Chapter 1 #2
He was sturdy and red-cheeked, an apron tied about his substantial waist and a graphite pencil tucked behind one ear. His eyes were kind beneath bushy gray brows, crinkling at the corners as he took in her snow-dusted cloak and the trunk clutched desperately in her arms.
“Good morrow to ye, miss,” he said with a courteous bob of his head. “Ye look half-frozen standing there in this beastly wind. New to Blackfen, are ye?”
Verity managed a smile, though her teeth threatened to chatter uncontrollably. “Indeed, sir. I am Miss Verity Hale, come to serve as companion to the Dowager Countess Blackfen.”
His face brightened considerably, revealing a gap-toothed grin. “Welcome, welcome, Miss Hale! John Cobb at yer service, proprietor of this humble establishment.” He gestured grandly at the shop behind him, its windows glowing warmly against the storm.
“Her ladyship will be right glad to have ye. She has a sweet soul, though she does wander a bit in her thoughts these days. The earl has been sore pressed to find someone suitable who would brave our northern winters. Come inside now, out of this devilish cold. Ephraim Cutter will be along presently to fetch ye up to the castle. He is a man of few words but true as steel.”
Relief flooded Verity. She surrendered her trunk without protest when Mr. Cobb reached for it, marveling silently as he tucked it beneath one arm as though it weighed nothing at all. Perhaps northern folk were made of sterner stuff than their southern cousins.
A loud bell jingled merrily as they entered the shop, and blessed warmth enveloped her like a mother’s embrace. The air carried the comforting scents of tea and tobacco, fresh bread and spices, woodsmoke and beeswax polish. It was a balm to her frozen senses after the endless cold.
Mr. Cobb set the trunk beside the counter with a gentle thud and pressed her toward a sturdy wooden stool near the glowing pot-bellied stove. The heat radiated outward in welcoming waves, seeping through her damp cloak to warm her chilled bones.
“Sit ye down, miss, and warm those poor toes afore they fall off entirely. I shall fetch a cup of tea and something to stay yer stomach. Ye have the look of someone who has not had a proper meal in days.”
He disappeared through a curtained doorway at the back.
Verity rose almost immediately, too restless to remain seated after days confined in the jolting coach.
Her muscles ached from the constant bracing against the lurching motion, and she paced the narrow aisles to restore circulation to her numb limbs.
She trailed fingers over the neat displays, amazed at the variety. Wheels of golden cheese nestled next to jars of pickled eggs and sweets for children wrapped in twists of paper. Barrels of nails and tools for farm and hearth stood beside bottles of ink and neatly stacked writing sheets.
A small shelf of books caught her eye, well-thumbed volumes of sermons and agricultural treatises, a few novels bound in cheap cloth. Nothing like her father’s library, but the sight of them brought a pang of homesickness sharp as any physical pain.
There was a row of bonnets, simple but warmly lined with flannel, far more suitable for this harsh climate than her own. Shawls of thick yarn in bright colors tempted her fingers, and she imagined how one might feel about her shoulders on a night such as this.
Gloves of leather and knit wool hung in neat rows, promising protection against the very cold that was slowly easing off her hands. Fleece-lined boots too, with sturdy soles that would grip ice and snow.
She would need to inquire about the boots later, perhaps arrange credit against her first wages. The thought of owing money made her stomach twist, but pride was a luxury she could no longer afford.
Mr. Cobb returned bearing a tray laden with treasures.
Steam curled invitingly from a sturdy brown pot, and beside it lay a plate piled high with golden scones still warm from the oven, their surfaces glistening with butter.
Beside them sat a small pot of blackberry jam and a dish of yellow cream thick enough to stand a spoon.
Verity’s mouth watered traitorously, her stomach giving an audible rumble of betrayal that made Mr. Cobb chuckle.
She had not eaten since yesterday’s noon.
At the last hasty stop she bolted into the yard, bought two meat pies from the pieman, and devoured them while the fresh horses were put to.
She was still licking grease from her fingers when the guard’s horn blasted one long, merciless note.
The coach lurched forward. With a muffled cry she ran, skirts flying, and flung herself at the open door just as the wheels began to turn, scrambling into her seat with crumbs on her lips and her heart hammering against her ribs.
Thankfully she was here now. The harrowing journey on the mail coach was already no more than a memory.
“Sit, sit, miss,” the shopkeeper urged, pouring tea with a generous hand and adding milk and two lumps of sugar without asking. “Ye’ve not just the hollow look of hunger, but even the sound of it about ye. Eat up now. There is plenty more where that came from.”
Verity needed no further invitation. She fell upon the biscuits with unbecoming haste, manners forgotten in the face of gnawing hunger that had plagued her for days.
Five disappeared in rapid succession, slathered with jam and cream, before shame slowed her hand. The tea was hot and strong, sweetened perfectly, sliding down her throat like liquid comfort. She sighed in bliss, feeling life return to her frozen limbs.
“You are too kind, Mr. Cobb,” she said between bites of her sixth, her voice muffled by crumbs. “I fear I have quite forgotten my manners in my greed.”
“Nay, miss. A body cannot be expected to stand on ceremony when half-starved and frozen through.” He waved away her apology with a meaty hand. “But how was yer journey? The mail coaches are fast but merciless, that is to say nothing of this weather.”
Verity shuddered at the memory. “The last stretch was the worst. The roads are little more than sheets of ice.”
Mr. Cobb nodded grimly. “Aye, we lose folk some winters to the snow storms and the cold. The moors take no prisoners. But ye made it safe, and that is what matters.”
He trailed off, his expression darkening slightly as he glanced toward the window and the bloodstained snow beyond. Verity followed his gaze, curiosity sharpening despite her weariness.
A shiver chased down Verity’s spine. She swallowed hard, her appetite suddenly diminished. The cheerful warmth of the shop felt suddenly fragile, as if the storm outside carried more than snow and wind.
Mr. Cobb seemed to sense her unease and changed the subject with determined cheer. “Ye will be safe enough at the castle. The earl keeps fierce hunting hounds, and the walls are thick. Now eat up. Ephraim will be here soon, and the road up to the castle is no place for an empty belly.”
Verity forced herself to finish the tea and another biscuit, though the food now sat heavily in her stomach. She was about to take another sip of tea when the bell above the door jingled suddenly, and in came a gust of icy air that made the stove’s flames dance.