Chapter 7

Jane’s POV

Winter lasted longer than anyone had patience for. When the thaw finally began, the yard turned to grey mud that clung to my shoes. I stopped keeping track of the weeks and began counting trips instead.

Water, barrels, errands, dirty linen down and clean linen back up. By my third week, I knew the work well enough to plan the next journey while I finished the one I was on.

It didn't make the baskets lighter, but it saved me some waiting. The north-wall guards came off duty on the half hour. The middle gate filled with carts in the early afternoon. Taking the west passage meant walking farther, but I could get through without standing behind a wagon for a quarter of an hour.

One morning Ina put the heaviest basket in front of me. She folded her arms and waited.

I checked where it was meant to go.

"North wall. I'm going that way."

I got my arms under it and lifted. She watched without offering to help, but she didn't give me another load on top of it.

Ina was broad-shouldered and sharp about small mistakes. I still didn't like being handed her heavy work, though at least I could answer her plainly. Sometimes she accepted an answer and left me alone. That was easier than trying to please the stewardess.

Naomi noticed when I began getting back earlier. One evening she watched me bring in the last tubs while there was still daylight. At supper, she put half a loaf beside my bowl without saying anything about it.

I was glad of the bread, and glad she hadn't praised me in front of the others. I didn't want anyone deciding I had time for more work. I wanted an afternoon free, though I hadn't worked out how to ask for one.

The cloak came down on a Tuesday.

Two guards carried it in a linen sheet. The under-stewardess walked ahead of them, followed by a young maid called Sela. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. Her hands were shaking, and she put them behind her back as she came through the door.

The cloak was thick winter wool, silver-grey, with a deep hem finished by hand. The women nearest it stopped working.

"She was the last to handle it," the under-stewardess said. "It came back to the press with a tear through the shoulder. A hand's width, at least."

Sela stared at the cloak. I wondered how many months of her wages it was worth, and whether they'd let her stay to earn them.

"I didn't tear it," she said. "I hung it up and took it down. That's all I did."

No one answered her. The women at the nearest benches kept their eyes on their work.

"Finley. Bring it here."

I took the corner nearest me and helped lift the cloak onto the trestle. The sheet slipped back. Light from the yard door fell across the damaged shoulder, and I turned the cloth slightly to see it better.

The opening followed the shoulder seam. A little of the wool had torn beside it, but farther along, the old stitches had broken without tearing the cloth. I held the edge between two fingers and looked at the frayed thread still caught in it.

"The seam may have gone first," I said. "Look. The thread's broken here as well, where the wool hasn't torn."

I lifted that part toward the light. I couldn't tell who had been holding the cloak when it gave way, but the damage didn't prove Sela had caught it on something.

Behind me, a needle stopped tapping against the trestle.

"Mind your place," the under-stewardess said. "I asked you to carry it."

I lowered the cloth. I hadn't accused anyone, and I wasn't going to guess who had done it. Sela was standing just behind me, still holding her hands out of sight. I wanted the under-stewardess to look at the thread, but I remembered the hot basin and kept quiet.

"That's enough."

An older woman stood in the doorway. I hadn't heard her arrive. She was spare and straight-backed, with her sleeves turned up and pinned clear of her wrists. The skin around her first two fingertips was thick and yellowed. She looked past us at the cloak.

"Mara," the under-stewardess began. "This girl—"

"I'll examine it. The rest of you can get back to work."

The women at the benches began moving again. Mara came over and took the shoulder from my hands. She checked the broken thread, then looked at me.

"If you think something needs mending, tell the person responsible for the mending. You don't need to announce it to the room."

My face grew hot. I'd been trying to stop them blaming Sela, and now I was being told off for that too. But Mara was still looking at the seam instead of sending me away.

She folded the cloak with the shoulder on top.

"You can mend this after supper. Take out the broken stitching first. I'll leave it here. Let me see it before it goes back upstairs."

Then she took it with her. I returned to my washing, glancing once at Sela before she followed the under-stewardess out.

The cloak was on the trestle when I came back from supper, just as Mara had said. I lit the second lamp, took the sewing box from underneath, and sat down.

First I removed the damaged stitching. Some of the thread came out easily; other pieces caught in the wool, and I worked them loose with the point of the needle. I checked beyond the tear too, until I reached stitches that held when I pulled gently against them.

Then I brought the edges together and smoothed the wool. There was enough cloth left to close the opening without pulling the shoulder out of shape. I basted it first and turned it over to check how it lay before putting in the stronger stitches.

It took the better part of two hours. I kept the stitches small and even, following the slant of the original work. When the thread began to drag, I drew it over the wax again. I didn't try to cover the repair with decoration. The cloak hadn't been decorated there before, and an added pattern would only draw attention to it.

The lamp guttered twice. I paused to adjust the wick, then bent back over the shoulder. Cloth dust caught in my throat. Outside, people emptied the last tubs and shut the doors. By the time I finished, the yard was quiet.

Mara came in while I was checking the underside. She stood at the end of the trestle until I laid down the needle.

She lifted the cloak toward the lamp, turned it, then pressed her thumb along the repaired seam. I watched her stop at one stitch and test the cloth on either side.

"At least you haven't made it worse."

"Can it go back?"

"I'll check it again in daylight. You've done the repair, so if it opens, I'll be coming to you."

I nodded, though I wanted to take it back and check that stitch myself.

She set the cloak down.

"The dress room needs help in the afternoons. Thread to sort, frames to carry. You might get some mending if you can follow instructions. Tomorrow after the noon bell, if you want it. I'll speak to the laundry stewardess."

"Is there extra pay?"

"No. Same wages. You'll still have your morning work here."

I looked at the cloak between us. More work, but in the dress room. I wouldn't have to invent a reason to go there or stand outside waiting for someone to ask what I wanted.

"I'll come at the bell."

Mara grunted, picked up the cloak, and left. I stayed at the table a moment, my back aching from bending over it. My hands were warm, and there were little marks on my fingers where I'd held the needle.

When I put the lamp out, I stood in the dark with my palm on the place where the cloak had lain.

The dress room was one floor above the corridor where I'd hidden behind my basket. Claire had worked there. Tomorrow afternoon, I would be going in to work too. I meant to listen, do what Mara asked, and keep my questions to myself until I knew who I could ask.