Authors: Adrian Tchaikovsky
‘Oh, but really—’ Alice started.
‘
No
, Alice,’ Emily snapped firmly. ‘I’m sure Mr Griff has plenty of important business to attend to.’ The stare she gave the man was pointed, and he made a
brief bow and then set off, the smile still firmly in place.
Poldry arrived just then, with a meagre haul of bread and cheese, bacon and mutton, and he ducked into Mrs Shevarler’s shop to haggle over the dressmaker’s share. Alice had her arms
folded tightly, her familiar indication of bad temper.
‘Why do you always find a way to ruin things for me?’ she demanded, in a fierce whisper.
Emily frowned. ‘Alice, you cannot simply invite some stranger into—’
‘A servant of the King—’
‘What would a servant of the King be doing here?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Alice snapped crossly. ‘Who do we know that has his hand in the King’s coffers every minute of the day?’ She sent a fierce look towards
the Mayor-Governor’s offices across the market square. ‘And who knows what might have come of that, if we had shown Mr Griff some proper hospitality! Don’t you
care
about
our family, Emily? About our prospects?’
‘Alice, that is exactly what I do care about.’ Emily fought to keep her voice down. ‘A strange man under our roof– what would people say?’
‘If there was even a
chance
he was a familiar of the King! How often does any man of quality pass through Chalcaster these days? Next to never! And yet you have just sent a
decent-seeming man away as if he was a beggar – no, worse than a beggar! Apparently you have some regard for
them.
’
‘Alice, it is not appropriate for you to indulge yourself in this way.’
For a moment her sister stood rigid, with very real tears on her cheeks. ‘You don’t understand,’ she got out at last. ‘Emily, what
do
we have? A house and a
name, and both too costly to keep. Mary married a tradesman because she was terrified of the poorhouse, and now he’s off to the wars – and Rodric too! How will we revive our fortunes if
not by allying ourselves to a man of real standing? And will it come from you? No, you’re like a bee that buzzes in and out, defending us from all comers with the sting of your words, while
Mary tries to gather honey. But if we are to ever be something more than we are now, it’s up to me to make it so. I am the only one who will restore the greatness of our family. And if I do,
it will be in spite of you!’
Poldry came out then, blinking in the cold silence that had developed between the two sisters. He climbed up into the buggy and plainly decided his best choice was to give his attention entirely
to the horses.
Leaving the town, Emily felt as though she had been driven out, as though she was an army that had been routed in a war.
We have endured another engagement in the swamps of the Levant. I am proud to report to you that I carried myself like a proper soldier and stayed with the line as we
advanced. We were told that the colonel wished to force the enemy back. In this he was successful, for we advanced through the thick and clouded air, burdened by our packs and our muskets,
and never saw so much as a single Denlander. Our sergeant declared, arbitrarily it seemed to me, that we had achieved our objective. When we turned, to recross all that ground we had taken,
there the Denlanders were.
They had been shadowing us all that time, but it was plain that they had been as ignorant of this fact as we. No doubt the papers will carry an account of our heroic stand against
their foreign tyranny. In truth there was merely a handful of shot before both sides retreated to a defensible position, after which we were unable to locate each other to continue the
battle. The whole event would more fittingly make the subject of one of the papers comic sketches than an account of our martial glory.
As the buggy drew up to Grammaine, Grant hurried out to greet them. He was Grammaine’s groundsman, currently left to them by Mr Northway’s whim. Not young, yet
younger than Poldry, he was a big, broad-shouldered man stronger than many half his age. Striding over, she saw his face was tight with disapproval, and Emily felt a sudden jolt of worry.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Is it Mary? Has something happened?’
‘Nothing like that, ma’am.’ Grant’s eyes slid over towards the house as though something venomous was lurking there. ‘Wanted to tell you, before you go inside.
There’s a visitor.’
‘Is it another messenger?’ Alice demanded. ‘Don’t . . . don’t tell me that Deerlings . . .’
‘Alice, enough,’ Emily ordered her, because apparently the worst the girl could imagine was that a ball might be called off, a catastrophe Emily rather thought they would
survive.
‘He came while you were at Chalcaster, but he’s not said a thing about why. Wanted to talk to you in particular, ma’am.’
Emily let out a long breath, even as Alice began demanding to know who ‘he’ was.
‘Has he been waiting long?’
‘Best part of two hours,’ Grant confirmed. ‘Been making himself at home, he has.’
It was a confrontation Emily had not been looking for: this was something she steeled herself against
before
heading into town, not a trial to meet her on her return. She felt suddenly
on unfamiliar ground, as though her own house had been turned against her.
‘Well, then,’ she said, ‘the sooner I meet with him, the sooner he can be on his way.’
When she stepped inside, the sight that met her eyes brought her up short. While she had been shopping, someone else had supplied their every need. The kitchen table was cluttered with more food
than Grammaine had seen in one place for months. There was a whole side of ham, several loaves, a sack of oats, two wheels of cheese, even a bag of dried fruit and a basket of apples. Compared to
the mean fare that Poldry had managed to find at Chalcaster it was a wonder to behold.
‘Cook,’ she said, ‘where has all this come from?’
The stout woman gave her a dour look. ‘He’s waiting for you in the drawing room, ma’am.’
‘
He
brought all this?’
‘And very proud of himself he was, too.’
‘Was he indeed?’ Emily passed by the groaning table and stepped through into the next room.
Sure enough, by a smouldering fire and sitting in the chair that had once been her father’s favourite, was Mr Northway.
She stared at him for a long time, without trusting herself to speak, and he looked back at her with that familiar insolent smile of his. They were like two duellists, each waiting for the other
to make the first move.
‘My dear Miss Marshwic,’ he said at last. ‘Or may I call you Emily now, to avoid confusion with little Alice?’
‘You may not. What is the meaning of this, Mr Northway?’
‘Do not search for meaning in all things, Miss Marshwic.’ He settled himself more comfortably into the chair. ‘Can a man not pay a visit once in a while?’
‘You are not welcome in this house,’ she told him. ‘You have never been welcome in this house. And as for your . . .
gifts
. . .’
His raised hand stopped her, despite all her determination. ‘Before you make some noble stand, Miss Marshwic, you should know that nobody but I will profit if you refuse my little gesture.
You will neither feed the poor that way, or help the needy. Instead, it will all return with me to the town hall, and my staff will eat a little better, and yours a little worse.’ His
deep-set eyes watched her keenly between blinking, to see how she would react.
‘Do you expect gratitude?’
‘Heaven forfend!’ he laughed. ‘Consider a little talk with you my reasonable payment for goods delivered. After all, enmity or not, it would be a poor show of hospitality to
throw me out into the cold.’
She left her response so long that he began to shift his feet uncomfortably, before finally she sat down on the chaise-longue across the room from him. ‘I would not dream, Mr Northway, of
throwing the King’s
duly appointed
representative from the house. Do you have a purpose here, or are we simply the beneficiaries of your noted charity.’
‘The sole beneficiaries,’ added Northway. Am I not solicitous of your well-being?’
A myriad of angry responses queued up on the tip of her tongue, and were bitten down. She let his goading pass her by in a single deep breath, and instead looked him in the eye. ‘Do you
think I can be bought, Mr Northway?’ She was proud of herself, for her control.
But he just raised his eyebrows, insufferable as ever. ‘Can you? How much is the price per pound, I wonder? What currency would suffice?’
She stood at once, her hard-won composure abruptly falling away from her. ‘I feel hospitality has been served. I would like you to leave now. Poor Alice will not enter the house until you
are gone.’
‘How very sensitive of her.’ He showed no signs of moving. ‘As it happens, I have a reason to be here other than simple benevolence. A warning, in fact, that there are house
guests even more unwelcome than me, of late.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
He paused a moment, and she wondered whether he was reining in a temper that she had always guessed at, though never seen. His smile only widened, though, as if feeding on her displeasure.
‘Miss Marshwic,’ he continued at last.
‘Mr Northway.’
‘You will no doubt find this hard to believe also, but I hold you in high esteem. Your conversation, whilst somewhat on a single note, is at least free and untrammelled by social nicety.
How refreshing to find someone who will hate me to my face, rather than simply talk ill about me behind my back. However, I am here in my official capacity, and if you will not hear me personally,
then hear the words of my office when it warns you. The brigand known as the Ghyer has returned.’
That dried up the harsh retort in her mouth. ‘The Ghyer? I thought he was dead.’
‘We all hoped it, but no. He was merely elsewhere, and now he appears to have returned to his old haunts. Two houses have been robbed by his men, isolated places just like Grammaine. There
has been a death. I would have your man Grant keep loaded pieces to hand.’
‘He shall, Mr Northway. The Ghyer shall find Grammaine too hot for him.’
In this sudden ceasefire between them, Mr Northway’s smile grew crafty and calculating. She thought she saw a dozen separate overtures forming on those lips, only to be weighed and
discarded as he sought to capitalize on his small gains. In the end all he said was: ‘I imagine you wish me to depart, now that I have given my warning.’
‘Thank you for it,’ she made herself say, watching him lever himself from the chair.
‘Just doing my duty, Miss Marshwic.’ He paused on his way to the door, hovering closer to her than she liked. ‘If there is any other small hardship here I can alleviate . .
.’
‘We will cope, I am sure,’ she told him, not harshly but firmly.
After he had gone, her thoughts touched on the man, Griff, that Alice had been speaking to in town. Perhaps he had been a creature of Mr Northway keeping an eye on them. After
all, the Mayor-Governor certainly seemed to be showing a great deal of interest in Grammaine these days, although possibly he just enjoyed vexing her with his presence and his impenetrable
conversation. Or perhaps this Griff had been something even more sinister than that.
Stepping out of the front door, she could just see Mr Northway’s horse heading away down the path and out of sight. When he was gone from view, she called for Grant.
‘I think you had better take out and load Father’s guns, and keep them to hand,’ Emily told him. ‘There are brigands at large, I hear.’
‘Shall be done, ma’am,’ Grant promised.
Perhaps this Griff was working for the Ghyer. It was hard enough that the infamous robber had returned at all, but that he might be showing an interest in Grammaine, yet again . . . Perhaps he
had come for vengeance upon her father, little knowing that such revenge had been cold and stale for many years.
Emily clenched her fists, trying to summon her determination. If the outlaw Ghyer turned up at Grammaine, then she and Grant and Poldry would treat him just the same as her father had, all those
years ago. She would drive him and his villains away, or have Grant shoot them dead if he could. She was living in a world where men were shot dead, after all. She had the evidence of her own eyes
for that.
She went back into the drawing room, but the spectre of Mr Northway still hung in it with the residue of his expensive, intrusive scent.
Perhaps this Griff had told Alice the truth, and he really was the King’s agent. Perhaps – and she found the thought too delicious to contemplate – he genuinely was
investigating the misdeeds of Mr Northway. The Mayor-Governor’s corruptions were so many and manifest that word must surely have reached the King, and the idea of a spy investigating all
Northway’s little treasons was vastly appealing.
*
In the weeks that followed, Mr Northway’s generosity continued to alight on them sporadically – though never regular enough to rely on, giving Grammaine’s
finances a constant and literal feast-or-famine air. The man himself did not personally accompany his deliveries, though. Instead, he insinuated his way into Emily’s head every time she saw
the kitchen filled with another load of unearned bounty.
She had discussed with her two sisters what they should do with such an embarrassing harvest. Northway plainly thought that he could secure an advantage over them, and if they simply hoarded it
all for their exclusive use, then that would become true. They would be making themselves conspirators with him while the rest of Lascanne endured short commons.
It was Mary’s idea to simply go round the other isolated homes nearby and parcel it out. They would parsimoniously reserve sufficient for their own needs, and then load the rest on the
buggy and visit the farmhouses and the cottages, bestowing Northway’s largesse on all and sundry. Emily gained some degree of satisfaction in recalling how he had boasted that no others would
profit from his charity save herself and her family.