Fool’s Assassin

I had, but I was not sure what. I stood slowly, suddenly anxious about how much time had passed. I gathered my cloak and folded it hastily. I restored it to its place on my shelf, and put the lid back on my bread bowl. Little sneaking thief.

I could learn from him.

In the morning, unbidden, Careful came to help me rise, wash, groom my wayward hair, and then dress. It was all very trying for me. No one save my mother had ever done such things, and she had done them with merry chatter and shared plans for the day. Careful, I decided, would have been better named Hasty. Or perhaps Tart, for her mouth today was pursed as if every item in my wardrobe put a sour taste in her mouth. She tugged my smock over my head and almost before it had settled on my shoulders, she was layering my tunic over it. She pulled my sleeves even and then, without asking, reached up under my tunic and pulled my smock down smooth. She asked me for things I had never possessed, such as pins for my hair or at least a pomade to hold it down. She asked where my earrings were and was shocked that I had not even holes in my ears for such adornments. She exclaimed in loud dismay over the state of my stockings and found a heavier pair and said that my shoes were a disgrace to the household.

Perhaps she intended such things to express outrage she supposed I shared. In reality they only made me feel shabby and shy. I could find no words to defend myself or my clothing. I put on my belt with my mother’s knife, for courage. Careful gave a disapproving snort, and knelt before me. “That’s not how you wear that,” she told me. I kept my silence as she took my belt and hastily bored a new hole in it with her own little knife, and then put it on me so that it rode at my waist instead of sitting on my hips.

When she had finished tugging at my hair and pulling my tunic straight, she stood me before my mirror and we looked at the reflection. To my surprise, I did not look nearly as poorly turned out as I had feared. I smiled at my reflection and said, “I think this is the nicest I have looked in months. Thank you, Mistress Careful.”

I think my words shocked her. She had been crouching beside me. Now she rocked back on her heels and stared at me, her large brown eyes gone very wide indeed. “You wait here,” she told me abruptly. “You wait right here.”

I obeyed her, and before I even had time to wonder why I was doing what a servant told me to do, she had returned. “Now, I shall want these back when you are finished with them. They cost me a pretty penny, and I’ve worn them less than a dozen times. So keep your wrists well away from anything sticky. Do you think you can do that?”

She hadn’t waited for an answer or permission. She fitted cuffs of cream lace to the wrists of my underblouse, and then added a collar that matched. They were a bit large, but she took a threaded needle from beneath the collar of her shirt and quickly took them in. She stared at me when she was finished, her brow creased. Then she gave a small sigh. “Well. I wish the daughter of the household, placed in my care, were better turned out than the kitchen girls, but this will do for today, and before the hour is out I will be letting Revel know what I think! Off you go to breakfast now, poppet. Doubtless I shall have an hour of tidying to do in Lady Shun’s room. Every morning it’s the same, a dozen skirts flung about the room, and as many pretty blouses. You, now, you keep your things neat as a pin. I don’t think I’ve ever needed more than ten breaths to tidy your room.”

I kept to myself that I had not even known she was supposed to tidy my room. I had accepted without question that someone took care of my washbasin, ewer, and chamber pot, just as I accepted that my bed linens were laundered once a month. “My thanks for the care you take of me,” I said, as it came to me that those were not particularly pleasant tasks.

Again, her cheeks pinked. “I’m sure you’re welcome, Lady Bee. And off you run now! I hope your lessons go well.”

Anticipation warred with dread. I wanted to go directly to the schoolroom. I wanted to run and hide in my special place. Instead I went down to breakfast. My father was there, waiting for me. He was not seated, but wandering about the room, as if he, too, was nervous. He turned to me when I came in and his eyes widened. Then he smiled. “Well. You certainly look ready to begin your new studies!”