The stew was rich and meaty, heartier than anything Alys ever made at home. They rarely had meat during the week. The bread was still warm from the oven, the butter melting into its chewy center. Alys took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring the smooth texture. This was the first time she’d eaten white bread. At home, they always had brown bread, which was coarser but also more filling.
“Like it, do ye?” Mistress Helmsley asked, watching Alys eat. Alys nodded, her mouth full. “They’ll run ye off yer feet, but they’ll feed ye well.”
“Do the servants eat the same as the masters?” Alys asked, surprised.
“Lady Marjorie eats sparingly, and Mistress Ashcombe hasn’t had much of an appetite since the master passed. There’s always lots left over, plenty to go ’round. Ye’ll serve at table tonight,” Mistress Helmsley said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alys said, wiping up the last of the stew with a heel of bread.
“Now, if ye’re done, it’s time to get started on supper. Wash out yer bowl and start on the rabbits,” Mistress Helmsley said, indicating three rabbit carcasses that hung from a hook, their fur bloody and their eyes glazed in death.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alys said. She was pleasantly sated and wished she could take a walk to get some fresh air, but it seemed this meal was the only break she was likely to get.
Alys was exhausted by the time the family finally sat down to sup five hours later. She’d been on her feet since dawn. Her back ached, her feet throbbed, and her hands were still red and raw from the lye soap she’d used to wash the linens. The rabbit Mistress Helmsley had prepared in butter with leeks, garlic, and bay leaf smelled divine, but Lady Lockwood made a moue of distaste as soon as she saw the dish. Alys carefully set the platter on the table, then unloaded the peas and mashed turnips from her tray before coming around the table to pour everyone wine.
Lord Lockwood smiled at her, and Mistress Ashcombe asked how she was getting on, but Lady Lockwood ignored her completely, her white hands clasped before her as if she were in church. She wore a gown of dark gray with a modest linen collar and cap. The dark color of the gown and the starched white of the linen made her complexion look sallow, her sour expression making her look older than her eighteen years. Once Alys finished pouring the wine, she stood back, unsure whether she should remain or give the family their privacy while they dined. She hadn’t been dismissed, so she stayed, stepping into a shadowy corner until she was needed.
Lady Marjorie looked to her husband, who had lifted his cup to his lips, about to taste the wine. “Will you not say grace, my lord?” Her tone was disapproving, and angry red spots bloomed on her cheeks.
“Of course. Forgive me.”
Lord Lockwood set down his untasted wine and bowed his head. The grace was woefully short and less than eloquent. Alys got the sense that this was not something he was accustomed to doing and forgot to more often than not. As soon as he was done, he lifted the cup of wine to his lips, his gaze fixed on a painting that hung above the fireplace. He seemed discomfited.
“This rabbit is excellent,” Mistress Ashcombe said, looking from Marjorie to Lord Lockwood. “Mistress Helmsley has outdone herself.”
“Yes, absolutely delicious,” Lockwood agreed, having taken a generous bite.
Lady Marjorie didn’t reply.
“Bedford Abbey must have an excellent cook,” Mistress Ashcombe said when no one else made any effort to continue the conversation.
“Yes, my father likes a good table,” Lord Lockwood said. “He also keeps a fine wine cellar.”
“I’m afraid our cellar is almost empty,” Mistress Ashcombe said. “My husband could only drink warm milk toward the end, so Master Johnson never bothered to replenish the stock.”
“Not to worry, madam. Master Robson will see to the wine. He knows good wine,” Lord Lockwood added with a grin.
“You’ve known him a long time?” Mistress Ashcombe asked. She threw a warning look at her daughter, who still made no effort to join the conversation.
“Yes. Hal and I grew up together. His father was the estate manager, so we saw quite a lot of each other. Once we got older, father suggested Hal share my lessons. Father felt healthy competition would spur me on in my studies.”
“And did it?” Lady Marjorie asked.
“Yes, I suppose it did. Hal excelled at mathematics, but I preferred Latin and Greek. We helped each other.”
“Is Master Robson wed?” Mistress Ashcombe asked. It seemed she had yet to meet the man.
“No. Hal likes his freedom.”
“Freedom to do what?” Lady Marjorie asked acidly, her meaning clear. A man who wasn’t married was one who slaked his lust on whores, since no one expected a man to deny his needs.
“To choose,” Lord Lockwood replied, his mouth quirking in a half smile. “There’s no compelling reason for him to wed.”
Alys wondered if that was a statement about his own marriage, since he likely hadn’t been able to choose his bride. The tension between him and Lady Marjorie was obvious, and Alys couldn’t help but wonder if it followed them to their marriage bed. Many newly married couples were awkward with each other at first, but once a couple was wedded and bedded, a certain sense of intimacy took root between them, growing until, if not devoted, they were at least united.
Lord Lockwood drained the rest of his wine, and Alys stepped forward to refill his cup,
