underneath. Sh e splashed some cold water on her face and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Feeling a little refreshed she patted her skin dry with a towel and turned to Dickie. “Could you go slice a piece of meat from the deer carcass so I may make a broth for our guest?”
He added a couple of logs to the crackling fire. “Yes, Mistress Sarah.” He smiled at her, brushed the loose bits of bark off his trousers and went outside to do as he was bid.
Sarah hurried to her clothes chest. After pulling a plain soft blue wool dress and some clean undergarments out, she dropped the lid closed. She studied the figure in the bed, making sure he was still asleep before she undressed. There was nothing to do but leave off the constricting corset as she had no serving woman to help her tie the laces, so she quickly donned on her chemise and drawers. With another quick peek to ensure Byron still slept, she tossed the dress unceremoniously over her head, slipped her arms through and pulled it down into place.
Giving it a last tug, she secured the loose waist with a clean white apron. Dickie returned and handed her a cloth-lined basket. Inside was a large chunk of liver and a tender piece of flank meat. She smiled her thanks and hurried to put a small blackened pot of water over the fire to heat. Dickie sat at the table, watching as she set the basket on it and began to dice up the meat. “There is a loaf of rye bread wrapped in a towel on the shelf and some leftover cheese from yesterday you may help yourself to, for breakfast.” It was silent for a moment before she heard him get up.
“How long is he going to be here?”
She shrugged, knowing whom he was referring to. “I do not know exactly. Until he is well enough to resume his journey to London, I suppose.” She glanced up.
Dickie didn’t look at her as he set about making himself a sandwich. “You shared his bed last night.”
She kept dicing, pretending not to notice the boy’s tone, laced with childish accusation and jealousy. “I was tired. He is very ill and I needed to keep a close watch over him.” Why do I feel I have to explain myself to a ten-year-old boy? It is not as if I am accountable to him in any way … am I?
The boy neither looked at her or commented further, but took a big bite of his bread and cheese. He stared past her into the fire with a brooding look on his face. Setting down the knife, she scooped the meat into a nearby wooden bowl. “Does his presence here cause you worry?”
He shrugged, munching on his sandwich.
Sarah sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. “Listen, Dickie. You know, I would never let him hurt you?”
“I know.”
“The marquis is hurt and I could not in all good conscience just leave him out there in the rain,” she explained patiently, knowing the boy still had a long way to go to get over his fear of men. The only man he seemed to trust in was Bert, and even that friendship had taken months to bud.
Dickie sat up straighter and wrinkled his nose. “I can take care of myself.” He looked quickly at the sleeping man on the cot and gave her a uneasy smile.
Sarah schooled her face into a blank mask as she tried to not laugh. The boy’s attempt to look brave only succeeded in making him look like a frightened rabbit. “I know you can, that is why I told Bert to let you stay with me while the marquis is here. I had to have someone here to protect me and ensure my reputation remains untarnished,” she humored the boy. All the same she a pang of sadness lodged in her chest at the idea she might even have had a reputation to tarnish at one time. It wasn't as if she were a lady of a great house anymore. Living on the streets didn't leave one with much respectability.
“I am big enough to protect you. If he tries to hurt you I shall run him through with my dagger!” Dickie insisted with bravado.
Sarah grinned and turned back to her unfinished task. Picking up the bowl of meat she carried it to the fire and
He added a couple of logs to the crackling fire. “Yes, Mistress Sarah.” He smiled at her, brushed the loose bits of bark off his trousers and went outside to do as he was bid.
Sarah hurried to her clothes chest. After pulling a plain soft blue wool dress and some clean undergarments out, she dropped the lid closed. She studied the figure in the bed, making sure he was still asleep before she undressed. There was nothing to do but leave off the constricting corset as she had no serving woman to help her tie the laces, so she quickly donned on her chemise and drawers. With another quick peek to ensure Byron still slept, she tossed the dress unceremoniously over her head, slipped her arms through and pulled it down into place.
Giving it a last tug, she secured the loose waist with a clean white apron. Dickie returned and handed her a cloth-lined basket. Inside was a large chunk of liver and a tender piece of flank meat. She smiled her thanks and hurried to put a small blackened pot of water over the fire to heat. Dickie sat at the table, watching as she set the basket on it and began to dice up the meat. “There is a loaf of rye bread wrapped in a towel on the shelf and some leftover cheese from yesterday you may help yourself to, for breakfast.” It was silent for a moment before she heard him get up.
“How long is he going to be here?”
She shrugged, knowing whom he was referring to. “I do not know exactly. Until he is well enough to resume his journey to London, I suppose.” She glanced up.
Dickie didn’t look at her as he set about making himself a sandwich. “You shared his bed last night.”
She kept dicing, pretending not to notice the boy’s tone, laced with childish accusation and jealousy. “I was tired. He is very ill and I needed to keep a close watch over him.” Why do I feel I have to explain myself to a ten-year-old boy? It is not as if I am accountable to him in any way … am I?
The boy neither looked at her or commented further, but took a big bite of his bread and cheese. He stared past her into the fire with a brooding look on his face. Setting down the knife, she scooped the meat into a nearby wooden bowl. “Does his presence here cause you worry?”
He shrugged, munching on his sandwich.
Sarah sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. “Listen, Dickie. You know, I would never let him hurt you?”
“I know.”
“The marquis is hurt and I could not in all good conscience just leave him out there in the rain,” she explained patiently, knowing the boy still had a long way to go to get over his fear of men. The only man he seemed to trust in was Bert, and even that friendship had taken months to bud.
Dickie sat up straighter and wrinkled his nose. “I can take care of myself.” He looked quickly at the sleeping man on the cot and gave her a uneasy smile.
Sarah schooled her face into a blank mask as she tried to not laugh. The boy’s attempt to look brave only succeeded in making him look like a frightened rabbit. “I know you can, that is why I told Bert to let you stay with me while the marquis is here. I had to have someone here to protect me and ensure my reputation remains untarnished,” she humored the boy. All the same she a pang of sadness lodged in her chest at the idea she might even have had a reputation to tarnish at one time. It wasn't as if she were a lady of a great house anymore. Living on the streets didn't leave one with much respectability.
“I am big enough to protect you. If he tries to hurt you I shall run him through with my dagger!” Dickie insisted with bravado.
Sarah grinned and turned back to her unfinished task. Picking up the bowl of meat she carried it to the fire and
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