Page 8 of The Grey Lady of the Manor

“Isn’t that what you are doing?”

Another voice smote the air—harsh and haughty. A voice he knew only too well.

He spun around. “Sarah! Well met. I was about to come in search of you.”

“Not from what I overheard.” His master’s daughter bristled. “For what transgression must you be forgiven? Nay—say not a word, for I know exactly what’s been going on. Strumpet!”

Before he could react, Sarah had seized two fistfuls of Letty’s hair and yanked on it hard. Letty brought up her hands to defend herself as he leaped forward to pull the cursing, growling Sarah away from her victim.

As soon as the two women were separated, Letty rushed forward and slapped him again. “You have used me most ill. Both of you. Now get your loathsome ladylove away from here before I rouse the entire manor and have you thrown down the well!”

Chest heaving, she marched off into the darkness.

He barely had time to admire her spirit before another hand made contact with his face, knocking him sideways.

“How dare you dangle after another woman when you’re meant to be marrying me? My father will hear of this and will give you cause to regret your actions this night.”

As he rubbed ruefully at his jaw, Sarah, too, strode off into the night, thankfully taking a different path than Letty.

He had failed Mistress Smythe and failed his master, too, by apparently being unfaithful to Sarah. It would take all the cunning and pretty words he could devise to get himself out of this situation with his manly pride still intact.

Pray to God he hadn’t just damaged his prospects as well as his pride.

Chapter Six

When her malicious stepmother threw a bag of dried peas at her and split her lip, Letty decided it was time to run away. Her only fault this time had been to accidentally chop through a lovage plant when her pruning knife slipped, but Prudence had been beyond furious.

Letty’s mind worked rapidly, wondering how far she would get without coin—her stepmother demanded all her wages to pay for her keep. Would Mistress Smythe take her in until she’d earned enough money to travel far away? But even if she could take refuge at the manor, where would she sleep? The place was in turmoil while the new house was being constructed, and she’d only be a nuisance to everyone.

“Daughter.”

She rubbed the tears from her eyes and stood up. “Father.”

He shifted his gaze away from her face but took her hand and stared down at it.

“Forgive Prue. Your stepmother is anxious today, and her temper always flares quickly when her mind is burdened.”

He was continually making excuses for his scold of a wife. In olden days, Goodwife Prudence would have been dunked in the village pond or had her head put in the Scold’s Bridle. Perhaps they should revive the tradition.

“What has put her into such a temper today?”

“She’s frightened by the news of King Edward’s death. Without a male heir, the kingdom becomes unstable. We want no internal squabbles, no fighting. The affairs of the monarchy could damage us—even here, deep in the heart of Essex.”

“Then mayhap you should try and put her mind at rest, Father.” Letty tilted her chin at him. She would never be openly defiant, but sometimes, he just needed a push in the right direction.

“I shall. And for now, maybe you should make yourself scarce. Whatever you do in this garden, Prudence will find fault with—you know how proud of it she is.”

Indeed. Even though she never lifted a finger to tend it herself.

“I shall go to the manor early, then.” There were always tasks needing to be done there. So long as she didn’t have to go near the graveyard and the little pile of earth that revealed where the blacksmith’s skull had been buried. His curse had a long reach if her accident with the knife today was anything to go by.

Fortunately, on her arrival at Temple Roding manor, she was rewarded with a task that would take her still farther away from trouble—herding some of the geese to sell at Low Ongar market.

A day out in the early July sunshine with the geese would be the perfect antidote to her gloom. She’d be sad to see them sold, however, as they were—in their own peculiar way—like friends to her.

The road took Letty and the small flock over Patience Bridge, near the village of Rooks Well. Was this bridge the place where there’d been a tragic death? Perkin Merrick had spoken of a grand lady who’d run off to elope with a blacksmith, but her conveyance had tipped over on the bend, and she’d died.

Letty could understand how heartbroken the blacksmith must have been to lose his love, but really, it was no excuse for haunting people, cursing them, or setting buildings aflame. What had his lady been like? Addled in the head, if she was rich, but prepared to settle for being a mere artisan’s wife. Mayhap she’d had a mother like Prudence. That would account for her need to elope, in very truth.