Page 70 of Winterset
This time, she said nothing.
“As to our current living situation,” I continued, “I’m not sure there is anything to alter it right now. Unless you have distant relatives I don’t know about.”
“My parents were both only children, and all my grandparents have long since passed,” she said.
“And I’m guessing you would not be here if you were in possession of a fortune.”
“You are correct.” She laughed, though it held no humor. “My dowry died with me.”
“Well, then. Until such time as we can arrange a satisfactory solution for you, you will live here as my guest.”
“That is incredibly kind of you, but how would we even go about this?” She chewed her lip.
“I should like you to be my guest. I’m sure you will be comfortable here, seeing as this was your home long before it was mine.”
“It has always beenyourhome, Mr. Jennings. My family merely let it for a time.”
While that was strictly true, Winterset did not feel like my home. I wanted it to, but I wondered if it ever would. What made a house a home? I didn’t know. “Well, you are most welcome to borrow shelter here a little longer, Miss Lockwood. I hope you will feel comfortable going anywhere you would like in Winterset. I would prefer, however, that you use the corridors and not the secret passageways.” I gave her a pointed look.
“I will,” she smiled softly. “Thank you, Mr. Jennings.”
Kate
I’d lain in my littlebed in the attic for several hours but was wide awake, fearing for my future.
Aguest, by definition, was temporary.
Mr. Jennings had said I could borrow his home alittlelonger. Duty prevailed upon him to aid me, but his generosity could not last forever. When it ran out—and itwouldrun out—what would become of me?
I had nothing.
No one.
Regardless of my circumstances, though, I could not stay here indefinitely as his guest.
The weight of the realization pressed heavily upon me. I would have to leave Winterset, and soon, probably. My throat constricted with emotion. Winterset’s walls had always been my haven, but now I felt them closing in around me.
Clutching my blanket, I curled into myself.
I felt so helpless, sohopeless. But I could not afford to give in to such emotions. I needed to create a plan.
I took a calming breath and forced myself to think. Slowly, an idea began to take shape.
I could not stay here at Winterset as Mr. Jennings’s guest, but perhaps if I could prove my worth, I might remain here as his servant. Hedidneed more help.
If I proposed the idea, I doubted he would agree to it. For weeks, I’d been nothing but an unruly ghost in his attic, and that was to say nothingof his sense of propriety. But if I showed him how useful I could be as a servant, if I fixed everything I’d done to Winterset these past weeks, and I helped him chip away at the repairs on his list, how could he deny me employment?
Unable to quell my anxieties enough to fall back to sleep, I rose well before the sun warmed the horizon and readied myself for a day of work. Mr. Jennings was not normally an early riser, and once he was up, it took him a considerable amount of time to get dressed, but there was so much to be done before he came downstairs to breakfast. I quickly donned a simple day dress and apron—it was actually an artist’s smock, but it would protect my dress just as well from dust as from paint—then wove my hair into a plait.
My first task would be easy: replace the tallow candles with the wax candles we’d stored in the attic before his arrival. Hopefully, when he awoke to a pleasant smell, he’d know that I meant things to be different between us. That I no longer wanted to be his foe but his friend.
The task took only an hour, and I felt accomplished. Sitting alone in the attic day after day had been so stifling. How pleasant it was to be moving about freely and finally have a purpose.
The second chore I wished to complete was building a fire in each room Mr. Jennings would use today: the dining hall, library, and study. He was probably accustomed to having his rooms warmed before he awoke, but since he’d arrived at Winterset, the servants had had only enough time to light a fire in the first room he planned to occupy. My helping would lighten the loads of Mrs. Owensby and Bexley, who had been carrying more than their fair share in their effort to protect me.
But as I knelt before the hearth in his study, I realized one regrettable fact: although I’d seen plenty of fires being built, I’d never actually done it myself. Bexley had made it look so easy, but it took me several attempts to succeed. Hopefully, I would become more proficient with practice.
After lighting the fire in the study, I trimmed the quill pens and refilled the inkwell. His desk was already impeccably clean; otherwise, I would have tidied that too.
