I tapped at Patience’s door and was admitted. I saw that Lacey had gone on one of her periodic rampages and restored a sort of order to the room. There was even a cleared chair to sit upon. They were both glad to see me. I told them of my trip to Beams, avoiding any mention of Virago. I knew that eventually Patience would hear of it, and confront me about it, and I would then assure her that gossip had greatly exaggerated our encounter. I hoped that would work. In the meantime I had brought gifts back with me. Tiny ivory fish, drilled to be strung as beads or attached to a garment for Lacey, and for Patience amber-and-silver earrings. An earthenware pot of wintergreen berries preserved and sealed with a lid of wax.
“Wintergreen? I’ve no taste for wintergreen,” Patience puzzled when I offered it to her.
“Haven’t you?” I feigned puzzlement as well. “I thought you told me it was a flavor and scent you missed from your childhood. Did not you have an uncle who brought you wintergreen?”
“No. I recall no such conversation.”
“Perhaps it was Lacey, then?” I asked sincerely.
“Not I, master. Stings my nose to taste it, though it has a nice scent in the air.”
“Ah, well, then. My mistake.” I set it aside on the table.
“What, Snowflake? Not pregnant again?” This I addressed to Patience’s white terrier who had finally decided to come forth and sniff at me. I could sense her doggy little mind puzzling over Cub’s scent on me.
“No, she’s just getting fat,” Lacey interjected for her, stooping to scratch her behind the ears. “My lady leaves sweetmeats and cookies about on plates, and Snowflake is always getting at them.”