The market was held once a week on the roads that branched from our village’s central square. The fruit and vegetable sellers grouped together—vendors yelling over one another, women weaving through the crowds with baskets of soft persimmons and strings of onion—and the grains, oats, barley, and rye were sold on the other end. Down one narrow lane, shoppers perused crockery and baskets. On the outskirts, where there was more room, farmers held chickens and pigs and goats in makeshift pens and at the ends of fraying ropes, bartering with slaughtermen. As a titled lady, I didn’t operate the apple stall or go near it, so when we neared the village, I bid Wenthelen and Moussa adieu and ventured off on my own. Passing criers delivering news and a woman selling fly-covered meat pies, I skirted tables of textiles and weaver’s goods. The pawnshop was situated behind the market stalls between an apothecary and a tailor. I pulled my hat down around my face before stepping inside.
“Lady Bramley!” The pawnbroker rubbed his hands together in delight as I came through the door, its bell tinkling above me. Leonard,a portly man with the sad eyebrows of a hunting dog, always made an effort to counteract his role as a trader of others’ sorrows with abundant solicitations and cheer.
“I’m sure you’re happy to see me,” I said. He had benefitted greatly over the years from the steady cycle of goods—furniture and picture frames and candelabras—that had streamed in from Bramley Hall. Leonard was one of the few people who would have been able to guess the extent of our lack of means; the stripped-bare walls and the empty mantels.
He spread his hands out on the wood counter in front of him. “We have a marvelous samovar—and look, the matching cups, a complete set.”
“Mm-hmm.” I pretended to browse. The room was filled with cabinets and shelves, upon which sat all kinds of objects. Silverware and fine porcelain and musical instruments. Books, old and new, and coins and garments in various states of repair. In the back, there was a harpsichord.
“A set of three fans—imported lace—came in yesterday.”
I bent over the jewelry display case. Both Leonard and I did not acknowledge the string of jet beads that had once graced my neck and now sat, dust-covered, behind the glass.
“Thank you.” I did not want to see the lace fans.
“And silk ribbon, perhaps for Miss Rosamund?” He held up a spool.
“Lovely,” I mused, attempting to be dismissive. We both knew I would not be purchasing any ribbon, but I was appreciative of his tact. “While I am here,” I said, attempting to make it feel like an afterthought, “I have this old piece—I never touch it. What would it fetch?”
With care, I retrieved the necklace from my pocket pouch. I had to turn away while Leonard inspected it through his loupe, listening to the small noises he made in the back of his throat, then the scratch of the quill on his ledger.
I reminded myself: I would be able to get the cameo back. I needed the money to cover the day’s purchases—fabric and trimmings for allthree young women—but I’d soon have the apple profits and Elin’s rag-and-bone money in hand. I hoped to return for the piece as soon as the next day.
“The pearls have some minor imperfections,” he said, while I pretended to look at a case of eyeglasses. “And the cameo exhibits good craftsmanship and has no wear. But the portraits go for much less—it would be better if it were a mythological figure or landscape. Who is the woman? Could we say she is a mythological figure?”
To me, I thought. “No,” I said, out loud.
“Did you know her?”
“No,” I repeated, because that was truthful in its own way.
He named his price, which was less than I had hoped for, and I accepted without argument. “It likely won’t sell for a while,” he said, handing me my coins.
“Thank you.” I stole one last glance at my mother’s profile—for the sake of my daughters, I reminded myself—and then turned my eyes to the portly pawnbroker. “Keep it at the back of the case, will you?”
“Of course, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “Of course.”
I was a few steps out of the shop when I heard someone call my name: “Lady Bramley!” At the sound of the nasal voice, I felt a quick surge of alarm.
Lavinia Enright had the unique distinction of being both the wife of the district’s largest landholder and its most grating personality. She and her husband were often at court. I had, somehow, cultivated a friendship—by exterior measures, a great success. By interior, a greater sacrifice. But this day, I had specific need of her. “Lady Enright!” I cried, thinking ahead already to what I would ask. Or rather, suggest. “What a pleasurable surprise!”
“Well, you know me.” She bustled forth, mound of curly hair swaying as she sidestepped two customers emerging from the apothecary. “I try to avoid the market days, the hoi polloi, but what with all the recentturn of events—” She paused to raise her eyebrows up and down a few times, and then, sotto voce, whispered, “The royal ball,” and glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder, as if the common people would overhear and show up en masse. “We needed a few odds and ends. The timeline! They’ve given us no time to prepare!” She held up a hand as if I had started to speak, which I hadn’t, and turned to face her two daughters, twins who waited behind her in matching dresses and bonnets.
“Girls, say hello to Lady Bramley.”
The twins curtsied in unison. “Good day, Lady Bramley.”
“Hello, Bethesda,” I said, not quite making eye contact with one. “And Bethia,” I added, vaguely, to the other. I could never tell them apart. The matching names did not help. One of them, Bethesda, was easily perturbed by fast-moving objects. I had once seen her driven to tears by a falling pine cone. But, unless there were a rapid movement to aid me, I was at a loss. “You’re both looking…” I searched for a word. “Fresh.” The girls had no chins. An unfortunate aesthetic trait they had inherited from their mother. The Enright family had ten thousand acres, two carriages, tenant farmers to work their land, rental income, and social influence. There were four children, including a male heir, Finnian, who was now a page to the prince. The Enright progeny didn’t need chins. (And besides, what Lavinia and her brood lacked in a jawline, her husband more than made up for. He had, by my latest count, three.)
“How fortuitous to run into you,” I exclaimed. It was for women like Lavinia that I had to maintain our facade. Finnian, even at seventeen, was technically a potential match for my daughters. “Rosamund and Mathilde and I were only just saying how much we missed you all.”
Lavinia nodded confidently. “There is nothing as reassuring as female friendship.”
“Certainly,” I agreed. “The ball will be a marvelous time for them to see one another. I am in town myself looking for their feathers and some extra cloth.” I hoped this would explain my exit from the pawnbroker’s, but we stood in front of a whole row of shops: shoemakers,glovers, tinsmiths, and drapers. I could have come from any one of them.
Lavinia was distracted by the knowledge of our attendance. “I had the girls’ dresses made in the city ages ago—always be ready for a ball, that’s what my mother used to say. Summer and winter gowns at the ready. One must be prepared.”
I paused, overwhelmed simultaneously by Lavinia and the noxious fumes coming off a nearby dung heap. She used the opportunity to take hold of my arm. “Come, let’s walk,” she insisted. “If you don’t have something made, the silk merchant will be the place to look.” She began to lead me along the road, past a long line of timber-framed houses. “Girls, come, come!” The twins fell in line behind us, and we proceeded as a quartet.
