Over the last few days she had learned the rhythms of this house, of the women who worked here and the men who came at all times of day and night. She had not known what to expect of a brothel, but in many ways it reminded her of any other kind of serving work: few of the workers were enthusiastic about doing it, but it must be done every day. It was a clean house and all the women were kept fed, warm, and healthy. Bargate Bettie had standards, as she regularly emphasized to Nan.

“I’ve brought the wine.”

Little Cecilia had crept in the door, and would surely slip away almost as silently. The youngest member of the brothel seemed to like helping Nan, but had taken to vanishing any time Bea might be near. There had obviously been some disagreement between her sister and the girl, one of the many mysterious dynamics here that Nan tried to disregard. It was her sister’s business, and Nan had no intention of becoming a permanent part of the household.

She smiled her thanks at the girl and poured the wine into the pot. When she turned back around, Cecilia was gone. A moment later, Bea appeared.

“We’ll be fair spoiled, do you keep on like this.” Her sister took a long and appreciative sniff of the kitchen air. “Fergus had thought to make this a proper inn, but I said to him it were better to make use of my whoring than my cooking, as I had plenty of one and none of the other.”

Nan stirred the pot silently for a moment, her back to her sister. Being here, she often thought of the inn that she and Oliver had planned to run. It was going to be their future. Funny, how easy that had been to forget for so many years.

She could tell Bea about it now. Just open her mouth and say she had a husband once, and his name was Oliver, and he had wanted to keep an inn but then he was killed.

“You can learn cooking,” she said instead. She tried, but could not stop herself from adding, “I could find a place for you in the kitchen at Morency, or in the –”

“Oh, when will you stop,” came the predictable interruption in Bea’s gently irritated voice. “I don’t want no place at your Morency, nor serving any lord or lady.”

“It need not be Morency. I will find a place for you somewhere, and respectable work. Only come away from here, Bea.”