Petra’s feet barely touched the ground as she made her way to Lady Blythe’s house the morning after her encounter with Avery. She didn’t know what the future held, or if there would ever be another opportunity for them to come together, but over the years, she’d learned to take a moment of happiness and make it last, since they didn’t come around often. She’d committed a sin, again, but all she felt was an all-encompassing joy and a sense of being alive such as she hadn’t felt in years. Her body was still aflame, her hunger for love awakened with a start after years of being suppressed and ignored.
Petra hung her cloak on a peg by the door and walked to the kitchen to check on her mistress’s breakfast. Nan was hard at work, having been up for hours. She slept on a narrow cot in an alcove behind the kitchen and rose well before dawn to get the fire going, bake fresh bread, and get a start on the day’s chores. She looked harassed as always, her hair escaping from her linen hood and clinging to her sweaty brow. This was laundry day, which was a monthly ordeal that took most of the day. Doing the laundry left Nan shaking with fatigue, the muscles in her arms and legs aching and sore by the time she finally fell into bed. It wasn’t a job for one person, but Lady Blythe, always intent on economy, was too tight-fisted to hire an additional servant, and Thomas, being a man, was oblivious to what was expected of the poor girl.
“The bread’s nearly done,” she huffed as she stepped away from the hearth. “And there’s hot broth if you’d like a cup before waking Lady Blythe.”
“Thank you, a cup of broth would be most welcome. Is Lord Devon in?” Petra asked carefully.
“Oh, aye. He’s still abed. Came in just before dawn. Drunk he was, and disorderly,” Nan complained. “Scared me half to death when he stumbled into the kitchen by mistake. Then he took a piss into one of the pots,” Nan added with distaste.
“Does he come in in that state often?” Petra asked, realizing how little she actually knew about Thomas. Cyril didn’t drink himself into a stupor often, but when he did, it didn’t bode well for Petra or the children. Drink mellowed some men, and awakened a rage in others, provoking them to violence against those who were to hand and had no means of defending themselves.
“No,” Nan replied as she poured Petra a cup of broth. “He’s a good man, Lord Thomas. Kind. I think he’s just lonely, and last night he’d had a blazing quarrel with her ladyship. He really put her in her place; I’ll tell you that. Told her to mind her own business, or he’d send her to a nunnery. Imagine, Lady Blythe in a nunnery,” Nan giggled. “Now that’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
“What did they argue about?”
“How should I know? Not like I was listening at doors, was I?” Nan retorted, suddenly defensive. “And no refreshments were called for,” she added sarcastically. “Now, get on with you. I have things to do.”
“Is there any hot water for me to take up to her ladyship?”
Nan nodded, her mind already on something else. She was as easily distracted as a child, her mind flitting from one thing to the next. Petra took a sip of her broth and mentally reprimanded herself. Nan was a child. She was only thirteen, hardly older than Elia, and already forced to make her way in the world. She was an orphan, and had little chance of a respectable marriage since there’d be no one to provide her with a dowry, unless Lady Blythe decided to be charitable, which was unlikely.
“I’ll come and give you a hand with the laundry while her ladyship naps,” Petra promised, glad to see a hint of a smile. The poor girl really was overworked and underpaid, since all she got was a roof over her head and her meals. She wouldn’t earn a wage until she was older and considered to be properly trained.
“I would be most grateful,” Nan replied as she began to carefully extract the hot loaves from the oven niche in the hearth. They looked perfect, which didn’t happen often. Usually Nan got distracted and burned the bread a little, invoking the wrath of her employer.
Petra finished her broth, poured some hot water into a pitcher, and headed upstairs to wake Lady Blythe. The old woman was already awake, sitting up in bed, propped up by several pillows. Her gray hair hung in two limp plates, and there was noticeable puffiness beneath her eyes, a testament to a night spent tossing and turning.
“Shall I help you dress, lady?” Petra asked as she set the pitcher down.
“Hmm, look at her,” Lady Blythe said, as if speaking to a third person in the room. “So cool, so aloof. When all the while she’s been laying plans, and looking to take my place.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t take your meaning,” Petra replied, confused by the venom in Lady Blythe’s voice.
“Don’t you?”
Petra remained silent. Lady Blythe was not one to hold back. She would vent her anger on Petra no matter what she said, so it was safer to remain quiet and keep her distance. She still remembered the sting of Lady Blythe’s belt when she was a girl. Lady Blythe didn’t beat Nan as often, simply because she lacked the energy, but she made up for it with scathing tongue-lashings that left the girl in tears and trembling with fright at the thought of being thrown out with only the clothes she stood up in.
“It seems that my son wishes to marry you. “You are a fool,” I told him. “An ungrateful wretch, who wants to throw away all that had been done for him.” But he won’t listen. His mind is made up. What have you done to bewitch my Thomas?”
“I’ve done nothing, lady. I have given him no encouragement.”
“You better not have, or your back will be striped like a tiger’s. Ever see one of those? No, I thought not,” she answered herself. “My Thomas can have any girl he wants. A girl of breeding and means, a virgin whose womb is fertile and ripe for planting. He could still have sons. Instead, he wishes to marry a lowly nobody. And not just a nobody, but a nobody who is too old to bear children and has three whelps of her own to support. You are of low birth and advanced years. You have nothing to offer a man of his stature.”
“No, lady, I don’t,” Petra agreed. Lady Blythe’s bluntness was cruel, but everything she said was no more than the truth.
“You will refuse him, you hear?” Lady Blythe demanded. “You will not give him any hope.”
“And if I refuse to refuse?” Petra asked, taunting the old woman despite the consequences. She couldn’t afford to lose her place, but even a woman of her station was entitled to some pride.
“Then I will convince him to wait until June to wed. He will change his mind by then, you can be sure of that, my girl. He’s no fool, but it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman in his bed. He’s not thinking straight. I will tell Robert to bring Thomas a whore, a dozen whores, if that’s what it takes to cool his lust. He’ll forget all about you then, you’ll see.”
Petra looked at the old lady and let out a giggle, which she immediately stifled by clamping a hand over her mouth and pretending to cough. The notion that it would take a dozen whores to turn Thomas away from her was laughable. She was no great beauty, nor was she young and pure. She was a mother of three; married, widowed, and battered by life. Surely there was no need for such extreme antics.
“Am I dismissed from my position, Lady Blythe?” Petra asked, not wishing to suffer any more abuse if she were to be let go anyway.
“No, you are not! You will continue with your duties, and remain by my side where I can keep an eye on you. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, they say,” she replied, her eyes narrowed with dislike.
“Am I your enemy then?” Petra asked. Lady Blythe was clearly more threatened by her chances with Thomas than Petra previously imagined. Was it possible that Thomas truly loved her? What a strange and unexpected turn her life had taken since Cyril died. Lady Blythe didn’t reply, her silence signaling that the conversation was at an end for the time being.
“I’d like to wash now. Take out my blue gown and woolen stockings. I’m cold.”
“Yes, lady,” Petra replied. She was as distracted as Nan while she helped Lady Blythe dress and escorted her down to break her fast. She had to talk to Thomas, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what to say. The sensible thing to do would be to accept his proposal and get on with her life, but her encounter with Avery made accepting Thomas seem like a betrayal of all of them.