A Matter Of Delicacy

The Summoning

     'Again, Katherine. Do it again.' My father stood by the garden wall, hands gripped firmly behind his back, as I worked through my drills. He watched, hawk-eyed, as I lunged, my hands gripped around the pommel of my sword, keeping my leg straight and strong behind me. I could feel the muscles straining in my thighs and the weight settling hard in my knee. And old wound twinged and I winced but stayed steady, sweat dripping down my forehead.
     'Better. Now, hold it.' He circled around me, nudging my back to keep it straight, my foot to keep it from splaying, my knee to stop it giving.
     I gritted my teeth and waited.
     'Good,' he said finally, shooting me a satisfied nod.
     I pulled myself back to my feet, breathing heavily. 'I'm still too stiff.'
     'But you're improving. Every day. You tend to get a little sloppy after a while, but we'll work on that. Keep strong and hold your lines steady.' He took in my glistening forehead and handed me a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. I took it gratefully and wiped my face, the cloth coming away damp and grey with grime. 'Clean yourself up and I'll meet you for dinner.' He headed back for the house, his hands once again fixed behind his back.
     The second he was gone I sagged against a tree, my breath coming in fast and frantic pants and my chest heaving. My entire body ached and every limb felt made of sand and sleet. I tugged at my loose shirt, wafting cool air around my neck.
The evening was tranquil, and a breeze had picked up from across the river, flowing up the hill and into our garden that was full of flowering trees and thick rose bushes. We were completely hidden here, in our own little paradise. It was somewhere to fully relax, away from prying and proper eyes.
     It was somewhere to train.
     I sheathed my sword and slung it over my shoulder, heading back towards the house and the bath I knew would be waiting for me.

     'Oh, Miss Katherine, you're filthy!' Our maid Eliza was waiting in my bedroom, already pouring jugs of hot water into the tub by the fire. She came over, taking my sword from my weary hands and hanging it delicately back on its hooks above my bed, where it would always rest within arm's reach.
     I sat at my dressing table and started unlacing my boots, groaning as each part of me ached.
     'The Master put you through your paces then, Miss?' Eliza chirruped as she started pulling pins out of my hair and teasing apart the curled knots.
     'It was brutal,' I winced as I felt a new blister rising on my ankle. I could feel the lumpy scar on my knee throbbing. It was purple and ugly, a botched job done by a quack doctor after my last mission went crumbling down.
     Eliza caught my movements, 'did it hold up?'
     'Just,' I pulled off my boots and stretched my toes out towards the fire. 'I'll have to work at it again tomorrow though. No one's going to hire me if I can barely walk.'
     She helped me out of my clothes and into the bath, combing my hair with lavender oil and hanging my dinner dress in front of the fire to heat. I lay there, basking in the warm water and feeling it seep into every bone and joint, easing out the stiffness of the day. I ached all over, my body rebelling against the challenges Father had put me through. I wanted to stay in this bath forever, until every pain had gone.
     But I had bruises on my back, a scar on my knee, a scratch down my thigh, knarled stitches down my side. Every single one of those wounds warned me to be better. As good as both of us knew I could be.
     There was still work to be done.

     'There you are,' Father was already sat in his chair at the head of the table by the time I came downstairs, clean and dressed in a pale blue gown with my hair twisted into a simple bun. We had made a rule, he and I, all those years ago when we started training, to never let work bleed into the domestic. And, therefore, we never had weapons or training clothes at the dinner table.
     'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you waiting.' I sat next to him and spread my napkin over my lap. Cook had prepared a filling meal of veal and chicken pie with new potatoes and a steaming bowl of green beans. Knowing the physical work we went through she always tactfully over catered and we ate with relish, exchanging wine and thick slices of bread. After twenty minutes in near silence, Father sat back and sighed, satisfied. 'Remember we have been invited to the Lorris's tomorrow evening for their card party.'
     I stopped what I was doing, the fork halfway to my mouth. 'But they're so awful!'
     Father smiled, 'I know, and believe me I want to go as little as you do but I gave him my word and Mrs Lorris wants to meet you.'
     'Mrs Lorris? He's brought his new wife home?'
     'Indeed. Apparently he managed to get over you rather quickly, my dear. I hear she's a sweet thing, though rather frail.'
     'Oh thank God. Maybe he'll stop pining and actually do something other than moon over his mother and that horrendous dog of hers.'
     'I think the older Mrs Lorris will also be present so, please,' Father looked at me over his wine glass. 'Behave yourself.'
     I nodded, already dreading it. Old Mrs Lorris and I had never been close, her resenting my refusal of her son Henry. It had been a year ago and relations with the family had been strained ever since. But Father had long been friends with the old Mr Lorris and so I suspected we had been invited to meet the new wife for his sake.
     Our dinner was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door, startling me. Father tensed his fingers around his meat knife. We rarely had visitors here and at this time of the night... I heard Eliza go to the door and we waited in silence.
     'Mr Wentworth, sir? There's a lady here wants to speak to Miss Katherine. She's dressed nicely sir, all covered in velvet and ribbons.'
     'To me?' I glanced at Father but he just frowned. 'Did she say her name?'
     'Lady Bruce Miss. She's waiting in the parlour.'
     'Lady Bruce?'
     Father cleared his throat, 'I believe there's a Lady Bruce who is a firm resident at court? A friend of the royal family and sister to the Duke of Somerset if I'm not mistaken. That would fit nicely with your prestige as the Silver Sword and the price that comes with it.'
     'Why would she come to see me?' I left my napkin on the table and stood.
     'Perhaps you should ask her.' Father nodded towards the door and speared a bean on his fork.
      I was left to meet the stranger on my own.
      Lady Bruce was a tall woman, covered in dark red satin and velvet, her hair decorated with piles of fake flowers and jewelled ribbon. She glittered in the candlelight, the light reflecting off her large earrings and necklace. Turning to face me she bent her knee in a curtsey.
      'Lady Bruce, this is a surprise,' I copied her.
     'I would have sent a messenger before me, Miss Wentworth' She spoke with a high, polished voice with a slight aristocratic drawl. 'But my business is of the upmost secrecy and I couldn't trust any of my servants.'
     So she needed help.
     I raised my chin and squared my shoulders, 'how can I be of service my lady?'
     She sighed to herself, looking me up and down with thinly veiled disdain. 'It's not me I ask for Miss Wentworth. I ask on behalf of the Princess of Wales.'
     My heart started to beat faster, galloping in my chest. 'The Princess of Wales?'
     'Yes, Miss Wentworth. I am here to summon you to London.'