She took him at his word. Before the court had climbed to the top—she never got to see the monster that afternoon, although she wanted to something fierce—she was all the way down the other stair. She found the senior servant, a handsome woman in a good blue wool gown with two dozen silver buttons.

“I’m Lady Blanche Gold, and I’ll be handling the Queen’s arrangements,” she said. She gave the woman a brief, professional smile.

The woman shook her head. “We can’t, my lady. We just can’t—all the men are out with the militia, and we’ve no one here but laundry staff and cooks.”

Blanche took a deep breath. “We’re not afraid of work,” she said. “There’s a war. I’m going to put people into rooms. Your staff can just take them bedding. Let them see to it themselves. Are there empty houses in the town? Looked like it to me. What’s your name?”

“I’m Elizabeth Gelling. This is Cook—we call her Cook.” The woman in blue nodded.

Cook sketched a curtsey. “Your ladyship.”

It almost made Blanche shout: “I’m one of you.”

Almost. But that moment of honesty would lose her the battle. Ladies could give orders that laundry maids could not.

“May I have two maids to run for me?” she asked.

Two maids—barely old enough to be away from leading strings—were pushed forward.

Blanche didn’t look back. “Attend me,” she said. She turned and moved swiftly back to the great hall.

As she’d hoped, she found Toby and Robin setting for a campaign dinner in a great hall.

“I need you two,” she said. She carried them with looks and smile—she knew how.

She outlined her plan of campaign and had them fully in four sentences.

“Cook needs to know who she’s feeding. My notion is that anyone below the rank of earl takes a house in the town.” She looked at them.

Toby shook his head. “Close, but won’t work. I’ll write a list.” He took her tablet and wrote—starting with Ser Ranald. “He’s got to be here. My master—Robin’s—the Prior. All the messengers—they can go to the barracks, but then there’s…” He scribbled furiously.

Blanche turned to Robin. “My best guess is that the whole garrison is out in the field. Please go count the beds in the barracks, and find out how many can be fed?”

Robin—Lord Robin—was putty in her hands, like an apprentice boy in Harndon. She looked past him. “Nell? Get me two more pages.”

Nell might have put her foot down, but she was a careful young woman and she knew when good work was being done.

“We got two hundred wet an’ hungry horses, Blanche,” she said. “You can ha’ me for an hour.”