Page 39 of Winterset
“You were right,” I said. “Heisnimble.”
“I ought to box youreyes.”
“Can eyesbeboxed?” I asked.
She huffed at my impertinence. “After Mr. Jennings’s perusal of the attic this morning, I should think you would have learned to be more careful.”
“Iwasbeing careful. I was keeping close watch of Mr. Jennings.”
She looked at me in disbelief. “And what about his manservant, Charlie? Did you not think to be wary of him?”
I had not.
“He is currently removing your family members’ portraits from the walls downstairs and will shortly be carrying them up here to store.”
Her words alarmed me. “I was momentarily distracted, but since Mr. Jennings was outside, I did not think I was in danger.”
“You are in great danger, hiding here without Mr. Jennings’s permission, and you must never forget it.”
“I’m sorry. The day was just so long, and ...” I hung my head. There was no excuse.
Mrs. Owensby’s expression softened. “I hate the thought of you sitting up here in the attic all alone, but if you will not leave Winterset and you will not reveal yourself to Mr. Jennings, youmuststay hidden.”
I nodded contritely. “I will be more careful.”
“Good. Now, I am supposed to be drawing Mr. Jennings a warm bath and fetching his French-milled lavender soap.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did he also order you to collect fresh rainwater to fill his royal bath?”
“You mustn’t say such things,” she scolded, though I saw the start of a smile on her lips. “Mr. Jennings is working hard to clear the drive. Not many masters would do such a thing.”
“True, but Mr. Jennings let the weeds grow in the first place.” Had he cared one wit for his estate, he would have hired a steward to manage Winterset two years ago.
“Regardless, Mr. Jennings will still need a warm bath after he is finished outside.”
“Well,” I crossed my arms, “I’m not sure his fancy soap will be strong enough to remove all that soil. Perhaps you should replace it with the lye soap you use to launder his clothes?”
She shook her head. “It is a bit too harsh.”
“Not harsh enough to hurt him. I just don’t want him to get too comfortable here.”
“Oh, Kate.”
“Tell him you accidentally used his soap to clean his laundry and bring the bar to me for safekeeping.” I was curious. What made it so superior? I had to see it.
Mrs. Owensby seemed uncertain but warily nodded, then turned to leave.
“One last thing,” I said, stopping her. “After a day spent outside in the rain, Mr. Jennings will likely be chilled to the bone. You must season his soup with plenty of pepper to warm him from the inside.”
“You are a force to be reckoned with, Kate.” Mrs. Owensby sighed. “Now, go and hide before Charlie comes up,” she instructed and left the attic.
I did as I was told and hid all afternoon, listening to Charlie climb up and down the attic stairs, storing the portraits.
Eventually, Mrs. Owensby returned with a dinner tray: steaming soup with a side of bread and butter. Also on the tray was Mr. Jennings’s soap.
The bar was buttery soft and smelled divine, like all the best scents in the walled garden combined.
The rain continued into the night. I loved the soft sound, but then it became a storm. Lightning lit the sky, and thunder ripped through the silence. I’d never liked storms. Such powerful, unpredictable forcesof nature had always frightened me. Sleeping in the attic so close to the stormy sky was terrifying.
