Twice every forty days, my mistress granted me a half-day to myself. My pendant chose a day for me. It was one my mistress was loath to grant me, for it was a day of celebration in Bingtown, but I persuaded her to allow it, promising her that I would return early to help her with her evening preparations. It was the anniversary of the Traders arriving at Bingtown Bay. In the evening, there would be parties and dinners hosted by the wealthier Traders. But earlier in the day, the whole city would celebrate. There would be speeches and dancing in the centre of the Great Market, food and drink would flow free to all, and the streets would be thronged with folk of all persuasions. Although the evening festivities were reserved for Traders and their families only, all the folk of Bingtown would join in the municipal celebration. From all the gossip I had heard, I knew it was a day when more recent arrivals to Bingtown courted the Old Trader families. Those who did not share Trader blood would seek to make more secure their social alliances with the powerful Traders. Howarth and his family would certainly be there.

That morning, I brought my mistress her breakfast tray. I laid out her clothing and left her dressing maid to attend her. In my tiny chamber, I bathed and dressed as carefully as if it were my wedding day. At my pendant`s bidding, the hoarded coins I had earned had gone for enamelled pins and a choker of lace. I swept my hair high and secured it. When I slipped into my mistress’s room to steal a glance in her mirror, I stared at my reflection. My mistress, setting down her teacup, opened her eyes wider at sight of me. ‘You remind me of someone,’ she said sleepily. She sat up in her bed, regarding me more closely. As is I were her daughter, she commanded me to turn before her, and then to turn my face to the light. ‘Paint your lips with my carmine,’ she instructed me suddenly. ‘And touch your eyes with black.’ When I had done so, she inspected me critically. ‘You’ll do,’ she observed. ‘There’s Bingtown in your bloodline, my little country wren,’ she added with satisfaction. ‘So I’ve been telling those old biddies I call my friends. Off you go, to whomever you’ve chosen to captivate. He won’t stand a chance before those eyes.’