Page 11 of Tangwystle
Baz Coldwell was completely different.
He meant it when he said he’d be self-sufficient. Other than changing his bedsheets, his room remained relatively private. I’d find him downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast most mornings, dressed and ready. And I learned that he preferred the library to the parlor. I’d spot him roaming around at times. Staring at the paintings hung around the Manor, exploring different passages.
I caught him once, his face tilted up as he sat on a bench in one of the halls. The light from a window cast him in warm sunshine. As if I didn’t already know after just a few days that he was the literal sun in a place known for nothing but its smog and chilly weather.
“It is pretty,” he said, and my shoulders jumped.
I should’ve turned around immediately and left him to his reverie instead of watching him from the shadows. He beckonedme forward and motioned to the painting he studied. A landscape full of pretty blooms and lush greenery.
“Does the garden here bloom like that?” he asked.
The ground was still too hard to plant yet, but the most the garden ever produced were some vegetables. I could hardly tell him that, though. “A few wildflowers pop up, sir.”
Sapphire eyes pinned me down. “So formal, Tangwystle. Should I help you in the garden?”
My nose curled. Stars above, this man couldn’t know the first thing about gardening. “No, sir.”
His foot bobbed up and down as he leaned back on the bench. “You’re thinking I’m lazy, staring up at paintings all day?”
“No, sir.”
Until that day, I’d never heard him speak sternly. “Lying is where I draw the line, Tangwystle. Don’t.”
I had loads of laundry to do and lunch to make. So I simply nodded, but he watched me closely.
“You think I’m one of those gentleman, lazing about, with too much time on my hands.”
“Yes.”
When he didn’t smile at my response, I thought I’d miss stepped.
“Shall I help with the lunch?” he asked.
“And ruin the meal?” I replied, not knowing where those words came from.
But this time he did smile, although lightly. His foot continued to sway as he stared up at the paintings. I slipped away, scurrying to get to the clothesline, and I focused on that instead of my big fat mouth for the rest of the day.
Baz had tried to help those first few days. He’d made an absolute mess of things, and only later did I think to wonder if he’d done it on purpose. At first, I’d thought he’d meant to be nice and try to help the only servant of the house. But after awhile, it occurred to me he might have been trying to see when I would finally speak up.
That was a dynamic I’d never had with Master Blackwell. The past seven years, I’d kept my mouth shut and done my job.
And it wasn’t like anyone would’ve cared if I’d tried to speak. Boswell liked horses and dogs, and his main communication came in the form of grunting. Master Blackwell read encyclopedias for fun.
I couldn’t imagine conversing with either one.
Baz, for some reason, did want to converse with me.
At first, I chalked it up to the fact that he’d arrived at a giant manor with only one other individual in it.
But visitors started to trickle in. Neighbors with their polite courtesy. Businessman who made it their mission to know every new face in the village. And the councilmen, of course.
Unsurprisingly, most enjoyed Baz. He came with a light touch. He was educated but not full of himself. Talkative but knew that less could be more. He let other men patter away, humming under his breath while he listened to them talk.
I only caught these glimpses when I brought in trays full of food. Each and every time, I received a thanks from Baz and merely a glance from the other men. At least if I was lucky—Mr. Drew’s gaze never left my ass. I glanced over my shoulder as I left, noticing Baz’s eyes narrowed on the man, the first sign of annoyance I’d ever seen from him.
The Manor rumbled with Baz taking ownership. With its dark stone, it’d never be bright and airy, but I swear Baz brought life to it. People continued to pop in for visits, and the village baker sent a continual supply of fruit tarts and other treats for these meet-and-greets.
“Come to the library,” Baz requested one night after dinner.
