"Is this the right home?" he asked again. "Does Arabelle Fisher live here?"
The girl's mouth worked like a fish for a moment before she glanced back inside the little cottage. There could not be far for her to look. The size of the place could surely only accommodate a single room. And one corner of such a room was likely rendered inhabitable. Even in the darkness, Henry had been able to see the holes in the thatching.
Surely, he had the wrong residence?
"Mama?"
There was a soft voice from within, brisk but laced with maternal concern. Henry could not hear the words, but he understood their sentiment. The young girl was being encouraged to let him inside.
With a trust that only existed between child and single parent, the daughter was quick to obey. She stepped back in line with the door, one hand offering Henry welcome. He tried to smile as he stepped inside to calm her nerves, but he suspected it went unnoticed when he was forced to duck beneath the door's lintel. Careful of certain beams that hung lower than others, Henry glanced about the room.
A fire blazed in the hearth, and two candles rested on the table on the far side. A threadbare rug was laid over dusty floorboards, and there was a large bed in the back corner. Just one.
The space beneath the open thatching had been reduced to storage, a few wooden boxes stacked in its corner, but no patches had been applied to the roof. Looking at the height of the mother and daughter pair, Henry wondered if that were simply because they could not reach.
Instead of seeing the hole patched, both had wrapped themselves in thick shawls and blankets. Their boots remained on their feet, even indoors.
Swallowing, Henry felt momentarily out of place.
His boots were fine leather and buffed to a soft sheen. His clothes were finely made and bound with a new belt and glinting buckle. His gloves were thick and lined with rabbit fur, and his cloak was hemmed in silver thread.
He knew that Laird Henderson had been supporting his bastard child. Either the money he had sent was not enough, or it had been thieved along the way.
Or, perhaps this was not the right place?
Henry's eyes scanned the room for anyone besides the mother and daughter. He sought a girl that matched the image he held in his head. No portrait had accompanied the letter sent to Laird Anderson, no description of what Lady Arabelle might look like. He knew only her age of twenty and her gender.
Of the two women here, one was too old, and the other appeared too young.
"Is there no one else here?" Henry asked.
The pair huddled close together, the daughter standing behind her parent. Her little hands were startlingly white against her mother's dark shawl but, still, he could spy smudges of dust and dirt.
Barely an adult and already used to the grime. Henry felt his sympathy rise.
"No," the younger of the two said. Her eyes were hostile and unsure. "Only us."
Henry tried to keep his frustration in check.
It was too bad the girl was younger than the one he sought. Petite, with doe eyes and rounded lips, she had a cherubic look about her that would have served her well in upper circles. If she was clean, of course.
"Do you know of an Arabelle Fisher in this area?" he tried.
He had journeyed so far today. Tired, his stubbornness refused to see him leave without the laird's daughter in hand. It would be another journey of sorts between here and the Henderson castle, and his patience was wearing thin after the ragged condition of the road.
"I am."
Henry blinked as the child spoke up.
"Excuse me?"
"I am Arabelle."
Shock rooted Henry to the spot as he assessed the girl for the second time.
The girl was of average height but slim in figure. He could not make out any womanly curves, hence his assumption that she was younger, but perhaps they were simply hidden beneath her shawl and bulky dress. Her hair, long and frizzy, was somewhere between blonde and red, and her skin was very pale. She looked weak and underfed.
"Youare Arabelle Fisher?" he asked, to be certain. The way the mother reached up to grip one of her daughter's hands told him the truth of the matter. She would not fear the loss of her child unless she was, in fact, the girl he was looking for.
