Bentonâs plainer giveaways might highlight the fact that my sistersâ gowns were beginning to wear. And while I might have enjoyed showing up old Max, I wouldnât deliberately embarrass my sisters. I told myself yet again that I couldnât have brought Michael, that heâd be fine without me. If I repeated it often enough, someday I might come to believe it. I couldnât have brought himâI was going to embarrass them enough just by being there myself.
Iâd arrived in Ruesport that morning, and the familiar scents of smoke and winter-wet wood carried me back to my childhood. I must have run through thesestreets thousands of times, carrying Mamaâs sewing, or running errands for a few fracts. Great Fallon Road enters Ruesport through the Yarelands, and the small, neat house Iâd grown up in wasnât far from the road. Some craftsmanâs family probably lived there now, and I wished them better luck than my familyâd had. Though luck, really, had nothing to do with it.
I stifled the surge of anger with the ease of long practice, and I turned and rode Tipple briskly over Newbridge, which is higher than Highbridge and hasnât been new since before I was born. My memories of the Oldtownâs streets were darker, and not nearly so enticing. The stews and slums on the other side of Trullsgate Bridge from the Oldtown held even worse memories, but they were few.
I made my way through the Oldtownâs twisting streets to the tall, narrow house where old Maxwell had lived. The current ownerâs manservant told me heâd moved east shortly after his marriage. His expression was a bit odd as he gave me directions to Maxwellâs house, but I ignored that in my pleasure at my sistersâ good fortune. I knew the old man had money, but even a modest house in the neighborhood outside the east wall was something Iâd had no idea he could afford. Unless he couldnât afford it and was only trying to impress his young bride.
A woman can pay a high price for a fine house and silk petticoats, but it shouldnât be too high in this case. Before I had let Anna marry a man nineteen years her senior, Iâd checked his reputation with every whore in town. It turned out he almost never went to whores, but theyâd heard enough to tell me he was normal in his tastes and kind, even to women he hired.
Anna looked relieved when I told her that, though she shook her head. âI told you, heâs a good man. And he seems to love me quite a lot. I wonât mindâ¦that is, I want to marry him.â
She didnât, but the alternatives were worse, for her, for Judith, and someday for Lissy, and neither of us could accept that.
It was the price heâd demanded of me that bothered Anna.
So it was with some foreboding that I located my sisterâs house in the east part of the city. It was smallish for the east, which meant it was large for anywhere else: a three-storey redbrick manor, with windows of the new, thin, diamond-paned glass which is so easy to break in through.
The wrought-iron gate in the high wall surrounding the house was stout enough, but it squealed when I opened it. The small front garden was tidy, and the fountain had been shut down for the winter, so it tookme a moment to realize why the place felt neglectedâno greenery. Every other house in town was trimmed with garlands of juniper, or holly from the marish. In this neighborhood some houses were already wrapped with ribbons, despite the fact that theyâd be ruined if it snowed. But Maxwellâs house was bare.
Perhaps they were gone. Perhaps I was too late, and the unnamed catastrophe (curse Anna, why couldnât she write a straightforward note?) had swept them all away.
My heart pounded as I tied Tipple to a tether ring on the empty fountain and climbed three steps to knock on the door. Anna opened it herself.
Sheâd grown plumper in five years, and wore a
Iâd arrived in Ruesport that morning, and the familiar scents of smoke and winter-wet wood carried me back to my childhood. I must have run through thesestreets thousands of times, carrying Mamaâs sewing, or running errands for a few fracts. Great Fallon Road enters Ruesport through the Yarelands, and the small, neat house Iâd grown up in wasnât far from the road. Some craftsmanâs family probably lived there now, and I wished them better luck than my familyâd had. Though luck, really, had nothing to do with it.
I stifled the surge of anger with the ease of long practice, and I turned and rode Tipple briskly over Newbridge, which is higher than Highbridge and hasnât been new since before I was born. My memories of the Oldtownâs streets were darker, and not nearly so enticing. The stews and slums on the other side of Trullsgate Bridge from the Oldtown held even worse memories, but they were few.
I made my way through the Oldtownâs twisting streets to the tall, narrow house where old Maxwell had lived. The current ownerâs manservant told me heâd moved east shortly after his marriage. His expression was a bit odd as he gave me directions to Maxwellâs house, but I ignored that in my pleasure at my sistersâ good fortune. I knew the old man had money, but even a modest house in the neighborhood outside the east wall was something Iâd had no idea he could afford. Unless he couldnât afford it and was only trying to impress his young bride.
A woman can pay a high price for a fine house and silk petticoats, but it shouldnât be too high in this case. Before I had let Anna marry a man nineteen years her senior, Iâd checked his reputation with every whore in town. It turned out he almost never went to whores, but theyâd heard enough to tell me he was normal in his tastes and kind, even to women he hired.
Anna looked relieved when I told her that, though she shook her head. âI told you, heâs a good man. And he seems to love me quite a lot. I wonât mindâ¦that is, I want to marry him.â
She didnât, but the alternatives were worse, for her, for Judith, and someday for Lissy, and neither of us could accept that.
It was the price heâd demanded of me that bothered Anna.
So it was with some foreboding that I located my sisterâs house in the east part of the city. It was smallish for the east, which meant it was large for anywhere else: a three-storey redbrick manor, with windows of the new, thin, diamond-paned glass which is so easy to break in through.
The wrought-iron gate in the high wall surrounding the house was stout enough, but it squealed when I opened it. The small front garden was tidy, and the fountain had been shut down for the winter, so it tookme a moment to realize why the place felt neglectedâno greenery. Every other house in town was trimmed with garlands of juniper, or holly from the marish. In this neighborhood some houses were already wrapped with ribbons, despite the fact that theyâd be ruined if it snowed. But Maxwellâs house was bare.
Perhaps they were gone. Perhaps I was too late, and the unnamed catastrophe (curse Anna, why couldnât she write a straightforward note?) had swept them all away.
My heart pounded as I tied Tipple to a tether ring on the empty fountain and climbed three steps to knock on the door. Anna opened it herself.
Sheâd grown plumper in five years, and wore a
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