her hair again, trying vainly to get a grip.
Emily slapped her hard across the face, forehand and backhand, and then raked her nails into the other woman’s cheek, but Sally cuffed her firmly across the jaw and shook her like a dog, her grip unshakeable. She gave up on the hair and tried to hook Emily’s shirt collar.
This isn’t going to work. Emily realized that she was losing badly, and she also realized that she was fighting like a woman; they both were. I’m not a woman, I’m a soldier. She was dressed like one, shorn like one, she would fight like one. She bunched her free hand into a fist and punched the larger woman right in the eye.
She had not expected it to hurt her so much, given how much men were always punching each other. It must have had some effect on her target, though, for Sally squawked and let go, and Emily hit her again under the chin, pain be damned, and then stamped on her foot for good measure. Sally collapsed backwards, floundering madly, and Emily got in a kick that landed somewhere painful.
Then she stood back and waited, her breath heaving in and out, while the bigger woman clambered to her feet. Sally was staring at her, face purple and angry, and Emily felt the moment teeter in the balance. Scenarios were being played out in the minds of Sally’s supporters as they judged whether they were going to pitch in or not.
‘You see?’ she got out between breaths. ‘I’m no better. I’m just like you. And I’ll fight. I’ll fight all of you. But I don’t want to. Because you’re right, it’s none of it fair. None of us wanted to be here.’
She expected her words to fall flat, and for hostilities to be resumed forthwith, but instead Sally stared at her angrily, then nodded just once. There was no love there, precious little respect even, but there was something that had been absent before the fight. It was little enough, between them, but enough for some forbearance. After a moment, the big woman spat a gob of blood onto the ground and stomped away, with one of the two women following her.
I never knew I could do this. What put it in me? Perhaps this willingness to fight despite the odds was what Mr Northway had seen in her.
But haven’t I always been fighting? she considered, still catching her breath. After Father died, it has been one long struggle for me. So why not this? After all, fighting is for soldiers.
She looked at the one woman remaining, and was surprised by a broad grin.
‘You sure you’re a gentlewoman?’ the woman asked.
‘Last I looked. A very minor one.’ Her hand hurt abominably, and she set off for the refectory to get some cold water for it.
‘Hey!’ the woman called after her. ‘You know what you said about not sending someone else in your place.’
‘Yes?’
‘I understood it.’ She fell into place beside Emily. She was a tall girl, auburn hair now in the regulation cut, long of limb and slender, and she had an easy smile. ‘Hell, I wasn’t even in service when I got the Draft.’
‘No?’
‘I was locked up.’
‘Locked up?’ Emily raised an eyebrow at her. ‘In prison?’
‘Sure. A tiny misunderstanding. Say, what’s your name, my lady?’
‘Nobody’s lady. Emily; Emily Marshwic.’
‘Well, Emily, I reckon you’re a good sort, even though you’re posh. Good to meet you. I’m Elise.’
*
Elise was a well-liked girl. Having her approval meant that Emily became, if not popular, then at least tolerated. More than that, it gave Emily someone to talk to, someone to tell her worries and frustrations to.
She told Elise all about Grammaine, the house, the servants, the history. She told her about her sisters Mary and Alice, and all her concerns about them: how could they possibly cope without her? The one subject she did not touch on, because she was so unsure about it herself, was Mr Northway.
‘So, do you have family back home?’
‘I don’t even have a “back home”,’ Elise revealed. ‘My folks packed me off as soon as, and I’ve not seem them since. They had enough others to look after. No room for one more mouth that’s old enough to feed herself. I was in service myself for a bit, till they chucked me out. I’d gotten a little too friendly with the under-butler – and the youngest son. Well, they’d got too friendly with me, and how was I supposed to