Chapter Fifteen
It took Felicity a moment to realize that the loud, obnoxious crowing of a rooster was not part of some strange dream.
She opened her eyes to the rising sun streaming in through the doorway along with the rooster, who behaved as if the cottage were his.
He strutted halfway across the room, then stopped and unleashed another earsplitting crow.
“Out with you, Ferdinand.” Mrs. Bean encouraged him toward the door with a nudge of her broom.
“I’ll not have you shattin’ in here again.
Just because the floor be dirt, doesn’t mean it’s for the likes of you.
Out!” As she turned to set her broom back in the corner, she glanced at Felicity. “Good morning to you.”
“Good morning.” Felicity sat up, thankful that the pain in her skull had eased to a much more bearable level.
“How be your head?”
“Better, I believe.”
“Good.” Mrs. Bean nodded at the door. “Tend to your needs. There be a creek for washing just to the other side of the house, but hear me well when I say if you be gone longer than I deem you should, I be sending Edmund to fetch you back.”
“I understand.” Gingerly, Felicity pushed herself up from the pallet and was relieved to discover her balance much improved as well. She made it to the door without issue, having to adjust her stride to accommodate the length of the chain connecting her ankles.
Ferdinand met her just outside the doorway, eyeing her as though ready to give her a taste of his spurs.
“I am in no mood, rooster,” she told the fowl, who seemed to take her at her word. He turned the other way and strutted off as though he were royalty.
She found the water as Mrs. Bean had said and washed her hands and face as best she could after attending to her other needs.
At some point between yesterday and today, her gloves, parasol, and reticule had gone missing.
She assumed those ghouls had taken them as proof they had captured her.
None of that mattered now. Her greatest worry, besides getting herself back home, was Merry’s safety.
Each time Drake came to mind, she did her best to think of something else.
Drying her hands on her gown, she shuffled back to the cottage. “Thank you,” she told Mrs. Bean as she stepped back inside.
“For what?” The old woman didn’t bother looking up from the gurgling pot she was stirring over the fire.
“Allowing me some privacy to take care of things.”
“Me and my Edmund wish you no harm, gal. Truly, we don’t.
” Mrs. Bean hazarded a taste of the creamy contents of the pot and shook her head.
“Porridge be a while longer. Just as well; Edmund still be chopping wood.” Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she turned and studied Felicity.
“You know how to mend, or you one of those that does nothing but fancy sewing? If’n you can mend, that there will be easier on your head than crawling all over creation looking for where them hens of mine hid their eggs. ”
“I can sew.” Felicity bent and picked up the basket overflowing with clothing in need of restoration. As she straightened, a pain shot through her head, and she nearly lost her balance.
“Aye, egg hunting ain’t for you just yet.” Mrs. Bean tipped her head toward the door. “The light’s better out there on the bench. Cooler too. You can go out there to do the sewing, if’n you want.”
“Thank you.” Felicity gratefully left the overpowering heat of the cottage and seated herself outside.
Poor Mrs. Bean. The woman needed an outdoor kitchen, but she and her son barely had the means to maintain the one-room structure they already possessed.
No wonder they had made a deal with the devil named Mort.
Felicity selected an item from the basket, found the needle and thread Mrs. Bean had left stuck in the handle, and started sewing. Mending rips and tears was easy. Mending her heart? Not so much.
She became aware of the steady, rhythmic thunk and crackle of wood being chopped and then split off in the distance.
If not for her circumstances, she might even consider the warm summer morning on the bench in front of the cottage a calming respite.
But her rough treatment from yesterday and the chains around her ankles were reminders enough that her ridiculous trust in Drake had led her to this ruinous hell.
“Them stitches of yours be fine,” Mrs. Bean said from the doorway. “Should hold up real well.”
“Thank you.”
“You said your brother be a duke?”
“I did.” Felicity selected another item from the basket, trimmed away the tear’s ratty threads, then started closing the seam.
“He is the Duke of Broadmere.” For a change, the memory of Chance’s temper and hardheadedness made her smile.
“It has only been six years since my papa died and passed the title to him, but he is growing into the role quite well.”
“He be a generous man? Kind like you?”
Felicity smiled again and stared off into the distance. “Yes. He is. Papa and Mama raised us all to be kind and generous.”
“There be more of you, then?” Mrs. Bean cast a glance back inside the cottage. “Them grains ain’t never going to soften.”
“At home, Cook always added more salt and left a silver spoon in the pot while they cooked.” Felicity couldn’t help but give a soft laugh.
“She swore that made the grains soften faster whenever she boiled them.” Remembering that Mrs. Bean had asked if there were more in her family other than Chance, she continued, “And I am one of seven sisters. My brother has no choice but to be kind and generous, since we outnumber him.”
Mrs. Bean chuckled, sounding like one of the hens scratching in the yard. “He’ll be the better for having all you sisters. Makes him a finer man.”
“I hope we do.” Felicity bit off the thread and moved on to the next item in need of repair.
As she started stitching the tear, she decided to repeat the offer she had made last night, even sweeten it some.
“Help me get back to my family, Mrs. Bean, and I promise there will be a place for you and Edmund at Broadmere Hall. No more struggling through harsh winters ever again. When Mort’s coin runs out…
what happens to you and Edmund the winter after next?
But if you help me get home—and your chickens can come too if you like—you and your Edmund would be set for life.
I promise you my brother would see to it. I would see to it.”
Mrs. Bean stared off into the distance, squinting as though trying to focus on something far away. She slowly shook her head. “If Mort and his brothers caught us afore we made it back your brother…” She unleashed a heavy sigh. “’Twouldn’t be good at all, gal. Not good at all.”
“Where exactly are we?”
The old woman nodded at a point in the distance. “Grange in Borrowdale is a good stretch of the legs that way.” She turned and pointed in the opposite direction. “Derwentwater lies not too far over there. My Edmund can be there and back with a fine creel of fish in a day.”
Felicity’s heart fell. That seemed so far from Binnocksbourne. “Broadmere Hall is near the village of Binnocksbourne. Do you know that place?”
Mrs. Bean gave Felicity a sad shake of her head. “That village be a good ways from here, gal. ’Specially since me and my Edmund got nothing but our feet for traveling. Mort and them would surely catch us were we to start out for your Broadmere Hall.”
Felicity had no doubt about that, and the journey would be even more challenging for Mrs. Bean with her cane. “Are there any neighbors nearby who might allow us to borrow a wagon? My brother would happily pay them for their troubles.”
“Let me think on it whilst I stir the porridge.” Mrs. Bean disappeared back inside, then soon reappeared. She grinned at Felicity. “I added more salt. Ain’t got no silver spoon for it, though. Maybe it will still work.”
“I am sure it will.” Feeling much the same as she had last night, Felicity really didn’t care whether or not she ever ate again.
Never known for her patience, she struggled to come up with a rescue plan that didn’t involve sitting here and waiting for someone to save her.
If only she could come up with a few resources, she would bloody well save herself.
And she didn’t feel a bit guilty about the coarseness of her inner dialogue.
Considering the circumstances, it was warranted.
She finished stitching the shirt, snapped the thread free, and then moved on to the next garment in the basket.
“There be an Irish family not too far from here,” Mrs. Bean said. “Believe they got more than one wagon, and I know for a fact they got at least two mules and maybe a horse. Always seemed friendly enough. Good folk, though there be a lot of them. Large family, they are. They might help us.”
“Might they, truly?” Felicity was almost afraid to hope.
“All we can do is ask’m, gal.” Mrs. Bean pushed up from the bench with a soft groan. “I know I couldn’t walk to your Broadmere Hall, but I could ride.”
“Might we go talk to them?” Felicity was ready to jump up and leave immediately.
Mrs. Bean leaned against her cane, her brow wrinkling with her thoughts. “I need to be the one to go. If Mort were to come back today and discover you gone, we would be ended afore we ever started. You can stay here with my Edmund just in case.”
While Felicity didn’t much care for that option, she saw the sense in it. It also occurred to her that the family might need some reassurance that they would not only get their wagon back but also receive the payment she promised.
Setting the mending aside, she glanced all around to ensure Edmund was not on the way back from chopping wood, then reached inside the neckline of her gown and unpinned the locket she always wore attached to her stays.
The gold heart was the keepsake that had often consoled her whenever life proved difficult.
Mama and Papa had gifted it to her years ago, and it kept their portraits close to her heart.