A Candle to Light Your Honour

Kitty Ryan, 2003

Chapter Three: Adding Heat to the Melting Pot
1014, Lise Cartwell's Creations, the Diamond District, Ninver, Capchen.
Seven months after a wedding
 Adding Heat to the Melting Pot

"We have an agreement, Mistress Darra."

"Agreement accepted, Daughter Cartwell."

Lise Cartwell nodded, as was expected, and started wrapping up soft, pastel-green blankets into a neat parcel. "Two silver astrels, if you please, and a copper crescent."

Darra nodded, rather grimly, and took out the money. "That copper crescent is a worthless profit, you know," she said, quietly.

Lise grinned, taking up the coins and pocketing them. "Every penny counts, Mistress Darra. We both know that."

"Forgive me for asking, but, what age does the New Year make you, this time?"

The girl laughed at her customer's formality, flicking ashy-blonde hair behind her ears in a reflexive, childish movement. "Fourteen this Sap Moon, Mistress."

Darra raised an eyebrow. "You work well, for someone so young."

Lise managed, with an effort, to suppress a giggle. "The same could be said for you. Then, of course, Mama always did say you were twenty-one going on sixty-three, if you'll pardon my saying."

Darra's smile faded. "There's nothing to pardon, my dear," she said, coolly.

Lise swallowed, realising her tactlessness. "You've chosen some beautiful blankets, Mistress Darra," she almost trilled, handing over the parcel. "Are they a gift for Mistress Gretchen, or--"

"--Of course they're for Gretchen, girl."

"Oh. I just thought, maybe, that you might have…well, found out some special news of your own, and were just being very organised about it, if you know wha--"

"--I'm sure you'll know if I have any 'special news' long before I do, Daughter Cartwell." Darra, smiling thinly, took hold of her purchase. "And I am terribly glad you approve of my gift choice. I'll remember to come to the next time I have any difficulties."

"Please do!" said Lise, with a smile. Darra's sarcasm was either completely lost on the girl, or she was a dangerously good actress. "Lovely doing business with you."

"Likewise."

Darra Chandler waited until the door was closed behind her, and her back was to the ice-frosted glass, before she allowed herself to glare. Insufferable little chit.

"Something the matter, Mistress Darra?"

Fedwren Rightwork, his cheeks flushed with the cold of the early morning (and from drink, most likely, Darra thought, sourly) was standing opposite her, well-wrapped up in layers of clothes obviously of his own making. "You look a little peaky. Bad bargain?"

"A very good one, actually." Darra turned up her glare. "That Lise Cartwell," she said, maliciously, "is far too young to take over her father's business. She'll be destitute before the year is out, if her skills don't improve."

"Ah well, it takes time to straighten your crooked stitches," Fedwren murmured, in a tone that Darra assumed was meant to be wise.

"I am unfamiliar with that proverb, Master Rightwork."

Fedwren nodded, smiling humourlessly. "I didn't expect you to be anything else. A rather narrow lot, the Chandlers. Brilliant at what they do, but narrow." Still smiling, Fedwren made his fuming listener a courtly bow. "Send my regards on to dear Mistress Gretchen, despite the fact that she'll be bringing another one of your clan out into the world."

Darra turned on her low heel, putting all of her will into ignoring him.

Fedwren watched her go, back straight and furious, strains of hair escaping their pins, and swallowed laughter.

Lise started as Master Rightwork walked quickly into her shop, with the most intense expression in his eyes she'd ever seen.

"Can I help you?"

Fedwren turned to look at her, intense eyes and all, and Lise blushed.

"My dear young woman," he said in a low voice, a little breathlessly. "I think you can."

"Well, Master Rightwork, we have--"

"--Call me Fedwren, please. Your father, Yanna preserve his soul, was too good a friend of mine for you and I to stand on ceremony. "

Lise's blush deepened. "Please, sir, it wouldn't be proper."

"You have grown up, Daughter Cartwell. " Fedwren leaned on Lise's highly polished counter, tracing his fingers over a knot in the grain. "It is…astounding."

Lise swallowed, backing away until she hit the wall. "I'm not at all sure if we should be having this conversation," she whispered, voice thick.

"Well then, how about we steer it in another direction, ey?"

"Y-yes. I think we should."

The much older fabric merchant straightened, eyes shining. "How much of a profit did you make just then, with the Chandler woman? She seemed rather…overwrought."

Residence of Johan and Gretchen Chandler, Wellcross Road, Ninver, Capchen
"I hate it!"

The day was almost over, a pervasive, lingering winter chill settling over the land as, blurred by the haze of chimney smoke and workhouse fumes, an insanely orange sun dipped below the horizon. Most of Ninver's respectable shops were having their doors barred, while those of a more suspect nature were hesitantly beginning to open. Fedwren Rightwork was surprising all that knew him by taking a certain pale, very pretty girl out to dinner, and in Johan Chander's house--very well situated, at the foot of Highheld Hill--Gretchen was confined to bed.

Darra sighed. "Hate what?" she asked, even though she more than knew the answer.

"I hate being pregnant!" Gretchen had been wailing for well past half-an-hour, face flushed, hair dishevelled, and being generally disagreeable. Darra knew her friend had an excuse, of course, but couldn't help wishing the woman would carry her problems with a little more dignity. As it was, however, and knowing that it wasn't exactly appropriate to voice these irritations, Darra limply patted her hand.

"Hush now, Grechen, it'll be over s--"

"--Ooh, stop that!"

Darra glared. She was perfectly prepared to keep her friend company, but she didn't have to listen to her act like an idiot. "You're being absolutely revolting, woman. Calm down."

Gretchen flinched, pulling her hand away and sliding under the blankets until only a tearful, blotchy face showed. "You're being horrible, Darra Chandler. I don't deserve this, not in my condition."

"Oh, but you do. Anyone who acts like a fool must be treated far worse than a fool," Darra said primly, quoting her mother. "I know you're feeling hot and disgusting, and you're sick of everyone and their aunt speculating about a baby that must seem like it's taking forever to be born, but, for everyone's sakes, it's much better to keep up appearances." Smiling, Darra pulled the blankets back and, gently but firmly, helped Gretchen sit up. "Just imagine what your husband will think, when he comes home to find that his beloved wife is a complete wreck."

Gretchen bit her lip, eyes reproachful.

"There, there, now. I know I sound like I'm being awful, but you have to admit I'm right."

"I…I s-suppose so, Darra," Gretchen muttered, not looking at her. "I hope Johan will be back in time for the birth. I miss him so much!" The woman looked up again, shivering a little. "Do you miss Valden?"

"What a silly question! Of course I do."

"I've…I've been feeling like I just can't cope, with him gone, with all the men gone, on that silly trading foray of theirs. Emmine feels the same. I wish they'd come back."

Why do I have to be surrounded by women who can barely have an intelligent thought on their own? Darra wondered, desperately. "It's a very important trip, Gretchen. You know that. And won't you like it when they come back so much the richer for it?"

Grechen nodded.

"Well, then, it's rather selfish of you to complain about it. Besides, we're more than capable of surviving on our own."

"You're so much braver than I am, Darra!"

Darra grinned, though she wanted nothing more than to roll her eyes. "There's nothing brave about fending for oneself. It's simply living."

"Not the kind of living I enjoy."

Darra looked around the room, with its needlessly luxurious furnishings, and the Bihan tapestry on one wall that was nothing but redundant, and shook her head.

"Darra?"

"Gretchen?"

"I'm sorry, and thank you so much for the blankets."

Darra carefully tucked some flyaway hair behind Gretchen's ear. "Apology accepted, and no trouble at all."

The two women sat in silence for a long while. The last rays from the orange sun faded, first to yellow, to grey, and then into nothing at all. Fedwren Rightwork lingered for rather too long outside Daughter Cartwell's door, after respectfully seeing her home.

"Darra?"

"Gretchen?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just have."

"Well, another thing."

"I'm not stopping you."

"Could you be with me, when the baby's born?"

"…Yes, dear. If that's what you want."

"You're just too wonderful! Even though you always sound like a martyr when you talk to me."

Residence of Johan and Gretchen Chandler, Wellcross Road, Ninver, Capchen
Eight months after a wedding
Birth, Darra decided, had to be the most disturbing thing in the universe. And certainly the most disgusting.

Starting from the first groan, and ending with a wail and a rush of blood and other unmentionable things, Darra now knew that she had witnessed true horror on earth. She also, for the first and only time in her life, wished that Uraelle had a little less of her trademark thrift. The mentally scarred young woman knew things would have been at least a little bit cleaner if her cousin had just taken the effort to bend and bring in a real midwife.

Darra shuddered--after making sure she was well out of sight, behind the bedroom door--for what was possibly the hundredth time that day. She knew she would have to go back into Gretchen's room, soon, she'd only been allowed to leave, briefly, so she could clean up.

I just hope they've somehow managed to get rid of the smell

"Darra…?"

Gretchen's faint voice, coming out of her room.

Darra bit back a groan, and stepped back into the fray, only just missing Uraelle as she walked determinedly through her intended path with a bowl of steaming water.

"Out of my way, girl."

"Sorry, cousin Uraelle."

Uraelle turned to look at her, eyes intrigued. "You look a little pale, Darra. Anyone would think you've never seen a woman give birth before."

"That's because I haven't, cousin Uraelle."

"But you have siblings, I believe. Two younger girls…?"

"My mother always insisted on having midwives."

Uraelle sniffed. "Pointless extravagance, I call it."

Darra stepped neatly out of her cousin's way. "It never did us any harm, cousin Uraelle."

Uraelle said nothing, just brushing past Darra and putting a cool cloth to Gretchen's forehead, radiating disapproval.

I don't need your acceptance, woman, Darra thought bitterly to herself, glaring at an unfortunate maid for folding leftover sheets clumsily.

need , Darra thought bitterly to herself, glaring at an unfortunate maid for folding leftover sheets clumsily.

"Darra…."

Oh, she'd forgotten about Gretchen. Hastily, Darra walked over to the bed, careful to stand on the other side to Uraelle. Looking down at her friend, Darra felt a small, uncomfortable twinge about how pale she was, and she couldn't understand why the new mother was smiling.

"Have a look at the baby," Gretchen whispered, holding out shaking arms full of a bundle that looked suspiciously red, despite all memories Darra had of it being dumped in water and wrapped in one of her own green blankets at least half an hour ago.

"Are you sure…?"

"Of course." Gretchen's faint smile widened. "I mean, if Johan were here, then he would be the first after me, but he's not, and you are, and you deserve to…."

Darra took the child, just to stop Gretchen from talking. She looked like she needed to save her air.

The baby was warm, and slightly damp. Its eyes were tightly shut in what looked like--at least to its new aunt's eyes--a horribly deformed, squashed in face. A face that looked even more monstrous as its mouth opened, shockingly, cavernously wide, and it started to scream.

Residence of Johan and Gretchen Chandler, Wellcross Road, Ninver, Capchen

Almost nine months after a wedding

Four people, and one baby, in a light and airy room, with pale-blue drapes hung about the windows. Two of them, men--one tall, and one broad--stood near a rather tired looking woman--the one holding the baby--who was half lying on a sofa. The second woman, small, stiff, and awkward, was standing further back, behind everyone else and closer to the door.

"So," said the tall main, quietly. "I have a little son."

Gretchen looked up at her husband adoringly, baby asleep in her arms. "Aymery Johannes Chandler."

Johan raised an eyebrow. "We've never had an Aymery in house Chandler before," he said, looking quizzically at what he'd just found out was his child. "Why didn't you wait until I was present before you came up with a name?"

Gretchen blushed, shamefaced. "I…I'm sorry, my love…but…"

"Hang on a minute, brother." Valden, identical to Johan from curly hair to recent travel-stains, save being a little plumper, a little shorter, his eyes just that little bit larger then the older man's, put out a hand in a soothing gesture. "The boy is about a month old, and you weren't exactly around to name him. I think Gretchen's done a wonderful job on her own. Aymery is a fine name. My own Darra couldn't have chosen any better."

Johan nodded, grudgingly, and stroked his wife's cheek. "I am very, very proud of you, dear. You have done your duty admirably. Now, may I see the boy?"

Gretchen smiled, looking, for an instant, truly beautiful. "I thought you'd never ask."

Valden turned away from that scene of pretty affection, to find that his own wife was doing the same. He walked over to her, eyes kind. "It'll be our turn before we know it," he said.