The Governess's Secret, Part 2
A continuation of a fic written for asoiafkinkmeme--the characters belong to GRRM.
Sansa planned her day off well in advance. She’d always enjoyed biking through the country-so she checked with Lady Genna, who seemed to be the one in charge, if she could borrow a bicycle to go down to Lannisport. Not only did Lady Genna show her the bicycle shed, she also encouraged her to plan biking excursions with the children. Sansa thought this might be a good idea-the boys did tend to get rambunctious if kept indoors too long. She would bike down to Lannisport after breakfast on Saturday. She’d hidden Robert Baratheon’s note to her mother carefully-one of the Cockney evacuees to Winterfell, Gendry Waters, had made her a jewel case, in which she kept her pearls, with a false bottom. Sansa was able to conceal the document in that, inserting a hair from her head inside the case, to trip up anyone who attempted to search her things. This she did on that fateful Friday night, when she lay sleepless in her bed.
Two weeks later, she took out the document from the jewel case just before she went down to breakfast and put it in her purse, along with a fountain pen filled with ink. She had enough money to buy some letter paper and stamps-she just needed a quiet place to think. She made polite conversation during breakfast-it had become second nature to her now, playing this game. She said her good-byes and went off to the bicycle shed after breakfast.
She was glad to be on her own, finally, cycling down the road on a fine autumn morning. She might have burst into song if she had not been weighed down by the conversation she had overheard. She got to Lannisport within forty-five minutes, locked her bike at the stand near the library on the high street and walked down, first to the stationer’s, where she bought some writing paper and envelopes, and then to the post office, to purchase some stamps. She took a good look into shop windows-not just to window-shop, but also to see that she was not being followed.
Then, she walked into the local library, filled out a membership card, picked up her reading tickets and found a place to sit and write her letter. When she had finished, she took the time to browse the shelves and check out some Wodehouses before she dropped her letter, stamped and addressed to her mother, into the letterbox. Then she walked into the bar of the Lannisport hotel, where she planned to lunch. As she walked into the bar-cum-restaurant, she could hear Sandor’s voice raised in anger before she saw him:
“Listen, Littlefinger, I’m not your bloody messenger boy-you want to talk to the squadron-leader, call the house. Ask for him by name. Payne doesn’t take the phone or give messages; he has underlings who do that job. They’ll tell him you called-they’ll give him your number. He said he wants you to call here and leave messages with me or the barkeep? Well, I’ve too much on my mind to remember your bloody messages! And the barkeep has better things to do as well!”
She heard the phone being slammed down as he strode out of the telephone booth and almost walked into her.
“Watch where you’re going, Mr. Clegane,” she said, in her primmest, most governess-like manner. “Who’ve you been yelling at so loudly?” she asked, as he helped her to a seat at a table near the back.
“Friend of the family,” he mumbled, not looking at her. “Friend of your family, as a matter of fact,” he said, in a louder voice.
“A friend of my family-do I know him?” she asked, surprised. The people she knew had been the neighbours and friends of her parents, and those of her mother’s family at Riverrun. She could recall no one else.
“Chap called Petyr Baelish-know him?” he asked her, looking at her curiously.
“Should I?” she asked, with some surprise.
“He married your aunt about a year ago. They live in Switzerland.”
“My aunt did not get in touch with any of her family after she moved there when her husband died.” She said quietly. “She could have been there to comfort my mother, my grandfather, Aunt Roslin, all of us... but she chose to stay away. My mother wrote to her but received no replies.”
“Maybe she didn’t want your mother to know she was carrying on with Baelish-he fought a duel over her years ago.”
“Mr. Clegane, where do you hear these stories? I never heard anything about a duel-I’m sure my mother would have told me all about it.”
“Or maybe she wouldn’t. I heard the story from Her Grace-she said your mum was engaged to your father’s older brother-you have heard that one, then?-who died in a riding accident. But before he died, he fought a duel for your mother’s hand in marriage with this Baelish bloke. He was desperate to wed her, it appears, but he lost the duel. And then your uncle died when his horse threw him in a steeplechase. And your parents got married. She was quite jealous of your mum-imagine Catelyn Tully having a duel fought over her, and her a mere redhead! She thinks duels should only be fought over her, if you ask me...”
“Hush,” she said suddenly, for she had spotted Tyrion Lannister waddling into the bar. He chose to walk up to their table, indicating to the waiter that he should drag a chair up to it.
“Afternoon, Lady Sansa-hope you like our little watering hole. Any messages, Clegane?”
“Only from Switzerland-the usual party.”
“Ah-make sure he rings up the house-I’ve got the line tapped.”
“No good unless you have the police on your side.”
“Oh, you of little faith! Police Commissioner Slynt is being questioned with regard to his purchase of Harrenhal-it appears Mockingbird Properties paid the larger part of the purchase price Lady Tully set on it. Slynt only paid a tenth of the amount.”
“Aren’t Mockingbird Properties planning to build council houses there? That’s what Aunt Roslin said they wanted to do.” Sansa could not help breaking into the conversation.
“So that’s how they sold it to her! No, dear girl, the property is being used by Police Commissioner Slynt of the Met as his family home. He wants to become an MP too, it appears. He tries to appeal to my papa on the law and order bandwagon-father, who’s quite a snob, does not like him because he’s not aristocratic enough, even though he does not approve of your Uncle Edmure’s socialist politics. Anyway, he’s being questioned on charges of corruption and concealing evidence-we’ve got a Jacklyn Bywaters as commissioner now. Much more interested in doing his job than in feathering his own nest, I should say.”
Sansa looked dubiously at both men--she had planned to lunch alone, but now that she’d literally run into Sandor Clegane and Lord Tyrion, it would have looked suspicious if she tried to get away. It appeared that Lord Tyrion had his own reasons for distrusting Police Commissioner Slynt. She’d heard what Jaime had told Petyr-to send his messages through Clegane, if he wanted to call. Now she saw Clegane might well have become suspicious enough to confide in the younger Lannister.
“So if he is being questioned on those charges, what happens to Harrenhal? Who owns it?” she asked.
“Mockingbird, of course!“ exclaimed Sandor Clegane, nettled by her obtuseness, as he exchanged an exasperated glance with Tyrion Lannister.
“And who owns Mockingbird? It sounds like a very odd name for a real estate company.” She said.
“Out of the mouths of babes!” said Lord Tyrion, raising a glass of red wine to salute her. “Lady Sansa, you have asked a million-dollar question, as our cousins across the pond will tell you.”
Sansa did not know what to make of this comment-she ate her lunch quietly while the two men discussed matters relating to the upkeep of the Rock. It soon became evident to her that Lord Tyrion managed the estate for his father, not Squadron-Leader Lannister, the elder son. It was also evident that the groundsman and his lordship shared a good working relationship.
She cycled back to the Rock after lunch-his lordship and Mr. Clegane planned to spend the night in town. She got back to the Rock, put the bicycle in the shed, napped a little and read the Wodehouses she had borrowed for a fortnight. When she came down for dinner, she was surprised to see Sir Kevan there; she greeted him politely and answered his questions about her stay at the Rock civilly. No one had mentioned he’d be at the Rock this weekend, but he must come home from London frequently to meet his young children and his wife.
That evening, she put the children to bed and went in to her own room, to sit and read a little longer. Wodehouse’s world of Bertie Wooster, his valet-cum-butler Jeeves and his friends with their impossible romantic complications had always made her smile; she needed to laugh, to remember that not all the world was filled with complications and plots, especially after two weeks where she felt she’d had a terrible secret to conceal, a secret not her own.
She decided to take a quick look in the children’s room before she went to bed. The boys were fast asleep, although one of the twins had thrown his covers off. She tucked him in and went in to look in on the girls. That was when she found young Joy Hill, Captain Lannister’s daughter, lying sobbing into her pillow. She was crying quietly, so that she did not wake the others.
Sansa immediately scooped the little girl up-she was no more than ten, a wispy little thing--wrapped her in her dressing gown and took her to her room. There she made the girl wash her face and gave her a drink of water. She held the girl in her arms and rocked her gently, till Joy stopped crying. Then she asked Joy, quietly and gently, what had happened to make her cry so. Joy told her, gulping down her tears:
“I was alone in the schoolroom when he walked in and closed the door. He said when Uncle Tywin and Jaime and Tyrion died, he’d be head of the family-the Lannister of Casterly Rock. He’d have the Rock and the dukedom and Storm’s End-he’d have everything and everyone would have to do as he said. He said we’d have to obey him, all of us, even me. He said he’d marry someone rich and powerful-the daughter of an American millionaire, not a Scottish farmer’s daughter, like his father wanted him to wed. He said he’d keep me as his mistress-if I refused and ran away, he’d get men who’d hunt me out wherever I was hiding and give me a good raping. When I complained to his mother, she said I was lying-everyone was lying about Joffrey. She said I was a liar and she’d see to it I would be sent away from the Rock, as soon as possible. Oh, what should I do? Where will I go?”
Sansa was suddenly, blazingly angry. Here was this poor helpless girl, an orphan, whose father had simply disappeared over the Pacific-her mother had died, giving birth to her (Sir Kevan and the ladies had told her Joy’s history, which had helped her understand the child better) and she was being abused by those of her own blood.
“You will go nowhere,” she said firmly. “The Rock is your home-you are a Lannister by blood. You will stay right here and you will stay safe. Tomorrow, we will speak to Lord Tywin and Sir Kevan; and to all your cousins. I will not have a student of mine bullied by a coward. Now, go to sleep, right here, with me-I’ll make sure you have no more nightmares.” Thus reassured, Joy soon fell asleep, although Sansa lay awake for some time, planning how to tell the tale to each person concerned with Joy’s welfare. She was a little concerned at Tyrion’s absence-she had somehow felt most comfortable talking to him at lunch. She did not think he knew of his brother’s role in her father’s murder; it appeared as if he was apprehensive of his brother’s friendship with Petyr Baelish.
The next morning, she took Joy with her after church; they spoke to Sir Kevan. Joy told her uncle what she had already told Sansa-how Joffrey had threatened her and how Cersei had refused to reprimand him when Joy had complained to her. Sir Kevan listened quietly as Joy spoke; he looked at her kindly and said, “Joy, I want you to know one thing and know it well-we are your family and we will stand by you. All of us loved your papa and we miss him as much as you do. And we will never let you get hurt. I’m glad you listened to Lady Sansa and came to tell me of Joffrey’s behaviour-I will speak to your uncle Tywin about it. He will know what to do.”
The next Sansa heard about it was in the evening, when she came back to the Rock after a stroll in the grounds. She had to admit that Sandor Clegane did an excellent job of keeping the grounds in order-both he and Lord Tyrion were to be congratulated. She had just walked in, taken off her outdoor things and hung them up when the footman, Kettleblack, told her Lady Cersei had been demanding to speak to her all afternoon.
“She’s in her sitting-room and in a rare temper, I can tell you that. You’d better go up to her on the double, or else,” the man said to her with a smirk.
“If you will be kind enough to guide me there, Kettleblack-I’ll speak with Her Grace directly.” Sansa responded calmly.
When Sansa walked in, she saw Cersei pacing the room angrily.
“Your Grace wished to speak to me?” she asked calmly.
Cersei turned around-she had her back to the door and had not seen Sansa walk in. “Indeed I did, Lady Sansa. How dare you, you insolent girl-how dare you encourage that whelp to tell lies about my son to my father and my uncle! How dare you! But I should not be surprised-you are your father’s daughter. He did everything possible to ruin my marriage-he could never forgive me for taking his sister’s place as Robert’s wife-not that Robert was much of a catch, with his drunkenness and skirt-chasing! And now you-you-are making it impossible for my poor Joffrey to live here with any dignity.”
“Your Grace-Joy is telling the truth. If you had seen her crying into her pillow so helplessly last night, you would have ...”
“Oh, so you were taken in by her tears, were you? She’s nothing but a bastard-my uncle didn’t care to wed her mother, who was no more than some village girl he took for a spin on his plane. No more than that! He should have left her in an orphanage or given her up for adoption. But to bring her here-to my father’s home-to expect my father to provide for her, as he does for his children and his grandchildren, born within the bonds of matrimony-that is too much to bear! I will not have her carrying tales of my Joffrey to my father, to poison his mind against my son.”
“In that case, ma’am, may I suggest that you keep His Grace close to you at all times? That way, no one would have occasion or reason to complain of his behaviour. His first duty should be to you, and to no one else.”
Cersei stared at her, incredulous. “Do you expect me to keep my son tied to my apron-strings?” she exclaimed, angrily.
“No, I don’t, ma’am-I expect him to stay with you of his own accord.”
Cersei glared at her. “Why should I take the advice of a Stark? Your father did everything possible to ruin my marriage to Robert-he was always there, with his solemn face, reminding him of the girl he should have married. He was there at my wedding-he was Robert’s best man, not Renly, not Stannis, not Jaime...not Jon Arryn...no one but Ned Stark would do. No wonder my marriage was miserable-your father was the cause of my misery.” Her voice trembled with rage, not tears-Cersei was not made for them.
Sansa did not know what to say. “My father would have considered it his duty to stand by his oldest friend at his wedding,” she said at last. “I am certain, ma’am, that he did not intend his presence there to bring back memories of my aunt. He often told us it did no good to dwell on the past, on what might have been-I am sure he would have said the same to his friend...”
“Oh, indeed,” Cersei exclaimed, getting increasingly angry. “God alone knows why Uncle Kevan chose to inflict you on this household,” she almost spat out the words. “I told him to hire someone who would obey me-and instead, he hires you!”
“Perhaps you should lay your complaints regarding my conduct before Sir Kevan, ma’am,” Sansa said, politely. “If both of you agree that I have exceeded my authority, then perhaps you may both agree to look elsewhere for someone who would suit you better.”
She had just finished speaking, and she could see Cersei itching to respond, when both Jaime and Tyrion walked in, looking upset and angry.
“Cersei, why on earth has Joffrey insulted Joy? And why did you cover up for him?” Jaime demanded, sounding incredulous.
“Joffrey said nothing to Joy-she’s lying,” Cersei insisted. She glared at Sansa. “This creature has trained her well-she’s a Stark, after all.”
“I doubt Joy would lie about something so serious,” said Tyrion sombrely. “She is a very truthful child. Joffrey should not have spoken thus to her-she is all alone, but for us. She is your cousin-he should at least respect that.”
“She is a bastard who has insinuated her way into this household,” Cersei snapped angrily. “I do not know why father allows her to stay here-she should be sent away to a boarding school. She could learn some sort of trade-she need never come back here.”
“Cersei-for heaven’s sake!” Jaime exclaimed, horrified. “She is a child, alone in this world, but for us. If Uncle Gerion and her mother had lived, they might well have married, but since both are dead, it is our duty to care for her. If Joffrey did make that ugly suggestion to Joy, she was quite right to tell Lady Sansa about it, and inform father and Uncle Kevan too! You should have taught him better, my dear sister. That will be all, Lady Sansa, Tyrion.” Saying which, he dismissed both of them.
As Sansa and Tyrion walked out of Cersei’s sitting room, she could not help but look at him. He was frowning in concentration. Suddenly, he turned to her and said, “Lady Sansa, I need to speak to you in private. Please come here.” He led her into his own sitting room, which seemed to be filled with books, in shelves and on the tops of tables. He sat her down and then looked hard at her, out of his mismatched eyes. Then he spoke:
“I don’t know why Uncle Kevan hired you-oh, yes, I can see you’re an excellent teacher, much better than poor Miss Eglantine, who was always so deferential to Cersei. But you have stirred up a hornet’s nest, you know, with your arrival here-without meaning to do so, of course!”
Sansa looked back at him, trying to remain calm. She had wanted this job, when Sir Kevan interviewed her three weeks ago, because he’d told her it would be for a year, at most-he and his brother had planned to send the Lannister children, including Joy, off to school this year. However, the Duke of Dragonstone’s death had derailed their plans; Tommen and Myrcella had come to the Rock, to live with their middle-aged governess. He said it was likely his niece planned to live in her father’s home with her younger children, leaving her son, the young Duke, to manage their London home and the properties he’d inherited from his father. They planned to give all the children a year to prepare to enter school-Cersei’s two young ones, he felt, would also need time to grieve the loss of a father. She had accepted the job on those terms-she’d planned to return home to Winterfell, after completing her diploma; work at Miss Mordane’s, where she and Arya had studied; meet someone nice, get married, have children and teach. However, the thought of returning home to Winterfell after her studies stifled her-she felt she had seen too little of the world. She had enjoyed her years in the university-she had been a sociable person; the heart and soul of dramatic societies, glee clubs and bicycling groups, even as she excelled at academics. She knew she would be welcomed home at any time; but first, she felt she needed to prove herself in her profession. She had held on to this resolve despite the unwelcoming response from both Joffrey and Cersei, and despite learning Jaime’s secret.
She asked Tyrion quietly, “Lord Tyrion, do you think I should leave if my presence here disturbs Her Grace to such an extent?”
He blinked, “By no means, my dear-Cersei has had too many people defer to her for far too long. I’m glad you stood up to her for Joy’s sake. And as I said, I think your being here is good for the children-they need someone young, lively and well-informed to answer their questions. I have too much to do managing the estate to do so.”
She tried again, “But...my presence here appears to inflame His Grace your nephew as well as your sister.”
“Ah, yes-Joffrey. My sister believes he did not speak to Joy disrespectfully-and she was enraged with Jaime chastising him for being rude to you, if I recall.”
She remained silent-she did not want to put words into his mouth, but she could not help wondering...
“Is Joffrey telling her the truth about what he says and does?” he wondered aloud. “Or does she know the truth about his behaviour and just does not care?”
That evening, she could not help but notice how angrily Joffrey Baratheon glared at her from across the room. She ignored him as much as she could-luckily, she did not sit next to him at any meal. However, the response from the younger children, especially Tommen and Myrcella was very different.
“Joffrey can be a bully,” Myrcella whispered to her, as Sansa tucked her up that night. It seemed that they all knew Joffrey had been given a talking-to by Lord Tywin and Sir Kevan-she did not know if they knew what he had said and to whom. She was not about to ask or tell. She simply pressed a kiss to Myrcella’s forehead, wished her a good night and sweet dreams, told the girls not to talk all night and try to get some sleep and went to her own room.
What she saw there made her stop short in horror. She’d stepped out of her room for dinner, leaving everything in its place-when she came back, two hours later, it was to find her bed sheets slashed, her night dress and dressing gown torn to ribbons, a bottle of perfume smashed to smithereens, the library books she’d borrowed torn beyond repair... She had no wish to cover up something like this, so she rang the bell and kept ringing till someone came.
The two housemaids who managed the nursery wing came up to see what was amiss. When they saw the state of her room, they were shocked.
“Who did this, ma’am, if I may ask?”
“I don’t know, Marei; I just came to my room after putting the children to bed for the night. This is what I saw and I rang the bell. I can’t imagine who would do this.”
The other housemaid looked at her shrewdly, “If you ask me, ma’am, someone does not have to do something themselves if they can get others to do their dirty work. When Their Graces came to stay at the Rock, they brought quite a few men with them. We were glad of it at that time, but the fellows do only what they’re told to do by Lady Cersei or Lord Joffrey-they listen to no one else. Trant and Moore were nowhere near the kitchen or the dining room; they might have done this.”
Sansa could only stare at the women who were cleaning up her room as fast as they could. She heard footsteps outside the door; she opened it to find Lord Tyrion standing there. He walked in, took one look at the shambles, told one of the women, “Get me Pod, Jonelle, at once,” and stood there, with his hands on his hips till Pod arrived.
“Which of the footmen were in the butler’s pantry tonight, Pod?” he asked his valet.
Pod, who was an extremely shy young man, gaped at Sansa, gulped and recited a list of names. Tyrion nodded his head, as if satisfied-Sansa had also grown to recognize the maids and footmen she met as she went around the house; she knew the footmen who had been waiting upon them at the dining table. The two men Jonelle had named were not in the butler’s pantry or waiting at table-they had been here, trashing her room.
Tyrion stood there, looking around her room, as if he was making an inventory. Then he turned to her. “I plan to have it out with my uncle once and for all. I will not have you tethered here, as a lure of some sort, for my nephew or sister to attack. He’s in the study now, confabulating with my father. Let’s talk to him.”
Sansa could only nod and gulp-she was still in shock. She gave him her hand and let him walk her down to his father’s study. She did not have sufficient presence of mind to wonder if Lord Tywin would be pleased at her intrusion.
Tyrion knocked at the door; when asked to enter, he walked in, leading her by the hand. Lord Tywin and Sir Kevan were seated there, enjoying a brandy and soda; the two men looked relaxed and calm. Sansa even noticed a slight smile on Lord Tywin’s lips, which was replaced by his habitual stony expression as he looked at his son, demanding an answer for their intrusion.
“Someone has deliberately and maliciously destroyed property belonging to and being used by Lady Sansa,” Tyrion began, and then launched into a description of what he had seen in her room. He told them what he had learned from Pod; recalled the names of the men who had waited on them at table and then gave them the names of the men he suspected of having done the damage.
“Joffrey’s men,” Sir Kevan sighed, “Of course, they were not seen anywhere near your room?” he asked Sansa.
“I don’t know, Sir Kevan,” she replied, with a small gasp. “I walked into my room after tucking the children in, switched on the light and saw the damage. That’s when I rang the bell for Marei and Jonelle.”
“We’ll have to question the servants, of course,” Tyrion said. “We cannot have someone staying at the Rock terrorised by vandals. Joffrey and Cersei,” he said, looking keenly at his father and uncle, “appear to have taken an immediate and inexplicable dislike to Lady Sansa. I noticed that, two weeks ago, upon her arrival. Joffrey was extremely rude to her-when Jaime chastised him and sent him to his room to change, Cersei arrived to protest his ill-treatment of Joffrey and got rude with Lady Sansa-I think you witnessed this, father. What I’m getting at,” he said, noticing a look of impatience directed at him by his father, “is this-why are you using Lady Sansa’s presence here as a lure to draw these two out?”
Sir Kevan gave him a look of surprise. “I had no idea Lady Sansa’s presence here would lead Joffrey and Cersei to misbehave with her-Robert had spoken rather fondly of bringing his son and Ned’s daughter together; I thought it was an excellent opportunity-her arrival here as a governess-for the two young people to meet. I thought Joffrey would be glad to meet such a charming, well-brought up and well-educated young woman; I’m sure he’s met several beautiful debutantes in London but he hasn’t proposed to any, has he?”
Tyrion gave him an exasperated look; Sansa was afraid she would begin to laugh hysterically, until Lord Tywin handed her a glass with some brandy in it. “Drink this-it’s medicinal,” he ordered her. As she sipped at it, he asked Tyrion, “What do you suggest we do, Tyrion? If Joffrey or Cersei have ordered someone to destroy Lady Sansa’s belongings, do you think they might well order an attack on her next? Neither one of them will confess to arranging this attack, just as Joffrey refused to acknowledge his misbehaviour with Joy, and Cersei refused to acknowledge Joy’s complaint regarding his misbehaviour. “
“I would advise you to send her home, father; she’s been an excellent influence on the children, better than poor Miss Eglantine, who lived in fear of Cersei’s temper; I think we need to keep her safe. As for Joffrey-I think you need a good psychiatrist. The boy can barely control himself when he is angry. If Jaime had not walked in that day and stopped him, I’m sure he would have attacked both of us.” Tyrion spoke reluctantly. “For Cersei too-I think she needs to talk to someone. Otherwise, she’ll let Joffrey get away with murder. For the children-I think it’s time they went to school, Tommen and Myrcella too. As for the men Joffrey brought with him from London, I suggest we let them go-Trant, Moore, Greenfield and Blount especially. Swann and Oakheart are still useful; perhaps we can keep Kettleblack on, although he’s a tad too insolent for my taste.”
His father was frowning at him. “Send Joffrey to a psychiatrist? Won’t that cause talk?”
“Better to have gossip now-we can always say it’s because he was suffering so much after his father’s sudden death. Otherwise, we’ll have newspaper headlines to deal with, if we let this fester.” Tyrion sounded grim. Lord Tywin nodded his head, albeit reluctantly.
“I suppose Cersei will have to see someone too,” he said sadly. He’d loved his two oldest children-no one could blame him; they were so beautiful and perfect. It had taken him time to grow accustomed to Tyrion; he had been horrified when his wife had brought forth a dwarf baby. Luckily, Joanna had survived the birth-she had died in the flu epidemic of 1919. He had been grief-stricken then; but so many had been bereaved in those terrible days. He’d been lucky to have his brothers and sister to support him through his grief-he had relied on them to get him through that time. They had all been good to the children-even surly Tygett, who seldom had a kind word to say of anyone, was fond of Tyrion. And then Tygett, that fool, had to get himself killed covering the Spanish Civil War. Darlessa had been devastated. Thank heaven Tyrek was doing so well in Hong Kong-he’d even met an heiress there, an American girl, Ermesande Hayford. He’d written a few days ago, talking of marrying her...they would have a big wedding at the Rock. He often wondered why Jaime had never married, in all these years. Of course, there was little likelihood of Tyrion ever marrying-he had never heard of a woman of good family marrying a dwarf. It grieved him sometimes that Cersei’s children would be all the grandchildren he would be likely to have-Jaime did not wish to marry, for his own goddamned reasons; and Tyrion would never marry because no woman in her right mind would have him.
Sansa listened, feeling a little let down-she’d wanted to see the world, and her dreams were ending here, in such a mundane manner. But if she stayed, she reminded herself, she could well be the one left torn and bleeding in her room. She knew she was not as strong as Robb or Jon, who faced ex-Nazis and communist collaborators and criminals without the blink of an eyelid, but she could keep her cool under fire. She put her glass down and listened as Tyrion and Lord Tywin helped plan her journey home.
The next day, a Monday, the children were told they were to visit Crakehall’s, where Uncle Jaime had studied. The boys were excited-they were finally going to see a school, where older boys grew up to learn how to fly planes and shoot guns and... The girls were visiting The Crag, a school run by Mrs. Sybelle Westerling and her daughter Elenya. Her husband, Gawen, had worked for Lord Tywin’s newspaper business-he’d died while covering the war. Lady Cersei was not too pleased that her daughter was not to be educated by a governess, as she had been, but was to go to a school, where, as she told her family at large, “she’ll associate with brats from god-knows-where and learn god-knows-what.”
“She’ll probably learn nursing, “ said Daven Lannister brightly, which earned him a disdainful snort from Cersei, who walked away to prepare for the day. “Jeyne Westerling’s a nurse-I met her out in Germany when Robb injured himself playing football. Put his shoulder out or something. We thought he’d need an operation-she just pushed the shoulder back in. I’m sure he must have been in pain, but he didn’t howl at all. Next thing I know, he’s taking her out to the movies and making plans to tell his mama he’s met someone suitable.” He confided to Sansa, in a low voice.
“I don’t suppose he thought to tell me,” said Sansa, trying not to cry-Joffrey and Cersei had been horrible to her, and Jaime had probably killed her father, but she’d grown fond of the rest of the Lannister family. She would really miss the children, whom she’d grown to love.
“No, he didn’t-he thought you’d probably shout the house down for joy. But he will be home for Christmas, won’t he, with his fiancée? And I suppose I shall visit Riverrun, if I go to the Twins to see my girl? I hope to see you there, Lady Sansa,” and Daven grinned at her out of his sandy beard.”You must come to my wedding,” he said suddenly. “I’ll take quite a few people with me-Walder Frey will expect a crowd. Tyrion will come-I’ll make him.” He said, giving Tyrion a stern look. “You don’t have to dance, but you can meet every one.”
“Yes, of course,” said Tyrion absent-mindedly. He would drop Sansa off at the Lannisport station, while Cersei went with the aunts and the girls in the crimson Rolls to The Crag and Joffrey went with Jaime and the boys to Crakehall’s in Jaime’s white Jaguar. Tyrion had a gold Aston-Martin, which his man Bronn drove skilfully. Sansa had sat up almost all night packing her bags as she wiped away her tears-Bronn had crept up to her room, before she went down for breakfast, and taken the bags down to the car. They would send her mother a telegram to expect her as soon as she got her ticket. Tyrion would wait at the station till her train to the North left-he wanted to be sure she got away safely. She was truly touched by his concern for her welfare. She’d met many men who were handsomer, taller and manlier in appearance-she’d never met someone as kind as him. His father and Uncle Kevan would speak to the four men in Joffrey’s entourage whom they would ask to leave their employment. Of course, they would be adequately compensated, as would the library in Lannisport. After all, the Lannisters paid their debts.
Sansa sat in the waiting room with Tyrion; her train would arrive in a few moments. Pod and Bronn were on the platform, to ensure that none of Joffrey’s people were about. She did not know how to thank him for taking such good care of her. Just then, Bronn walked in and said, “The train’s arrived-none of Joffrey’s fellows is about. Here’s your ticket, Lady Sansa-I got it from Lannisport to Castle Black. They say Winterfell is one of the stations on the route?”
“Yes, it is, Mr. Bronn-thank you so much,” Sansa said, with a small smile. He grinned at her and grabbed her bags, walking out of the room to the train. She turned to Tyrion, “I hope we can keep in touch,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “I really appreciate your looking out for me like this-I have really grown very fond of the children.” Her voice wobbled a bit, but she steadied it. “Please write to me and let me know how they get on. And do take care, Lord Tyrion.” She gulped down a sob and walked out.
Tyrion sat there, staring after her, a strange expression on his face. He’d never been close to any woman in his life, except for one girl, some twenty years ago. He’d been a boy of thirteen then-she’d come to Casterly Rock, to work as a housemaid. Her father was a farmer-her name was Tysha. They had become friends; in fact she was his only friend. He had never been sent to school; his father had hated the thought of a Lannister being bullied. He’d been tutored at home by Mr. Creylen, who’d been very good at his job. So Tysha was the first person, other than his family, whom he got to know well. She’d been at Casterly Rock at least four years before they became lovers. This was just before he left for university. He’d hoped they could marry after he completed his studies and got a job. However, when he came home for the vacations, it was to find her gone from the Rock. When he visited her home, he learnt she had met a young man, a sailor in Lannisport, whom she married-this happened soon after he left home. He was shattered by her desertion. He’d completed his degree, worked for military intelligence during the war and then come back home, to help his father run the business. He’d hoped for something exciting ... something in finance or the newspaper business. But his father had insisted that he stay at the Rock and help manage it, which he had done diligently. He did not think the Rock was better managed in its history.
And now, here was Sansa Stark, beautiful, intelligent, fragrant...just right for him, had he been a different man, or so he thought. He refused to believe she could take an interest in him-they had barely been acquainted two weeks. He would not deny he had tried to keep her out of harm’s way, but then, he had done it also keep his family’s name out of the gossip sheets. He did not know how to take her offer-he could write to her and let her know how the children were getting on. Yes, he could do that-he could hope just a little.
When he got back home, Peckledon, Jaime’s man, told him that most of the footmen His Grace had brought with him (Trant, Blount, Moore and Greenfield) had been let go; only Swann, Oakheart and Kettleblack were staying. Although Jaime looked relieved when he heard this on his return from Crakehall, Joffrey and Cersei were far from pleased. However, they made it obvious they were glad Lady Sansa had left.
That night, Tyrion was woken when the house phone rang loudly all over the Rock. He’d had extensions to the original number put in soon after the war; although his father hated using the phone, he hated it even more if someone knew of his dislike of it and twitted him about his age. He jumped out of bed and picked up the phone as soon as it stopped ringing-he was not surprised to hear Jaime talking to Petyr Baelish, assuring him that he had not told Sandor to refuse to take his messages.
“I’ll have to see what the problem is-I’ll talk to Sandor myself.” Jaime said, sounding grim. “If he won’t listen to me, I’ll get Gregor in to explain things to him.”
“You’d better,” Petyr said, in an ice-cold voice. “Do you know Slynt’s being investigated for corruption? His purchase of Harrenhal is under the microscope. And if they start digging deep into Harrenhal, guess whom they come up against? You and me, my dear fellow. Then they’ll start digging into us, and all the stories about how Jon Arryn and Ned Stark died will be cross-examined. Everyone believes Arryn died of a stomach infection and Ned Stark and his men died in the air raid. What if they decide to dig up Arryn’s body and check up on your movements, Jaime-boy? What then?”
“Don’t you dare call me Jaime-boy, you bloody crook!” Jaime snarled. “There’s nothing I can do about Slynt.”
“Oh yes, there is!” snapped Petyr. “I’m sure your father must be sick and tired of caring for Cersei’s and your misbegotten brats. He’ll have quite a time of it looking after Joffrey-I heard what the boy did to Sansa’s room when she told on him to Sir Kevan. I have my sources of information, Lannister-I do keep close tabs on you. Get your father to do some arm-twisting and prevent people from leaning on Slynt; otherwise I will come clean about your relationship with Cersei. And when I do, which I don’t want to, your goose will be cooked-yours and hers. The children will be shunned. You won’t find a quiet spot on the face of this earth to lay your head.”
“What if I was to tell the truth about you, Littlefinger? What if I was to reveal that you and Lysa, your dear wife, poisoned Jon Arryn? What if I was to reveal my suspicions that the two of you might well be poisoning his son, so that the boy remains under her thumb and yours? If he’d gone to Dragonstone, Lysa would have been parted from him. She didn’t want that, did she?”
“Understand something, Lannister,” Petyr Baelish hissed. “If you talk about Jon Arryn’s death, I will talk about Ned Stark and his men-you were there, to attack him, in the East End. You were given leave, were you not, to come to London? And then you went back to your airfield, just as suddenly. The police are not as stupid as you think. They can put two and two together-and put a noose around your neck. And who will be there to protect Cersei and your little cubs, I wonder?”
Tyrion heard the phone slam down hard; he heard Petyr Baelish laugh as he put the phone down in Switzerland. Tyrion put the phone down almost gently-he wondered who was spying for Baelish in Casterly Rock. Which of Joffrey’s henchmen was it? He knew no one from around Casterly Rock or Lannisport would spy on his family-too many of them had received Lannister largesse in times of need to risk offending the givers. So it had to be Swann, Oakheart or Kettleblack-he was certain it could not be the first two, who had worked for Cersei and her husband for years. Kettleblack had been hired just after the war began-Tyrion wondered why a man in good health would choose domestic work over a more exciting life in the army. He reminded himself to get the tapes from the basement and speak to Uncle Kevan-his uncle would be able to talk to father, discuss what they must do to protect the family name that would be besmirched if Jaime and Cersei were embroiled in a scandal or a crime. And he must find a way to protect Sandor from Gregor’s attack-although he wondered now if he might not be protecting Gregor from his younger brother’s fury.
When they were boys-Sandor aged six and Gregor, a hulking twelve-year-old-Sandor had the temerity to play with a toy soldier that belonged to Gregor. The older boy had taken the younger by the scruff of his neck and held the right side of his face to a brazier filled with hot coals-it had taken their father and three of his men to tear him off Sandor’s back. The father had been distraught-he could not bear the thought of a child of his in prison. So young Gregor had been sent to coal mines the family owned in Wales, where he had learned to box, and then he’d gone into the army. Sandor had also served in the army, but whereas Gregor had moved up in the ranks from a non-commissioned officer to a sergeant, Sandor had remained a private soldier, refusing promotions when these were offered. Tyrion knew he had little respect for authority, but he had served the Lannisters well and deserved their protection. It was very unlike Jaime to threaten Sandor with Gregor-but then, he would never have believed his brother capable of murder, if he had not overheard these conversations with Petyr Baelish. He wondered how his father would react to the revelation that both Cersei and Jaime would be prosecuted for murder. Would he try to protect his children by destroying evidence or allow the case to proceed? Should he share the information he had gathered with his uncle or send it to Police Commissioner Bywaters?
Sansa planned her day off well in advance. She’d always enjoyed biking through the country-so she checked with Lady Genna, who seemed to be the one in charge, if she could borrow a bicycle to go down to Lannisport. Not only did Lady Genna show her the bicycle shed, she also encouraged her to plan biking excursions with the children. Sansa thought this might be a good idea-the boys did tend to get rambunctious if kept indoors too long. She would bike down to Lannisport after breakfast on Saturday. She’d hidden Robert Baratheon’s note to her mother carefully-one of the Cockney evacuees to Winterfell, Gendry Waters, had made her a jewel case, in which she kept her pearls, with a false bottom. Sansa was able to conceal the document in that, inserting a hair from her head inside the case, to trip up anyone who attempted to search her things. This she did on that fateful Friday night, when she lay sleepless in her bed.
Two weeks later, she took out the document from the jewel case just before she went down to breakfast and put it in her purse, along with a fountain pen filled with ink. She had enough money to buy some letter paper and stamps-she just needed a quiet place to think. She made polite conversation during breakfast-it had become second nature to her now, playing this game. She said her good-byes and went off to the bicycle shed after breakfast.
She was glad to be on her own, finally, cycling down the road on a fine autumn morning. She might have burst into song if she had not been weighed down by the conversation she had overheard. She got to Lannisport within forty-five minutes, locked her bike at the stand near the library on the high street and walked down, first to the stationer’s, where she bought some writing paper and envelopes, and then to the post office, to purchase some stamps. She took a good look into shop windows-not just to window-shop, but also to see that she was not being followed.
Then, she walked into the local library, filled out a membership card, picked up her reading tickets and found a place to sit and write her letter. When she had finished, she took the time to browse the shelves and check out some Wodehouses before she dropped her letter, stamped and addressed to her mother, into the letterbox. Then she walked into the bar of the Lannisport hotel, where she planned to lunch. As she walked into the bar-cum-restaurant, she could hear Sandor’s voice raised in anger before she saw him:
“Listen, Littlefinger, I’m not your bloody messenger boy-you want to talk to the squadron-leader, call the house. Ask for him by name. Payne doesn’t take the phone or give messages; he has underlings who do that job. They’ll tell him you called-they’ll give him your number. He said he wants you to call here and leave messages with me or the barkeep? Well, I’ve too much on my mind to remember your bloody messages! And the barkeep has better things to do as well!”
She heard the phone being slammed down as he strode out of the telephone booth and almost walked into her.
“Watch where you’re going, Mr. Clegane,” she said, in her primmest, most governess-like manner. “Who’ve you been yelling at so loudly?” she asked, as he helped her to a seat at a table near the back.
“Friend of the family,” he mumbled, not looking at her. “Friend of your family, as a matter of fact,” he said, in a louder voice.
“A friend of my family-do I know him?” she asked, surprised. The people she knew had been the neighbours and friends of her parents, and those of her mother’s family at Riverrun. She could recall no one else.
“Chap called Petyr Baelish-know him?” he asked her, looking at her curiously.
“Should I?” she asked, with some surprise.
“He married your aunt about a year ago. They live in Switzerland.”
“My aunt did not get in touch with any of her family after she moved there when her husband died.” She said quietly. “She could have been there to comfort my mother, my grandfather, Aunt Roslin, all of us... but she chose to stay away. My mother wrote to her but received no replies.”
“Maybe she didn’t want your mother to know she was carrying on with Baelish-he fought a duel over her years ago.”
“Mr. Clegane, where do you hear these stories? I never heard anything about a duel-I’m sure my mother would have told me all about it.”
“Or maybe she wouldn’t. I heard the story from Her Grace-she said your mum was engaged to your father’s older brother-you have heard that one, then?-who died in a riding accident. But before he died, he fought a duel for your mother’s hand in marriage with this Baelish bloke. He was desperate to wed her, it appears, but he lost the duel. And then your uncle died when his horse threw him in a steeplechase. And your parents got married. She was quite jealous of your mum-imagine Catelyn Tully having a duel fought over her, and her a mere redhead! She thinks duels should only be fought over her, if you ask me...”
“Hush,” she said suddenly, for she had spotted Tyrion Lannister waddling into the bar. He chose to walk up to their table, indicating to the waiter that he should drag a chair up to it.
“Afternoon, Lady Sansa-hope you like our little watering hole. Any messages, Clegane?”
“Only from Switzerland-the usual party.”
“Ah-make sure he rings up the house-I’ve got the line tapped.”
“No good unless you have the police on your side.”
“Oh, you of little faith! Police Commissioner Slynt is being questioned with regard to his purchase of Harrenhal-it appears Mockingbird Properties paid the larger part of the purchase price Lady Tully set on it. Slynt only paid a tenth of the amount.”
“Aren’t Mockingbird Properties planning to build council houses there? That’s what Aunt Roslin said they wanted to do.” Sansa could not help breaking into the conversation.
“So that’s how they sold it to her! No, dear girl, the property is being used by Police Commissioner Slynt of the Met as his family home. He wants to become an MP too, it appears. He tries to appeal to my papa on the law and order bandwagon-father, who’s quite a snob, does not like him because he’s not aristocratic enough, even though he does not approve of your Uncle Edmure’s socialist politics. Anyway, he’s being questioned on charges of corruption and concealing evidence-we’ve got a Jacklyn Bywaters as commissioner now. Much more interested in doing his job than in feathering his own nest, I should say.”
Sansa looked dubiously at both men--she had planned to lunch alone, but now that she’d literally run into Sandor Clegane and Lord Tyrion, it would have looked suspicious if she tried to get away. It appeared that Lord Tyrion had his own reasons for distrusting Police Commissioner Slynt. She’d heard what Jaime had told Petyr-to send his messages through Clegane, if he wanted to call. Now she saw Clegane might well have become suspicious enough to confide in the younger Lannister.
“So if he is being questioned on those charges, what happens to Harrenhal? Who owns it?” she asked.
“Mockingbird, of course!“ exclaimed Sandor Clegane, nettled by her obtuseness, as he exchanged an exasperated glance with Tyrion Lannister.
“And who owns Mockingbird? It sounds like a very odd name for a real estate company.” She said.
“Out of the mouths of babes!” said Lord Tyrion, raising a glass of red wine to salute her. “Lady Sansa, you have asked a million-dollar question, as our cousins across the pond will tell you.”
Sansa did not know what to make of this comment-she ate her lunch quietly while the two men discussed matters relating to the upkeep of the Rock. It soon became evident to her that Lord Tyrion managed the estate for his father, not Squadron-Leader Lannister, the elder son. It was also evident that the groundsman and his lordship shared a good working relationship.
She cycled back to the Rock after lunch-his lordship and Mr. Clegane planned to spend the night in town. She got back to the Rock, put the bicycle in the shed, napped a little and read the Wodehouses she had borrowed for a fortnight. When she came down for dinner, she was surprised to see Sir Kevan there; she greeted him politely and answered his questions about her stay at the Rock civilly. No one had mentioned he’d be at the Rock this weekend, but he must come home from London frequently to meet his young children and his wife.
That evening, she put the children to bed and went in to her own room, to sit and read a little longer. Wodehouse’s world of Bertie Wooster, his valet-cum-butler Jeeves and his friends with their impossible romantic complications had always made her smile; she needed to laugh, to remember that not all the world was filled with complications and plots, especially after two weeks where she felt she’d had a terrible secret to conceal, a secret not her own.
She decided to take a quick look in the children’s room before she went to bed. The boys were fast asleep, although one of the twins had thrown his covers off. She tucked him in and went in to look in on the girls. That was when she found young Joy Hill, Captain Lannister’s daughter, lying sobbing into her pillow. She was crying quietly, so that she did not wake the others.
Sansa immediately scooped the little girl up-she was no more than ten, a wispy little thing--wrapped her in her dressing gown and took her to her room. There she made the girl wash her face and gave her a drink of water. She held the girl in her arms and rocked her gently, till Joy stopped crying. Then she asked Joy, quietly and gently, what had happened to make her cry so. Joy told her, gulping down her tears:
“I was alone in the schoolroom when he walked in and closed the door. He said when Uncle Tywin and Jaime and Tyrion died, he’d be head of the family-the Lannister of Casterly Rock. He’d have the Rock and the dukedom and Storm’s End-he’d have everything and everyone would have to do as he said. He said we’d have to obey him, all of us, even me. He said he’d marry someone rich and powerful-the daughter of an American millionaire, not a Scottish farmer’s daughter, like his father wanted him to wed. He said he’d keep me as his mistress-if I refused and ran away, he’d get men who’d hunt me out wherever I was hiding and give me a good raping. When I complained to his mother, she said I was lying-everyone was lying about Joffrey. She said I was a liar and she’d see to it I would be sent away from the Rock, as soon as possible. Oh, what should I do? Where will I go?”
Sansa was suddenly, blazingly angry. Here was this poor helpless girl, an orphan, whose father had simply disappeared over the Pacific-her mother had died, giving birth to her (Sir Kevan and the ladies had told her Joy’s history, which had helped her understand the child better) and she was being abused by those of her own blood.
“You will go nowhere,” she said firmly. “The Rock is your home-you are a Lannister by blood. You will stay right here and you will stay safe. Tomorrow, we will speak to Lord Tywin and Sir Kevan; and to all your cousins. I will not have a student of mine bullied by a coward. Now, go to sleep, right here, with me-I’ll make sure you have no more nightmares.” Thus reassured, Joy soon fell asleep, although Sansa lay awake for some time, planning how to tell the tale to each person concerned with Joy’s welfare. She was a little concerned at Tyrion’s absence-she had somehow felt most comfortable talking to him at lunch. She did not think he knew of his brother’s role in her father’s murder; it appeared as if he was apprehensive of his brother’s friendship with Petyr Baelish.
The next morning, she took Joy with her after church; they spoke to Sir Kevan. Joy told her uncle what she had already told Sansa-how Joffrey had threatened her and how Cersei had refused to reprimand him when Joy had complained to her. Sir Kevan listened quietly as Joy spoke; he looked at her kindly and said, “Joy, I want you to know one thing and know it well-we are your family and we will stand by you. All of us loved your papa and we miss him as much as you do. And we will never let you get hurt. I’m glad you listened to Lady Sansa and came to tell me of Joffrey’s behaviour-I will speak to your uncle Tywin about it. He will know what to do.”
The next Sansa heard about it was in the evening, when she came back to the Rock after a stroll in the grounds. She had to admit that Sandor Clegane did an excellent job of keeping the grounds in order-both he and Lord Tyrion were to be congratulated. She had just walked in, taken off her outdoor things and hung them up when the footman, Kettleblack, told her Lady Cersei had been demanding to speak to her all afternoon.
“She’s in her sitting-room and in a rare temper, I can tell you that. You’d better go up to her on the double, or else,” the man said to her with a smirk.
“If you will be kind enough to guide me there, Kettleblack-I’ll speak with Her Grace directly.” Sansa responded calmly.
When Sansa walked in, she saw Cersei pacing the room angrily.
“Your Grace wished to speak to me?” she asked calmly.
Cersei turned around-she had her back to the door and had not seen Sansa walk in. “Indeed I did, Lady Sansa. How dare you, you insolent girl-how dare you encourage that whelp to tell lies about my son to my father and my uncle! How dare you! But I should not be surprised-you are your father’s daughter. He did everything possible to ruin my marriage-he could never forgive me for taking his sister’s place as Robert’s wife-not that Robert was much of a catch, with his drunkenness and skirt-chasing! And now you-you-are making it impossible for my poor Joffrey to live here with any dignity.”
“Your Grace-Joy is telling the truth. If you had seen her crying into her pillow so helplessly last night, you would have ...”
“Oh, so you were taken in by her tears, were you? She’s nothing but a bastard-my uncle didn’t care to wed her mother, who was no more than some village girl he took for a spin on his plane. No more than that! He should have left her in an orphanage or given her up for adoption. But to bring her here-to my father’s home-to expect my father to provide for her, as he does for his children and his grandchildren, born within the bonds of matrimony-that is too much to bear! I will not have her carrying tales of my Joffrey to my father, to poison his mind against my son.”
“In that case, ma’am, may I suggest that you keep His Grace close to you at all times? That way, no one would have occasion or reason to complain of his behaviour. His first duty should be to you, and to no one else.”
Cersei stared at her, incredulous. “Do you expect me to keep my son tied to my apron-strings?” she exclaimed, angrily.
“No, I don’t, ma’am-I expect him to stay with you of his own accord.”
Cersei glared at her. “Why should I take the advice of a Stark? Your father did everything possible to ruin my marriage to Robert-he was always there, with his solemn face, reminding him of the girl he should have married. He was there at my wedding-he was Robert’s best man, not Renly, not Stannis, not Jaime...not Jon Arryn...no one but Ned Stark would do. No wonder my marriage was miserable-your father was the cause of my misery.” Her voice trembled with rage, not tears-Cersei was not made for them.
Sansa did not know what to say. “My father would have considered it his duty to stand by his oldest friend at his wedding,” she said at last. “I am certain, ma’am, that he did not intend his presence there to bring back memories of my aunt. He often told us it did no good to dwell on the past, on what might have been-I am sure he would have said the same to his friend...”
“Oh, indeed,” Cersei exclaimed, getting increasingly angry. “God alone knows why Uncle Kevan chose to inflict you on this household,” she almost spat out the words. “I told him to hire someone who would obey me-and instead, he hires you!”
“Perhaps you should lay your complaints regarding my conduct before Sir Kevan, ma’am,” Sansa said, politely. “If both of you agree that I have exceeded my authority, then perhaps you may both agree to look elsewhere for someone who would suit you better.”
She had just finished speaking, and she could see Cersei itching to respond, when both Jaime and Tyrion walked in, looking upset and angry.
“Cersei, why on earth has Joffrey insulted Joy? And why did you cover up for him?” Jaime demanded, sounding incredulous.
“Joffrey said nothing to Joy-she’s lying,” Cersei insisted. She glared at Sansa. “This creature has trained her well-she’s a Stark, after all.”
“I doubt Joy would lie about something so serious,” said Tyrion sombrely. “She is a very truthful child. Joffrey should not have spoken thus to her-she is all alone, but for us. She is your cousin-he should at least respect that.”
“She is a bastard who has insinuated her way into this household,” Cersei snapped angrily. “I do not know why father allows her to stay here-she should be sent away to a boarding school. She could learn some sort of trade-she need never come back here.”
“Cersei-for heaven’s sake!” Jaime exclaimed, horrified. “She is a child, alone in this world, but for us. If Uncle Gerion and her mother had lived, they might well have married, but since both are dead, it is our duty to care for her. If Joffrey did make that ugly suggestion to Joy, she was quite right to tell Lady Sansa about it, and inform father and Uncle Kevan too! You should have taught him better, my dear sister. That will be all, Lady Sansa, Tyrion.” Saying which, he dismissed both of them.
As Sansa and Tyrion walked out of Cersei’s sitting room, she could not help but look at him. He was frowning in concentration. Suddenly, he turned to her and said, “Lady Sansa, I need to speak to you in private. Please come here.” He led her into his own sitting room, which seemed to be filled with books, in shelves and on the tops of tables. He sat her down and then looked hard at her, out of his mismatched eyes. Then he spoke:
“I don’t know why Uncle Kevan hired you-oh, yes, I can see you’re an excellent teacher, much better than poor Miss Eglantine, who was always so deferential to Cersei. But you have stirred up a hornet’s nest, you know, with your arrival here-without meaning to do so, of course!”
Sansa looked back at him, trying to remain calm. She had wanted this job, when Sir Kevan interviewed her three weeks ago, because he’d told her it would be for a year, at most-he and his brother had planned to send the Lannister children, including Joy, off to school this year. However, the Duke of Dragonstone’s death had derailed their plans; Tommen and Myrcella had come to the Rock, to live with their middle-aged governess. He said it was likely his niece planned to live in her father’s home with her younger children, leaving her son, the young Duke, to manage their London home and the properties he’d inherited from his father. They planned to give all the children a year to prepare to enter school-Cersei’s two young ones, he felt, would also need time to grieve the loss of a father. She had accepted the job on those terms-she’d planned to return home to Winterfell, after completing her diploma; work at Miss Mordane’s, where she and Arya had studied; meet someone nice, get married, have children and teach. However, the thought of returning home to Winterfell after her studies stifled her-she felt she had seen too little of the world. She had enjoyed her years in the university-she had been a sociable person; the heart and soul of dramatic societies, glee clubs and bicycling groups, even as she excelled at academics. She knew she would be welcomed home at any time; but first, she felt she needed to prove herself in her profession. She had held on to this resolve despite the unwelcoming response from both Joffrey and Cersei, and despite learning Jaime’s secret.
She asked Tyrion quietly, “Lord Tyrion, do you think I should leave if my presence here disturbs Her Grace to such an extent?”
He blinked, “By no means, my dear-Cersei has had too many people defer to her for far too long. I’m glad you stood up to her for Joy’s sake. And as I said, I think your being here is good for the children-they need someone young, lively and well-informed to answer their questions. I have too much to do managing the estate to do so.”
She tried again, “But...my presence here appears to inflame His Grace your nephew as well as your sister.”
“Ah, yes-Joffrey. My sister believes he did not speak to Joy disrespectfully-and she was enraged with Jaime chastising him for being rude to you, if I recall.”
She remained silent-she did not want to put words into his mouth, but she could not help wondering...
“Is Joffrey telling her the truth about what he says and does?” he wondered aloud. “Or does she know the truth about his behaviour and just does not care?”
That evening, she could not help but notice how angrily Joffrey Baratheon glared at her from across the room. She ignored him as much as she could-luckily, she did not sit next to him at any meal. However, the response from the younger children, especially Tommen and Myrcella was very different.
“Joffrey can be a bully,” Myrcella whispered to her, as Sansa tucked her up that night. It seemed that they all knew Joffrey had been given a talking-to by Lord Tywin and Sir Kevan-she did not know if they knew what he had said and to whom. She was not about to ask or tell. She simply pressed a kiss to Myrcella’s forehead, wished her a good night and sweet dreams, told the girls not to talk all night and try to get some sleep and went to her own room.
What she saw there made her stop short in horror. She’d stepped out of her room for dinner, leaving everything in its place-when she came back, two hours later, it was to find her bed sheets slashed, her night dress and dressing gown torn to ribbons, a bottle of perfume smashed to smithereens, the library books she’d borrowed torn beyond repair... She had no wish to cover up something like this, so she rang the bell and kept ringing till someone came.
The two housemaids who managed the nursery wing came up to see what was amiss. When they saw the state of her room, they were shocked.
“Who did this, ma’am, if I may ask?”
“I don’t know, Marei; I just came to my room after putting the children to bed for the night. This is what I saw and I rang the bell. I can’t imagine who would do this.”
The other housemaid looked at her shrewdly, “If you ask me, ma’am, someone does not have to do something themselves if they can get others to do their dirty work. When Their Graces came to stay at the Rock, they brought quite a few men with them. We were glad of it at that time, but the fellows do only what they’re told to do by Lady Cersei or Lord Joffrey-they listen to no one else. Trant and Moore were nowhere near the kitchen or the dining room; they might have done this.”
Sansa could only stare at the women who were cleaning up her room as fast as they could. She heard footsteps outside the door; she opened it to find Lord Tyrion standing there. He walked in, took one look at the shambles, told one of the women, “Get me Pod, Jonelle, at once,” and stood there, with his hands on his hips till Pod arrived.
“Which of the footmen were in the butler’s pantry tonight, Pod?” he asked his valet.
Pod, who was an extremely shy young man, gaped at Sansa, gulped and recited a list of names. Tyrion nodded his head, as if satisfied-Sansa had also grown to recognize the maids and footmen she met as she went around the house; she knew the footmen who had been waiting upon them at the dining table. The two men Jonelle had named were not in the butler’s pantry or waiting at table-they had been here, trashing her room.
Tyrion stood there, looking around her room, as if he was making an inventory. Then he turned to her. “I plan to have it out with my uncle once and for all. I will not have you tethered here, as a lure of some sort, for my nephew or sister to attack. He’s in the study now, confabulating with my father. Let’s talk to him.”
Sansa could only nod and gulp-she was still in shock. She gave him her hand and let him walk her down to his father’s study. She did not have sufficient presence of mind to wonder if Lord Tywin would be pleased at her intrusion.
Tyrion knocked at the door; when asked to enter, he walked in, leading her by the hand. Lord Tywin and Sir Kevan were seated there, enjoying a brandy and soda; the two men looked relaxed and calm. Sansa even noticed a slight smile on Lord Tywin’s lips, which was replaced by his habitual stony expression as he looked at his son, demanding an answer for their intrusion.
“Someone has deliberately and maliciously destroyed property belonging to and being used by Lady Sansa,” Tyrion began, and then launched into a description of what he had seen in her room. He told them what he had learned from Pod; recalled the names of the men who had waited on them at table and then gave them the names of the men he suspected of having done the damage.
“Joffrey’s men,” Sir Kevan sighed, “Of course, they were not seen anywhere near your room?” he asked Sansa.
“I don’t know, Sir Kevan,” she replied, with a small gasp. “I walked into my room after tucking the children in, switched on the light and saw the damage. That’s when I rang the bell for Marei and Jonelle.”
“We’ll have to question the servants, of course,” Tyrion said. “We cannot have someone staying at the Rock terrorised by vandals. Joffrey and Cersei,” he said, looking keenly at his father and uncle, “appear to have taken an immediate and inexplicable dislike to Lady Sansa. I noticed that, two weeks ago, upon her arrival. Joffrey was extremely rude to her-when Jaime chastised him and sent him to his room to change, Cersei arrived to protest his ill-treatment of Joffrey and got rude with Lady Sansa-I think you witnessed this, father. What I’m getting at,” he said, noticing a look of impatience directed at him by his father, “is this-why are you using Lady Sansa’s presence here as a lure to draw these two out?”
Sir Kevan gave him a look of surprise. “I had no idea Lady Sansa’s presence here would lead Joffrey and Cersei to misbehave with her-Robert had spoken rather fondly of bringing his son and Ned’s daughter together; I thought it was an excellent opportunity-her arrival here as a governess-for the two young people to meet. I thought Joffrey would be glad to meet such a charming, well-brought up and well-educated young woman; I’m sure he’s met several beautiful debutantes in London but he hasn’t proposed to any, has he?”
Tyrion gave him an exasperated look; Sansa was afraid she would begin to laugh hysterically, until Lord Tywin handed her a glass with some brandy in it. “Drink this-it’s medicinal,” he ordered her. As she sipped at it, he asked Tyrion, “What do you suggest we do, Tyrion? If Joffrey or Cersei have ordered someone to destroy Lady Sansa’s belongings, do you think they might well order an attack on her next? Neither one of them will confess to arranging this attack, just as Joffrey refused to acknowledge his misbehaviour with Joy, and Cersei refused to acknowledge Joy’s complaint regarding his misbehaviour. “
“I would advise you to send her home, father; she’s been an excellent influence on the children, better than poor Miss Eglantine, who lived in fear of Cersei’s temper; I think we need to keep her safe. As for Joffrey-I think you need a good psychiatrist. The boy can barely control himself when he is angry. If Jaime had not walked in that day and stopped him, I’m sure he would have attacked both of us.” Tyrion spoke reluctantly. “For Cersei too-I think she needs to talk to someone. Otherwise, she’ll let Joffrey get away with murder. For the children-I think it’s time they went to school, Tommen and Myrcella too. As for the men Joffrey brought with him from London, I suggest we let them go-Trant, Moore, Greenfield and Blount especially. Swann and Oakheart are still useful; perhaps we can keep Kettleblack on, although he’s a tad too insolent for my taste.”
His father was frowning at him. “Send Joffrey to a psychiatrist? Won’t that cause talk?”
“Better to have gossip now-we can always say it’s because he was suffering so much after his father’s sudden death. Otherwise, we’ll have newspaper headlines to deal with, if we let this fester.” Tyrion sounded grim. Lord Tywin nodded his head, albeit reluctantly.
“I suppose Cersei will have to see someone too,” he said sadly. He’d loved his two oldest children-no one could blame him; they were so beautiful and perfect. It had taken him time to grow accustomed to Tyrion; he had been horrified when his wife had brought forth a dwarf baby. Luckily, Joanna had survived the birth-she had died in the flu epidemic of 1919. He had been grief-stricken then; but so many had been bereaved in those terrible days. He’d been lucky to have his brothers and sister to support him through his grief-he had relied on them to get him through that time. They had all been good to the children-even surly Tygett, who seldom had a kind word to say of anyone, was fond of Tyrion. And then Tygett, that fool, had to get himself killed covering the Spanish Civil War. Darlessa had been devastated. Thank heaven Tyrek was doing so well in Hong Kong-he’d even met an heiress there, an American girl, Ermesande Hayford. He’d written a few days ago, talking of marrying her...they would have a big wedding at the Rock. He often wondered why Jaime had never married, in all these years. Of course, there was little likelihood of Tyrion ever marrying-he had never heard of a woman of good family marrying a dwarf. It grieved him sometimes that Cersei’s children would be all the grandchildren he would be likely to have-Jaime did not wish to marry, for his own goddamned reasons; and Tyrion would never marry because no woman in her right mind would have him.
Sansa listened, feeling a little let down-she’d wanted to see the world, and her dreams were ending here, in such a mundane manner. But if she stayed, she reminded herself, she could well be the one left torn and bleeding in her room. She knew she was not as strong as Robb or Jon, who faced ex-Nazis and communist collaborators and criminals without the blink of an eyelid, but she could keep her cool under fire. She put her glass down and listened as Tyrion and Lord Tywin helped plan her journey home.
The next day, a Monday, the children were told they were to visit Crakehall’s, where Uncle Jaime had studied. The boys were excited-they were finally going to see a school, where older boys grew up to learn how to fly planes and shoot guns and... The girls were visiting The Crag, a school run by Mrs. Sybelle Westerling and her daughter Elenya. Her husband, Gawen, had worked for Lord Tywin’s newspaper business-he’d died while covering the war. Lady Cersei was not too pleased that her daughter was not to be educated by a governess, as she had been, but was to go to a school, where, as she told her family at large, “she’ll associate with brats from god-knows-where and learn god-knows-what.”
“She’ll probably learn nursing, “ said Daven Lannister brightly, which earned him a disdainful snort from Cersei, who walked away to prepare for the day. “Jeyne Westerling’s a nurse-I met her out in Germany when Robb injured himself playing football. Put his shoulder out or something. We thought he’d need an operation-she just pushed the shoulder back in. I’m sure he must have been in pain, but he didn’t howl at all. Next thing I know, he’s taking her out to the movies and making plans to tell his mama he’s met someone suitable.” He confided to Sansa, in a low voice.
“I don’t suppose he thought to tell me,” said Sansa, trying not to cry-Joffrey and Cersei had been horrible to her, and Jaime had probably killed her father, but she’d grown fond of the rest of the Lannister family. She would really miss the children, whom she’d grown to love.
“No, he didn’t-he thought you’d probably shout the house down for joy. But he will be home for Christmas, won’t he, with his fiancée? And I suppose I shall visit Riverrun, if I go to the Twins to see my girl? I hope to see you there, Lady Sansa,” and Daven grinned at her out of his sandy beard.”You must come to my wedding,” he said suddenly. “I’ll take quite a few people with me-Walder Frey will expect a crowd. Tyrion will come-I’ll make him.” He said, giving Tyrion a stern look. “You don’t have to dance, but you can meet every one.”
“Yes, of course,” said Tyrion absent-mindedly. He would drop Sansa off at the Lannisport station, while Cersei went with the aunts and the girls in the crimson Rolls to The Crag and Joffrey went with Jaime and the boys to Crakehall’s in Jaime’s white Jaguar. Tyrion had a gold Aston-Martin, which his man Bronn drove skilfully. Sansa had sat up almost all night packing her bags as she wiped away her tears-Bronn had crept up to her room, before she went down for breakfast, and taken the bags down to the car. They would send her mother a telegram to expect her as soon as she got her ticket. Tyrion would wait at the station till her train to the North left-he wanted to be sure she got away safely. She was truly touched by his concern for her welfare. She’d met many men who were handsomer, taller and manlier in appearance-she’d never met someone as kind as him. His father and Uncle Kevan would speak to the four men in Joffrey’s entourage whom they would ask to leave their employment. Of course, they would be adequately compensated, as would the library in Lannisport. After all, the Lannisters paid their debts.
Sansa sat in the waiting room with Tyrion; her train would arrive in a few moments. Pod and Bronn were on the platform, to ensure that none of Joffrey’s people were about. She did not know how to thank him for taking such good care of her. Just then, Bronn walked in and said, “The train’s arrived-none of Joffrey’s fellows is about. Here’s your ticket, Lady Sansa-I got it from Lannisport to Castle Black. They say Winterfell is one of the stations on the route?”
“Yes, it is, Mr. Bronn-thank you so much,” Sansa said, with a small smile. He grinned at her and grabbed her bags, walking out of the room to the train. She turned to Tyrion, “I hope we can keep in touch,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “I really appreciate your looking out for me like this-I have really grown very fond of the children.” Her voice wobbled a bit, but she steadied it. “Please write to me and let me know how they get on. And do take care, Lord Tyrion.” She gulped down a sob and walked out.
Tyrion sat there, staring after her, a strange expression on his face. He’d never been close to any woman in his life, except for one girl, some twenty years ago. He’d been a boy of thirteen then-she’d come to Casterly Rock, to work as a housemaid. Her father was a farmer-her name was Tysha. They had become friends; in fact she was his only friend. He had never been sent to school; his father had hated the thought of a Lannister being bullied. He’d been tutored at home by Mr. Creylen, who’d been very good at his job. So Tysha was the first person, other than his family, whom he got to know well. She’d been at Casterly Rock at least four years before they became lovers. This was just before he left for university. He’d hoped they could marry after he completed his studies and got a job. However, when he came home for the vacations, it was to find her gone from the Rock. When he visited her home, he learnt she had met a young man, a sailor in Lannisport, whom she married-this happened soon after he left home. He was shattered by her desertion. He’d completed his degree, worked for military intelligence during the war and then come back home, to help his father run the business. He’d hoped for something exciting ... something in finance or the newspaper business. But his father had insisted that he stay at the Rock and help manage it, which he had done diligently. He did not think the Rock was better managed in its history.
And now, here was Sansa Stark, beautiful, intelligent, fragrant...just right for him, had he been a different man, or so he thought. He refused to believe she could take an interest in him-they had barely been acquainted two weeks. He would not deny he had tried to keep her out of harm’s way, but then, he had done it also keep his family’s name out of the gossip sheets. He did not know how to take her offer-he could write to her and let her know how the children were getting on. Yes, he could do that-he could hope just a little.
When he got back home, Peckledon, Jaime’s man, told him that most of the footmen His Grace had brought with him (Trant, Blount, Moore and Greenfield) had been let go; only Swann, Oakheart and Kettleblack were staying. Although Jaime looked relieved when he heard this on his return from Crakehall, Joffrey and Cersei were far from pleased. However, they made it obvious they were glad Lady Sansa had left.
That night, Tyrion was woken when the house phone rang loudly all over the Rock. He’d had extensions to the original number put in soon after the war; although his father hated using the phone, he hated it even more if someone knew of his dislike of it and twitted him about his age. He jumped out of bed and picked up the phone as soon as it stopped ringing-he was not surprised to hear Jaime talking to Petyr Baelish, assuring him that he had not told Sandor to refuse to take his messages.
“I’ll have to see what the problem is-I’ll talk to Sandor myself.” Jaime said, sounding grim. “If he won’t listen to me, I’ll get Gregor in to explain things to him.”
“You’d better,” Petyr said, in an ice-cold voice. “Do you know Slynt’s being investigated for corruption? His purchase of Harrenhal is under the microscope. And if they start digging deep into Harrenhal, guess whom they come up against? You and me, my dear fellow. Then they’ll start digging into us, and all the stories about how Jon Arryn and Ned Stark died will be cross-examined. Everyone believes Arryn died of a stomach infection and Ned Stark and his men died in the air raid. What if they decide to dig up Arryn’s body and check up on your movements, Jaime-boy? What then?”
“Don’t you dare call me Jaime-boy, you bloody crook!” Jaime snarled. “There’s nothing I can do about Slynt.”
“Oh yes, there is!” snapped Petyr. “I’m sure your father must be sick and tired of caring for Cersei’s and your misbegotten brats. He’ll have quite a time of it looking after Joffrey-I heard what the boy did to Sansa’s room when she told on him to Sir Kevan. I have my sources of information, Lannister-I do keep close tabs on you. Get your father to do some arm-twisting and prevent people from leaning on Slynt; otherwise I will come clean about your relationship with Cersei. And when I do, which I don’t want to, your goose will be cooked-yours and hers. The children will be shunned. You won’t find a quiet spot on the face of this earth to lay your head.”
“What if I was to tell the truth about you, Littlefinger? What if I was to reveal that you and Lysa, your dear wife, poisoned Jon Arryn? What if I was to reveal my suspicions that the two of you might well be poisoning his son, so that the boy remains under her thumb and yours? If he’d gone to Dragonstone, Lysa would have been parted from him. She didn’t want that, did she?”
“Understand something, Lannister,” Petyr Baelish hissed. “If you talk about Jon Arryn’s death, I will talk about Ned Stark and his men-you were there, to attack him, in the East End. You were given leave, were you not, to come to London? And then you went back to your airfield, just as suddenly. The police are not as stupid as you think. They can put two and two together-and put a noose around your neck. And who will be there to protect Cersei and your little cubs, I wonder?”
Tyrion heard the phone slam down hard; he heard Petyr Baelish laugh as he put the phone down in Switzerland. Tyrion put the phone down almost gently-he wondered who was spying for Baelish in Casterly Rock. Which of Joffrey’s henchmen was it? He knew no one from around Casterly Rock or Lannisport would spy on his family-too many of them had received Lannister largesse in times of need to risk offending the givers. So it had to be Swann, Oakheart or Kettleblack-he was certain it could not be the first two, who had worked for Cersei and her husband for years. Kettleblack had been hired just after the war began-Tyrion wondered why a man in good health would choose domestic work over a more exciting life in the army. He reminded himself to get the tapes from the basement and speak to Uncle Kevan-his uncle would be able to talk to father, discuss what they must do to protect the family name that would be besmirched if Jaime and Cersei were embroiled in a scandal or a crime. And he must find a way to protect Sandor from Gregor’s attack-although he wondered now if he might not be protecting Gregor from his younger brother’s fury.
When they were boys-Sandor aged six and Gregor, a hulking twelve-year-old-Sandor had the temerity to play with a toy soldier that belonged to Gregor. The older boy had taken the younger by the scruff of his neck and held the right side of his face to a brazier filled with hot coals-it had taken their father and three of his men to tear him off Sandor’s back. The father had been distraught-he could not bear the thought of a child of his in prison. So young Gregor had been sent to coal mines the family owned in Wales, where he had learned to box, and then he’d gone into the army. Sandor had also served in the army, but whereas Gregor had moved up in the ranks from a non-commissioned officer to a sergeant, Sandor had remained a private soldier, refusing promotions when these were offered. Tyrion knew he had little respect for authority, but he had served the Lannisters well and deserved their protection. It was very unlike Jaime to threaten Sandor with Gregor-but then, he would never have believed his brother capable of murder, if he had not overheard these conversations with Petyr Baelish. He wondered how his father would react to the revelation that both Cersei and Jaime would be prosecuted for murder. Would he try to protect his children by destroying evidence or allow the case to proceed? Should he share the information he had gathered with his uncle or send it to Police Commissioner Bywaters?