My grandmother and mother had both schooled me in selfeffacing resignation. I had thought it the lot of all women. Only in Bingtown did I come to see that a woman might live alone and manage her own life. I looked back on how Tetlia had robbed me of my grandmother’s necklaces, and could not recall why I had not challenged her. I recalled the liberties Hetta’s husband had attempted on me, and wondered why I had not vigorously resisted him. My old self in the countryside faded to a young woman whose docility was as incomprehensible to me as my grandmother’s fatalistic surrender of her life.

I listened to my pendant. I never spoke Howarth’s name aloud nor asked after him and his family. I was a devoted servant, well nigh invisible. Twice, other families tried to hire me away but I kept my place. And finally, one day as I hovered near my mistress’s chair at a tea, I heard his name mentioned, in connection with some other tattle about a Jamaillian family that had moved to Bingtown and was putting on airs. ‘A page from Howarth’s book,’ someone said with a sniff, and I knew then that he still lived and that my grandmother’s scandal was still recalled by these old women. I listened as they chewed through that old tale, and gained tidings not only that Howarth still lived, but that knowing Traders in Bingtown still regarded him with disdain.

That night, in my small chamber off my mistress’s room, I consulted with my pendant. ‘Are we ready now to take revenge? To confront Howarth and demand that he return all he stole from my grandmother?’

The small lips pursed as if tasting wine that had gone to vinegar. It gave a tiny sigh. ‘I suppose it is time you saw the man. In some ways, that could be the culmination of your education.’ The little eyes narrowed and glittered speculatively. ‘When we go, you will take the empty ring. Let me pick the day, however. And on that day, you must do and say exactly what I tell you to. In this, you must trust me, or all will be for naught.’