Page 18 of Lady Audacious
‘In that case, please set to it,’ Odile said.
‘Right you are, miss. We’ll be here to make a start at first light tomorrow.’
‘And I shall be the talk of the taproom tonight,’ she muttered, retreating to the house, where everyone was industriously employed.
Already Odile barely recognised the place. More light filtered in through the dirty and obscured windows now that the old drapes had been torn down. Albert was manning a bonfire in the area outside the stables, just past a coop where Harris kept a healthy clutch of chickens that clucked as they pecked at the corn that had been thrown to them. Jed was landed with the job of lugging the old furnishings outside to keep the fire supplied with fuel.
‘Those plants,’ she muttered, distracting the girls who were in the process of dusting and polishing the small parlour. ‘Everything will be better when those shrubs have been cut back.’
‘Jed and Albert will get to it soon as they can,’ Doris said, an edge to her voice.
‘I intend to do it myself,’ Odile told the girl. ‘And I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head.’
Doris looked surprised by Odile’s sharp tone, but not chastened by it. ‘Very well, miss. We’ve cleaned up your bedchamber and my cousin is arranging to bring over a mattress stuffed with fresh horsehair this afternoon. He’s employed at a workshop in Chichester where they make ’em. Hope that’s satisfactory. Mrs Blaine said to go ahead on account of your not having thought about it yourself.’
Odile nodded her approval, wondering how the girl could be so resentful and yet at the same time so obliging and willing to use her initiative. No doubt the cousin in question would earn a commission on the sale, which he would share with Doris, but Odile couldn’t fault her for being enterprising. Even so, she was wary of the girl, who seemed dissatisfied with a position she must have needed or she wouldn’t have been available at such short notice to take it up.
‘Thank you, Doris. I am sure that will prove most satisfactory.’
‘You will need fresh bed linen before we can make it up for you.’
‘I ordered some in the village this morning. It will be delivered within the hour.’
‘Right, that’s good. Amazing what you can achieve in a short amount of time when you have the funds to make it happen.’
‘Which is just as well,’ Odile replied briskly, ‘otherwise I would be unable to employ your services.’
Doris nodded sullenly before returning to her polishing which, Odile noticed, she carried out with vigour.
Odile hauled her packages up to her bedchamber. There were now no drapes at the windows but the foliage in this case served a purpose. Not that she would mind too much if she awoke and looked out at the clear night sky. It would be a novelty. She would have to venture into Chichester and visit the drapers in order to purchase suitable coverings for all her windows, but that could wait.
She nodded her approval at the clean state of the room, the smell of beeswax polish still lingering in the air. For all her spikiness, Doris was a hard worker. A small closet was sufficient to hold her purchases. She added her new gowns to the near empty rail and fingered the fabric reverently. They were the finest, most adventurous garments she had ever owned.
Putting aside the temptation to change into one, she instead stripped off her grey gown and pulled on the breeches she had purchased. They were a snug fit, as was the shirt she had selected to go with them. She pulled it on over her chemise and tucked it into the waistband before wiggling her toes into the sturdy boots that completed the ensemble.
With her hair tied back with a ribbon, she was now ready to make herself useful, unhindered by petticoats and heavy skirts. She made her way into the kitchen, where Mrs Blaine was beavering away in a now spotless environment. Something bubbled away on the stovetop. It smelled delicious and made Odile’s stomach rumble.
‘Ah lass, that’s much more practical if you intend to get your hands dirty,’ Mrs Blaine said, nodding her approval at Odile’s apparel. ‘Just so long as no one sees you, mind.’
‘No one will,’ Odile replied. ‘I don’t know anyone and I’m not expecting callers. Anyway, I am glad you approve. I intend to chop the encroaching plants back from the windows and then wash the grime off the glass.’
‘Well then, you’ll need some of my freshly baked bread and cheese to sustain you.’
Odile grinned and settled herself at the table. ‘Thank you. That would be most welcome. I have opened an account at the general store. Order anything you need, including some tea. It’s a luxury that I cannot do without.’
‘Right you are, lass.’
Odile grinned at Mrs Blaine’s lack of formality and filled her empty belly with bread still warm from the oven, dripping with melted butter and cheese. She drank a glass of milk and then took herself outside.
Harris didn’t bat an eyelid when he saw her apparel. He supplied her with a small hatchet with which to cut back the foliage and took himself off to attend to heavier work. Patrick had been turned out into one of the fields and was diligently working his way through the long grass, she noticed.
Feeling a great sense of contentment in spite of the huge amount of work still required to put the house in order, Odile set to with gusto at the window to her small parlour as Jed walked back and forth, hefting the chopped branches towards the bonfire. Odile soon felt very warm as the sun beat down from a cloudless sky, and content in ways that she hadn’t previously known were possible. Miss Mackenzie’s dreary routine seemed a million miles away. It was something she would never return to, she vowed, even if she failed at Fox’s Reach, driven out by the locals’ perception of what was seemly.
‘I belong here,’ she said aloud, resisting the urge to sing since her voice would be enough to frighten off the thrush that sat on a branch nearby, hoping that her labours would uncover something tasty for its lunch.
She allowed her mind to wander, wondering—hoping—that she would have another flashback to reinforce her feelings of familiarity with Fox’s Reach. Nothing was forthcoming, which made her suppose it was impossible to force these things. They had to be spontaneous. Undeterred, she set about clearing the dining room window. Jed and Albert had moved on to mirror her work at the front of the house, armed with buckets and warm water supplied by Mrs Blaine.
Odile took a moment to rest but soon became engrossed with an overgrown flower bed, bending to tug out weeds and smiling when her efforts were rewarded by the sight of flowering azaleas that had previously been smothered by groundweed but had not given up the struggle to survive. A bit like her, Odile concluded. She had been immersed in her work as a teacher, but it had never satisfied. So she’d clung on, waiting, hoping for rescue.
