The Bride Price

Chapter Twenty-One

Dust swirled around Emily's head as she shook out the bed curtains. They'd been recovered from the attic, abandoned in a pile with various other linens and cushions and left to make a home for all sorts of moths and mice and spiders. She examined them for holes—the cushions would need to be tossed in a fire, along with a tablecloth that had been chewed to pieces in one corner―but as far as she could see, the curtains bore only a few small moth holes and the remains of several dead insects nestled in their folds.

It was filthy work. She'd tied a kerchief about her hair and another over her face to protect against the clouds of dirt and dust she sent into the air with every movement. She thought of the last bath she'd had, in an inn some miles before their arrival in Crowford. For tonight, she would fill a pitcher with cold, clean water from the pump and scrub off the best she could with a small cake of soap and a rough linen cloth.

But the lack of luxuries did nothing to stymie the vigor with which she threw herself into this new chore. Her arms ached, but still she bundled up the heavy curtains and carried them downstairs to be brushed and mended. Other linens lay in a pile next to the tub, while kettles sent up steam from the stove. One load was already soaking, the smell of the lye soap nearly overpowering, even breathed through the cloth tied around Emily's head.

She tugged the stifling kerchief down so it hung loosely around her neck, the odor of soap and soiled linens hitting her anew. She wiped her hands on her already damp apron, then checked the water in the kettles before fetching a pail to fill at the pump outside. Raindrops landed on her face the moment she stepped through the doorway, light enough to be regarded as more an irritant than anything.

The handle creaked as she worked it up and down, the muscles in her shoulder and upper back protesting the effort. She hunched forward, thinking of nothing but the tiredness in her limbs, of the grating sound of the pump's handle, of the patter of drizzle on the house and ground around her. Cold water sloshed out of the bucket and soaked the toes of her shoes as she carried it back to the house. She thought of the laundry yet to be done, sheets and towels to be wrung out, the smaller articles set up to dry on racks in the kitchen and near the fireplaces while she prayed the rain would cease this afternoon and the larger items—

"Emily?"

Startled, she sloshed more water on the kitchen floor before hefting the bucket up and onto the stove. William stood in the kitchen, his coat damp from the rain, while the brim of his hat seemed to have wilted in the humidity.

"Oh, you're here." She had not seen him since the previous night, when she'd fallen asleep tucked against him, his arm thrown over her waist. When she'd risen in the morning, he'd already left, only a few splashes around the edge of the wash basin evidence that he'd dressed and started his day.

"Of course I am." His mouth quirked with a smile, a small gesture before he removed his hat and coat.

She watched him as he worked at the brim of his hat, forming the leather with his hands to restore the shape the rain had taken away. He gave his coat the same measure of care, brushing drops of moisture off the sleeves and shoulders before he hung it on a hook near the stove to dry. When he turned around, she stood in the same place, one hand on the lip of the bucket, the spilled water still puddled on the floor at her feet.

His brow furrowed as he took in her posture. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I..." She licked her lips. They were rough and dry beneath her tongue, and she realized that she had yet to pause and eat or drink anything since she'd woken up. But her stomach revolted again at the thought of food, and her head ached with a minor pain she'd endured since facing Marbley at Bexley Hall the previous day. "Yes," she amended. "I need to speak with you, before..." ... before she lost all her courage, she wanted to say, but even those words failed to leave her mouth.