The Runaway Princess

Chapter 4

Elena walked down the widest lane, looking at the signs outside each of the shops, looking out for the post office.

The post office was a grey stone building with a timber, painted sign nailed above the door. It read: Ascot Post Office.

Elena pushed open the door, hearing the tinkle of a bell as she did. She lowered her hood and looked around the small office. It smelled quite musty. Stacks of parcels were piled against the wall waiting to be collected. A man wearing an apron emerged from behind the desk and he smiled at her. Elena smiled back politely.

“Good afternoon,” the man said kindly, adjusting the wire spectacles on the end of his nose. “What can I do for you?”

Was it afternoon already? “Good afternoon,” she replied. Elena produced the letters from within her cloak and placed them on the desk before him. “I would like these mailed, please.”

He proceeded to read each of the postal addresses inquisitively. “These come from the big house, do they?” he murmured. Clearly he recognised the addresses. He looked up at her. “Are you a servant?”

Elena supposed the white cap on her head made her occupation quite obvious. “Yes,” she replied, nodding. Elena realised quickly that Mrs Johnson had not given her any money to pay for the mail. “I am sorry but I have forgotten to bring any money with me.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Worry not. The Duke had an account with most of the shops in the village. The accounts are paid when rent is collected.”

“Oh,” realised Elena. “Is there anything else that you require before I leave?” she asked. She had never before mailed a letter. She was not sure of the protocol.

A devious smile spread across his face. “If you are not previously engaged, perhaps we could share a meal this evening?” he proposed.

Elena was taken aback. Again, she was unused to the boldness of men. He was not displeasing to the eye, but Elena simply would not be comfortable dining with a man she did not know in an intimate setting. Like Mrs Johnson had so astutely pointed out, she was trying to remain unassuming. She wanted to be anonymous.

“I thank you, no,” Elena said as kindly as possible. “It is simply impossible for me to be away. I have chores …”

“Of course.” He nodded, still smiling. “What was your name?”

Elena pursed her lip. This question did not help in her quest for anonymity. “Elena,” she replied.

“Elena,” he repeated. “Very pretty. I am George. Please call again.”

Elena blushed before quickly retreating. Once outside, Elena remembered Mrs Weston’s list for the butcher. Now, where would she find the butcher? Elena wandered down the lane, peering in all the windows, watching out for any animal carcasses.

Elena could hear a faint clanging. The final shop on the lane was a blacksmith. She could see a painted anvil on the sign outside. Elena decided to ask the blacksmith where she could find the butcher. Blacksmiths were almost always men and men enjoyed their meat, did they not?

Elena stopped in her tracks when she came to the blacksmith. The man she saw inside was not the man she had expected to see.

He wore a button down white shirt that was covered in black soot. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong, lean forearms. His skin was slick was sweat while his fair hair was nearly saturated. He was ferociously pounding a piece of metal on an anvil, bending it to his will.

Elena could not deny that this rugged, working class David was attractive. But why was this rich man working in a blacksmith’s shop? Did it have something to do with his stair project?