The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) by Irina Shapiro

Author:Irina Shapiro [Shapiro, Irina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Merlin Press LLC
Published: 2018-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

“The master wishes to see you,” Nan announced as she shuffled into the kitchen with an empty basket on her hip, having finished hanging out the laundry in the yard. Her normally sallow cheeks were rosy with cold, and her hands were nearly blue after handling wet bed linens and Lady Blythe’s underthings. She set down the basket and held her hands out to the fire, sighing with contentment as they began to regain their normal color. “I saw him coming out of the stable,” she added.

“How did he seem to you?” Petra asked, wondering if he regretted the argument with Lady Blythe and was perhaps already reconsidering his intentions toward her.

“Sore-headed and shame-faced,” Nan replied. “Serves him right for drinking like a peasant.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Petra laughed. Nan really was too outspoken at times, a trait that earned her the back of Lady Blythe’s hand at least once a week.

“Tis the truth,” Nan shrugged. “I saw him being sick behind the stable. If I ever marry, I’ll find a man who has an aversion to drink. Nasty, it makes them, and violent.”

“Was Lord Devon violent toward you?” Petra demanded. Nan shook her head, and Petra suddenly wondered what Nan’s life had been like before she came to serve Lady Blythe. Nan had her opinions and was always up for a gossip, but she never talked about herself. Petra always assumed that there wasn’t much to tell, but perhaps she was wrong. Some memories were too painful to share. Could be that this place was a refuge for her as much as it had once been for Petra herself.

“Lord Devon is the exception. He gets maudlin when he drinks, but not belligerent, like some. You know how men can get when their blood’s up. They need to kick and punch someone, someone who’s too weak to defend themselves and won’t put up much of a fight. Can’t have their manhood challenged. Can they?” Nan asked with disgust. “That’s about the only thing I recall about my father — his fists, and how often he used them.”

Nan wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the hunk of venison she planned to make for supper. She skillfully impaled it on a spit and positioned it above the flames, where it would roast until suppertime, filling the house with its appetizing smell. If Thomas was too unwell to eat, Nan would get a nice portion for her own supper, since she ate whatever was left over from the mistress’s table.

“You’d best go see him now. He said he’d be waiting in the parlor. Likely wants to say his piece before his mother wakes from her nap, the old sow.”

Petra couldn’t help smiling at the girl. Nan had spirit; she’d give her that. It might not serve her well when it came to staying in Lady Blythe’s good graces, but perhaps saying what was on her mind made her feel a little less downtrodden. “All right; I’m going,” Petra replied and left Nan to her work.

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