up at them confused. "So which one of you's actually in charge?"
As if they'd rehearsed, Robbie pointed at Kent, Kent pointed at Angela, and Angela pointed at Robbie. Angela dug around in her pouch and pulled out a copper coin. She handed it to the boy. "We wouldn't cheat you, even if we can't figure out who is in charge."
"I'm glad!" He became really exuberant after he had the coin safely tucked in his pocket, and regaled them with all sorts of child-view historical facts and town information as he took them to the dye shop. When they arrived, they discovered that the other shop actually sold artist paints and drawing materials. Angela bought an entire crate of supplies and arranged for it to be taken back to their ship. Marcel watched wide-eyed, but did not touch anything in the shop.
The restaurant was busy which spoke well for its food as well as its prices. It catered to a wide range of customers, mostly non-locals. "Looks like a good choice," Angela observed.
"It is," the boy confirmed. "You ask for Robyn as a waitress. She's nice."
Angela pulled another copper from her pouch.
"You already paid me," the boy reminded her.
"Oh, I know. But I figure I owe you for the paint shop directions, too."
He blinked.
Robbie took the coin and placed it in the boy's hand. "Go ahead and take it, Marcel. She's rich. You should always take whatever you can get. The value of a coin is not based on what you think it is, but on what the person paying you thinks it is worth." A copper to a street urchin was enough to live on for a week.
He nodded. "I'll be around if you need a guide to anywhere else."
They waved and went inside. The food smelled good. They found a table and asked specifically for Robyn. The waitress shrugged and went off again after saying she'd send over Robyn. Robyn was an average-sized girl, both in height and weight, with mouse-brown hair oddly cut shoulder length. "You asked for me?" She was more than a little confused that she didn't know them.
Kent answered, "Marcel sent us."
"Marcel?" Her eyes brightened in understanding. "He's a good kid. Parent's died a year ago to that sickness that went through. What can I get for you today? We have an excellent roast with vegetables, several kinds of soups, and the usual basics."
"Ale for all three of us. I'll just have some bread and cheese." Angela smiled at her. Both Kent and Robbie got the roast and vegetables. Robyn went to place their order with the cook.
At the next table over, a young boy about Marcel's age screeched, "But I don't want soup! I want pie!"
"There's one that could use a year on the streets," Kent commented. Robbie nodded agreeably.
Angela, who had an excellent view of the whining child busy throwing his napkin and beating his fists on the table, asked, "So what do we want to do for the afternoon? I really don't want to go back to the ship. It's good to have solid ground beneath my feet."
"Please, no more clothes shopping. It's bad enough I had to listen to that woman go on about them for that long. Then you two had to take me for even more."
Robyn was also serving the table with the spoiled child, Angela saw. The kid deliberately shoved her as she went to set his soup down and the soup went flying. As a reward, most of the steaming hot liquid landed on the boy. He screamed. Robyn immediately apologized and tried to help with extra napkins.
"You stupid wench!" The boy's mother yelled. "Look what you've done! Leon! Leon! Are you hurt?" The boy wailed louder.
A man that was obviously the restaurant's owner appeared. The woman proceeded to blame Robyn for burning her son. Robyn stood nearby, looking miserable.
"She's just a common serving girl, M'lady. I only hired her because she can read. I'll send her home."
"Sent home? Only sent home!? She should be turned out into the street! She could have scarred my baby! What will you tell the next mother whose child she burns? 'Sorry? You knew she was inept, but you kept her anyway?' That's some consolation!"
"Naturally, we'll cover the cost of your food. It'll come out of her wages." He waved his hand at Robyn and she retreated.
"I should think so!"
The boy took this opportunity to sniffle, "Can I have some pie?"
"Of course you can, Darling, and anything else you want."
The owner served the family himself, fawning over them, and making sure they had more than a fair amount of food, all expensively chosen. That serving girl lost two months' wages in that one meal, Angela calculated.
Angela, Kent, and Robbie's food arrived a bit late due to the restaurant now being understaffed. Their new waitress was quite harried and rushed off. The food was good, although the roasts were not steaming hot. When they were done eating, Angela ordered another round of ales, and sipped hers slowly and waited. The family finally left. She waved down their waitress.
"I'd like to speak with the owner, please."
"Oh, Miss, please. I know the food was not as hot as it should have been. It's only because there's not enough of us," she begged.
"It's not about the food or your service. Please fetch him for me."
Robbie raised an eyebrow.
The man arrived a short while later. "Yes?"
"Sir," Angela said, "You aren't really going to take that meal's cost out of that poor girl's wages?"
"She should have been more careful."
"I saw the whole thing. That dreadful boy deliberately jarred her arm because he wanted pie, not soup."
"It's really nice of you to be concerned. There's really nothing to be done about it, though. I have to pay for the food somehow and she likely could have prevented it with a little more attention to her duties." He changed the subject. "Did you find your meals satisfactory? I hope that scene didn't disturb your dinner overmuch."
"Hardly disturbed at all. The meals were fine. I just thought you might want to know the truth of what happened."
"Thank you for that. It's nice of you to let me know. Have a good afternoon."
"Thank you. I'm sure we will."
Once they were outside, Angela stopped. "I know what we're doing this afternoon. That woman saw me clearly, but she did not take notice of either of you. I want them picked clean before the moon reaches its zenith tonight. No coins, no jewelry, take their shoes if you can. Everything."
"Ah, My Dauphin," Robbie whispered, "For a moment there, I thought you'd gone soft and were going to offer to pay for the meal. Glad to see you are yourself, even if it is tending too much toward a noble gesture."
"I mean it. Take it all."
They saw her safely to the ship and she told them she didn't expect to see either of them before midday the next day, when she had to go with her father to interview governesses. She promised to stay on the ship. She actually meant that, too. She planned to write a letter to the dyer's nephew and send his crate by a route that would get it to him much sooner than if she waited until she could deliver it herself. And she wanted to spend some time in the now empty cargo hold, practicing her knife throwing without an audience. She needed to burn off some of her boiling anger.
The next day, Robbie and Kent arrived back in time for lunch, carrying two sacks. Kent was definitely hungover and Robbie sported the glazed zombie stare of someone woken up in the middle of his sleep cycle. "It's all there," Kent said quietly, handing her one of the sacks.
"Good. Cut out the tithe and do whatever you want with the rest," she handed it back. "Both of you go wash up. My father will be ready to leave in a short bit."
"Milady." Robbie bowed and followed Kent toward their bunks.
* * * * *
Angela and her father sat at a corner table in an upscale restaurant. Robbie and Kent stood near the door, looking as discreet as two large spots of mold on a dinner roll. The third prospective governess was directed to their table by one of the restaurant's staff. This woman looked just like the other two, and just like Lady Dowell, elderly, pious, and condescending.
The woman walked up and introduced herself to her father. Angela interrupted by proceeding to pick her nose and then smearing her finger on the table.
The woman immediately stood up and said caustically, "Lady Dowell was right. She's positively dreadful. She's certainly unteachable. I only came to see for myself."
"Lady Dowell adores a good rumor," Angela commented gaily. "I'm sure she also told you she saw me in bed with one of the men. That woman can make up the most fabulous tales."
"As a matter of fact, she did."
"And you believed her? Come now, do you actually think one such as her would be so delinquent in her duties as to allow me to be alone with any man not a relative?"
"Well, no."
"I assure you, she was never happy on a ship and took out her misery on me. Had she actually tried to teach me some manners, instead of complaining about her quarters all the time, I might have learned something."
As the woman stormed out, her father asked disbelievingly, "Please tell me you really didn't compromise yourself."
"With Kent. We staged it." Her father's mouth dropped open. "Really, that woman was dreadful. We had to do something to make her go away. I swear I didn't look, and he didn't, and he never touched me." She did not mention De Loren.
"I can't believe you did that. I bet I can't even call Kent out for it, either. He doesn't have free will with that cursed geas. You shouldn't have abused him like that. It's despicable."
"He agreed to the geas and everything that entails." Though if neither Robbie nor Kent had agreed to the charade, she wouldn't have forced either of them.
Her father gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty, to try and get his anger under control. It was all he could do to remain sitting and not run a sword through his daughter and then through Kent. "You're going to have to pick a governess. You might try to act like a lady."
"You might have to alter your advertisement to say 'no condescending old ladies'. I'll not put up with another Lady Dowell." Angela managed to terrorize the next four applicants, too, with a combination of belches, nose pickings, and armpit scratching.
"Only two more tonight, Sir," their waitress informed them. "The one is entirely too young. Should I send her away?"
Her father shook his head. "No, we might as well see her. I'm sure she went to a lot of trouble to get herself dressed up nicely for the interview. It would be rude to send her away."
"Very well, Sir. I'll bring more drinks, shall I?"
"Please," Angela said. Maybe if she had enough wine, this process would be less painful? To her surprise, the next applicant to walk in was none other than Robyn, the waitress from Market Tops. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and pinned up to try and make it look longer than it was, and the dress didn't quite fit. Angela bet it was recently bartered for, if not borrowed. Robyn was so skittish and nervous that she overlooked Robbie and Kent as she passed by them.
Robyn spotted Angela, turned pale, and seemed like she was about to run back out of the door. Angela gestured her over and offered a friendly smile. Angela felt hope for the first time that day. Robyn looked as though she might die of embarrassment.
"I'm La... Miss Robyn Byron, Sir," she said when she got to their table.
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Byron," Angela's father said. "This is my daughter, Angela, the one the advertisement referred to."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss... uh, Milady."
"Why don't you tell us your qualifications?" her father said gently.
"I can both read and write, Sir," she offered promptly and then fell silent.
Angela leaned forward and said to her father, "I'm sure Miss Byron has excellent references and has served several young ladies of refinement."
"Is that so?" her father asked.
Miss Byron hesitated, looked at Angela, and nodded. "It's true I have served quite a few young ladies."
"You aren't very old. Did you not stay with any of the young ladies very long?"
Miss Byron swallowed, but answered when Angela nodded slightly and raised her eyebrows encouragingly. "I've been at my current post for four years now."
"I see," her father said.
Angela tapped her fingers on the table. "I'll bet she's even had to deal with difficult children, too, and would be able to work with me just fine."
Her father turned and glared at Angela. "You've got to be joking."
"I'm not. You can tell by her clothing that she's a lady of substance, and by her manner, that she's a lady who can offer me instruction on the mannerisms of the group without derision or insult. She's perfect."
Her father stood. "I give up. It's entirely clear to me that Lord Merryweather sent you off with me so he wouldn't throttle you." He drank down the remainder of his wine. "Welcome to my employ, Miss Byron." He left.
"Yes!" Angela clapped her hands together happily. "Thank you! I am so glad to see you here today. He was trying to stick me with another hateful witch."
Robyn bit her lip. "But I'm not a proper governess. I'm a waitress."
"It doesn't matter! Surely you've observed enough fine ladies to tell me what they do and do not do."
"Uh, maybe. I only came because it appears I'm to have no pay after yesterday and I was desperate. I didn't think I'd actually get the post. I expected you to be a little girl, not my own age."
Robbie and Kent had walked up during this. Kent smiled, "It's good to see you again, Miss." Robyn's eyes grew wide and she blinked at Kent.
Robbie yawned.
"Do you have everything you need for a journey?" Angela asked her new governess.
"Uh. A few outfits. I traded everything else. It'll be enough, I'm sure."
Angela nodded. "Robbie, why don't you take Lady Byron shopping and see she gets a proper wardrobe? One that will alleviate my
father's concerns."
"I'll do it," Kent offered quickly, causing both Angela and Robbie to stare at him in wonder. "Robbie, you go get some sleep. It's my shift anyway. Milady, if you'll return to the ship?"
Angela agreed to this. All three escorted Angela to the ship as the Guildmaster's geas prevented the men from leaving Angela's side when they were on land, and Angela was loathe to trust that her wide-eyed new governess wouldn't bolt. Robbie retired to his bunk and Angela went to prepare Robyn's cabin.
* * * * *
Angela awoke in a cold sweat. The overwhelming sorrow she'd felt in her dream took a few minutes to fade. She'd apparently been crying because when she rubbed her eyes, her knuckles came away wet. She pushed the blanket aside and stood up. No point trying to sleep. Her dreams switched between ones that left her tossing about in terror and ones that left her wishing for a hug from her mother.
Robbie was outside her door, reading by candlelight. He looked up when her door opened.
"Let's go for a walk," she whispered, not wanting to wake anyone who might be in the other cabins.
"Do you want me to go fetch Kent? He's gone off into town for a bit." They were scheduled to set sail later that day after the supplies were finished loading and her new governess boarded.
She shook her head and Robbie silently put his book down and silently stood. Angela was even watching and straining to hear if he made a sound and he hadn't. She needed that skill, she thought as they walked across to the hatch. She only heard her own soft footsteps. She slipped out through the hatch, using the shadows for both practice and the need to not interact with the night watch, and made her way toward the aft deck where she'd be able to watch the shoreline for a while. Robbie followed.
As they approached, she stopped when she heard Jayden's voice, frozen and hidden in the shadows. "What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep," her father's voice answered. "I came for a walk. Evan was drunk on watch again. I sent him below to sleep it off."
"He's been doing that a lot lately."
"Nightmares. Can't really blame him. I know the feeling."