“Does Harold feel the same way?”Piers asked innocently.
Jenson blinked.“Harold?He doesn’t really understand what happened.He just knows his sister’s feelings were hurt.He understands hurt feelings well enough, being teased all his life.He doesn’t fight, Harold, he cries.Like a child.”
April could hear his frustration, an old disappointment in a son who wouldn’t stand up for himself.And yet, if he ever did, with the strength in him, Harold would be lethal.She thought the blacksmith understood that, for he cast a quick glower at Piers, as though guessing the point of the conversation.
“May we speak to your daughter?”April asked.
Jenson’s scowl deepened.“Aye, you can speak.But it’ll make no difference.She won’t be going to that house, even if that Edward croaks.The master of that house is responsible for his servants.”
“Indeed he is,” Piers said seriously and Jenson, as though mollified, shouted, “Annie!Here, a moment!”
A young woman emerged from the cottage behind the forge.April could see at once why Edward had been attracted.She was certainly a remarkably pretty girl, with raven hair and clear skin, and quick, graceful movements, but to April’s surprise there was no trace of the bowed, regretful creature she had more than half expected.Anne Jenson had refused to be broken by betrayal and humiliation.Character and sheer vitality still lit up her face.If there was a shade of defiance behind it, who could blame her?
“Lord and Lady Petteril from the big house,” Jenson growled.“They want to speak to you.”
He retreated back to his forge, leaving Anne gazing at them in some surprise.
“Dad won’t let me work at the big house,” she said at once.
“I wouldn’t ask it of you,” April assured her, “although there is no denying the extra hands would be useful.You’ll have heard the footman Edward was injured?”
A hint of colour seeped into the girl’s pale face.“How is he?”
Interesting.From her manner, she had indeed already heard.If her father had, he had kept quiet about it.
“Not well,” Piers said.“He has never regained consciousness, and without his being able to tell us, we are having difficulty establishing what happened to him.”
“He never considers consequences,” Anne said.“I tried to warn him.”
“Then you think he was attacked in some kind of revenge?”
“It’s possible,” Anne said, more guarded.
“When did you last see Edward?”April asked.“Even from a distance?”
“Last week, I think.”She tilted her chin.“I don’t go out much.My reputation being what it is.”
“Has anyone threatened you?”Piers asked quickly.
She made a quick, dismissive gesture with her hand, not a lady’s hand, but one roughened by housework and laundry.Yet it was slender and shapely.“Of course not.You have met my father.I go to the market and to church.I am not invited elsewhere anymore.”
“That’s not fair,” April said.
“No,” Anne agreed, “but I brought it on myself.”
“Does your brother feel the injustice too?”
She smiled.“He doesn’t understand the concept.He is sorry for me when I’m sad.If you are imagining he struck Edward, you are wrong.He has never hit anyone ever.”
“Edward teased him, made fun of him.”
Anne met her gaze.“So does everyone else.”
Piers stirred.“He told us he came straight home from Temper House last night and slept until morning.”
“He did.”
“Would you have heard anyone leave the house again?”
