say no? But that’s never how they see it once the thing gets out. After that I tried all sorts, never really settled on anything.’
‘You’re . . . all alone?’ Around them were the quiet sounds of the dormitory just before lights out. Conversations, a few giggles, whispered gossip and gasps of astonishment.
‘On and off.’ Elise shrugged. ‘This Draft business’s turned out to be all right, really. I get meals and a roof, and people to talk to. I’m learning a trade. I’d like to see them put me back on the streets after this, with me knowing guns and things.’
She was a bold, brassy woman, unashamed of her past or her future. She seemed so very comfortable with who she was. Emily had not dreamed such people existed. She was beginning to realize that the belligerent Sally had been right to call her out. She knew so little about the world.
‘But . . . I thought I had to fight for things,’ Emily confessed, ‘but at least I had people, a home . . .’
Elise grinned at her. ‘Sounds nice, this home of yours. Reckon there’d be a place for me there after the war?’
‘Perhaps. Assuming I ever see it again. But surely you must have somebody.’ The thought was bothering Emily. ‘Friends? A sweetheart, perhaps?’
‘Oh, men!’ Elise laughed, turning the heads of the women nearest. ‘I wondered what you were getting at. Oh, I’ve had men, Ems.’
Emily put her hand to her mouth, scandalized and fascinated all at once. It was horribly wrong, this kind of talk, but for all that – because of that, even – it was interesting. ‘But . . . you weren’t married.’
‘They didn’t make the man that could marry me,’ Elise boasted. ‘A few of them offered, but they never meant it. That’s men for you.’ She leant close to Emily, glancing around to ensure secrecy. ‘Matter of fact I’ve had a few rumpled nights here, believe it or not.’
‘Here? Not with Sergeant Bowler, please.’
‘That bag of lard? God protect me. No, I talked my way into Demaine’s bed, though.’
Emily opened her mouth a few times before she managed, ‘Demaine, but—’
‘What, so his legs are missing? The important bits are still there. I just love the way he knows what he’s talking about so much. I always did like little men who knew who they were.’ Another broad, utterly unashamed grin. ‘So, your ladyship, any young lords in your life?’
Emily thought of Mr Northway, and fended away the image. Giles Scavian came to mind as well – and at his back the golden light of the King.
‘It’s complicated,’ she said, and Elise agreed.
‘It always is.’
*
A few scant days were all that was left of their training. The women at Gravenfield were almost finished, almost ready to be rated as soldiers. They could shoot and they could read a map. They knew where Denland was, and why they were fighting it. Some could ride, and some could follow tracks, and a handful had been trained as cannon crew. Emily had been placed in none of these latter groups, although she was already a better horsewoman than most of the other recruits. She had requested it, but her name had never been included on the lists.
They were just finishing a morning gunnery class with Sergeant Demaine. He had ordered a wire to be tied at a slant between two posts, and one of the recruits released targets that slid joltingly down it, while the firing line attempted to put shots into them. The success rate had been sporadic. A fair number of them still winced at the discharge of the musket, instinctively pulling it out of line. One or two were simply hopeless shots.
‘All right, all right, that will have to be enough, and God protect the lot of you,’ Demaine called out. ‘Off for your luncheon, then. I hear you’ll be running round the grounds this afternoon, so keep your strength up.’
The class began to move off the lawn and in through Demaine’s office, with Elise squeezing the sergeant’s arm as she passed him, their affair being public knowledge by now. Demaine glanced up at her and then barked, ‘Not you, Marshwic. Got something different for you. Stay behind.’
Emily watched the other women leave. Demaine’s face held no clues but she felt that somehow she had done something wrong.
‘What is it, Sergeant?’ she asked him, but he shook his head.
‘Not me. Major Castwood wants to see you.’
‘The major? Why?’ Since his address to them