Chapter 32
‘Are you Lucas? Your mistress summons you.’
Daniel looked up from the bowl of excellent stew that the pretty kitchen maid had set before him.
The same girl leaned on the table, watching him as he ate.
It took some effort to keep his eyes on the stew and not on the creamy white breasts that spilled from the girl’s tightly laced bodice.
In another time and place, he would not have hesitated to follow the path down that the girl wished to lead him.
The interruption came as a relief and he rose to his feet, knocking the stool over in his haste.
‘My mistress?’
The maid frowned. ‘Aye, Mistress Fletcher. Says you are to come and collect her boots for cleaning.’
‘Thank you for the food … err … Ellie,’ he addressed the kitchen maid, who rose languidly to her feet, with ill-disguised disappointment written in her downturned mouth.
He turned back to Sarah. ‘Where will I find my mistress?’
She frowned. ‘They’ve put her in the old part o’ the house,’ she said.
‘You’d best take me up to her,’ he said. ‘I’d get myself lost in these corridors.’
Sarah smiled, the gesture lifting her plain features. ‘Aye, it has its secrets, this house. Come with me. I’ll show you.’
‘Thank you … ’ Daniel cocked an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Sarah Truscott,’ the girl said, a slight flush colouring her cheeks.
Truscott? He wondered if she was kin to the woman Agnes placed so much trust in.
‘She used to be mistress here, you know,’ Sarah continued as they climbed the servants’ stairs.
‘Is that so?’ Daniel said. ‘You were here in the days of the late Earl?’
She nodded. ‘When the Colonel came they kept me because I’ve skills in the still room.’
The stairs wound up through the ancient walls of the original castle.
As they wended their way upward, Sarah pointed to the doors they passed.
‘Through there is the Great Hall,’ she said.
‘That’s part of the old house and this door,’ she stopped and opened the snug-fitting door, ‘puts you on the gallery. We go this way.’
They crossed the wide gallery, from which an elegant staircase descended into the entrance hall. Leah Turner waited for them at the head of the stairs.
As Sarah curtsied, Daniel bowed obsequiously.
‘Aren’t you Mistress Fletcher’s man?’ Leah addressed Daniel.
‘Dan’l Lucas, ma’am. I do serve Mistress Fletcher.’
‘What are you doing up here?’
‘My mistress summoned me, ma’am.’
‘There is no need for you to attend upon her. Sarah can see to her needs.’
Daniel regarded the woman. Was she deliberately keeping him apart from Agnes?
‘Mistress Sarah has her own responsibilities, ma’am. Mistress Fletcher would think it strange if I abandoned my duties. She’s not a prisoner here.’ The slight note of enquiry in his voice caused Leah Turner to stiffen.
‘And where did Mistress Fletcher find you, Lucas?’
‘London, ma’am.’
Leah opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. She swept past them, her stiff skirts crackling her unspoken disapproval.
Sarah grabbed his arm and hustled him away through a maze of corridors to another set of ancient stairs leading to a gloomy passage, lit only by thin, high windows. A soldier lounged on a stool outside a door. He looked up at their approach, hauling himself to his feet.
Outrage surged through Daniel.
‘Why is my mistress under guard?’ he whispered to Sarah.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think the Turners want her going anywhere that doesn’t suit ‘em,’ she replied.
‘Who are these Turners?’
‘He’s captain of the Colonel’s Lifeguard and she’s his sister. The Colonel brought her in to take charge of the poor wee mites. If you ask me,’ Sarah lowered her voice, ‘she’s sweet on the Colonel. I’ll leave you here, Lucas.’
A wave of revulsion rode over Daniel at the thought of Leah Turner and Tobias Ashby together.
‘Who’s this?’ The soldier lurched off his stool to bar Daniel’s way. He stood nearly half a head taller than Daniel, with shoulders that filled the breadth of the narrow space.
Daniel looked up into the man’s face. ‘I’m the lady’s man. Who are you?’
He could almost see the information being processed behind the man’s dull eyes. All brawn, he thought. He knew the sort.
‘Trooper Brown,’ the man replied. ‘Cap’n Turner set me to look after ‘er.’
‘Look after her? Then you’re welcome to clean her boots,’ Daniel replied.
Brown grinned, revealing a mouth of yellowed, rotting stumps. ‘You’re welcome to her boots. She’s a nice lady. Came out to chat to me, she did, asked me if I’d wife and bairns.’ He shook his head. ‘Twenty years in t’army, I told her. Ain’t no time for hearth and home.’
‘Indeed,’ Daniel replied. ‘Then you better let me in.’
‘Door ain’t locked,’ Brown replied and sank back onto his stool.
Daniel knocked and Agnes opened it, standing aside as he entered the room.
She closed the door behind them and looked up at him.
Her lips parted, and he saw the fear in her eyes.
Her surroundings, more prison than bed chamber served only to emphasise her vulnerability. She didn’t deserve this treatment.
It would have been so easy to draw her into his arms, but Daniel made no move.
He hadn’t touched her since that night in Seven Ways when she had told him that she had taken him to her bed for one reason only — pity.
It didn’t matter how often he revisited their night together in his memory — he was certain that what might have begun with pity ended in something far deeper and more meaningful to both of them.
Now the only way he could deal with her was to keep his distance.
‘You sent for me, ma’am,’ he said, conscious of the guard beyond the door.
Her lips twitched into a smile. ‘My boots are filthy.’
He took a step toward her and lowering his voice said, ‘Do you think I’m your servant to order about?’
She smiled. ‘We have to make it convincing, isn’t that what Jonathan said?’
‘Jonathan Thornton did not know what a demanding wench you are. Now, where are these boots?’
She produced her mud-caked riding boots. ‘And get the mud out of my skirts, too,’ she announced imperiously, thrusting the muddy garment into his arms as well.
‘Very good, ma’am.’ He frowned. ‘How do I get mud out of skirts?’
She cuffed his arm. ‘Wait for the mud to dry and then brush it off. Have you seen Old Peg yet?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’ve been … ’
‘A little distracted?’ Agnes raised an eyebrow. ‘Pretty kitchen maids, I hear.’
He cleared his throat and changed the subject. ‘The girl, Sarah. Is she a relative of this Peg?’
‘Her great-niece.’
‘Can she be trusted?’
Agnes shrugged. ‘Six months ago I would have said: “with my life”. Now, I don’t think we can afford to trust anyone. She is fortunate to still have her place and she knows it.’
A beam of sunlight forced its way through the dusty panes of the small window, illuminating Agnes’s face. Daniel resisted the urge to kiss the tip of her nose, with its dusting of freckles.
He took a step toward the door. ‘I’ll leave you now. That Turner woman does not wish me paying court on you, so I may find my way barred next time.’
‘But I am not a prisoner, at least, so they tell me,’ Agnes said.
Daniel glanced at the door. ‘I’m not sure I am prepared to argue with Trooper Brown on that point. He’s twice my size.’
The smile faded from Agnes’s face. ‘They are keeping me from the children. To be so close … ’
This time he broke his self-imposed rule, cupping her face in his left hand and stroking her cheek with his thumb. He expected her to push him away but she leaned into him, resting her forehead on his chest. With a supreme effort, he dropped his hand and stepped back.
‘This will take a little patience,’ he said. ‘I’d better go and find Old Peg before Jon and Kit arrive on her doorstep.’
‘Daniel,’ she said as he turned to go. ‘No dallying with the kitchen maids.’
He smiled at the guilty memory of the buxom girl and turned back to look at her. ‘Got to look convincing, Agnes.’
‘Just not too convincing,’ she said with a smile.
***
Daniel stowed Agnes’s boots and petticoats with his few possessions in the corner of the kitchen to which he had been directed.
He had no fears of his bag being searched.
It contained nothing but clean linen and a battered Bible he had bought from a stall in Preston.
They would also find a small pistol, but that should excite no comment.
These were dangerous times and he would be a fool to travel without a weapon to defend himself and his mistress.
He carried only a knife strapped in a sheath against his chest. He fiddled with his belt, missing his sword’s comforting presence.
Conscious of the urgent need to seek out Peg Truscott, he returned to the stables, where a sullen stable boy indicated the horses. Daniel saddled the gelding and led it out into the cold, late afternoon. Glancing up at the lowering clouds, he shivered. It would be dark within the hour.
‘Goin’ back out?’ the stable boy inquired.
‘This ‘un showed signs of lameness on the ride here,’ Daniel replied. ‘Thought I’d just put ‘im through his paces again before dark.’
He led the horse out through the gate, waiting until he was out of sight of the castle before mounting up and turning north, following Agnes’s directions.
One mile out of the village, in a heavily wooded valley, he found the narrow path by the fallen oak.
It wound among the trees, crossed a brook, and led to a low, single-room cottage in a glade.
The cleared ground had been turned over to different plants, most of which were no more than twigs in the late autumn chill.
A wreath of smoke rose from the chimney, and as he dismounted the door opened and an elderly woman leaning on a stick came out to meet him.
She looked up at him with faded blue eyes that held more curiosity than fear.
‘Are you Peg Truscott?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What’s your business?’ she demanded.
‘I bring a message from Agnes Fletcher,’ he said.