So she buried herself in her duties. She was coming to think that perhaps if she was obedient enough and helpful enough, de Llion might take pity on her and simply let her leave, although she knew it was a foolish hope. The man didn’t have any concept of mercy. Therefore, on the morning fifteen days after having been awarded chatelaine duties, she awoke before sunrise and prepared once again to go about her tasks.
After bathing in some warmed water, she dressed in some of the garments Grayton had given her those weeks ago. The weather had been warming up as summer approached and they had experienced several days that were actually quite pleasant. Two days ago, she had been out in the kitchen yard and the warm sun had actually burned what flesh had been exposed around her neckline. It had even burned her nose, giving her a rather rosy and healthy countenance.
Because the morning had dawned mild, she knew the day would be warm again so she donned a light linen shift and, over that, she pulled on a fine woolen dress, not too heavy, that was the color of lavender. It was really quite becoming. It was simple, too, as it had a snug bodice, a rounded neckline, sleeves that were tight against her arms, and fastened up the side rather than the back so she didn’t need help putting it on. Since there were no female servants about, whatever she wore had to be easy to manage herself.
She also had other things to dress with now. Several days ago, whilst going through the keep to organize supplies and inventory the contents, she had come across an entire room thathad all manner of goods in it– more clothes, children’s clothing, men’s clothing, furniture, shoes, combs, belts, and even jewelry. The only people around these days were the soldiers de Llion had left behind when he’d departed from Cloryn and a few male servants who avoided her for the most part.
No one would talk to her except for the old cook, and he mostly spoke Welsh, which she didn’t understand. Still, they somehow managed to communicate, but not enough so that she could ask him where all of the treasures in that room had come from. She remembered, once, that Grayton had told her a woman had left items behind. It looked to her as if an entire family had left items behind. Therefore, she left everything intact except for a comb and other hair items she had come across. She needed them and she hoped the lady, whenever she returned, wouldn’t mind that she had borrowed them.
With her dark hair combed, braided, and pinned with a lovely comb in the shape of a butterfly, she left her comfortable chamber and headed down to the kitchens because the cook had butchered a pig the day before and she needed to determine how many meals they could get out of the meat.
Coming down from the second floor, she emerged from the stairwell onto the first floor of the keep, which contained a rather open room that was used sometimes by de Llion and his commanders to meet in, and then another smaller chamber with a door. In it, she had found a sewing kit and a carved wooden dog toy but little else. She still had no idea what the room had been used for but she rather liked it for her own private use, and she had even sat in it the day before and used the sewing kit to mend the hem of a shift she had torn.
Moving out of the keep, she was immediately greeted with warmer temperatures as the sun began to rise. In fact, it was quite moderate and she was enjoying the unseasonably warm weather, but as she moved to take the steps that would leaddown to the bailey and, subsequently, the kitchens beyond, she caught a whiff of a horrible smell. Wrinkling up her nose, she looked around the bailey to see where the scent was coming from but all she could see was the big, triangular shaped bailey, the stables and trades off to the right, a big curtain wall with a gatehouse, but nothing else beyond that. It wasn’t the smell of a latrine because she was well acquainted with that smell. It was a normal, everyday scent. This smell was something much different.
There was very little traffic in the bailey since de Llion had taken most of his army and she came down off the steps and headed towards the kitchens. The horrible smell hit her again as she crossed the bailey into the kitchen yards and she actually put her fingers to her nose. Whatever it was, it was quite nauseating. Once she entered the kitchen yard with its scattering of goats and implements used to prepare food with, she headed for the stone structure where the food was cooked but she was still looking around, attempting to determine where the terrible smell was coming from.
Everything in the kitchen yard seemed normal. There was a pair of servants standing over a massive, boiling pot near the wall of the yard, boiling a goat hide off some bones. Allaston has seen the servants nearly every day, men who were fixtures in the kitchen and keep. They would respond to any order she gave but they would never engage her in conversation. With the Welsh cook as her only conversational companion, she had to admit things were lonely sometimes.
As she watched the men work with the bones and hide, she thought perhaps to ask them where the smell was coming from. They couldn’t avoid a direct question and would subsequently be forced to speak with her. Picking up her skirt so it didn’t drag through a portion of mud, she made her way over to them.
“Good morn,” she said pleasantly, watching two surprised pair of eyes turn to her. “Have either of you experienced that terrible smell around here? Would you know where it is coming from?”
The men stared back at her apprehensively, glancing at each other before shaking their heads and averting their gazes, looking back to the boiling bones.
“Nay, my lady,” the older of the two said. “We… we do not know.”
Allaston received the distinct impression they were lying to her. Two weeks of this pair avoiding her had pushed her patience to the end and she’d had enough of their evasiveness. She put her hands on her hips, struggling not to show her frustration.
“I think you do,” she said quietly. “I am not sure why you two have ignored me all this time, but it will stop. My name is Lady Allaston and I am chatelaine. But I suspect you already know that. Why is it you ignore me so? You will tell me why you behave this way.”
The men were looking at her fearfully by now. There was the older servant and then a younger, fatter servant who could have been the older man’s son for as much as he looked like him. The round man looked to the older man, who seemed genuinely distressed. Hesitantly, the older man looked at Allaston.
“We are mere servants, my lady,” he said. “We do our job and that is all. We do not wish… that is to say, we do nothing to anger the Lord of Cloryn.”
Allaston wasn’t clear on what he meant. “What do you mean anger him?” she asked. “Has he threatened you?”
The older man shook his head nervously. “Please, my lady,” he pleaded. “Leave us be. We only want to live.”
Allaston was further puzzled by his statement. “What do you mean by that?” she asked. “Why would you not live? I asked youwhy you have ignored me and you have given me answers I do not understand.”
The younger of the two abruptly ran off, waddling away and disappearing around the side of the keep, but the older man remained. He carefully regarded Allaston, a soft morning breeze blowing about his thin gray hair so that it lashed him around the eyes. Still, his gaze did not move away from her. There was something in his expression that was both serious and grim.
“My lady,” he said, his voice soft. “You must not ask questions you do not wish to know the answers to.”
Her brow furrowed. “Like what?” she demanded. “See here, what is your name?”
“Blandings, my lady.”
“Blandings, if you want to continue working in the kitchens, then you had better start making some sense,” she said firmly. “I am in charge of the keep and kitchens, and if you want to keep your job, I will have answers. Is that clear?”
Blandings nodded, his features tightening with anxiety. “Aye, my lady.”
She threw an arm in the direction the fat servant had gone. She pointed. “Who was that?”
“My son, Robert.”
At least they were making a slight amount of progress. That was the most she’d gotten from the man in two weeks. “Very well,” she said. “Does he speak?”
