Читать книгу The Rain Wild Chronicles: The Complete 4-Book Collection - Робин Хобб - Страница 18

‘Just one more dusting,’ her mother pleaded.

Alise shook her head. ‘There is more flour on my face now than we used for the wedding cake. And as tight and heavy as this gown is, I’m already starting to perspire. Hest knows I have freckles, Mother. I’m sure he would rather see them than have our guests see cracks in the powder layer on my face.’

‘I tried to keep her out of the sun. I warned her to wear a hat and veil.’ Her mother turned away from her as she muttered the words, but Alise knew that she intended them to be heard. She would not, she suddenly realized, miss her mother’s softly voiced comments and rebukes.

Would she miss anything about her old home?

She glanced around her small bed chamber. No. She wouldn’t. Not the bedstead that had once belonged to her great aunt, not the worn curtains nor the threadbare rug. She was ready to leave her father’s home, ready to begin something new. With Hest.

At the thought of him, her heart gave a small surge. She shook her head at herself. It was not time to think of her wedding night. Right now, she had to focus on getting through the ceremony. She and her father had worked carefully on the promises she would make to Hest. They had exchanged their list of proposed vows, negotiated changes and discussed wording for several months now. A marriage contract in Bingtown was to be as carefully scrutinized as any other contract. Today, in the Traders’ Concourse, before families and guests, the terms of the marriage contract would be spoken aloud before either one of them set a signature to the final document. All would witness the agreement between Hest and her. The demands of Hest’s family had been precise, and some had made her father scowl. But at the last, he had recommended she accept them. Today she would formalize the agreement before witnesses.

And afterwards, when the business was done, they would celebrate as a newly wed couple.

And consummate their agreement tonight.

Anticipation and dread roiled and fought in her. Some of her married friends had warned her of the pain of surrendering her virginity. Others had smiled conspiratorially, whispered of envy for her handsome mate and gifted her with perfumes and lotions and lacily beribboned nightdresses. Many a comment had been made about how handsome Hest was, and how well he danced and what a fine figure he cut when he went out riding. One less reserved friend had even giggled as she said, ‘Competence in one saddle sometimes bespeaks competence in another!’ So, even though their courtship had been bereft of stolen kisses or whispered endearments, she dared to hope that their first night alone might break his reserve and reveal a concealed passion for her.

She snapped open a lacy little fan and cooled her face with it. A subtle fragrance rode the small breeze from the perfumed lace of the fan. She looked a final time into her vanity mirror. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks pink. As infatuated as a silly little girl, she thought to herself, and smiled forgiveness at her own image. What woman would not have given way to Hest’s charms? He was handsome, he was witty, intelligent and a delightful conversationalist. The small gifts he showered upon her were thoughtful and apt. He’d not only accepted her ambition to be a scholar; his bridal gifts to her revealed that he would support her in her studies. Two excellent pens with silver tips, and ink in five different hues. A glass ground to magnify the fading letters of old manuscripts. A shawl embroidered with serpents and dragons. Earrings made from tinted flaked glass to mimic dragon scales. Every gift had been tailored to her interests. She suspected that his gifts said what he was too reserved to put into words. In response, she, too, had remained correct and formal, but despite her quiet manner, warmth for him had begun to grow in her heart. The restraint she practised daily only fuelled her fantasies at night.

Even the homeliest girl secretly dreams that a man might fall in love with her inner spirit. He had told her, plainly, that their marriage was one of convenience. But did it have to be, she wondered? If she devoted herself to him, could not she make it something more than that, for both of them? In the months that had slowly passed since the announcement of their engagement, she had become ever more aware of Hest. She learned the shape of his mouth as he spoke to her, studied his elegant hands as he lifted a cup of tea, admired his wide shoulders that pulled at the seams of his jacket. She stopped asking why and disbelieving that love could find her, and drowned joyously in her infatuation.

War had ravaged Bingtown, and even if her parents had had money to fling into the wind, there were many items that simply could not be bought. For all that, this day still seemed like something out of a tale to her. It did not matter to her that her dress had been made from her grandmother’s gown; it only made it seem more significant. The flowers that decorated the Traders’ Concourse came, not from hothouses or the Rain Wilds, but from the gardens of her family and friends. Two of her cousins would sing while their father played his fiddle. It would all be simple, and honest, and very real.

In the previous weeks, she had imagined their wedding night a hundred ways. She had dreamed him bold, and then boyishly shy, gentle and hesitant or perhaps rakishly bawdy or even demanding of her. Every possibility had warmed her with desire and chased sleep from her bed. Well. It was only a matter of hours now before she would find out. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The smile on her face surprised her. She tilted her head and studied her own reflection. Alise Kincarron, smiling on her wedding – who would ever have imagined it?

‘Alise?’ Her father stood at the door. She turned to him in surprise, and felt an odd lurch of her heart at the soft, sad smile he wore. ‘Darling, it’s time to come down stairs. The carriage is waiting for us.’

Swarge stood stiffly in the small galley. At a nod from his captain, he sat down. His big rough hands rested lightly on the edge of the table. Leftrin sat down opposite him with a sigh. It had been a long day; no, it had been a long three months.

The secrecy the project demanded had tripled the work involved. Leftrin had not dared to move the log; towing it down the river to a better place to work on it was not an option. Any passing vessel would have recognized what he had. So the work of cutting the log into usable lengths and sections had all had to be done right there, in the mud and brush of the riverbank.

Tonight it was finished. The wizardwood log was gone; the small scraps that remained had been stowed as dunnage in Tarman’s holds. Outside on the deck, the rest of the crew was celebrating. And in light of what they’d conspired to do, Leftrin had decided it would be best if all of them made a fresh commitment to Tarman. All the rest of them had signed the ship’s papers. Only Swarge remained. Tomorrow, they’d relaunch Tarman, return to Trehaug to drop off the carefully selected and discreet woodworkers who had served them so well. And afterwards, they would go back to their regular run on the river. But for now, they celebrated the completion of a massive project. It was finished, and Leftrin found he had no regrets.

A bottle of rum and several small glasses occupied the centre of the table. Two of them weighted down a scroll. A bottle of ink and a quill rested beside it. One more signature, and Tarman would be secure. Leftrin nodded to himself as he studied the riverman opposite him. Streaks of dried mud and tar clung to the tillerman’s rough shirt. His thick fingernails were packed with silvery sawdust, and there was a stripe of dirt on his jaw where he’d probably scratched his face earlier.

Leftrin smiled to himself. He was probably just as grubby as the tillerman. It had been a long, hard day’s work, and it was labour of a kind neither one of them was accustomed to. It was coming to a close now, and Swarge had more than proven himself. He had been willing to join Leftrin’s little conspiracy and had done more than his share without complaint. It was one of the things that Leftrin liked about the man. Time to let him know that. ‘You don’t complain. You don’t whine and you don’t find fault when something just plain goes wrong. You jump in and do your best to fix the situation. You’re loyal and you’re discreet. And that’s why I want to keep you on board.’

Swarge glanced again at the small glasses and Leftrin got the message. He uncorked the bottle and dolloped out small measures for both of them. ‘Best clean your hands before you eat or drink. That stuff can be poisonous,’ he advised his tillerman. Swarge nodded and carefully wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. Then they both drank before Swarge responded.

‘Forever. I heard from the others that’s what this is about. You’re asking me to sign on and stay aboard Tarman forever. Until I die.’

‘That’s right,’ Leftrin confirmed. ‘And I hoped they mentioned that your wages will go up as well. With our new hull design we’re not going to need as large a crew as we’ve shipped in the past. But I’ll budget the same for pay, and every sailor aboard will get an equal share of it. That has to sound good, doesn’t it?’

Swarge bobbed a nod at him, but didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Rest of my life is a long time, Cap.’

Leftrin laughed aloud. ‘Sa’s blood, Swarge, you been with Tarman for ten years already. For a Rain Wilds man, that’s half of forever already. So what’s the problem with signing on permanent? Benefits us both. I know I got a good tillerman for as long as Tarman floats. And you know that no one is ever going to decide you’re too old to work and put you ashore without a penny. You sign this, it binds my heir as well as me. You give me your word on this, you sign the paper with me and I promise that as long as you live, Tarman and I will take care of you. Swarge, what else you got besides this boat?’

Swarge answered the question with one of his own. ‘Why has it got to be forever, Cap? What’s changed so much that I got to promise to sail with you forever now or clear off the ship?’

Leftrin concealed a small sigh. Swarge was a good man and great on the tiller. He could read the river as few men could. Tarman felt comfortable in his hands. With all the changes the ship had undergone recently, Leftrin didn’t want to break in a new tillerman. He met Swarge’s look squarely. ‘You know that my claiming that wizardwood and what we’ve done with it is forbidden. It’s got to stay a secret. Best way to keep a secret, I think, is to make sure it benefits every man who knows it. And to keep those who share the secret in one place.

‘Before we started, I let go any man I didn’t think was mine, heart and soul. I’ve got a plum little crew here now, hand-picked, and I want to keep you all. It comes down to trust, Swarge. I kept you on, because I knew you’d done some boat-building back when you were a youngster. I knew you’d help us do what Tarman needed doing, and keep it quiet. Well, now it’s done, and I want you to stay on as his tillerman. Permanently. If I bring a new man aboard, he’s going to know immediately that something about this ship is very unusual, even for a liveship. And I won’t know if he’s someone I can trust with a secret that big. He might just have a big mouth, or he might be the type that thinks he could squeeze some money out of me for silence. And then I’d have to take steps I’d rather not take. Instead, I’d rather keep you, as long as I can. For the rest of your life, if you’ll sign on for that.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Leftrin was silent for a moment. He hadn’t bargained on this. He thought he’d chosen carefully. He’d never imagined that Swarge would be the one to hesitate. He said the first thing that came into his mind. ‘Why wouldn’t you? What’s stopping you?’

Swarge shifted from side to side on his chair. He glanced at the bottle and away again. Leftrin waited. The man wasn’t known for being talkative. Leftrin poured another tot of rum for both of them and waited, almost patiently.

‘There’s a woman,’ Swarge said at last. And there he stopped. He looked at the table, at his captain, and then at the table.

‘What about her?’ Leftrin asked at last.

‘Been thinking to ask her to marry me.’

Leftrin’s heart sank. It would not be the first time he’d lost a good crewman to a wife and a home.

The recently repaired and renovated Traders’ Concourse still smelled of new timber and oiled wood. For the ceremony, the seating benches had been removed to the sides of the room, leaving a large open space. The afternoon sun slanted in through the windows; fading squares of light fell on the polished floor and broke into fragments against those who had gathered to witness their promises to one another. Most of the guests were attired in their formal Trader robes in the colours of their families. There were a few Three Ships folk there, probably trading partners of Hest’s family, and even one Tattooed woman in a long gown of yellow silk.

Hest had not arrived yet.

Alise told herself that did not matter. He would come. He was the one who had arranged all this; he would scarcely back out of it now. She wished devoutly that her gown did not fit her so snugly, and that it was not such a warm afternoon. ‘You look so pale,’ her father whispered to her. ‘Are you all right?’

She thought of all the white powder her mother had dusted on to her face and had to smile. ‘I’m fine, Father. Just a bit nervous. Shall we walk about a bit?’

They moved slowly through the room, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Guest after guest greeted her and wished her well. Some were already availing themselves of the punch. Others were unabashedly scanning the terms of their marriage contract. The dual scrolls of their agreement were pegged down to the wood of a long central table. Silver candelabra held white tapers; the light was needed for anyone who wished to read the finely written words. Matching black quills and a pot of red ink awaited Hest and her.

It was a peculiarly Bingtown tradition. The marriage contract would be scrutinized, read aloud and signed by both families before the far briefer blessing invocation. It made sense to Alise. They were a nation of traders; of course their nuptials would be as carefully negotiated as any other bargain.

She had not realized how anxious she was until she heard the wheels of a carriage in the drive outside. ‘That must be him,’ she whispered nervously to her father.

‘It had better be him,’ he replied ominously. ‘We may not be so rich as the Finboks, but the Kincarrons are just as much Traders as they are. We are not to be trifled with. Nor insulted.’

For the first time, she realized how much her father had feared Hest would leave her standing unclaimed, their promises unsigned. She looked deep into his eyes and saw the anger that mingled with his fear. Fear that he’d be humiliated, fear that he’d have to take his unclaimed daughter home. She looked away from him, and some of the shine went off the day. Not even her own father could believe that Hest was truly in love with her and would want to marry her.

She drew as deep a breath as the tightly sewn dress would allow her. She stiffened her spine and with it her resolve. She was not going back to live in her father’s house as his failed daughter. Never again. No matter what.

Then the door of the Concourse was flung wide, and Hest’s men poured in dressed in the formal robes of their family lineages. They cascaded down the steps, an unruly laughing mob of his friends and business associates. Hest was carried down in their midst. Her first glimpse of him sent her heart racing. His dark hair was tousled boyishly, and his cheeks were reddened. He was grinning good-naturedly as they hurried him along. His wide shoulders were emphasized by his closely tailored jacket of dark green Jamaillian silk. He wore a white neckcloth pinned with an emerald stick pin that was not greener than his eyes.

When his eyes found her, his face went suddenly still. His smile faded. She held his gaze, challenging him to change his mind now. Instead, as he regarded her solemnly, he nodded slowly, as if confirming something to himself. Dozens of well-wishers had moved forward to greet him when he had entered. He moved through them as a ship cut through waves, not rudely, but refusing to be delayed or distracted by them. When he reached Alise and her father, he bowed formally to both of them. Alise, startled, managed a hasty curtsey. As she rose from it, Hest held out a hand to her. But it was her father he smiled at as he said, ‘I believe this is mine now, isn’t it?’

She put her hand in his.

‘I believe that there is a contract to be signed first,’ her father said, but he spoke jovially. With that one gesture, Hest had changed his anxiety to good nature. Her father was beaming proudly to see his daughter claimed so confidently by such a handsome and wealthy man.

‘That there is!’ Hest exclaimed. ‘And I propose that we get to it immediately. I have no patience with lengthy formalities. The lady has made me wait quite long enough!’

A thrill shot though Alise at his words while a murmur of approving amusement and some small laughter rippled through the gathered guests. Hest, ever charming and charismatic, literally hurried her across the Concourse to the waiting contracts.

As tradition demanded, they moved to their positions on opposite sides of the long table. Sedric Meldar came forward to hold the inkwell for Hest. Alise’s elder sister Rose had demanded the honour of being her attendant. They would move in unison down the long table, each reading aloud a term from their wedding contract. As each term was agreed to, both would sign. At the end of the table, the couple would finally stand together, to be blessed by their parents. Each contract scroll would be carefully sanded and dried, and then rolled up and stored in the Concourse archives. It was rare that the terms of a dowry or the subject of a child’s inheritance came into question, but the written records often served to prevent such strife.

There was nothing of romance in these written words. Alise read aloud that, in the event of Hest’s untimely death before he sired an heir, she would relinquish all claim to his estate in favour of his cousin. Hest countered that by reading and then signing the clause that stipulated his widow would be granted a private residence of her own on his family’s land. In the event of Alise’s death with no heir, the little vineyard that was her sole dowry would revert to her younger sister.

There were standard pledges expected in all Bingtown marriage contracts. Once they were wed, each would have a say in the financial decisions of the household. The amount of each one’s personal allowance was agreed to, and provisions were made either to increase or decrease such allowances as their fortunes prospered or faded. Each agreed to be faithful to the other, and attested that neither had already produced a child. Alise had requested the old form of agreement, in which the first-born child of either sex was to be recognized as the full heir. It had warmed her that Hest had not objected at all to that and when she read aloud the clause that she had insisted on, that she be allowed to travel to the Rain Wilds to continue her study of the dragons, at a date to be agreed upon in the future, he signed his name with a flourish. She blinked away tears of joy, willing that they not spill and make tracks down her powdered face. What had she done to deserve such a man? She vowed to be worthy of his generosity.

The provisions of the contract were precise, not vague, and recognized that no marriage was perfect. Term after endless term was delineated. Every detail was considered; nothing was too intimate to be mentioned. If Hest sired a child outside of the marital bed, such a child would be ineligible to inherit anything, and Alise could, if she chose, terminate their marriage agreement immediately, while claiming fifteen per cent of Hest’s current estate. If Alise were found to have committed an infidelity, Hest could not only turn her out of his home but could dispute the parentage of any child born after the date of the transgression; such children became the financial responsibility of Alise’s father.

It went on and on. There were provisions by which they could mutually end their agreement, and stipulations on transgressions that rendered the contract null and void. Each had to be read aloud and formally signed by both of them. It was not unusual for the process to take hours. But Hest was having none of that. With each phrase he read, he increased the tempo of his reading, plainly anxious to be done with this part of the ceremony. Alise found herself caught up in play, and matched the speed of her words to his. Some of the guests seemed affronted at first. Then, as they noticed Alise’s pink cheeks and the sly smile that wafted across Hest’s face periodically, they, too, began to smile.

In a remarkably short time, they reached the end of the table. Alise was out of breath as she babbled through the last stipulation from her family. She spoke the final proviso aloud, the standard one. ‘I will keep myself, my body and my affections, my heart and my loyalty, solely to you.’ As he repeated it, it seemed a redundancy to her, after all they had already promised to one another. They signed. The quills were handed back to their attendants. Finally freed of such tedious formality, they joined hands and stepped to where the table no longer divided them. Together they turned to face their waiting parents. Hest’s hands were as warm as Alise’s were cold; he held her fingers gently, as if afraid he might harm her with a firmer grip. She closed her hands on his; let him know now that all her hesitations were gone. She was his, and gave her well-being into his hands.

First their mothers and then their fathers joined in blessing the couple. Hest’s parents spoke a much longer blessing than Alise’s did, imploring Sa for prosperity, many children, a happy home, longevity with health for both of them, healthy dutiful children – the list went on and on. Alise felt her smile grow fixed.

When the blessings were finally finished, they turned to face one another. The kiss. It would be their first kiss and suddenly she appreciated that he had reserved it for this moment. She took as deep a breath as her gown would allow her and turned her face up to him. He looked down on her. His green eyes were unreadable. As he bent to her, she closed her eyes and let her lips relax. Let him take charge of this moment. She felt his breath as his mouth hovered over hers. Then he kissed her, the lightest brushing touch of his mouth against hers. As if the wing of a humming bird had just brushed her lips.

A small shiver passed over her, and she caught her breath as he stepped back from her. Her heart was thundering. ‘He teases me,’ she thought, and could not keep a smile from her face. He would not meet her eyes, but a sly smile stole across his face as well. Cruel man. He would make her admit to herself that she was as eager as he was. ‘Let the night come,’ she thought to herself and stole a sideways glance at her husband’s handsome face.

‘So. Tell me about her,’ Leftrin ventured when the silence had grown long.

Swarge sighed and then looked up at him and smiled. It transformed his face. Years dropped away, and the bluish glints behind his blue eyes seemed almost kindly. ‘Her name is Bellin. She’s, well, she likes me. She can play the pipes. We met a couple of years ago, in a tavern in Trehaug. You know the one. Jona’s place.’

‘I know it. River folk trade there.’ He cocked his head and looked at his tillerman, reluctant to ask the question that came to his mind. Most of the women he’d met at Jona’s were whores. Some of them were nice enough, but most were good at their trade and unlikely to give it up for one man. He wondered if Swarge were dim-witted in that area and was being deceived. He almost asked if he’d been giving her money to save up for a house for them. Leftrin had seen that trick played on a gullible sailor more than once.

But before he could ask Swarge anything, the tillerman must have seen his captain’s doubts in his eyes. ‘Bellin’s river folk. In there with the rest of her crew for a drink and a hot meal. She works on that little barge, the Sacha, that goes back and forth between Trehaug and Cassarick.’

‘What does she do?’

‘Poleman. That’s part of what makes it hard for us. When I’m in port, she’s out, when she’s in port, I’m out.’

‘Marrying her won’t change that,’ Leftrin pointed out.

Swarge looked down at the table. ‘Captain on the Sacha offered me a job last time Bellin and I were in port at the same time. Said if I wanted to jump boats, he’d take me on as tillerman for the Sacha.’

After a moment, Leftrin unknotted his fists and spoke in a controlled voice. ‘And you said yes? Without even telling me you might go?’

Swarge drummed his fingers on the edge of the table and then, without invitation, poured more rum for both of them. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ he said after he’d tossed off his shot. ‘Like you said, Cap, I been with Tarman over ten years. And Tarman’s a liveship. I know I’m not family, but we got a bond, even so. I like the feel of him on the water. Like how I get that little shiver of knowing right before I see something to watch out for. Sacha’s a good little barge, but she’s just a piece of wood to push around on the river. Would be hard to leave Tarman for that. But …’

‘But for a woman, you would,’ Leftrin said heavily.

‘We’d like to marry. Have children, if we can. You just said it yourself, Cap. Ten years is half of forever for a Rain Wilds man. I’m not getting any younger and neither is Bellin. If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do it soon.’

Leftrin was quiet, weighing his choices. He couldn’t let Swarge go. Not now. Things were going to be strange enough for a time on the liveship without making Tarman get used to a new tillerman as well. Did he need another crewman? He had Hennesey to run the deck and man a pole, skinny little Skelly, Big Eider and himself. Swarge on the tiller, he hoped. It wouldn’t be bad to have another crew member. It might even make Tarman’s momentum more believable. Yes, he decided. That charade might work. He stifled the grin that passed over his face. He totted up his finances and made his decision.

‘She any good?’ he demanded of Swarge, and then, at the offended look on the man’s face, he clarified, ‘As a poleman. Does she do her share? Could she handle duties on a barge the size of Tarman if things got tricky?’

Swarge just stared at him for a moment. Hope flickered in his eyes. He looked hastily down at the table, as if to conceal it from his captain. ‘She’s good. She’s not some flimsy little girl. She’s a woman with meat and muscle on her frame. She knows the river and she knows her business.’ He scratched his head. ‘Tarman’s a much bigger vessel and a liveship to boot.’

‘So you think she wouldn’t be up to it?’ Leftrin baited him.

‘Of course she would.’ Swarge hesitated, then demanded almost angrily, ‘Are you saying she could join Tarman’s crew? That we could be together on Tarman?’

‘Would you rather be with her on Sacha?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Then ask her. I won’t ask you to sign your papers until she agrees to sign as well. But the deal is the same. It’s for a lifetime.’

‘You ain’t even met her yet.’

‘I know you, Swarge. You think you can stand her for a lifetime, then I’m pretty sure I can, too. So ask her.’

Swarge reached for the pen and the paper. ‘Don’t need to,’ he said as he dipped the quill. ‘She’s always wanted to serve on a liveship. What sailor doesn’t?’ And with a smooth and legible hand, he signed his life over to Tarman.

More than one guest commented on the pink of her cheeks at their wedding ceremony at the Traders’ Hall. And when the guests had followed them to their new home to share a wedding dinner, she had scarcely been able to taste the honey-cake or follow the conversations around her. The dinner was endless, and she could hardly remember a word said to her long enough to make intelligent conversation. She watched only Hest at the other end of the long table. His long-fingered hands cupping a wineglass, his tongue moving to moisten his lip, the soft fall of his hair on his brow. Would the dinner never end, would all these people never leave?

As tradition dictated, when Hest and his men retired for brandy in his new study, she bid her guests a formal farewell and then retreated to her new marital chambers. Sophie and her mother accompanied her, to help her remove her heavy gown and underskirts. It had been a few years since she and Sophie had been truly close, but as Sedric was serving as Hest’s man, it had seemed appropriate that his sister serve as her attendant. Her mother had left her with many fond wishes, to assist Alise’s father in bidding farewell to the departing guests. Sophie lingered, helping her tie the dozens of tiny bows that secured the lacy wrapper over her gauzy, beribboned nightdress. Then, as Alise sat, she had helped her take down her red hair and brush it smooth and loose upon her shoulders.

‘Do I look silly?’ she’d demanded of her old friend. ‘I’m such a plain girl. Is this nightgown too fancy for me?’

‘You look like a bride,’ Sophie had replied. There was a trace of sadness in her eyes. Alise understood. Today, with Alise’s wedding, they left the last remnant of their girlhood behind. They were both wedded women now. Despite her anticipation, Alise felt a brief moment of regret for the life she left behind. Never a girl again, she thought to herself. Never another night in her father’s house as his daughter. And that, she abruptly recognized as relief.

‘Are you worried at all?’ Sophie asked her as their eyes met in the elaborately framed vanity mirror.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she replied and tried to control her smile.

‘Will it be strange, the three of you sharing a home?’

‘You mean Sedric? Of course not! He was ever my friend, and I’m only too glad to see that he and Hest get along so well. I know so few of the other Traders in Hest’s circle. I shall be very glad to have an old friend at my side as I move into my new life.’

Sophie met her gaze in the mirror; she looked surprised. Then she cocked her head at her friend and said, ‘Well, you were ever the one for making the best of things! And I think that my brother will be happy to have such a staunch ally as you’ve always been to him! And I can make you no more beautiful than you already are. You seem so happy with all this. Are you, truly?’

‘Truly, I am,’ she had assured her friend.

‘Then I shall leave you, with my very best wishes. Good night, Alise!’

‘Good night, Sophie.’

Alone, she sat before her mirror. She picked up her brush and ran it again through her auburn hair. She scarcely knew the woman in the lacy peignoir. Her mother had expertly applied her powder earlier in the day; her freckles had been subdued, not just on her face but on her bosom and arms. She was, she’d thought to herself, about to step into a life that she hadn’t even tried to imagine since she was a little girl and full of dreams. Downstairs, the musicians played a final song that bid her guests good night. Her bedchamber window was open. She heard the sounds of carriage wheels on the drive as guest after guest left. She tried to be patient, knowing that Hest must remain downstairs until the last one was gone. Eventually, she heard the door close a final time, and recognized through the open window the voices of her parents bidding Hest’s father good night. They would be the last, she was sure. She freshened her perfume. Two carriages departed. She blew out half the scented candles, dimming the room. Downstairs in the house, all was still. In the candlelit bedchamber filled with elegant vases of fragrant flowers, she anticipated her husband’s arrival. Heart thundering, she waited, ears straining, for the sounds of his boots on the stair.

And waited. The night deepened. And chilled. She donned a soft lambswool shawl and settled into a chair by the hearth. The evening insects stopped their chirring. A lonely night bird called and received no response. Slowly her mood sank from expectant to nervous to anxious and then foundered in bewilderment. The hearth fire that had warmed the room burned down. She added another log to it, blew out the guttering candles in the ornate silver stands and re-lit the other ones. She sat, legs curled beneath her, in the cushioned armchair beside the hearth, waiting for her groom to come and claim his right to her.

When the tears came, she could not stem them. After they passed, she could not repair the damage to her powdered face. So she washed her face clean of all pretence, confronted her dappled self in the mirror and asked herself when she had become such a fool. Hest had stated his terms clearly, from the beginning. She was the one who had made up a foolish fairytale about love and draped it over the cold iron trellis of their bargain. She could not blame him. Only herself.

She should simply disrobe and go to bed.

Instead, she sat down again by the fire and watched the flames devour the log and then subside.

Long past the deep of night, in the shallows of early morning, when the last of her candles were burning low, her drunken husband came in. His hair was rumpled, his step unsteady, and his collar already loosened. He seemed startled to find her awaiting him by the dying fire. His gaze walked up and down her, and suddenly she felt embarrassed for him to see her in a nightgown that was virginally white and elaborately embroidered. His mouth twitched and for a second she saw a flash of his teeth. Then he looked aside from her and said in a slurred voice, ‘Well, let’s get to it, then.’

He didn’t come to her. He walked toward the bed, loosening his clothing as he crossed the room. His jacket and then his shirt fell to the thick rug before he stopped by the four remaining candles. He bent at the waist and with a single harsh whoosh of breath, he extinguished them, plunging the room into darkness. She could smell the liquor on his breath.

She heard the bed give to his weight as he sat down on it. There was one thump and then another as he tugged off his boots and dropped them to the floor. A rustle of fabric told her that his trousers had followed them. The bed sighed as he dropped back onto it. She had remained where she was, frozen by shock tinged with fear. All her sexual anticipation, all her silly romantic dreams were gone. She listened to his breathing. After a moment, he spoke, and there was a note of sour amusement in his voice. ‘This would be much easier for both of us if you also were in the bed.’

Somehow she arose from her chair and crossed to him, even as she wondered why she was doing it. It seemed inevitable. She wondered if it was her lack of experience in these areas that had raised her expectations so high. As she left the hearth’s warmth, she felt as if she swam a cold river to cross the cool room. She reached the bedside. He had not said another word to her; the room was so dark, he could not have been watching her approach. Awkwardly, she seated herself on the edge of the bed. After a time had passed, Hest pointed out heavily, ‘You’ll have to take that off and lie on the bed if we’re to accomplish anything.’

The front of her nightgown was secured with a dozen tiny bows of silky ribbons. As she undid each one, terrible disappointment rose in her. What a fool she had been, to tease herself with thoughts of how his fingers would pull each ribbon free of its partner. What a silly anticipation she had felt as she had donned this garment; only a handful of hours ago, its extravagance had seemed feminine and seductive. Now she felt she had chosen some silly costume and assayed to play a role she could never fulfil. Hest had seen through it. A woman like her had no right to these silky fabrics and feminine ribbons. This was not to be romance for her, not even lust. This was duty on his part. Nothing more. She sighed as she stood and let the nightgown slide from her body to the floor. She opened the bedclothes and lay down on her half of the bed. She felt Hest roll to face her.

‘So,’ he said, and the spirits on his breath now brushed her face. ‘So.’ He sighed himself. A moment later he took a deep breath. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I suppose so,’ she managed to say.

He shifted in the bed, coming closer to her. She rolled to face him, and then froze, suddenly dreading his touch. It shamed her that despite her fear, she felt a flush of warmth as well. Dread and desire mingled in her. It reminded her with disgust of two of her friends who had endlessly nattered on about the dangers of being raped by Chalcedean raiders. It had been all too apparent to Alise that they were as titillated as they were frightened by the prospect. Stupid, she had thought them then, making breathless fantasy of lust and violence.

Yet now, as Hest’s hand settled on her hip, she gave a small involuntary gasp. No man had ever touched her bared flesh before. The thought sent a shiver over her skin. Then, as his touch turned hard, as his fingers gripped her flesh hard to pull her close, she gave a low cry of fear. She had heard it might hurt, the first time, but had never feared he would be cruel about it. Now she did.

Hest abruptly gave a small huff of breath as if something were suddenly more to his liking. ‘Not so different,’ he muttered, or perhaps his words were, ‘Not so difficult.’ She scarcely had time to think of them, for with a suddenness that drove the breath from her, he pushed her onto her back and he shifted his body onto hers. His knee parted her thighs and pushed her legs open. ‘Ready indeed,’ he said, and thrust against her that which she had never seen.

She managed to accommodate him. She gripped the bedsheets; she could not bring herself to embrace him. The pain she had been told to expect was not as great as she had feared, but the pleasure she had heard of in whispers and had gullibly anticipated never arrived. She was not even certain that he enjoyed it. He rode her quickly to a finish she didn’t share, and then drew his body apart from hers immediately afterwards. His trailing member smeared warmth and wet across her thigh. She felt soiled by it. When he fell back onto his half of the bed, she wondered if he would now drop off to sleep, or would rest and then approach the matter again, perhaps in a more leisurely way.

He did neither. He lay there long enough to catch his breath, then rolled from the bed and found, at last, the soft warm robe that had been laid out for him. She more heard than saw him don it, and then there was a brief flash of dim light from the hooded candles in the hall. Then the door shut behind him and her wedding night was over.

For a time she remained as she was on the bed. A shiver ran over her. It became a quivering that developed into a shuddering. She didn’t weep. She wanted to vomit. Instead, she scrubbed her leg and her crotch with the sheets on his side of the bed, and then rolled over to a clean spot. She worked at pulling air into her lungs and then pushing it out again. Deliberately, she made her breathing slow. She counted, holding each inhalation for a count of three and then breathing it out as slowly.

‘I’m calm,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m not hurt. Nothing is wrong. I’ve lived up to the terms of my marriage contract.’ A moment later, she added aloud. ‘So has he.’

She got up from the bed. There was another log for the fire. She put it on the coals and watched it catch while she thought. In the remainder of the predawn hours she contemplated the folly of the bargain she had struck. She’d shed her tears. For a time, she choked on her disappointment and humiliation and regretted her foolish choice. Briefly, she entertained the idea of storming out of Hest’s house and going home.

‘Home’ to what? To her father’s house? To questions and scandals and her mother demanding to know every detail of what had upset her? She imagined her father’s face. There would be whispers in the market if she went to shop, muted conversation at the next table if she stopped for a cup of tea. No. She had no home to go to.

Before the sun rose, she set aside her girlish fancies and her anguish. Neither could save her from her fate. Instead, she summoned to the forefront of her mind the practical old maid she had rehearsed to be. No tender-hearted maiden could endure what had befallen her. Best set her aside. But the dedicated spinster could accept her fate with resignation and begin to weigh the advantages of it.

As the sun kissed the sky, she rose and summoned a maid. Her own maid, as a matter of fact; her own personal maid, a pretty girl with only a small tattoo of a cat by her nose to mark that once she had been a slave. The girl brought her hot tea and a herbal wash to bathe her eyes. Then, at Alise’s request, she had fetched a hot breakfast of Alise’s choosing, on a lovely enamelled tray. While Alise ate, the girl set out a selection of pretty new dresses for Alise to choose from.

That afternoon, Alise sailed into the first of several reception teas in their honour, attired in a demure gown of pale green with white lace. The simplicity of the dress belied how expensive it had been. She smiled cheerily and coloured prettily when some of her mother’s friends whispered to her that marriage seemed to agree with her. The gem of her satisfaction was when Hest appeared, nattily attired, but hollow-eyed and pale.

He stood in the door of the drawing room, late for the gathering and obviously looking for her. When his gaze found her, she smiled and waved her fingers at him. He had seemed astonished both at her air of well-being and how little she seemed to care for his quickly whispered apology for his ‘condition’ the night before. She merely nodded and gave all her attention to her hostess and the guests assembled to honour them. She did her best to be charming, even witty.

Strange to discover it was not that difficult. Like any decision, once she had reached it, the world suddenly seemed simpler. Her decision, cemented as dawn rosed the sky, was that she would meticulously live up to her end of the bargain. And that she would see that Hest did, too.

The very next day, she summoned the carpenters who transformed the dainty sewing room next to her bedchamber into her personal library. The tiny desk, all white and gilt, she replaced with a large one of heavy dark wood with numerous drawers and pigeonholes. And in the weeks that followed, the book sellers and antiquity dealers quickly learned to bring their freshest inventory for her to peruse before offering it to the general public. Before six months passed, the shelves and scroll racks of her little library were well populated. She judged that if she had sold herself, at least she’d demanded a high price.