Page 41 of Exile's Return
She picked up the spoon and began to eat, but the talk of Henry and Lizzie had numbed the hunger pangs. Around her, the family chattered about the day-to-day matters of lifeat Seven Ways. Their obvious closeness and the apparent ordinariness of their lives only served to twist the knife in Agnes’s heart.
Chapter 17
Daniel stared up at the red woollen bed hangings. As if being ill and helpless in the company of strangers was not bad enough, to be ill and helpless in front of Agnes Fletcher was humiliating.
Little snatches of memory came back to him. Had he really tried to count her freckles?
At that thought, he smiled. She had charming freckles. Perhaps one day she might let him finish counting them. And she had sat with him all that long night. She didn’t have to do that. After all, they had known each other for such a short time. They were strangers…or had been strangers. His fingers tightened on the sheets. She had seen Outhwaite’s legacy. After that, there could be few secrets between them.
The malaise that always settled on him after a bout of marsh fever cast him into dark places and rendered him incapable of thought, let alone action. He knew how this went. It could bedays, if not weeks before he would be fit enough to continue the journey.
The door opened and the goodwife, Ellen Howell, bustled in, carrying a pile of folded linen. In their short acquaintance, he had learned that Mistress Howell was not a woman to be trifled with. She brooked no nonsense and neither did she cosset and fuss — although he had to admit that Agnes had not cosseted or fussed either. Agnes had sat beside him while the fever shook him, ready with a cool cloth and a comforting touch.
Since the fever had broken he had seen only Ellen, with her acerbic tongue, ready supply of noxious potions, and clean bed linen.
‘I’ve found this for you,’ she said and handed him an old, patched but clean nightshirt.
She crossed her arms and regarded him with an unblinking gaze as he pulled it on.
‘Satisfy my curiosity, lad,’ she said. ‘That beating would have killed a lesser man. How did you survive it?’
‘I nearly didn’t,’ he said, and when she remained silent, he added, ‘I think it involved sea water and maggots.’
In truth, he had little memory of those first few days aboardL’Archange. The rough ministrations of a former slave who called himself Baptiste had been all that kept death away.
He preferred not to think about the maggots but Ellen continued, ‘I’m a great believer in maggots,’ she said, more to herself than him. ‘Saved many a man with a suppurating wound.’
‘You know a lot about suppurating wounds?’
‘Aye, I do. More than a body should. They brought the wounded to us after Marston Moor, the mistress’s husband among them.’
‘Sir Jonathan?’
Ellen shook her head. ‘No, her first husband.’ Her lips tightened and she looked away. ‘I couldn’t save him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said.
She sniffed and squared her shoulders. ‘Aye, well. That’s as may be. God blessed her with a good man and some fine, bonny bairns. And you my lad…I’ve an unguent that would help soften the scars. Just get that pretty girl o’ yours to do that once a day and ye’ll be a new man.’
Daniel felt the colour rising to his cheeks. ‘I think you mistake my relationship with Mistress Fletcher,’ he mumbled.
The thought of Agnes bending over him and applying any sort of unguent to the scars on his back provoked mixed thoughts. On the one hand, a very physical part of him responded to the possibility of her soft hands. On the other hand, the mere thought that Agnes had seen his back and the hideous scars mortified him.
Something like a smile twitched Ellen’s craggy features. ‘Is that so?’
As if summoned, the door opened and Agnes herself entered, carrying a tray. She set it down across his knees.
‘Soup,’ she said. ‘Lady Thornton insists you eat it all.’
Daniel glared at the invalid pap in the bowl. ‘I would hate to disappoint Lady Thornton, but if she keeps feeding me this she will never be rid of me.’
Agnes cast him a sharp glance and Ellen put her hands on her hips and, addressing Agnes, said, ‘When they start to get churlish and difficult, ye know they’re on the mend.’
Daniel looked up, the spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘I’m not being difficult. There are things I have to do. I just don’t have time to…’
Ellen raised an eyebrow. ‘Time to what, my lad? Ye’re not going anywhere until I’m satisfied that ye’re strong enough. Now eat that soup. Every last drop. Now I’ve better things to do thanprattle with you.’ She dropped a curtsey in Agnes’s direction. ‘Mistress Fletcher.’
Daniel waited until the door had closed and the sound of Ellen’s firm footsteps had disappeared. ‘She scares me more than the captain of theArchangel,’ he said.
