Page 85 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“There,” she says, pointing down the road. “That one. The Lion and Lamb?”

Julius clears his throat. “That is a pub.”

“And do they not serve food?”

“Yes, but—”

“You said I can choose what I want. That is what I want.”

“Then that is where we go,” I say.

TWENTY-NINE

I think Ann chose the pub because of the people streaming in and out. Not that the popularity means the food will be good, but it does mean it’ll be noisy—those patrons aren’t fine ladies in pretty dresses. Even I can hear the noise level from down the street.

As we approach, Julius asks Ann if she’s sure and—gods love him—he gently warns that the food may not be what she expects, but she is resolute.

Before we enter, I notice Bishop tensing, and I ask whether it’s appropriate for me to be in such a place without a male escort. Ann seems relieved that even I don’t know all the social rules. Which is true, because as an unmarried young woman, there were places off-limits to me. Even as a married one, there will be places like that, and it’s not truly my sex that blocks me but a combination of my sex and my social class.

While a few women enter without male companions, they are of two types. Most bear the rough attire of laborers and factory workers. Others wear the face paint that suggests they might not trade in sexual favors regularly but they wouldn’t mind company for the evening if it means a hot meal and warm bed. It’s already past eight, with evening sliding into night.

“I would like to dine alone with Ann,” I say, my voice low enough that she won’t hear. “I just don’t want to cause trouble.”

“I believe I know how to handle this,” Bishop says.

He has us all walk in together and then the three men guide us to a table for two. They linger beside it, talking to Ann and me before taking a table on the opposite side of the pub, where they have an unobstructed view of us. Do I feel like a child allowed to sit on her own under the watchful eye of indulgent adults? Yes, but Bishop’s strategy made it very clear that we’re not actually unaccompanied, which is the important part.

When the barmaid comes by, I ask for her food recommendation, and her look says “Nothing,” but she allows that the mutton and eel pies are serviceable. We order those. I also take a pint of ale, and Ann seconds it.

As we wait, Ann busies herself looking about, and I decide I won’t be the one to start the conversation. She’s either taking in her surroundings or not ready to talk. The ale arrives. It’s decent enough, and I take a long draught while Ann stares into her glass.

“Did you want something else?” I ask. “They’ll have spirits. Possibly also wine, though it wouldn’t be good.”

“I…” She seems ready to stop there and then blurts, “I have never drunk alcohol.”

I wince. “It was not available belowstairs.”

“No, it was. But my mother didn’t partake, and she counseled that I shouldn’t either. I saw too many maids do things they wouldn’t have if they’d not been drinking. So I don’t.”

“Would you like tea instead?”

“No, I would like this. I think.” She shakes her head sharply, as if annoyed at her hesitation, and then takes a long gulp, only to cough loudly enough to have others looking over in alarm.

“It went down wrong,” I say to the concerned older man beside us.

“It tastes foul,” Ann whispers. “You drink this by choice?”

I shrug. “I prefer brandy or whisky, but I don’t mind beer. Leave it, and I’ll order—”

She chugs down the rest, which earns very different looks from those around us, mostly admiration.

“All right,” I say.

“I want brandy next. Or whisky.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t patronize me, Cordelia.”