“Warm yourself here,” said the other half of the pair, a short, round old woman in a big white cap and apron. She led him into a good-sized sitting room and toward a roaring hearth fire. Solid, serviceable wood furniture filled the room, with two high-backed upholstered red chairs facing the fireplace. A simple writing table in one corner held a thick ledger on its surface. The space appeared comfortable but far from luxurious, as if nothing new had been put in it for many years.
At least they did not stint on the fuel. He positioned himself to both dry and warm. The old woman smiled with satisfaction at his expression of bliss in experiencing the heat.
“May I know your name so I can thank you properly for building up the fire in preparation?”
The woman’s face fell. She glanced at Caroline, then said, “Smith. Mrs. Smith. He that took your hat is Mr. Smith.”
“I want you to know that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are not in any way involved in your being here,” Caroline said while she shrugged off her cape onto one of the red chairs. “They work here, and will help see to your comfort, but they are not part of it.”
“That is good to know, but of little use to them. When my cousin starts looking for necks to stretch, he won’t care about nuances.”
Mrs. Smith blanched. She grabbed the cape and hurried out.
“That was unnecessary,” Caroline said.
“She should know the truth. She is here. I am here. I am a prisoner. She is helping imprison me. That is all that will matter.”
She untied her bonnet and cast it aside. Fire burned in her dark eyes. “You can frighten her as best you can and she will not be disloyal. She and her husband have been here for years, and are as good—Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course.” Hardly. With that bonnet gone and the fire blazing, he could see her distinctly. His initial perceptions of dark eyes and hair and white skin, of a handsome face that would be more notable as she aged, held. Only now those eyes were ablaze with annoyance and her head balanced just so on exact posture and her presence warmed him as much as the flames at his back.
“Then hear me when I say do not try that again. If you do, you will not eat well here.”
“Surely you are not threatening me with bread and water?”
“It won’t kill you. In fact, it might do you some good to lose a few pounds.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am not saying you are fat, only that you have thickened a bit, as men do when they leave youth behind and start softening in their middle years.”
“Excuse me?”Thickened? Middle years? Softening?He was barely twenty-seven and at most weighed five pounds more than when in university.
“Have I insulted you? Oh, dear. I do apologize.” She did not sound the least sorry. “Now you must come with me so I can show you your chamber.”
She strode to the entry and called for Mr. Smith. The man showed up a few minutes later. With a flourishing gesture, Caroline bid Adam follow Mr. Smith up the stairs. She followed behind them both.
They trudged up to the attic level, and to a chamber intended for a servant. Rough plank boards and a slanted timbered ceiling contrasted with simple whitewashed walls. A low window broke through the eaves to provide a view of the countryside.
“You will stay here,” Caroline said. “Your meals will be brought to you, as will water for washing and such. There is plenty of fuel for the fireplace, as you can see.” On her mention of it, Mr. Smith knelt to build the fire.
Adam paced around the Spartan chamber. “What am I to do here? My baggage is gone. I have no clothing, no razor, no books, no anything.”
She turned to leave with Mr. Smith. “I will find garments and books and send them up to you. As for how you spend your time, perhaps some reflection and penance would be good for the soul.”
The door closed. A sound scraped against it. He waited a few minutes, then tried the door. It budged only an inch, enough for him to see that it had been barred. They had planned this for some time if they had constructed that to ensure he could not leave.
He paced around the small chamber one more time. It had so little space that moving in it could not satisfy his restlessness. It was a damned prison. He tried the bed. At least the mattress had enough stuffing to cushion the ropes. He rose and checked a little wardrobe. It held nothing except a chamber pot.
He disliked confinement of any kind. This would become annoying quickly. Already anger nibbled the edges of his mood.
He bent to look out the small window. No tree outside, not that he could fit out the window easily. Down below, a stone wall held back the land from the foundations of the house and some steps that he guessed went down to the kitchen. If he jumped or tried to lower himself, he would drop four levels, not three. Only an idiot would risk it.
He threw himself on the bed. Penance, she suggested. She must know more than a little about him. As for her recommendation, plenty of penance awaited him if he found a way out of this cell.
That alone was enough to dampen his rising indignation. In a manner of speaking, this ridiculous adventure was a reprieve, brief though he expected it to be. A small delay before he chained himself to a woman whom he in no way suited or even much liked. Even her fortune might not repay him for the life she would subject him to.
He went to gaze out the window again. The rolling land said they were still in Cumberland and probably still north of the lakes. If he could escape he could probably find his way to Nigel without undue time or trouble. He still had some coin on him, and his boots and greatcoat should keep him warm enough. He rather regretted not retrieving his gloves now.
