Page 10 of The Grey Lady of the Manor

“Be of good cheer. The sun smiles upon us now, none of your geese have been harmed, and you’ve just been rescued by the most dashing blade in the neighborhood. Even if he is but a thatcher’s rebellious apprentice. Any other wench would be delighted.”

“Don’t call me ‘wench’.” She filled her cupped hands with water and began scrubbing the mud from her legs.

Perkin was transfixed. Such shapely ankles! Such pure, white flesh! Nay. When one looked closer—which he couldn’t help doing—one could see she was covered in bruises as if she’d fallen down a scree slope. But this was Essex. There were no rockslides here.

“Ugh. I have mud all up my arms, as well. How did I manage that?”

“Let me roll up your sleeves for you, then. My hands are cleaner than yours.”

She shied away from him like a wounded animal, but he reached out and tugged at the ties of her cuff. When he rolled up the sleeve, he saw more bruises—some old and yellowing, others red and angry, recently done.

“What caused these? Have you had an accident?”

“No accident.” She held out her other arm for the sleeve to be rolled up but turned her face away.

He traced a finger over the soft skin and, suddenly, fury boiled within him, more potent than anything he’d ever known.

He leaped to his feet. “Who did this to you? Not the Smythes, surely? They seem like godly people.”

She shook her head, and a curl of dark hair escaped her coif. “Of course not. They’ve been kindness itself to me, for all that I am so clumsy and bedeviled.”

His jaw clenched. Her father then, or her mother. Or had she a vindictive sibling? He needed to know more about this maid who bore her pain so nobly.

“Who hurt you? If you don’t tell me, I’ll cast you back into the mud where I found you.” An idle threat. He was so affected by this young woman’s suffering that he vowed then and there to wreak vengeance on whoever had inflicted it.

“Ah, ’tis nothing. My stepmother is full of yellow bile, and it makes her irritable. But I transgress often, so mayhap I deserve her wrath.”

“You most certainly do not.” He pulled her around to look at him, and as he scanned her face, he saw a spot of dried blood on her lip.

It took great effort to control his rage. If only he knew how to throw curses! He’d like to see that cruel stepmother boiled in a vat of her own bile.

“Did she do this, too?” Of course, she had. It was infuriating—what went on behind closed doors was far too often ignored, just accepted as part of family life. Husbands beat their wives, and children were given the belt for insubordination and laziness. He didn’t approve of any of it. Why couldn’t people just be content with one another?

Letty stared at him, her brown eyes full of trouble. “You won’t say anything, will you? Or do anything foolish?”

He touched the corner of her lip with a gentle finger. “I can’t promise. This sort of thing disgusts me.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t!” She grabbed his hand and clung to it. “It would only make things worse. Don’t be concerned for me—I shall leave home as soon as I can.” She gave him a wan smile. “Perchance I’ll find a husband at Low Ongar market—who knows?”

The devil she would!

“I’ll take you under my protection for the rest of the day. We’ll go to the market together, so I’ll be on hand to deal with any more mishaps. You do seem to be exceptionally unlucky, Letty Carter.” Sarah would scold, Mistress Smythe would be disappointed, and Hugh Thatcher would shout at him, but he’d bring them around in the end. A few jests, his disarming grin, and a promise to work from dawn to dusk the following day would settle matters.

“You can’t help me—I’m cursed by that blacksmith’s shade.”

“Nonsense. I’ll prove you wrong if only you put your trust in me.”

“Why should I believe you? You’re the least trustworthy fellow I’ve ever met.”

That wiped the smile off his face. Solemnly, he offered her his hand. “I apologize for that. Come, let’s get these geese of yours back on the road—we can discuss my contemptible character later.”

“What about Cecil—I mean, the gander?”

“Shall we assume he’ll follow if we can get the rest of the flock to come with us? Geese tend not to enjoy being alone.”

He peered over the wall of the bridge to find out where the gander had gone, and saw a sight that well-nigh stopped his heart.

Below him, a shape appeared in the water. He blinked, but the thing remained, nebulous, weightless, and drifting slowly with the current. Ice trickled down his spine. A trick of the light, surely? He shaded his eyes and the figure dispersed, like a multitude of ripples. But these were no ordinary ripples.