Free The Water Devil by Judith Merkle Riley Page B

brave, how modest!” I heard a someone exclaim.“Wounded in a mighty conflict with the wicked French lords, and he won't even boast of it!” Muttering and cheering spread through the watchers, and I could sense the envy of those invited inside as the steward tried to shoo the crowd away so he could close the door behind us. Even so, by the time my returning lord was seated in the hall, we had received three invitations to dinner from the most prominent families in the ward. His leg propped on a stool, his son on his lap, his stepdaughters pressing attentions on him, and his comrades-in-arms scouring the house for comestibles, he lookedmore content than any king on his throne. But I, I was happiest of all.
    “Margaret, you're doing it again.”
    “What, my own dear heart?”
    “Glowing—all pinkish orange around the edges. How very odd. Did you know for years I never noticed you did that? It's not respectable, you know.”
    “In my own house, lord husband, I'll glow as much as I want,” I said, as we kissed again.
    “WHERE'S MY INK ? I thought I had more. I distinctly remember sealing the stopper with wax, so it wouldn't dry up.” Gilbert was rustling around in his things, seeing if they were where he'd left them. “And here's my
Garin le Loheraine,
not in the chest, and— ugh, there's crumbs between the pages. Have the girls been reading it? Little savages. Someone should teach them manners. That's no way to treat a book.” He brushed away the crumbs. “Whatever happened to that fierce Madame creature that Master Kendall had teaching them French? Now there was a woman who knew how to keep order.”
    “And I don't?”
    “Margaret, the proof is plain. Crumbs in my book, and a whole bottle of ink most likely used up drawing fantasies. And my paper— if those girls aren't in bed sick, they have the whole household topsy-turvey all the waking hours of the day. They must learn to ask permission—”
    “They're good girls—”
    “I never said they weren't good—just disorderly. Admit, with all that you do, they've got beyond you.”
    “I
told
them to wash their hands before opening a book—”
    “And so they followed the letter of the law, and not its spirit. They washed their hands and ate while reading.”
    “But the ink's my fault. I let Master Will renew his supply, and the paper—”
    “Margaret, it's very clear. They need to be sent to some greathousehold for polish. They haven't a bit, that's obvious, and here they're getting to the age of betrothal and I've never seen two less marriageable girls. Now that I'm standing in good favor with the Duke, I'm sure I could arrange something.”
    “I can't bear it, I just can't. To have them so far away? Suppose they were ill treated? Suppose they got sick? Here in the City, they have position, their godparents are nearby, they are well regarded. But in the house of a great lord—no, I just can't bear it, I can't.”
    Gilbert looked thoughtful. “I see what you mean,” he said. “Still, it's not proper, keeping them at home. Maybe just a while more— but still, Margaret, you need to see beyond your indulgence of them. If you love them, they need manners. They
have
to have them. Why, if they can even frighten away a dragon like that Madame—”
    “They didn't make her go, Gilbert, you did.”
    “Me?” He looked utterly puzzled.
    “She said it was demeaning enough being reduced to teaching French in the household of a merchant, but if I should so soil an honorable widowhood by remarrying a fortune-hunting copy-clerk who had palmed himself off as a monk to get into the household, then it was no longer decent that she remain.” But instead of being offended, as I thought he would be, my husband threw back his head and laughed aloud.
    “Perfect!” he said, “absolutely perfect! That's exactly the sort of thing they need to know, Margaret. They need it in their bones. Look at it this way—it's a protection for them. The world isn't like this house,