Wasp (32 page)

Next morning Wasp expects a summons from the Abbess despite Hummingbird’s reassurances. However, the matriarch has another game in mind. At breakfast, Moth receives a pink-ribboned scroll, her first, and behaves as if she’s been handed a live snake. The content of Wasp’s own Assignment is clear enough.

‘I’m to take Moth to Mother Joan’s,’ she tells Hummingbird in their bedchamber. ‘Is this another test?’

‘More of a distraction, I think.’ Hummingbird pours water into the washbowl. ‘After last night’s adventure look on it as a token of the Abbess’s faith in you.’

‘Shouldn’t Red Orchid be doing this?’

‘The Abbess has her reasons.’

Wasp feels anything but honoured as she bundles a nervous Moth into a hired chaise. The House coach is engaged and the stranger on the chaise’s driving perch does nothing to quell Wasp’s feelings of unease. Throughout the blessedly short journey Moth bombards her reluctant keeper with questions, all the while pressing her gloved fingers together until the knuckles click.

‘Stop doing that before I lose my wits,’ Wasp warns, but the other girl can’t settle. She seems to have forgotten the branding episode, or pushed it temporarily out of her mind. At their destination, Moth’s gown catches on the step and she nearly sprawls into the gutter. Inside is no better. Nothing Constance brings seems to fit. Gowns are either too short, too long, too this, too that. Slippers pinch her feet or flap like landed fish. She turns queasy when Constance tries to pin a straw bonnet to her hair. In the end she’s presented wearing more or less the same clothes she’d arrived in. One look at Moth’s plain travelling gown and Mother Joan’s face crumples. Nevertheless she makes a fair game of it, forcing a smile and passing round the cakes. Moth stammers through all her sentences and spills an entire dish of tea down the front of her dress. While Constance escorts her to the kitchen to clean herself, Mother Joan drops the pretence. ‘Where did you find that pudding of a girl? I have never been plagued with anyone so clumsy.’

‘I am sorry. This is her first Assignment.’

‘She has a nice enough heart, but is very much in the wrong trade, I think. Take her home. The day is spoiled beyond repair.’

Wasp is stretched out on the bed in her nightshift, her belly full of hot tea, her skin tingling from the evening bath.

‘The water might still be warm enough if you want to jump in,’ she says, as Hummingbird breezes through the door.

‘I don’t fancy swilling about in your leftovers, thank you,’ Hummingbird replies. ‘I’ll have one in the morning, or use a pomander to keep me sweet. Right now I could sleep in a mud puddle and not give tuppence for it. Besides, I have news.’

Wasp props herself on an elbow. ‘What’s happened?’

Hummingbird sits on the edge of the bed, nudges off her slippers and reaches across the mattress for her shift, which is folded neatly over the footboard. Her face is still ghost white, her lips bloody with rouge. ‘It seems our little Moth has taken flight.’

‘She’s run away?’

Hummingbird nods. ‘Flew the coop some time this evening, no doubt after stewing on her bad performance at Mother Joan’s. Kingfisher’s already on the scent. It’s a big city, but there are only so many places a girl like her can hide.’

‘Perhaps she’ll give him the slip.’

‘He’ll have her back before she’s gone two miles. Where d’you think she can go? In that day gown? Without any money and not a soul outside these walls who knows her? An inn won’t take her. There are no straw-stuffed barns to snuggle into for the night. Even if she clambers into someone’s stable yard chances are a dog will have her. Kingfisher is familiar with every doorway and alley between here and the river. Even if she does slip past him a constable will catch her. The Abbess knows most of them by name.’

‘Will she suffer another branding?’

‘Running away is more serious than pinching a strip of penny ribbon from a hawker’s cart. Punishments are decided by the Abbess and, truthfully, I think she’s been patient with that girl long enough.’

Hummingbird finishes undressing and slips between the covers. After a while, Wasp joins her and blows out the candle. The room surrenders to the night. Soon Hummingbird is snoring. Wasp lies on her back with her eyes open, the pillow soft beneath her scrubbed hair. She thinks of Kingfisher moving through the city like a shadow.

Next morning, the Kittens’ table is empty. No one mentions the missing girl. Assignments are distributed as usual. Wasp and Hummingbird are to double up again.

‘I swear you’ll get your own clients soon,’ Hummingbird reassures her. ‘I expect you’re weary of me playing Mama.’

The Assignment is at a party held on a river vessel. The girls are collected by the client’s private carriage and driven a few miles upriver, beyond the city boundaries. Both riverbanks are thick with greenery and remind Wasp of the hedgerows surrounding her village. The water is clear and fresh-smelling, not the foul sludge that creeps through the city’s innards. Every few yards fishermen cast lines into the lazy flow. A cry of triumph as a fat trout is landed, wriggling, onto the grass.

‘The party’s in honour of an alderman’s daughter who’s just come of age,’ Hummingbird says. ‘She has a glorious day for it.’ The sky is a blue skillet without a puff of cloud. Guests chatter good-naturedly as they board the boat, which is a restored barge bedecked with blue ribbons. A string quintet plays succession of melodies from a raised platform at the rear, while the front has been scattered with trestle tables laden with food. A few gallants bow to the Masques while their sweethearts stand by and giggle at the boldness of it.

Hummingbird nudges her. ‘Here comes the golden girl and her dear papa. Dip a cute curtsey and we might squeeze a decent tip out of them. At least the old man’s wife isn’t here. Wives always kick up a fuss.’

Petticoats rustle as Hummingbird bends her knees. Wasp follows suit. Their client spreads his hands and grins. ‘Ladies, please, I’m not the king.’

Both Masques laugh politely. Their host introduces his daughter, Phoebe, who grasps her fan fit to crack the blades. Her smile, though timid, is sincere.

‘Make yourselves useful,’ her father tells Wasp. ‘Meet my guests. Be friendly. Let them admire you.’ He turns to Hummingbird. A look passes between them. ‘I have further business to discuss regarding your House,’ he says. ‘Come and see me once my daughter has given you a tour. I know she is aching to do so.’

Phoebe takes them in hand and guides them around the barge. She gestures at the coloured bunting, expresses awe at the cost of the quintet — ‘From
Italy
no less’ — and shows them a table laden with silks, perfumes and all sorts of silvery nonsense. ‘Birthday gifts,’ she enthuses, ‘but both of you are the best by far. My friends are quite cut with envy.’

She makes a pretty sight, moving light-footedly across the deck as she introduces them to guests of great importance or none at all. Finally, Phoebe is claimed by the makeshift dance floor with a string of young bucks eager to partner the birthday girl.

‘Shall we be asked to dance?’ Wasp enquires.

‘They wouldn’t dare. That would be akin to stealing a fellow’s pocket watch. Our presence has been bought by her father, remember? I’d better go and see what he wants to talk to me about.’

Hummingbird goes off in search of their host. Some minutes later she and the old man disappear into the bowels of the barge. At something of a loss, Wasp decides to stand by the gangplank and smile at anyone who passes. She’s aware of a mild sense of outrage at her presence — the House has already honed that instinct. Yet, like the coach ride around the park, the party would be diminished without her. Every curl and cut of her appearance has been noted, every act seemingly designed to win her approval.

An hour slips by. A footman arrives carrying a tall glass brimming with lemonade. Wasp, whose face is beginning to ache from all the smiling, sips the cool drink. What business could be detaining Hummingbird?

The afternoon grows sleepy. Another servant appears with a plate of bread and cold meats. Wasp takes enough to be considered polite. Further down the barge, tables and chairs have been moved aside to make room for mock sword fights. Young men weave and feint, clutching walking sticks instead of blades. Every so often a cry of triumph sends the ducks scattering from the water, followed by a smattering of applause.

The sky goldens, then grows red edges. Farewells are made, men and their ladies spill onto the riverbank. Where is Hummingbird? While these guests were feasting, had she managed to eat or drink anything? Wasp approaches the hatch leading into the barge. The footmen are gathered near the stern, smoking pipes and enjoying a quick respite before clearing up. No one tries to stop her. Skirts hitched, she patters down the stairs. Partitions have been erected and rugs thrown on the planking, but the barge still smells vaguely of damp and old fish.

An aisle. A half-open door. Sounds.

A peek through the crack reveals Hummingbird splayed out on a makeshift mattress thrown together out of bunting and tablecloths. Her skirts are bunched around her waist and her stockinged legs lie wide. Their host is on top of her, face flushed, bare rump quivering. Hummingbird’s cheeks are pink, her hair a dark fantail on the pillow She grunts with each thrust, fingernails ploughing bloody furrows down the alderman’s back. He bites her ear, nibbles her neck. Then his mouth fixes around her nipple like a suckling babe.

Wasp falls back against the wall.
Did I just see that?

A stifled gasp. A groan.

Yes, Wasp concedes. She did.

‘A complete success, wouldn’t you say? And a job well done. I’m grateful to you both. Give my regards to the Abbess.’

Their host slips something into Hummingbird’s hand. She touches his cheek without looking at the gift and the contract is concluded. As he returns to the barge and his daughter, the Masques stroll across the grass to the lane and the waiting carriage.

‘They don’t come much easier than that,’ Hummingbird remarks once both girls are inside. ‘I told you it’s not all pinched rumps and wandering fingers. Most clients are genuine, and that can make up for the disasters.’

‘Hummingbird, how familiar are you with that man?’

‘That’s a peculiar thing to ask.’

‘You were gone a long time.’

‘We’re well known in certain circles. Some pampering is good for business.’

‘What do you mean by pampering?’

‘A little talk, a little time, a little attention. He paid for this Assignment, remember?’

‘He handed you something. Show me.’

‘Why the fuss? Here, take a look.’

Wasp stares at the object nestling in the palm of Hummingbird’s gloved hand. An opal shaped like a tiny egg. ‘Why would he give you such a thing?’

Hummingbird grins. ‘Most presents are fair game. The Abbess lets us keep them because it encourages us to do a good job. Don’t be envious. You’ll get your share in time.’

‘Are they always so expensive?’

‘Within reason. Some besotted Frenchman once presented Swift with a racehorse. He had it brought to the front door with a red ribbon tied around its neck. When the Abbess saw it I’m surprised she didn’t birth a litter of puppies. In the end Swift had to be satisfied with a bracelet while her gift filled a stall in our stables.’

‘You didn’t see much of the party girl. I hope she wasn’t disappointed.’

‘I doubt it. According to rumour sweet little Phoebe has tumbled all her family’s footmen, worked her way through the coachmen and now has her eye on the stable boy. Her Papa can’t wait to marry her off. The party today had nothing to do with her birthday. Papa was trying to hook her a fish, and from his countenance he might have succeeded.’

‘Is that all he hooked?’

‘What a strange mood you’re in today. Perhaps if you’d—’

The carriage lurches to a halt, nearly sending the opal flying from Hummingbird’s grasp. The door is flung open and a young man in a feather-trimmed tricorne leaps into the carriage. He sits opposite the two girls, throws off his hat and wipes his brow with a lace kerchief plucked from a sleeve.

Wasp and Hummingbird stare at one another. It’s Richard, Sir James’s son.