An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter One

Charlotte walked forward and sat down in the chair indicated by a nod of the woman's head. As a large tankard was thrust into her hands, she realized she still held her bag in her lap. Its contents clattered as she attempted to hold onto both the bag and the overflowing cup, neither with a great amount of success.

"It's milk," the woman informed her as Charlotte took her first sip. "If you were hoping for something stronger, I'm not sorry to disappoint. There'll be no spirits served at my table."

Charlotte took another sip of the heated beverage and closed her eyes as it warmed her insides. She began to express her thanks, but the appearance of a plate filled with steaming hot lamb, potatoes, and dark bread and cheese immediately silenced her.

"Take it." The old woman held out the dish, forcing Charlotte to reach for it before its contents ended up decorating her lap. "You're too small a thing. I don't know what your grandmother took to feeding you, but it wasn't near enough."

Charlotte tore into the food with little adherence to ceremony or manners. The old woman watched her for another moment, then took her own seat and retrieved a bit of knitting from a basket at her feet.

Several minutes passed with only the crackle of a damp log on the fire, the rhythmic click of the other woman's needles, and the scrape of Charlotte's fork across her rapidly emptying plate. When she finally paused between bites to catch her breath, she glanced over at the woman who had given her such a peculiar welcome. She studied the delicate shape of the woman's ears, the sharp line of her jaw, the slight upturn of her nose, all of them traits Charlotte recognized as belonging to her mother's family.

"You're Mrs. Faraday, aren't you?"

Charlotte spoke quietly, but the woman's ears seemed ready to pick up the sound of dust mote striking the table.

"Of course I am." She didn't bother to look up from her knitting. "Or are you accustomed to strangers gifting you with a hot meal and a warm seat by the fire?"

Charlotte swallowed. "Not with any sort of regularity, no." She returned her attention to her plate, but the remains of her appetite were already giving way to the exhaustion that had dogged her during her journey from Shepherd's Bush.

"No doubt you'll want to be shown to your room," Mrs. Faraday announced as she dropped her knitting into her basket. She stood up, retrieved a small stub of candle from a sconce in the wall, and lit the wick from a lamp on the table.

"You're not to go wandering," she explained as she led Charlotte out of the kitchen and down a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors. "You'll keep to your room or to the kitchen, and that's where I expect you to stay unless otherwise permitted. You can go out of doors if you like, but I'll not have you running about the countryside like a common gypsy."

Mrs. Faraday came to a halt in front of a plain door, identical to several others they had already passed. "It's not much, but I'm sure it's above sleeping out in the weather." With that sage pronouncement, she opened the narrow door and allowed Charlotte to step into the room.

The room didn't fail to meet her expectations, lowered as they were by her great aunt. A bed took up most of the available space, while a spindly dressing table boasted a cracked pitcher and wash basin, and a wardrobe wedged into corner, hardly large enough to hold even half the contents of Charlotte's meager baggage.

"It will do very well. Thank you."

Mrs. Faraday grunted a reply and held out the small candle to Charlotte. "Don't worry about me." She nodded at the weak light. "I can find my way through every corridor of this house with my eyes shut. Now, I don't know what sort of hours your grandmother kept, but I can assure you there won't be any sleeping away the day around here."