She retrieved the blades, running her fingertips over the letter stamped into each. What would her lady advise her to do? What would she say of Bargate Bettie and the business she did? Nan snorted to herself at the thought, and threw again. No matter how wise and shrewd, great ladies did not know starvation, nor what it meant to have no name and no protection in an unforgiving world.

When the stem had been cut out of the cabbage, she heard Fuss make a faint sound that was not quite a bark – his way of announcing a friend had arrived. She turned and saw the girl Cecilia just outside her door, obviously trying to hide in the shadows. Nan gestured her into the room, then slipped the blades back into the brace. The girl watched the flash of metal.

“Can you teach me?” she asked.

Nan began to nod, then stopped. What if she did not stay here? There was only so much that could be learned from a teacher. Most of it was just constant practice, and the girl had little time for that among all her duties. Still, there were things she should be taught – that every girl should be taught. Her mind flew back to the hours spent with Gwenllian, all the learning that came before the knives, lessons in how to escape a man’s hold.

“Do the men grab for you?” she asked.

Cecilia only looked at her with round eyes, as though afraid to answer. She stepped closer and whispered, “She says I must start earning my keep.” She had begun to weep, red face and wet cheeks. “I’m to let them grab me.”

Nan knelt down to look her in the eye. “Who?” she asked. “Who is it says that?”

“Bettie,” said the child.

Nan found a mostly clean square of linen and gave it to the girl so she could dry her tears. “She only means to say you must keep the floors clean, and run to the cookshop.” She pushed the hair off Cecilia’s face. “Is true you must earn your keep, and so must we all. But you’re not to serve the men.” Yet, she might have said, but did not like to think of it.

Cecilia just shook her head, her tears slowed but not stopped, and touched her fingers to the blades on Nan’s arm. They stayed that way for while in silence while Nan considered giving the girl a knife, just to help her feel safe. She must be taught a defense, if the men were grabbing for her.

Fuss barked suddenly and loud, and she looked up to see one of the women at the door. It was the one with the red hair, Rosamund. They called her Rosy, and she was more girl than woman.