A sharp breeze swept down from the shop roofs, and with her free hand she clutched the collar of her pelisse tighter about her. “I am grateful to you for all you are doing for me, Mr. North.”
“’Tis my job, and my joy, to help others.” His manner was light as he opened the gate. “Come, through here.”
Once at the door Mr. North knocked, and a young servant girl with plump cheeks answered. She took Cassandra’s pelisse and gloves before ushering them into a modest parlor with a low ceiling. Two sofas and several mismatched chairs crowded the narrow room, and the silence of the space struck her. She had expected it to be more like the girls’ school, which was forever echoing with the sounds of footsteps and instruction. Here, the absence of sound was disconcerting.
Before long a woman who could be Mrs. Martin appeared in the doorway. The slender, striking woman was every bit as tall as Mr. North. Her coppery hair, although faded, was coiffed in an intricate display of tight curls around her long face, and her gown of gold piping and blue embroidery was anything but retiring.
She paid no heed to Cassandra but focused her attention familiarly on the vicar. “Mr. North. What business brings you to my parlor today?”
He bowed in greeting. “I must beg a favor from you yet again, Mrs. Martin.”
“What, again?” She swept into the room and sat in one of the highback chairs. It was only then that she looked to Cassandra and motioned for them both to be seated. “More charitable work?”
“Not exactly.” Mr. North adjusted his coat as he sat down. “I’ve had the pleasure this day of meeting Miss Hale. She has come to our village on a personal matter and has need of lodging. It had been her intention to reside at the inn, but I’m certain you’ll agree that your boardinghouse would be more suitable to a young lady of her standing. I’m having my maid bring her things here, pending your consent, of course.”
“You were right to bring her to me.” Mrs. Martin addressed Cassandra, “And where are you from, my dear?”
“I’m from Lamby. Near London.”
“Near London, is it?” Mrs. Martin examined Cassandra from the top of her hair to the toes of her boots. “My, my. Not many visitors from London come all the way to my boardinghouse. And what sort of business brings you here?”
Mr. North interjected, “Miss Hale has had a trying day, Mrs. Martin. I think it best to show her to a bedchamber forthwith. We don’t want anyone succumbing to fatigue.”
“You are right, Mr. North, as usual.” Mrs. Martin’s voice rang hollow. She stood and clasped her hands primly before her.
Cassandra and Mr. North followed her lead and stood. He turned toward Cassandra, his expression encouraging, and he softened his voice. “Now, Miss Hale. I’ll be by in the morning for the errand we discussed, if that is still agreeable to you.”
Cassandra nodded. “It is indeed.”
“Good. Then I leave you in Mrs. Martin’s capable hands.” He bowed to both of them. “Mrs. Martin, you, of course, are a treasure.”
Cassandra watched Mr. North almost sadly, as if just realizing they were about to part. She turned to see Mrs. Martin watching him as well. The older woman’s jaw twitched. In that instant it became clear: Cassandra was not the only one who did not want him to leave.
* * *
Cassandra shifted awkwardly after Mr. North had disappeared from view. She gripped her reticule tighter, as if by doing so she could regain control of the situation.
“There, now.” Mrs. Martin’s warmhearted tone tightened to one much more direct. “He’s seen fit to bring you to my boardinghouse, has he?”
Cassandra pressed her lips together at the woman’s perceived displeasure. “Mr. North has been very considerate.”
Mrs. Martin’s head tilted to the side. “And why would he do that, I wonder?”
The question hung heavy in the silence, interrupted only by muffled, distant voices and creaking footsteps crossing the floor above.
After several seconds Mrs. Martin let out a drawn-out sigh, and her gaze dropped to Cassandra’s hand. She reached out, grabbed it in her own, and turned it over. “These hands have not seen much by a day’s work, have they?”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Martin.” Cassandra pulled her hand back. “I’ve worked very hard. I’m a teacher in a girls’ boarding school. Or rather, I have been until recently.”
“And what would bring a teacher to a village like this? And to have sought lodging at the inn, no less?”
Cassandra could only stare at the impertinent woman. It was one matter for her to share her quest with the vicar, a trusted man of the cloth. It was another thing entirely to share her story with someone whom she’d only just met, whose capricious gaze and curious eye seemed more bent on gossip than a sincere desire to be of help. Mr. North’s words of caution took on an entirely new level of truth.
“You must forgive me, Mrs. Martin. As Mr. North indicated, I’m quite tired. I’d very much appreciate a chance to rest.”
Mrs. Martin’s thin brows rose, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “All my proper rooms are full, even the double ones, but I’ve an empty servant’s room in the back by the kitchen. That will have to do, unless you’re too proud, of course. And assuming you can pay the rent. I require a week’s amount in advance.”
Disappointment—or perhaps frustration—surged. Cassandra resisted the urge to let her posture slacken. She was in no situation to make any demands. “I’m certain it will suit very well, Mrs. Martin. And yes, I have funds.”
“Well then, I’ve far too much to do to stand here in the corridor. Come now. And be quick about it.”
With impatient steps Mrs. Martin led Cassandra down a corridor, through a cramped, low-ceilinged kitchen, and to a small door at the far edge. Cassandra looked around as she followed, quickly absorbing her surroundings. Heavy, dark beams extended the length of the room, and from them dried herbs and flowers hung. Pleasing scents of meat and boiled vegetables intermingled with wayward smoke that escaped the chimney, and a large orange fire raged in the hearth. Two girls with white aprons glanced up from cutting vegetables as they walked past.
Mrs. Martin’s linen skirts swished as she reached for a key on a hook next to the door. She extended it to Cassandra. “This will be your room. As I said, there’s not much to it, but it is dry, which is more than I can say for the condition in which the innkeeper keeps the Green Ox Inn. If another chamber becomes available, you will be the first in line.”
Cassandra accepted the key and stared at the small wooden door.
“The morning meal is early on account of the other boarders going to the next village for work. If you want to eat, make sure you’re not late. You’ll hear ’em, no doubt. There is a blanket in the trunk. If you need water in the basin, ask one of the kitchen girls.”
Cassandra could sense the two maids staring at her during the exchange. She turned and offered a smile, which was not returned. Bewildered, Cassandra pushed on the unlatched door.
The space was cramped, and the ceiling was even lower than the kitchen’s, making it almost uncomfortable to stretch to her full height. A small bed was pushed up against the far stone wall. One of the windowpanes was broken, and a determined stream of wind fluttered the threadbare window covering, bringing with it an unforgiving chill.