But her eyebrows only furrow. “I wasn’t here yesterday, love. I come only on Sundays,” she says, returning the pot to the cooker.
Wait… I’m sure Bayard would rather crawl over a bed of nails before giving me fruit.
“But the stew? You didn’t make stew yesterday?” I ask.
The air in the room stiffens. Pepper’s back tenses, then she slowly turns back around, rag clasped between both hands.
“You must be mistaken, love. I was not here yesterday. I come only on Sundays,” she repeats slowly and strangely precise.
Pepper jumps at the sound of flat footsteps approaching. Before she can turn around to the range again, Bayard storms through the door.
“Where were you?” he demands, seething.
Pepper looks like she’s trying to melt into the cooker. She’s clutching the oven doors, trying to stop her hands from shaking.
When I don’t answer, Bayard slaps his hand on the table. He leans closely, too closely. Stale breath hits my face, and I have to control every muscle not to recoil in disgust.
“Me?” I say as innocently as I can muster. “I was here eating.”
He glares at me in disbelief, but instead of shouting the obscenities written on his face, he storms back out of the kitchen. Air rushes out of the room the moment he shuts the door with a bang. Pepper still grips the range, the gruel quietly bubbling on the fire behind her.
She looks so scared, almost terrified.
I can’t imagine she knows about Abas’ nature. He said he’d had no human contact at all, that Bayard was in charge of these kinds of things, including the hiring of the staff. I wonder if she knows about the murders then. She couldn’t be this afraid just because Bayard is unpleasant.
Alright, unpleasant is an understatement.
Before I can say anything, Bayard returns. With a loud thump, he drops a crate on the table. Pepper jumps a little as it topples over and seeds spill across the wood and down to the floor.
“Finish that tonight,” he bites, before leaning very closely. “No one is going to rescue you,” he whispers so quietly I’m sure only I can hear it. Before I can respond, Bayard leaves again.
I look at the seeds, sitting there, waiting for me to remove the thin skin from their flesh. An image of a young girl crouched in ash, picking peas out one by one, flashes through my mind. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what Bayard is trying to do, but I don’t really care. Not that I have anything better to do anyway.
I make a small pile in front of me and start peeling.
It doesn’t take Pepper long to finish cooking and cleaning the kitchen. While I hull seed after seed, I watch her as she washes the dishes, cleans every surface, and gets ready to leave. She stands there for a moment, looking awkward and lost.
“Thank you for the apple,” I try to say as cheerily as she had been earlier today. But I fail miserably, and it comes out as half a croak.
Her face distorts into an empty smile. “It’s the young master’s orders,” she says quietly. I watch her, trying to see if she’s afraid of him, but she just seems nervous.
“Are you okay?” I honestly don’t know why I just asked that. Maybe because she looks so miserable.
“I’ve never met the young master,” she blurts out. “I mean….” She closes her mouth abruptly.
“You only deal with Bayard?” I try to finish her sentence.
She looks both relieved but also tenser than before. She nods almost imperceptibly.
“Did he hurt you, Pepper?” I ask.
Her eyes go wide, and she pushes her hands inside her coat pockets. I stand up, hands planted on the table.
“Not like that,” she says quickly. When I narrow my eyes at her, she adds, “I swear he never touched me.” She looks sincere, but still terrified. Pepper moves toward the door, coming so close I can smell the faint odour of boiled oats in her hair. She holds onto my shoulder and whispers, “I fear for you,” before rushing out of the room.
I stand there confused, taking a moment to process everything.
I’m wired and restless, too tired to pace, too awake to rest. So I sit and start hulling the seeds, paying no attention to them. I just want to keep my fingers busy.
