"You shouldn't come in here before I'm dressed," Dalgo said as he tied his cravat. "The servants will talk."
Clover raised an eyebrow as she surveyed Dalgo's copious bookshelves. He'd already been in his shirt and breeches when she'd entered the room. "You're not being serious?"
"It would certainly be considered improper if anyone else learned of it," he said, pulling on a deep blue embroidered waistcoat. "My comment about the servants talking was, naturally, facetious."
"I've got seven brothers, you've nothing I've not seen before," Clover said, declining to comment on the strange and complicated world of when is impropriety not actually improper. "Sorry, did I offend you?"
"I'm used to your candour. Though I can't imagine any of my previous sweethearts saying something like that."
"Really? Almost like we're all unique people."
"True. I think it's just a matter of upbringings." He sighed. "Though really I should have said 'either' instead of 'any'. They're both married now. Are you looking for anything in particular?"
Clover sighed, hands on hips, still staring up at the bookcase. "No. There's too many, I don't know how to remember them all."
"I noticed you looking at one of Father's journals yesterday."
"Yes. I enjoyed reading about how sullen you were as a child."
"Not much has changed. And you?"
"What?"
"Did you have your current disposition in childhood?"
Clover pursed her lips. "I was frightened all the time and wouldn't go anywhere without my sister."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It's true whether you believe it or not. What're you doing today, then?" she said, tugging the lapels of his jacket as he dusted down the sleeves. "You're all dressed up in your best like a kingfisher."
"I've got two marriages to perform. I'll be out until the evening."
"I didn't know you'd started officiating weddings again."
"I've been feeling more optimistic about the concept of lifelong partnership."
Clover stopped smiling. "Oh."
Dalgo laughed. "You say that with such dread." His arms curled around her waist. "Did you think I'd ask for you unless I thought there might be something to this 'marriage' concept?"
"I just assumed you wanted someone to complain to about your brother."
"That too." He kissed her neck. "I'll see you this evening. Don't work too hard."
"I'll tell your mum you gave me permission to be an idler," she called after him.
"Oh good."
It was all very sweet, Clover supposed, as she picked up his dirty laundry from the floor. They hadn't discussed the elopement plans in the days following its nixing. Clover still hadn't let go of the idea that they could run away, but she wasn't sure yet how to convince him. Best to let it lie until she was sure. But she didn't doubt there was a way. She just needed to work out what it was.
Buffo's presence was handy insofar as the security it provided. He was bigger than Sango and commanded more authority. It also made him a more hittable target for any Men that might take against them, so that was nice.
Tiger Lily was taking a walk around Bywater with other younger members of the gentry, thankfully giving her enough companions to avoid talking to him. Buffo was walking at the head of the party alongside Sango, having a conversation about the profitability of oat farming. Sango was listening attentively and contributing with such enthusiasm that an outsider wouldn't be able to tell that he hated farming. Tiger Lily couldn't tell if this display was just pretend, or if he had somehow managed to conjure enjoyment for the purposes of this conversation. Both seemed equally likely.
Snowdrops were growing along the path the group walked, their flowers bowed low as if in thought. There weren't as many as last year. Lots of the bulbs had been churned up by Man-sized carts or dug up to make way for buildings. But these ones still bloomed.
"There now," Opal said, linking her arm through Tiger Lily's. "Your swain is so civilised. Why can't you be?"
"What?" Tiger Lily's heart pounded in her ears until she saw Opal's blank expression. "Oh. You're talking about Sango."
"Who did you think I meant?"
"No one. Only that Sango isn't my swain so I didn't know who you could be referring to."
"Your ears are red."
"I don't think so."
"He seems better than in recent weeks," Opal said mildly. "Is he, truthfully?"
"I… think he's getting better," Tiger Lily said. "I wasn't being attentive to him before. But he's a little tightly wound, you know?"
"I don't know what he was so upset about," Abelia Grubb huffed. She was walking behind them on Rico Boffin's arm. "That lass was such a bore when we met her at the Boffin's farewell party. And her bodice was cut too low."
"He liked Miss Lavender," Tiger Lily said.
"It wasn't going to last," Opal said. "It was foolish for him to try. It's a shame he feels things so deeply."
"He gets carried away," Rico said. He looked intensely bored. "I don't know why he wanted to court her in the first place, it's not as though he knew what to do with her. Hence." He nodded at Sango and Buffo. "Shouldn't he be walking with you?" he said to Tiger Lily.
She said nothing. Tiger Lily preferred it like this: Opal was with her and she was spared the oliphaunt in the room of being the only lass in the group without a sweetheart. No. Of looking like she was the only one. Though that wasn't much better.
Opal looked back at Rico through narrowed eyes, and then tossed her hair with a high little laugh. "You always were such an amusing child, Rico. But don't be vulgar."
They were passing a group of Hobbits labouring, crawling around a building site like ants, tiling the roof of one of the big stone houses with the unpleasant corners. Rob was visible among them, standing a full head above the others, carting wheelbarrows of slates between a pile in the corner and the skeleton of the not-quite building. His hair and skin were caked with dust. Tiger Lily gripped her reticule with both hands and tried to walk past without looking at him too hard and giving herself away. Her stomach dropped when she heard Rico Boffin's voice.
"Look, there's that one from the farm—the one that didn't speak." He had stopped in the middle of the path and was craning his neck to watch Rob. He grinned at Abelia. "Should I reintroduce myself?"
"Leave them be, Rico," Sango said, putting his hands in his pockets and sighing wearily. "We can't keep the ladies here."
Rico ignored him, breaking away from their group and trotting off towards Rob, falling into step with him like a puppy snapping at the ankles of a Man.
"Hey," he said, giving Rob's arm a prod. "Where have you been, Delver, I missed you."
Rob ignored him, moving like a glacier, pushing another wheelbarrow across the building site. A few of the other workers, including assorted Delvers, glanced up but no one said anything. They continued their work as if nothing was happening.
"Why are you ignoring me? Aren't we friends?" Rico said, undeterred by Rob's lack of response, or possibly taking it as a challenge. "Are you rude or just stupid?"
The rising tension in Rob's muscles was plain, though Tiger Lily's wasn't sure if any of the others would be able to see it.
"Sango," she said, gripping his arm.
When he saw her pleading expression he sighed and rolled his eyes. He squeezed her hand. "Why don't you, Opal and Abelia just move along?" he said, glancing back at Rico. "This shan't end well, I don't think any of you should see it."
"Buffo and I are the only two who are of age," Opal said. "We can't leave you alone here."
"Perhaps Sango could take the younger misses away whilst we manage this?" Buffo said.
Tiger Lily stopped listening as she watched Rico and Rob, hoping every moment that Sango would do something to intervene.
"How is your family?" Rico said. He was continuously glancing back at Abelia, like she would be proud of him. "I hope you've got enough bread to go around. Assuming your mother hasn't excreted any more brats."
In one movement Rob whirled around and, grabbing the front of Rico's collar, pinned him against the wall of the house.
"You want to say that again?" he roared, while Rico squirmed and choked.
Immediately there was a hive of activity around Rob and Rico as a surge of Hobbits who had been working on the roof clambered down the scaffolding while Sango dashed towards them like an arrow. He joined the various Delvers that were gathered around the pair trying to pry Rob's hands away. All shouting so loudly and quickly that the words overlapped and became an incoherent mess.
"Rob. Rob, lad, let go," Mr Delver said, ineffectually tugging at Rob's arm.
Rob was glaring at Rico like all the world's ills were in him. Finally the fist at Rico's throat loosened. He dropped Rico, who slumped forward, putting his hands on his knees and taking deep breaths. Rob turned away from him, and as he did he lifted his eyes and gave Tiger Lily a thunderous look. He hated her more than Rico. He turned away from the group, not acknowledging any of the other Hobbits around him. His father caught his arm before he could get away.
"What on earth were you thinking?" he said.
Rob didn't reply, looking down at him blankly.
"I'll deal with you later," Mr Delver growled before letting him go and turning his attention to the Boffins.
"I'm so sorry, young master," he said. "He's soft in the head, you see. He don't know his strength."
"It's no trouble, Jon," Sango said, straightening Rico up and frantically trying to brush down his waistcoat.
"No trouble? He throttled me!" Rico said, glaring at Sango, red-faced from rage, embarrassment or a combination of the two.
"And whose fault was that?" Sango hissed into his ear, grinning dangerously; appearing stubbornly good-humoured in spite of everything. "How are you managing, Jon?"
"Well enough, young sir," he said, though it was obvious he wasn't genuine, like if he gave good enough answers Sango would leave him alone.
"Good, good…" he said, glancing back at Tiger Lily and the others, twitching his left leg in his anxiety to get away. "Well, we shan't trouble you any longer." He put his hands on Rico's shoulder to push him back to the path. "I'll commend you to our father," he called over his shoulder.
"Will you— will you be saying anything to him about… this?"
"I don't think that's necessary," he said, but his eyes flitted towards Rob. "But do try to keep your son under control."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I will, sir."
Sango re-joined Tiger Lily and the others, dragging Rico along and glowering ahead.
"You can't just—" Rico said.
"I would rather get out of here as swiftly as possible," Sango said, looking back at the others. "Tills! Come on!"
Tiger Lily and the others followed behind. Looking back, Tiger Lily saw Mr Delver barking reprimands at Rob.
"What did you go and do that for?"
"He can't talk to me like that, I don't work for him no more," Rob said, sniffing and wiping his nose with a forearm.
"The uppers are all bloody related!" Mr Delver said. "They all talk to each other. You think we won't get this back to Pimple? You think this is the time to put your position in danger?"
"Don't look at them," Opal said, tugging Tiger Lily along. "We don't want to provoke him anymore."
Tiger Lily forced herself to look away. What if he was looking at her back as she walked away? They were supposed to meet that evening and she couldn't stand the thought of leaving it until then. Still she kept herself turned away and didn't attempt to go back. Just had to pretend everything was normal.
If any of the maidservants of North Bank Row made eye contact with each other while taking in the washing, it was tradition that they should gossip about their respective employers as much as they could without losing their positions.
Clover didn't love gossip for the sake of it. Other people were too boring for her to be much interested in their lives. But listening to gossip about the gentry was different: it was like standing atop a hill and scoping out the land beneath. You needed to do it to see which ways the path was bending, what obstacles you'd have to handle or any hidden shortcuts you could take advantage of. And she would have to get better at it, if she wanted to navigate society as a Grubb.
"I'd swear that lass has had someone in there with her," Thyme said, leaning over the Grubb's fence. "Hairpins all over the floor this morning."
"That don't signify anything," Clover said, pulling another shirt from the line. Thyme was a maidservant for the Tooks at 1 North Bank Row.
"And two weeks back I had to drop some linen off in her room," said Thyme. "After I knocked there was all this scuffling and she came to the door all flushed and smiley. I always wondered about that Boffin lad but I never thought he'd have it in him."
"Didn't you used to work down the Boffin's way?" said Hemlock, the maid for the elderly Diggles at Number 2. She looked at Clover. "Do you think he would?"
Clover paused, considering the best response to protect herself and any idiot brothers that had made some very poor decisions. "We all thought they was sweethearts, but Mr Boffin's sons are gentlehobbits."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"I'm saying he probably wanted to but I don't know if he would. Anyway, it's the lass's business," Clover said.
"I hope she knows what she's doing," Thyme said. "The uppers have funny ideas about what's proper afore marriage."
"Even the Tooks?"
"Aye, from what I've seen."
Clover had never really understood the gentry's aversion to relations before marriage. It wasn't as though you could tell from looking at a person whether she was a maiden or not. It wasn't exactly encouraged among working families, as long as the couple were relatively discreet and got married before the bride started to show too much.
Rob's nonsense was part of the reason she needed to chivvy Dalgo along. Until then she needed to try and reduce as much scandal as she could.
"I don't know if I should tell the mistress," Thyme said. "If I tell her now she won't believe me and I'll be turned out, but if she finds out later I'll be in for it." She turned to Hemlock and grinned. "At least you don't have to worry about this sort of thing. Unless Mrs Diggle's got a fancy gentlehobbit on the side?"
Hemlock wasn't listening. There was something at the end of the row that had caught her attention, and she was craning her neck to see. Clover turned her head just enough to look in the same direction, without being seen to be looking. It was one of the Big Folk. He was sat on a wall, a trail of blue smoke snaking out of his pipe. He was very still, and seemed to be looking in their direction.
"How long's he been there for?" Clover said, turning away and endeavouring to make sure he hadn't seen her.
"Don't know. Could've been there ages, I don't remember."
"What?" Thyme said, straining her neck around to look. Clover bit down on her lip. Thyme had no guile, no subtlety. Her eyes widened when she saw the Man. "Oh Lawks. Why's he just staring at us, what do you think he wants?"
"How would we know?"
"I'm going inside," Thyme said, picking up her basket of washing. "Pimple's out for the Tooks, I'm not risking myself for them."
"Why don't you just get a new position?" Hemlock said, following Thyme down the garden into her own smial.
"I'm trying but there aren't many people hiring at the moment…"
Their voices smudged into nothing as they walked away, leaving Clover alone with the ruffian's stare. The other maids didn't seem to like her that much, which was fine because she didn't like them much either. Her heart moved into her mouth and she didn't waste any thought on grabbing the washing and moving to the smial. Quick so you get inside soon but slow enough so he doesn't realise he's been spotted and hurry to catch you.
"'Scuse me," said a deep voice, too close behind her.
Faster, faster.
Then she was lying on the ground. Clover took a deep, painful breath to replace the air that had been knocked out of her lungs. She had landed on top of the washing basket, which had taken the worst of the fall. But the force that put her there had caused her to roll onto her side, jarring her ribs painfully. She could still feel the force of the shove: a cold, pulsing blow between her shoulder blades.
He was stood over her, she knew without having to turn around. What to do, what to do? There was no time or space to think, no way to step back and organise a plan. Carefully, she rolled onto her back to look up at him. He was squat, nearly rectangular. Sandy hair, grimy skin. He held a knobbly cudgel in one hand and her back panged bitterly.
"I told you to stop," he said.
"Why'd you hit me?"
"You Clover Delver?"
"Why?"
He took a step forward and she scuttled backwards on all fours to keep her distance. "I reckon you would've said 'no' if that weren't you."
Her head was empty of responses. It was like dropping a ball of wool in the dark and not being able to find the end again. She settled for glaring at him.
"I've got a message for you," he said, placing both hands on the handle of his cudgel.
Clover sat up to try and look dignified. Enough to assert some control. "From who?"
"A friend of the Boss."
"Which friend?"
"That's not for you to know. The Boss likes people to stay in their proper place, and he wants you to mind yours."
"What d'you mean?"
"The Boss don't want you interfering with his family. They're not for you." He pointed the cudgel in the direction of the Grubbs' smial, then brought it back to wave it in front of her face. She was suddenly aware of how pliable her flesh was as one of the spikes pressed against her cheek threateningly. "You're a skivvy for a litter of uppity rat-folk. You all think you're better then you are, putting on airs like you're not vermin crawling in the mud. You remember what you are." The cudgel was brought away from her face quickly, dragging the spike across her skin as it did. It left a pulsing scratch the length of her jaw.
"If you don't remember there'll be trouble," he said. He wiped the cudgel on his breeches and weighed it up in his hand. "You might get sent a firmer message in the future."
Clover swallowed. "What've I done?"
"You know. The Boss might even have to send a message to your own people if you don't start behaving yourself."
Clover's fingers tightened around the grass as the walls of her vision pressed in. Whatever she had done, none of that involved her stupid, clueless little family. "How would he know who my people are?"
"He's got his ways. I'm done here." He put his foot down on the upturned washing basket. It went right through, snapping the wicker. As he walked away he shoved her shoulder with the handle of his cudgel. "I won't be so kind next time. Don't waste my time by forcing me to come back."
And he walked away. Clover brought her hand up to touch her jaw. The stinging was worse and her fingertips came back with sticky red smears. Her back ached from the first blow. She didn't dare get up until she was out of sight, not wanting to turn her back on him to go inside. Once satisfied, she hastily bundled all the scattered washing under one arm, grabbed the broken basket under the other, and ran for the smial.
She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, as if she alone was enough to keep the world out.
Clover forced herself to take shallow, steady breaths as she ducked into her room to look in her mirror. She found the scratch on her jaw was slim. Only a sliver of blood had seeped through, easily cleaned, though her hands trembled as she did. She told herself she was being ridiculous – just take better care of yourself and you needn't fear the Men, rise above it. But her hands still shook. She leaned heavily against the dresser, taking deeper breaths as she tried to convince herself she wasn't afraid.
You're so small. They could step on you and crush you like an insect.
She had been born early and small. But she had gone forth into the world screaming. She was here and people would remember her. And now she felt as vulnerable as a sickly, half-dead babe.
Why had they come for her? Who had sent him?
A friend of the Boss.
She doubted she and Lotho moved in the same circles.
One of the Grubbs, obviously, one of the Grubbs, it's about Dalgo, what's wrong with you, why didn't you think of that immediately?
"Clover!" It was Young Mrs Grubb's voice. "Mistress Victoria needs her medicine."
Clover stumbled out into the hallway like a puppet pulled by strings and bumped into someone. A hand was put on her arm to steady her.
"Careful."
She realised she was looking into the face of Monno Grubb. She pulled away from his hand and ran to the kitchen.
Monno was the only person who knew about the betrothal. Obviously it was him.
Her mind spun as she prepared Old Mrs Grubb's medicine.
Why was he talking to Lotho? What had he said? What would happen next? She lowered herself into a chair and held her head in her hands, clenching hard.
What did she do? Tell Dalgo?
If Dalgo believed her he would confront Monno and she would be on Lotho's list again. Or he wouldn't believe her and she would lose him. If she obeyed the ruffian's ultimatum she would lose him anyway.
She splashed her face with cold water and got on with giving Old Mrs Grubb her medicine. The old lady was in the parlour, playing cards with her daughter-in-law. Dalgo was standing over them, a book tucked under one arm and talking to them about something she didn't care to engage with.
"What took you so long? And what happened to your face?" Young Mrs Grubb said as Clover laid out the medicine bottles and water jug.
"I tripped on the washing basket. Put my foot through. Sorry," Clover said, unable to summon her usual levels of obsequiousness.
Young Mrs Grubb tutted. "I'll need to take it out of your wages."
"Yes, mistress."
She could feel Dalgo's eyes on the back of her head but didn't bother to look at him. She didn't want to know what his face was doing.
"After you've done this can you make the beds?" Young Mrs Grubb said.
"Yes, mistress."
"And then you can help me start on the dinner."
"Yes, mistress."
"Very good."
Clover picked up the tray of medicines and left the room. She had just put her hand on the kitchen doorknob when Dalgo burst into the corridor, flustered. "What's wrong?"
"You din't wait long enough before following me, they'll ask questions," Clover said wearily as she entered the kitchen.
"How bad was the fall?" he persisted, following her in. "You're upset."
"I'm just shaken."
"I can pay for the basket," he said. "Here." He gently took her face in his smooth fingers and ran his eyes over the cut. His eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand how you got this from falling."
Until now her emotions had been balanced on a damp piece of straw. She wasn't strong enough to keep it from snapping in response to this question. She sniffed as tears started to push themselves through. "It was one of the Big Folk," she said in a pathetic little simper.
"What? Why?"
"I don't know."
"There must have been something!"
"I don't know! Why don't you ask him?" She turned away from him and sniffed again, putting the medicines back in the cabinet.
"I could… complain to Lotho?" Dalgo said, but even now he sounded unsure.
"No. That'll get you hauled off to the lockholes. What happens then?"
"Is he so unreasonable?"
"After you insulted him when he visited? I think you're lucky you're not there already. "
There was silence, filled only by clinking earthenware bottles.
"You don't think he did this because I offended him?"
Ah. She sighed as relief breathed over her. A reasonable explanation. "Maybe. I don't know."
"I won't rile him again. I'm sorry." He kissed her hands. "I'll go and change my bed."
"You can't protect me completely," she called after him. "Not while we're here."
"I'll do my best," he said as he left.
Tiger Lily heard the steady beat before she could see him. As she ascended Rob came into view over the curve of the hill. A bolt of furious energy, he was stood before a tree, pounding his fists into the trunk over and over. She pushed her feet against the ground to make them go faster. He didn't react when she called his name. He probably couldn't hear her over the sound of the blows. She started to run.
"Rob!" she called again, as loudly as she could with her lack of breath. He still didn't react, glaring at the tree like it was the source of all his hurts, sweat trickling down his forehead and plastering his beautiful curls to his forehead. There was blood smeared along his fingers and knuckles.
"Rob, stop!" she said, tugging on his sleeve.
Rob tugged his arm out of Tiger Lily's grip, moving away from her. He brought his forearm across his brow. "You know Rico Boffin was a tyrant to me when I was working on the farm and you were walking with him like you're friends. You din't even say nothing to stop him, even though you know I can't."
"Neither could I."
"You just bloody stood there!" he bellowed and launched his fist into the tree again.
Tiger Lily tensed her own fists; the quietest conduit she had for her fear and shame. Tentatively she held out a hand to him, like he was a wild animal that could bolt at any moment.
"I'm sorry, Rob, I'm sorry."
As soon as her fingertips touched his arm he pushed her hand aside. "Don't."
"Rob…" she called out pathetically.
"I don't want to talk to you!"
He shouldered her off and walked away, his shoulders hunched over and his hands plunged firmly in his pockets. Tiger Lily fell into a crouching position, pushing herself into as small a ball as possible and covering her head with her hands. Rob was the one she went to with problems she couldn't talk about with anyone else. What now?