Page 34 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
I could tell Hester what Mother is. I could warn her. I could say…
What exactly would she say?
My mother’s a sorceress and she controls people’s minds sometimes—but she hasn’t controlled your brother, because she wants to marry him—but I think she drove my friend’s father to kill his family with an axe—and she’s dangerous and her familiar is a horse and she won’t let anyone close doors—
Did that sound ridiculous? Cordelia couldn’t tell. She was afraid that it might be. People didn’t seem to believe in magic the way that she understood it. The man at the carriageyard had been annoyed but not frightened. He’d thought that Evangeline was trying to cheat him, not that she might be dangerous.
You could just ask Lady Hester about magic. If you ask, then you’ll know what she thinks, and you’ll know where to go from there.
Even asking seemed horribly difficult. If her mother found out, surely she’d know why Cordelia was asking. It would be safer not to say anything.
And what if what happened to Ellen happens again, because you didn’t say anything?
The thought sank in like a needle into her finger, a bright stab of pain that made her flinch.
No. I have to say something. Somehow.
Cordelia glanced around in the hallway, but saw no one. She set down her basket of embroidery, pressed on her temples, and made a tiny sound, just one, to let the pressure out. Immediately she felt better, or at least as if the ratcheting tension wasn’t getting any worse.
Afterward, she sat for a moment, hugging her knees. The carpet runner was a little worn here, and there was a ridge in the wallpaper where it had bubbled and been pushed back down. A week ago, Cordelia would have wondered if the Squire lacked the money to fix it. With seven days of hard-won wisdom, she had realized that the Squire was so wealthy that he simply didn’t need to care. No one was going to look at Chatham House and think that the inhabitants were poor, so why bother rehanging perfectly good wallpaper because of a minor imperfection?
It was a strange reflection that, like Hester turning the cuffs on her gowns, you were somehow allowed to be poorer if you were rich than if you were actually poor.
She reached the door of Lady Hester’s solar. Just ask about sorcerers. It’s not that hard. She slipped inside and saw that Lady Strauss was in the room as well. “Oh,” she said, uncertain whether Hester wanted to be interrupted. “I… err…” She held up her embroidery. “I can come back later if you’d rather?”
“Sit, sit,” said Hester. “The more the merrier. Just don’t play cards with Imogene here.”
Lady Strauss made a tsking sound. “For shame, Hester. You make me sound like a swindler.”
“If you ever run out of money, you could go to any gambling hall in the city and break the bank.”
“She exaggerates,” said Lady Strauss to Cordelia. “It makes her feel better about losing to me. Now tell me, child, where are you from?”
“Little Haw, my lady.” Cordelia drew out her embroidery. She had made some progress on the flowers and butterflies, and showed it shyly to Hester.
“Oh, very nice! You’re getting the hang of this nicely. Here, let me show you a cranefly knot. Very handy for some things.” She demonstrated twice, then handed the square back. Cordelia bent her head over it.
“Little Haw…” murmured Lady Strauss. “No, I can’t say I know that one.”
“It’s very small,” said Cordelia.
“Yes, of course. And Hester tells me that you came into town to buy dresses?”
Cordelia nodded distractedly, focusing on the knot. She thought that they were probably waiting for her to answer, so she added, “For my coming out. Mother says I’m to marry a rich man.”
She did not see the looks exchanged over her head. “Every girl’s dream, of course,” said Lady Strauss, with a gentle bite of irony. “Any particular rich man?”
Cordelia shook her head. Evangeline had never suggested that there was a difference between them. They were all the same so far as she knew, a faceless class of humanity that existed somewhere off in the distance, like the old country across the water.
“Have some tea,” suggested Hester. She leaned forward and poured, then handed the teacup to Cordelia.
“Have you met many rich men yet?” asked Lady Strauss, as Cordelia dropped a lump of sugar in her cup.
Cordelia shook her head again. “No. Not yet.”
“That’s probably for the best,” said a voice from the doorway. “If they didn’t earn it themselves, they’re usually wastrels, and if they did earn it, they’re usually so focused on earning more that they’ve no conversation at all.”
“Penelope!” Lady Strauss leapt to her feet. Hester didn’t, but she banged her cane on the floor and laughed in clear delight.
