Page 149 of Storm of Bells
The Mohammedan puffed out his chest. His bulkof muscle would have made a gorilla cower. Yet Ella, innocentlittle Ella, rose to her feet, put her hands on her hips and heldhis gaze without blinking. Another figure approached from behindKarim, and a hand landed on his shoulder.
‘Oh yes,’ Patsy said. ‘He’d better.’
Karim’s eyes flicked from one girl to thenext. The bodyguard was a supreme tactician. He knew there was onlyone way out if you were surrounded by superior forces. Hisshoulders slumped.
Ella glanced at me.
I gave her a nod. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll do it.I’ll make sure.’
And if he won’t, I always have enough moneysaved up. Probably. I hope.
‘Y-you will?’ The mother stared at me, hereyes wide open in terror. ‘But…he’s the lord! Begging your pardon,My Lady, but you seem to be just a girl. How could you—’
One of the other village women who hadfollowed us into the cottage leaned over and whispered somethinginto her ear. All I heard was one word, but that was enough:‘Fiancée.’
The mother’s eyes widened, and she hurriedlydropped into a curtsey so deep her knees nearly hit the floor. Theother women clustering at the door started whispering to eachother, in tones of mounting awe and disbelief.
‘Did you hear that?’
‘Did she say fiancée?’
‘Did she sayhewas going topayfor it?’
I decided it was about time to get out ofthere. The way they were looking at me…it was as if they weretortured souls in hell, and I was the angel come to save them.Well…maybe not quite an angel. Maybe one of the nicer devils, whowasn’t opposed to offering a cup of tea instead of a pitchfork.
‘Don’t worry,’ I told the mother. ‘I’ll takecare of everything, Mrs…?’
‘Delaney, My Lady. Gwen Delaney.’
‘Pleasure to meet you.’
I tried to shake her hand, but the poor womancurtsied again. This time so deep she nearly fell over. Yes—itreally was time to get out of there.
But the moment I stepped out of the cottage,I realized that might have been a bad idea. Apparently, a wholecrowd had followed us to this latest cottage. Tenant farmers, milkmaids, stable hands and dozens of other people in rough,work-stained clothing gathered around, watching me as if I weresome exotic animal they had never seen before. And, maybe, in asense I was. My gaze wandered over open, weather-beaten faces and Irealized I was looking at people who lived in a different worldfrom mine. Back in London, in the world of balls and fancy dinners,I was fighting for my right to work. Here, out in the country,average men and women were forced to work hard every single day,whether they wanted to or not. And they had worked hard, I couldsee it in their eyes. None of them were responsible for the lessthan luxurious conditions here. Though I had a suspicion whowas.
‘M-My Lady?’ One of the women approached me,offering me a plate of what probably were biscuits, despite visualevidence to the contrary. After all, it was rather unlikely anyonehere would be offering me a plate of little mud bricks. Right?‘Some refreshment, My Lady?’
‘Thank you.’ Taking one of the biscuits, Imanaged to bite one corner off—fortunately without breaking a toothin the process. Cautiously, I chewed. ‘How…intriguing. I’ve nevertasted anything like it.’
The woman blushed. ‘Th-thank you! That’s mostgracious, Your Ladyship.’
‘Tell me,’ I asked before the woman couldretreat again, ‘when was the last time your lord made any repairsto his property?’
The villagers exchanged glances.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘When did he last see toa proper drainage system? When did he last take any steps topromote new farming techniques? Encourage communal health?’
Again, curious glances were exchanged.
‘Err…’ the woman with the biscuits clearedher throat. ‘Pardon, but what do you mean by “last time”, MyLady?’
Ah. Maybe I should have expected that.
‘You there!’ Snapping my fingers, I pointedinto the crowd. The young man on the receiving end of my indexfinger took a cautious step backwards. ‘What, me?’
‘No, I was talking to Father Christmas. Ofcourse you! Can you ride?’
‘Well, um…I, err…suppose so. Why?’
