She made her way to the kitchen door and knocked, a timid rap suitable for a servant or a beggar. She had left her lady’s manners behind in England.
The top half of the door opened to reveal a red-cheeked woman of middle years, her white apron tidy and clean.
“Forgive me for disturbing you,” Elizabeth said humbly. “I am a poor traveler on my way to my family, and I wondered if you might be generous enough to allow me to sleep in your barn tonight. I will be happy to work for it; I can mend or clean.”
“Oh, you poor creature! You must be exhausted, walking in your state. Come in and sit by the fire to warm yourself, and later you shall have a pallet to sleep on.” She opened the lower door and shooed Elizabeth in.
“The saints bless you, sweet lady! But will not the master of the house object? I would not wish to cause you any trouble.”
The woman chuckled. “No need to fret! My mistress is a kind lady, and she would not hear of leaving someone in your condition to sleep out of doors. Now sit down and put your feet up on the stool. They must be so swollen, no? When I was with child, I could barely put my shoes on!”
Elizabeth sank down gratefully. “I would not even recognize these feet as mine, if they were not attached to my legs.”
“Oh,mapauvre petite! Is this your first?”
Since coming to France, Elizabeth had learned that speaking about her condition was an easy way to forge a connection, so she settled into her prepared litany of difficulties. Her aching back, her husband who was taken to be a soldier and never heard from again. Not being able to pay her rent, and traveling to an uncle who needed her to keep house for him.
The cook, who introduced herself as Mme. Laurent, kneaded bread dough as she listened sympathetically and told her own tales of challenging pregnancies. She was pleasant and interesting, but Elizabeth struggled to hold her impatience in check. Darcy was nearby and likely suffering.
Finally she dared to ask a question. “You seem busy. Is it a large family you serve?”
“No, only my lady and her two children, imps that they are! And her poor cousin who was injured in the wars and now tutors the imps.”
But somewhere there must be a prisoner, too, but of course the cook would not mention that to a stranger. “You must be feeding many servants, then.” She gestured towards the bubbling pot on the hearth.
She sniffed. “Hardly any. My lady had to let most of the indoor staff go after her husband was killed, apart from the nurse and the lazy girl who works upstairs. But some of the nearby folk do not have enough to eat, and they know the pot here is full every evening. That is what I expected when you knocked.”
This made no sense. If they were keeping prisoners here, they would try to keep visitors away, not encourage them.
Unless the cook was a very skilled liar, Darcy was not here. Elizabeth would have to keep looking. Perhaps he might be hiding in a disused outbuilding or one of those vast hedgerows. Yes, that must be it.
But it was growing dark, and she could not hunt for him without a light. She would accept the hospitality of the cook for the night, gain all the information she could about the environs, and set out fresh tomorrow morning. With any luck, Cerridwen would come to her and give her more precise directions.
Having a plan helped to ease the well of disappointment in her. She refused to think of what it might mean if she could not find Darcy. Cerridwen had never let her down before.
Still, after two days of walking, she would be grateful for a night of rest. Or at least as much rest as the child within her would allow her.
The cook stood in front of the rain-streaked window. “Surely you will not leave in this downpour! You will be soaked to the skin in no time and lucky if you do not find yourself ill. You can stay here until it stops.”
Disheartened, Elizabeth picked up another dirty plate and began to scrub it. “You are very kind.” She tried to sound grateful, but how could she forget how quickly the days were passing, every hour bringing her that much closer to childbirth and having to return home empty-handed.
But making herself sick by hunting in the rain would cost her even more time. The memory came to her of her sister Jane, sick at Netherfield for days after a soaking. How long ago and far away that seemed, when she still disliked Darcy, knew little of mages or dragons, and thought to spend her entire life at Longbourn! And now she was in France in disguise as a common woman, her hands stinging from the caustic kitchen soap. She would never again take scullery maids for granted. How long did ittake them to scrub all the dozens of dishes from an everyday dinner at Pemberley?
She had met the lady of the house this morning, an attractive young woman only a few years older than her, who inquired kindly about her pregnancy and offered her a pair of old slippers for her swollen feet. It seemed impossible that this was a prison. Still, it would not hurt to turn every stone.
So when she finally dried the last dish, she asked, “Is there anything else I can do to help? Perhaps an empty room that needs airing?” Something that would get her out of the kitchen and into the main part of the house where she could search for any hints. At least it would feel like she was accomplishing something, even if she doubted she would find anything. “I can clean fireplaces.” At least she had seen maids do so.
The cook snorted. “With that big belly of yours? I think not. Here, you may take the tray up to the children, since that lazy girl is late again. The imps are even more terrible when they have not eaten, and poor Kapitan Kupillas will not be pleased.”
Elizabeth pictured a stern older Prussian gentleman. She would have to take care not to draw his attention; he was unlikely to be as trusting as the cook. “Where are they?”
“Upstairs to the second floor and then along the corridor to the end. You will hear the imps before you see them.”
Perfect. The vague instructions would give her an excuse to wander about and see what she could discover.
She collected the tray and headed up the narrow dark servant stairs and then out through the door. The suddenly brighter light made her blink.
This was clearly not the finest part of the house, with stone walls and minimal decoration. Most likely rooms for guests and perhaps even servants. All the doors were closed.
