Like Fire and Powder

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

July 28th

The heat had abated in Verona; the violence had not. The Mob Laws were now being enforced, making public assemblies of more than ten people a crime. The Ducal Guards, now supported by reinforcements from nearby districts, established nightly barricades on the major carriage roads. Drunkenness, insulting gestures, and drawn weapons were now also now criminal offenses worthy of arrest and fines. Further elevation of temporary restrictions was being debated by the Council.

So far, these measures had not stunted the violence but merely changed the players. Like children, the major forces in Verona found ways to continue to torment each other and pretend they were innocent. None would stand to see their enemies advance an inch, even if their fighting would bring them all crashing down. Fighting was done now by proxy, with disposable creatures (agents and servants) standing in for their masters. Other wretches could not afford to suspend business, legal or illicit, and risked the penalties. It now was more often these unfortunates who were swept up and tossed into the gaols to be sorted later.

This reduction of the quality of prisoners was never felt more than by a pair of ladies, separated from their male companion, who spent an unthinkable night in the Old Gaol. They had been detained when the older lady not only refused to stop her carriage when ordered but tried to strike the guards who were forced to arrest the party. After a night spent in a common cell, resplendent with the sensory delights of vomiting and pissing, one would have thought them ready to do anything to be released.

"What is this?" the older lady yelled as soon as her hands were freed. "I demand to see the High Magistrate. Do you know who I am? I will not deal with a green youth. This shocking behavior will not go unpunished, mark my words!"

Charlotte Iden took a steadying breath. The Ladies Iden had been the Hereditary High Magistrate for centuries, but they had generally been older when they assumed the position. Charlotte's mother had been murdered three years earlier, thrusting her into the role quite young. The position was an important one, usually far above passing judgment on miscreants. However, noble offenders were legally entitled to her services, and once one demanded Lady Iden's judgment during a crisis, they all did. Accordingly, fines for public urination and crossing swords were running quite high. "I am the High Magistrate. Sit down."

The ladies sat. Rather than crowd them, their male companion chose to stand. Lady Iden's lips flickered with a thought to command him to also sit, but she let it pass in the name of haste. Something else, ire, grew as she read the report of the guards who had detained the trio. Icily, she asked, "Which one of you is Catherine de Bourgh?"

"I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh," the older woman answered.

"I wonder that you admit to it so readily. Along with your common charges of defying a civil curfew, unauthorized travel, and evading arrest, you are facing three counts of assaulting a Ducal Guard. When the guards told you that the capital limits are closed between dusk and dawn, that there is a curfew in place, what about that, exactly, was unclear to you?"

The gentleman, who spoke with a faint accent that Lady Iden could not identify, tried to smooth the situation. "My lady, I beg your pardon for this trouble. We were unaware of the curfew to begin with. We come-"

"Sir, what is your name?"

"Lord Audley, my lady."

"Lord Audley, I was not speaking to you, was I? Speak in turn, or I will have you removed." Unfortunately for the three offenders, they were standing upon Lady Iden's very last nerve. "Ignorance is not a defense. Further, there is no excuse for these charges of assault."

"They had no right to treat us so roughly," Catherine protested.

"Nor you a right to treat them so poorly!" Privately, Lady Iden believed the truth typically lived somewhere between the accounts of each side. The Guards were no more or less trustworthy than anyone else, but if the law did not give the benefit of the doubt to its own stewards, it could not rightly trust anyone. "However, now that you all know of the curfew and the consequences of defying it, I deem it unlikely you will repeat your errors. If you will all agree to judgment for violation of the curfew, I will waive the greater charges."

Catherine could not be satisfied with this. She argued with Lady Iden, again and again returning to the point of the superiority of herself over such lowly creatures as, at best, second sons of lords. Had she mentioned her maiden name, she would have drawn a great fit of ironic laughter from Lady Iden, who had frequent dealings with Captain Fitzwilliam. However, Catherine had no wish to be forced to be grateful to either of her younger brothers. She argued on her own merits, which were small and dwindling still in the magistrate's view, and mortified her daughter and the man she (quite vainly) hoped to one day call a son.

"Enough!" the magistrate cried at last. "I've heard enough for three from your tongue. If you make one more argument, Lady Catherine, I will schedule you for a trial." This was enough to quiet even the formidable lady. "Catherine de Bourgh, you are fined three hundred gold crowns for violation of a civil curfew and disruption of peace. Rainier Audley and Anne de Bourgh are each fined twenty-five gold crowns for violation of a civil curfew. You are to be held until the fines are fully paid in coin."

The prisoners were all stunned; the total sum far exceeded what would be safe to carry on one's person during a long journey. Anne, who had always imagined herself delicate, was sure she would catch a dread disease that would ruin her beauty if she spent another night in that horrid cell. She begged Lady Iden for mercy. "It will take days to have that much sent up!"

Lady Iden pursed her lips in consideration. "What is the purpose of your travel?"

"We are visiting our cousins. It is a surprise, my lady, they won't know to miss us. Please, my uncle is-"

"Mind your manners," Catherine snapped.

Only a great struggle with composure kept a loud snort from escaping Lady Iden. "Mind your own, my lady, and thank your daughter for speaking. You may write to these cousins, and if they will take responsibility for you, I will allow you to go with them and give ten days for the fines to be paid."

Anne turned to her mother. "Who shall we write to?"

"What a stupid question."

Georgiana snuggled a hollowed-out book back into the shelf, right between two volumes on mercantile history. "I have to move this every few weeks. Fitzwilliam will eventually make good on his promise to read every book in the house."

"That is a book worth reading." Juliette licked the last streaks of salty chocolate from her fingertips. "Wherever did you get the idea for those?"

"It was a most guarded secret of the lady who owned the confectioners in the town where Fitzwilliam and I were born. My mother was mad for them from the first taste, she says. About a year before we left, the confectioner's son was accused of a very serious crime. He could have gone to the gallows." Georgiana shuddered as she returned to her seat. "The gentleman who normally defended the accused in the town believed he was guilty and would not help."

"And your father did."

"Yes, he did," Georgiana replied proudly.

"And the confectioner was so grateful that she gave your family the recipe for the chocolates?"

"Not exactly. Oddly, the confectioner was a terrible cook. The confectioner's son spent almost half a year in that jail, all the time with my mother sending him meals to replace what his own mother sent. He was so grateful for the food that he gave the recipe to her in secret."

Juliette rubbed her hands together thoughtfully. "Well, this will work out nicely. Your brother has already started to pester me about a wedding gift."

"Oh, you mustn't! He'll be absolutely crushed."

"Why? I hardly need some jewel-encrusted thing."

"But he will be bitterly disappointed if you asked him for something he can't give to you."

"What do you mean?"

Georgiana paused. She had been entirely caught up by this sisterly conversation. It wasn't nice to gossip about her brother, but surely, if it was to Juliette, it was not so much gossip as it was... sharing information. "My brother has a horrible weakness for sweets, those chocolates especially. Mother was afraid he would be spoiled with them if anyone else even knew how to make them."

"You mean to tell me your mother makes them?"

A finger flew to Georgiana's lips. "She gave most of the recipe to one of the confectioners in the Old City, but yes, she finishes them herself. Once or twice a year, she pretends to make an entire batch, but the rest of the year they must be hidden. Otherwise, he might know where to get them."

"Even now?" Juliette asked. This little hint of her fiancé's character amazed her, something entirely different than what he would reveal to her. He was always controlled, always measured. The only bleak spot in this new sea of amusement was that she could not torment him directly without betraying her new sister. "Why, this is terrible!"

"Terrible?"

"Yes! How will I resist telling him so I may find him asleep on this floor with chocolate all over his cheeks?" The ladies shared a storm of giggles that lasted until their brothers entered the library.

Juliette was astonished. For the first time in weeks, her brother didn't look like he had a lemon shoved in his mouth. He looked, if she dared to believe it, pleased. Her eyes darted to her fiancé, expecting signs of a physical battle, but he also looked oddly pleased. Instantly, she was desperate to know just what the men had said to each other in private. She began her campaign by sliding toward Fitzwilliam when he sat down. "Did you have a nice visit?"

"Nice... yes." Suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "Dearest, there is something next to your lip."

"Oh, is there?" She held her breath and dabbed the corner of her mouth.

Though perplexed by the stifled giggles he heard rise up in the two ladies, he moved on. "I have to take care of something in the Old City that cannot wait. Do you mind waiting until I return? Your brother agreed to stay here with you and Georgiana-"

"Of course he did," Juliette interrupted smugly. That satisfied one curiosity, or so she thought.

"I may not be back until dark. Georgiana will open rooms for you both, so you don't have to travel tonight."

"Where are you going, brother?"

"I think you had better read this for yourself, Georgiana." After a fond remembrance of the days when his sister was too young to need the truth, Fitzwilliam gave her the extraordinary note. He prompted her to read it aloud, admitting that he'd had such a hard time controlling his own astonishment that he had already been forced to share it with Tybalt. The note had interrupted them just as they were readying to trade blows, which he did not admit. He disliked violence, and Juliette wanted the men to be friends, Friendship seemed very unlikely for now, but they would always have the memory of five minutes of laughter to keep relations civil in the future.

The high, frisking clouds were dotted with pink when Captain Fitzwilliam stopped by the Old Gaol for a respite. He had first thought to evict whoever was sleeping in the only decent bed in the building, but one of his subordinates had dragged him into a long, bawdy joke.

Just as it came upon the conclusion, the joking guard interrupted himself with a low whistle and a promising gesture. Expecting to see a few fresh whores being dragged in, Samuel glanced over his shoulder. His expression betrayed nothing when he turned back and he sneered, "That's my sister."

Fitzwilliam stood somewhat aside while his mother and uncle shared a laugh. The mirth of the situation was obscured by his discomfort. His unfamiliarity with his aunt, even her handwriting, had obligated him to bring his mother into the situation. In vain, he had argued against her coming inside the gaol itself. All the dark things they had seen together did not excuse him from his obligation to attempt to protect his mother. The same fire that made Anne Darcy strong made her stubborn, and he eventually decided it was better to be with her inside the gaol than wondering what she was doing out of sight.

"Can you believe her?" Anne laughed. "She writes to Fitzwilliam, sight unseen, rather than humble herself to you or Andrew! Why, she almost deserves this. If not for Anne and this cousin, I would leave her to boil over."

"Lady Iden will have to be appeased before we can let the lot go. Your mother and I will see the old dragon released," Samuel told his nephew through snickering fits, "while you beard the lion in her den. I'll show you to the office, come."

It was a chipper Anne who was by her brother's side at the cell door while her son signed papers. Once, she had been close enough to her older sister to feel all the injustice of her arranged marriage. Catherine's late husband had been everything a young lady didn't want: old, crude, and ugly. After the wedding, Lewis had brought his wife home to his pile of rocks in Varainsee, a remote coastal district, rarely to be seen by civilized society. Whatever had happened there had hardened Catherine's pride, which had always been considerable. Two years had passed before she deigned to write to Anne after her return, and she rarely missed a chance to underline the shame of Anne's elopement. Between them, a rivalry had developed to replace the tattered sisterly bond. They weren't friends; they were family.

"Hello, Catherine. Welcome home."

Next Post: "The voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries."