It was full dark by the time they’d fed and watered the horse and bedded him down in what vaguely passed for a stable, and George was truly ravenous. The temperature had dropped significantly too, and she was shivering as Anthony finally ushered her and Nelson inside the house and kicked the front door shut behind him.
The hall was almost tomblike in the darkness, and she could only vaguely see the stairs leading to a first-floor gallery above.
‘I’m hoping the stairs are sound,’ Anthony murmured, rummaging around in his pockets to find a flint and tender. ‘There should be a candle on that table,’ he added, nodding towards an indistinct shape next to another door.
‘I’ll break me bleedin’ neck at this rate,’ George muttered, feeling her way towards it and sighing with relief as her hand closed over the candle holder. Finding her way back was easier with the small amount of light let in by a small window next to the front door. By the time she reached her employer, he’d managed to light the flint and seconds later they were standing in a pool of light.
‘Right then,’ Anthony declared. ‘Let’s see what Mrs. Parsons has left for us.' George hurried along behind him as he strode towards the door next to the now visible table.
The first room they entered was large with a few remnants of furniture covered in dust sheets. As the shadows danced, George fancied she could see things moving underneath the cloth, and she was practically treading on Anthony’s heels by the time he opened the door into another hall, this time small and narrow. Yet another door and they entered a large, cavernous kitchen.
‘Hold this,’ Anthony ordered, handing her the candle stick and making his way towards a large table in the centre of the room. Placed on each end were two more candles. Lighting just one of them provided enough light for George to finally see the room clearly. Walking over to the table, she placed her candle at its opposite end and sat down wearily on one of several hard chairs. Nelson immediately came up and rested his head on her knee.
Much to George’s surprise, having never been in a position to regard any animal as a pet, she’d very quickly grown fond of the cur. Although his stay in the stable had been considerably shorter than hers, he came to see her every day whenever his master let him out and seemed to enjoy fetching the stick she threw for him once she was able to walk well enough to venture outside.
In fairness, she hadn’t been forced to live, eat and sleep in the stable during her recuperation. Indeed, Anthony had offered her a room of her own, but she preferred to keep her own company rather than having to watch her manners in a bloody vicar’s house, of all things. Though she’d been provided with a bucket of water to wash her face, taking care of business had proved the most challenging thing, given that she had no access to a water closet and dared not let anyone see her perform her ablutions, but somehow she’d managed.
‘I’ll see if I can find us something to eat,’ Anthony murmured, walking over to the larder. A couple of minutes later, he emerged with a loaf of bread and a side of ham. George’s mouth watered, and Nelson immediately abandoned her in favour of his stomach.
Anthony cut all three of them a couple of generous slices and divided up the loaf. George thought she’d never tasted anything quite so fine. There was hardly any fat at all. Back with the Grimms, fat was all she’d ever been given.
‘Has anyone ever told you it’s exceedingly rude to eat with your mouth open,’ Anthony commented in a pained voice after a few moments. ‘At this rate, I’ll be able to see what you had for deuced breakfast.’
George snapped her mouth shut and glared at her employer. ‘I was just enjoyin’ it is all. Me belly thought me bloody throat ‘ad bin sliced.’
‘And from now on, no swearing whilst you’re in my employ,’ Anthony added. ‘Your mouth is like a privy, and I have no wish to offend sensitive ears.’
‘There ain’t no sensitive ears ‘ere,’ George protested, ‘and I don’t reckon Nelson gives a rat’s arse about me Ps and Qs.’
‘Nelson is not your employer – I am.’ It was the first time he’d had taken a harsh tone with her, and she felt her face flame. ‘What goes on in your head is your business, but what comes out of your mouth is mine.’
George swallowed, and after a second gave a curt nod and looked down at her food. Kind of him to give her leave tothinkwhatever she wanted. She felt for the comforting hard edges of her coins, then she fought the urge to chuckle. ‘Bastard,’ she shouted inside. ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard.’
Chapter Six
The next day they were up just after dawn. George had slept in a small boxroom next to the kitchen. She’d made up a pallet using a straw mattress they’d found in one of the bedchambers and blankets they’d brought with them. She had no idea which bedchamber Anthony slept in and told herself she didn’t want to know either. She was relieved to be sleeping so far away from the house’s only other human occupant. It gave her the privacy she needed and meant he’d be unlikely to guess her secret anytime soon.
Nelson had started the night in the kitchen, but his whining at being left in a strange place quickly had her opening the door and letting him into her room where he happily curled up next to her on the makeshift bed. He provided extra warmth, and George couldn’t imagine he had anymore fleas than she did.
Entering the kitchen, the early morning sun shone through the mullioned windows giving the cavernous room a warm inviting glow entirely different from the night before, and it was clear that the elusive Mrs. Parsons had been busy. In the daylight, George could see that every surface practically shone. Spartan it might be, but Anthony’s housekeeper-in-waiting had at least made sure the floor was clean enough to eat on.
Speak of the devil. The door to the kitchen garden suddenly opened, and her employer strode in carrying a large jug of fresh milk. George’s eyes goggled. She’d never seen so much milk at one time. ‘Where the bloo- … wherever did you get that?’ she blurted, forgetting her anger of the night before.
‘Found it at the gate. Reckon it might have been left by the next farm over,’ Anthony grinned, plonking the jug onto the table before searching out two glasses. He put the remainder of the bread next to the jug and a pot of homemade strawberry preserve. ‘A feast,’ he declared reaching for the jug and pouring them both a generous measure. George couldn’t help herself; she grinned back before picking up her glass and draining the milk in one go. She sighed and smacked her lips, just about to burp when she remembered her manners. The creamy taste was wonderful. She reached out and helped herself to bread and preserve.
‘Blimey, I’m stuffed,’ she muttered ten minutes later, giving the last piece of her third slice to Nelson. ‘So wot we goin’ to do today then.’
An hour later, she wished she’d never asked.
Though Mrs. Parsons had cleaned the kitchen and surrounding areas within an inch of their lives, Anthony had ordered the matron to leave the rest of the house. Why the bloody idiot had thought to do such a thing, George had no idea. Indeed, in her head, she swiftly graduated to names much worse thanbloody idiot.
The place was filthy. George lost count of the number of times she went out to the well for water. Thankfully, Anthony had instructed her to start with the downstairs so at least she didn’t have to cart buckets of water up and down the stairs.Yet. Still, by the end of the day, the main salon at least looked good enough to entertain in.
At five o’clock, Mrs. Parsons arrived. She turned out to be a handsome woman with a capable no-nonsense manner George immediately found irritating, especially when she ran her fingers across the salon fireplace mantel with pursed lips.
She was a good cook though, George had to give her that.
∞∞∞
