Page 80 of Feathers in the Wind
Adam stepped through the gateway and paused for a moment to look up at the building that surrounded him. Up closer, the unmistakable air of neglect hung over the homestead, from the ivy-covered walls and crumbling stonework to the broken windows and sagging guttering.
He addressed Mab’s back. ‘When did Mistress Coulter die?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Ten year she’s bin in the grave now. Mistress Joan put in a caretaker but he died in the springtime and there’s bin no one to collect the rents or tend to the land since then.’ She stopped at a heavy oak door and turned to look at him. ‘Ye’re a soldier? I heard tell of wars being fought in the land again.’
Adam nodded.
Mab sighed heavily. ‘There’ll be no thought of ye returning here for some wee while then?’
Adam hesitated and glanced at Perdita. Any thoughts he might have had of installing Perdita here were beginning to fade.
Mab waved at the door. ‘Come in, come in. The best I can offer ye is the kitchen. It’s warm and dry, not like the rest of the house.’
She ushered them into a flagged kitchen where a fire burned in the hearth, making the room almost unbearably hot. Here, in her domain, Mab turned to face them.
‘Who’s this?’ She jerked a clawed hand at Perdita.
‘My...’ Adam glanced at Perdita. He had been about to say ‘wife’ but that small detail still had to be dealt with.
‘Betrothed,’ Perdita interposed.
Mab nodded as if she approved of what she saw. ‘How long are ye staying?’
‘Only a few days.’
Mab nodded. ‘I’ll send the boy to stable your horses and ye can take your time to look over the place, but ye’ll not like what ye see.’
Perdita took his hand. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’ll see what can be done for supper.’
He nodded, appreciative of her tact. He needed this time alone.
He wandered the dusty and deserted corridors trying to find some other memories, but he saw only the cobwebs and smelt the musty smell of a building too long shut up.
To his surprise, he found Mab in a large bedchamber, stoking a fitful fire into life.
She rose to her feet on his entrance, brushing dust from her skirts.
‘This was Mistress Coulter’s room. It’s the best I can offer ye. I’ve made up the bed and the lady I’ll put in the room across the corridor. ’Tis small but dry.’
‘Is there a priest in the village?’
Mab’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Aye, if ye’ve a mind to see him, I can send the boy for him.’
‘I presume I own his living?’
‘Ye do.’
Good, that meant there would be no argument about tedious formalities. They could be wed on the morrow.
Mab laid her hand on a dusty box that stood on the table. ‘I’ve not touched Lady Ann’s papers. The key’s in yonder pot.’ She indicated a clay pot of some antiquity that stood on the window ledge.
‘Tell me,’ Adam said. ‘What manner of woman was Lady Ann?’
Mab’s face softened. ‘Oh, she were a fine lady, sir. As good and gentle as any you’d want to meet. Broke her heart when Lord Marchant came to fetch you. She was never wed and had no bairn of her own to hold.’
A shiver ran down his spine and in that moment, Adam had the strange sensation of seeing a grey-haired woman standing beside the fireplace in this very room, her hand resting on a cane.
‘She had a twisted back,’ he said.
