A Little Knowledge

by Emma Newman

  “Lucy?” he asked, closing the door behind him. “Are you well?”

  She started, as if she’d been concentrating on something, but by the time he had rounded the sofa she was standing and didn’t seem to have any embroidery or score sheets that could have absorbed her so.

  “Thomas, oh, hi—hello. Dear.” She bobbed up onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. She could only reach it if he bent down. Not for the first time, he wished she were taller. “I had no idea it had got so late.” She tucked the wayward strands behind her ears and smoothed down her dress, clearly unprepared for his arrival.

  “You seemed distracted.”

  “Oh…just thinking.” Her smile was forced. When he frowned, she looked away. “I confess I was feeling a little homesick.”

  “Rather homesick,” Tom corrected. “‘Homesick’ is a state of mind, not a small animal.”

  “Yes.” She tried to smile again. “Of course. How was your day?”

  “Tedious.” He sighed. “Thanks to my sister’s latest antics, I spent all afternoon pandering to Bertrand Viola’s petty requests instead of the things I should have been dealing with, just to make sure he doesn’t have any other reasons to complain.” Cat had no inkling of how much trouble she caused. Whether it was in Londinium or Mundanus, she always found a way to make life as difficult as possible.

  “Shall I get you a brandy?” Lucy asked.

  He nodded, feeling tired. “Every time I go to Black’s, someone corners me and complains about something she’s said or done. Cat always maintains she hasn’t done anything, but she doesn’t appreciate how all of this nonsense about the need for change is making the men of the Court thoroughly bad-tempered. That can hardly be good for their wives, but Cat is incapable of understanding that.”

  Lucy was suspiciously quiet as she poured his drink. She was petite and not unpleasant to look at. She wore her dresses well and was an accomplished pianist. But as he let his eyes roam over her waist and the bustle of her dress, he felt nothing more than a sense of duty to care for her, as he’d promised in front of the Oak. They’d been married almost a year and the feelings he’d hoped would blossom still hadn’t even formed buds. Would it never happen for them? She seemed to be fond of him. Why? She barely knew him. Her affection only made him feel more distant from her.

  He sat heavily on the sofa, his starched shirt collar making him feel choked. He winkled a finger into the knot of his cravat and loosened it so he could undo the top button. He should have changed first. The brandy tasted good enough to take his mind off it, and he took a moment to savour the warmth it spread through his chest. Lucy perched on the armchair nearest the fire and he noted that she looked pale. Then he realised that she probably prepared herself before his return home each evening, but for whatever reason had not done so this time. Had she worn makeup all those times before? He only noticed now that there was an absence of it.

  Tom leaned back and a crinkling noise came from the cushion he rested against. Lucy shot out of her chair and, faster than he could twist round and investigate, she had stuffed her hand behind it and pulled something out, something now hidden behind her back.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Just a score. I’ll take it to the music room.”

  She was lying. Tom put his glass down, mindful of his temper rising. He took a deep breath, keeping it in check, always careful to not succumb to the same rages his father had. He stood and put himself between her and the door. Just his height alone made him imposing enough to make her shrink back. “Please show it to me, Lucy.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Was it a letter from a lover? No, he didn’t believe that; Lucy was a devoted wife, always doing all she could to make his life easier.

  “Because…because it hasn’t been written for men to read.”

  Now he was just confused. “Lucy,” he said again, stern enough for her to bite her lip and hold it out towards him.

  It was a printed booklet, not unlike many he’d collected in Mundanus during the years he had spent hunting for Catherine, written by local historians about some obscure slice of history that no publisher would be interested in. It was printed on A4 paper with a grey cover, folded in half and stapled. Recipes for Happiness and Fulfilment was written on the front in a no-nonsense copperplate. A recipe book? He wouldn’t have given it a second glance had Lucy not behaved so nervously around it.

  He flipped it open at a random page. Know Thyself was written at the top. Had he not seen the diagram beneath, he might have been forgiven for thinking it was a rather twee effort to explore some sort of feminine philosophy.

  Lucy squeezed her eyes shut as his widened and his mouth fell open. It was a picture of female anatomy in cross-section with unspeakable things such as ovaries and fallopian tubes labelled neatly. Beneath it was a brief explanation of the functions of each part. Incensed and embarrassed in equal measure, he flipped the page to find questions in bold with answers written below them. The first he saw, What is an orgasm?, made him slap the pages shut before he could accidentally scan the text below it.

  “Like I said, it wasn’t written for you,” Lucy said, taking a step back. “Oh, Tom, there’s no need to look like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’ve just swallowed a bee.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  Lucy folded her arms. “None of your business. It was written for women.”

  “Written by whom?” He held up a hand. “Oh for the love of…it’s Cat, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Lucy said, but he didn’t believe her. “Besides, even if it was, it’s nothing to do with you.”

  Tom waved the booklet in the air. “This is filth!”

  “It’s education.”

  “It’s exactly the sort of thing that corrupts women.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, Tom! Will you just be quiet and sit down?”

  Stunned into silence, Tom found himself sitting and staring at the tiny woman sitting herself down. She’d never raised her voice before, let alone barked an order like that.

  Lucy composed herself faster than he did. She smiled at him, just as if they were seated across from each other at dinner. “Thomas…I would like it very much if you could listen to what I have to say.”

  “Is this how wives speak to their husbands in the colonies?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Since I moved here and married you I have done everything that has been expected of me, have I not?”

  Tom nodded.

  “I even speak like you do now, and believe me, that isn’t easy. So, seeing as I have done everything a good wife possibly could, please will you listen to me and not speak until I’m ready?”

  Tom took another breath to protest. Something about the way she was talking to him seemed disrespectful in the extreme, but when he thought about it, she hadn’t asked for anything too unreasonable. With another nod, he acquiesced.

  “Every woman in Albion should know this stuff, and they should learn it from their parents and governesses.”

  When Tom opened his mouth to protest she held up a hand and gave him a stern look. Who was this woman? Had that booklet done this?

  “Now, it might be a shock for you to learn that I already know everything in this booklet. I was taught all I needed to know about my body, about sex, and about how it all works before I left California.”

  All Tom could do was blink at her. Not even he knew all of the intricacies of female anatomy and he considered himself well educated.

  “And that’s the way it should be,” Lucy continued. “Now, I’ve been in Albion for nearly a year, long enough to see that something here is really screwed up, and I figure that you’re just as oblivious as the rest of them.”

  “Now look here—”

  “I haven’t finished,” Lucy said, raising her voice enough to shock him into silence again. Was he cursed with having to care for difficult
women? “Something is rotten in Albion. You guys send young men into Mundanus for the Grand Tour and yet even though they spend four years living in the modern world, nothing changes here. In America both the young women and the men travel in Mundanus, and both bring back knowledge of progress. My mother has just as much influence over the way our family is run as my father, and I’m talking about financial decisions, not just who wears what and how their damn houses look! Why do only the men have any real power in Albion?”

  “Because it’s the natural—”

  “Goddamn it, Tom, I haven’t finished! Albion is stuck, and it needs people like your sister to change it. I suggest you stop being angry about something as stupid as women here being given the education they should have and start being angry about the way they’re having to find it out from a secret pamphlet.”

  Tom pulled off his cravat and tossed it onto the arm of the sofa, loosening his collar further. After what had been said, it didn’t seem so important to be perfectly attired. A painful throb was building behind his eyes and he just wanted everything to be simple again. Even hunting Cat in Mundanus had been easier to bear than this life of politics and the ground shifting beneath his feet every five minutes.

  Lucy moved from her chair to sit next to him. “I’m sorry that was hard to hear. But it isn’t just me that feels this way, and not just your sister either.”

  “It’s my fault she’s the way she is,” Tom said, letting himself sink back into the cushions. He didn’t have the energy to hold himself rigidly straight anymore. “Father used to beat her. Terribly. I should have…” A tightness in his throat threatened the steadiness of his voice, so he took a breath and waited until it passed. “I should have intervened, when I was old enough. But I never did. If she’d felt safe at home, she never would have run away and been corrupted by Mundanus.”

  “Oh, Tom,” Lucy took his hand and kissed it. “Cathy wanted to find her own way, more than she wanted to get away from home, I’m sure of it. Don’t blame yourself. Your father can be pretty scary—sorry—quite scary.” She stared at him so intently that he was drawn to look back at her. He saw nothing but compassion in her pale brown eyes. “It must have been so hard for you, trying to be a good son and a good brother when your father was like that. And then having to find her and bring her back….I know you wanted to see so much on your Grand Tour. You’ve never talked to me about it. It might—”

  Tom stood and grabbed his cravat. “It’s all in the past,” he said. “No point dredging it all back up again.” He looked at the booklet in his other hand, uncertain of how to proceed. He considered confiscating it, but he couldn’t risk it being found in the house and he couldn’t be seen to condone such material. He went to the fireplace and threw it into the embers. By the time Lucy had dashed over to his side the paper had caught alight, rejuvenating the dying fire.

  “Tom!”

  “I’ll forget I saw that, for your sake. But if I find another, or if one of the residents brings it to my attention, I will investigate and haul whoever is responsible in front of their Patroon. I’m going to change for dinner, and we’ll never speak of this again.”

  “You can be better than this,” Lucy said as he headed towards the door. “Just let me talk it over with you. It’s not what you think.”

  “It’s not what you think, either,” he said. “This isn’t some romantic intellectual movement. It’s an attempt to disturb the order of things and cause chaos. Otherwise known as sedition!”

  “That’s—”

  “And you can be better than this too,” he added. “You can set an example and make it clear you disapprove. You’re the wife of the Marquis of Westminster; don’t forget it.”

  He left the room and shut the door behind him, his stomach cramping and headache worsening. As he climbed the stairs he told himself he was doing the right thing. If that was the case, why did he feel so wretched about it?

  • • •

  By the time Cathy got home after the Court, she felt terrible. Even though Will was clearly so afraid of what Sir Iris was going to say to him, she’d just scored points off him, without any consideration of how he was feeling. With her blood up, she’d felt invulnerable, filled with satisfaction with how shocked the men of the court had looked when she put that stupid Peonia in his place. Not even Bertrand Viola had been able to cow her.

  That triumphant feeling and her irritation that Will was clearly not on her side had pushed away any compassion about the summons. Cathy didn’t regret any of what she’d said in the Court, but did regret not giving a second thought to how worried Will was about Sir Iris, and wanted to apologise. She waited up for a couple of hours, and then received word from the Tower that Will was sleeping there that night.

  Now that she was dressed and ready to tackle the day despite a sleepless night, Cathy found herself both hoping for and dreading his return. Navigating a path between her near-constant frustration at Society and her love for Will was harder than she’d imagined it would be. Now she understood why the few romantic films she’d seen in Mundanus ended at the part where the couple got together. Even Doc Brown and Clara’s story had the tricky middle bit skipped out. There was the getting together, then the kids, not the time where they learned how to be a couple. Cathy shuddered. She didn’t want to get to the kids part.

  Cathy went to her study, trying to draw comfort from the fact that even though Will wasn’t as keen for change as she was, he wasn’t a monster like his brother or Bertrand Viola. It could be worse, she thought. We’ll figure this out. On the way, she checked in with Carter about her movements for the day and reassured the bodyguard that she still didn’t need him to stand outside of her study whilst she was dealing with correspondence.

  She sat at her desk and whispered the Key Charm with her hand over it to unlock all of the drawers. She pulled out a pen and her notepad.

  To-Do List

  Burn down the patriarchy

  Apologise to Will and work out a way forward

  Write to Eleanor

  Check on how the escapees are doing in Mundanus

  Get Coll to buy me Plants vs. Zombies 2 for the iPad

  Research batteries for TV and DVD player

  At the knock on the door she invited in the butler, Morgan. They’d settled into a routine and, as expected, he entered with a stack of envelopes on a silver tray.

  “Did all of that arrive today?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, thanks.”

  The letter on top of the pile was from Margritte, and the wax seal on the back had been stamped with the single feather motif that the four of them used to indicate the need for the reader to be alone when reading the enclosed letter. It also meant that after she’d read it the ink would turn into dust, so she moved the waste-paper basket closer, ready for afterwards.

  Dear Cathy,

  I regret the way our meeting ended yesterday. It was clear you are not happy with the idea of a Ladies’ Court. I should have told you that William and I discussed it but it simply slipped my mind. As you know, he visits regularly with the Charms required to keep me hidden, and inevitably we talk about what occupies our thoughts. He does want to help but both he and I feel you wish to achieve far more than Society could accommodate as quickly as you wish. It is so frustrating being unable to help you publicly, and I fear you may have felt William and I colluded behind your back. I can only assure you that this is not so. We all have the same end goal, and a desire to see each of us safe and happy as we achieve it. There is a long and difficult road ahead of us and I hope our friendship will endure.

  With love,

  M

  Cathy watched the words turn to dust, folded the paper inwards to collect it all, and tossed it on the fire. Secrecy Charms were all well and good—and critical for her secret cabal—but she missed being able to read the words over a few times to digest them. She had been angry that they’d discussed the idea of a Ladies’ Co
urt behind her back, but half of that anger was the needy, ugly fear that Will preferred the company of the stately and refined Margritte over her own. She had to make sure that fear didn’t make her into an arsehole about his friendship with Margritte. Of course Will doted on Margritte; he was responsible for the awful situation she was in now. Cathy sighed. What a bloody mess. She added Write nice letter to M to the list.

  Flipping through the rest of the envelopes, Cathy saw that there were none from her fellow conspirators and, happily, nothing from Dame Iris either. Cathy hadn’t seen her since the last time she visited. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of her fainting when Eleanor had appeared at the doorway. The moment when Dame Iris realised she no longer had any power over her was one Cathy would never forget.

  One envelope towards the bottom of the pile caught her eye, as the handwriting was unlike that of Society ladies. It was all in uppercase, the letters spaced too far apart to look right.

  There was no wax seal on the back. Cathy opened it, finding a single sheet of paper inside with the words all written in uppercase letters again.

  SPEAK LESS AND SMILE MORE. STUPID WHORES LIKE YOU SHOULD STAY OUT OF

  A knock on the door made her jump and stuff the paper back into the envelope before she finished reading it. “Yes?” Her heart thumped uncomfortably as Morgan entered with his silver tray again.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, you have visitors.”

  Cathy looked at the clock. At this time? She picked up the calling card offered to her on the tray, noting the folded top left corner informing her that the individual was there in person.

  Mrs Charles Rhoeas-Papaver

  Aquae Sulis

  “Oh shit.” What was her mother doing in Londinium? She picked up the second card with its own folded corner.

  Miss Elizabeth Rhoeas-Papaver

  Aquae Sulis

  Cathy noted how Elizabeth’s had a beautifully painted poppy flower in the lower right corner. Did their father know about that embellishment? “Bollocks. Not her too. This is all I need.”