Читать книгу Midsummer Night - Deanna Raybourn, Deanna Raybourn - Страница 7

Chapter Two

Time goes on crutches till Love have all his rites.

—Much Ado about Nothing, II.i.352

The encounter with the Gypsy at the river affected me more than I liked to think. I was still preoccupied when I entered the Abbey and made my way upstairs. No sooner had I turned into the bedchamber gallery than I collided heavily with a maid—at least I presumed it was a maid. The girl had ended up squarely on her backside with an armful of clean linen tossed into the air. I could see nothing of her but an enormous mob cap and a pair of wide eyes peeping through the sheets.

“Beggar me, I am sorry, my lady.”

“Do not apologise. I wasn’t looking where I was going. The fault was entirely mine.”

I put out a hand to help her up, but she shrieked and dove under the linen. I smiled.

“No, I suppose that is inappropriate. You must be new here. Marches do not do things the same as other folk,” I told her. The bundle of linen shuddered, and I realised the girl must be well and truly confused to be carrying clean linen to the bedchambers at that time of day. Beds were made in the morning, and the linen cupboard was on another floor entirely. But Hoots had been growing more and more feeble in the head, and there was no telling what instructions he had given to the girl. I made a note to suggest to Aunt Hermia that a housekeeper might prove a useful addition if Hoots were terrorising the maids. The last one had quit in rebellion against his tyrannies, and it was proving harder and harder to keep good staff so long as he was in command.

I gave the girl a friendly smile to put her at her ease. “You must be one of the new girls taken on for the wedding, is that right?”

The bundle nodded.