Page 10 of Her Noble Groom

Chapter seven

J ames stormed down the hillock toward the bay-side cottage. What was Thomasse thinking? Had he considered her a cumberground, he would never have brought her to his mother. And yet, on her second day, she had failed to present for work.

When he reached the cottage, the cockboat was gone.

At least her father had the good sense to rise and go about his business.

He rapped on the door. Silence. A short distance away, swords rattled, followed by a deep laugh.

Soldiers patrolling the shores, on the lookout for English warships.

His ire turned to unease. Had she met some misfortune?

He knocked again. With still no response, he tried the door, and found it barred. “Thomasse, are you in there?”

Rushes crackled, and a sleepy voice said, “Who is it?”

“James.”

Scuffling noises sounded within, then footsteps neared the door. “What do you want?” Her voice was raspy from sleep.

“I must speak with you forthwith.”

“I am not dressed.”

“Make haste.” He pulled a block of wood and a small knife from his pouch and settled beneath the alder tree a few paces from the cottage to wait.

As he whittled, the face of a horse with a flowing mane emerged. Glancing up, he noted the sun was high overhead. “Fie!” Apparently, the maiden had no sense of time. Why had he bothered helping some spoiled daughter of the gentry ?

As the tail emerged, the door creaked open and Thomasse appeared, her blond braid hanging over her shoulder—just the way Becca used to wear her hair. James sucked in his breath, pushing the memory aside.

She marched over and stood before him, hands on her hips. “It is improper for a man to call on a maiden when her father is not at home.”

He gaped. “This is not a social call. My mother expected you this morning.”

She tilted her head, her forehead wrinkled. “I did not realize I was under an obligation.”

James clenched his jaw as he shoved the carved figure and knife back into his pouch. “Unlike your privileged life, we common folk do not have the luxury of showing up only when it suits.”

Thomasse nibbled her lip. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she closed it again.

“I am happy to see you are not trying to excuse your behavior.”

“I slept poorly last night.” She raised her hands, showing him her palms. “How can I be expected to work with blisters?”

James rose and brushed the sand from his tunic. “Would you have accepted that excuse if a servant failed to rise early to stoke the fires or empty the chamber pots?”

“That is different,” Thomasse replied.

“How?”

She blinked rapidly, but offered no response.

“Precisely. This, after I persuaded my mother to take you on. Your blunder will be the gossip of the village. No one will deign to employ you after such a misstep.”

A flush darkened her cheeks. “But without work, we will starve.”

“Perhaps you will think about that next time you decide to be a lie-abed.”

She looked like a frightened child, her big blue eyes glistening like the bay on a beautiful summer day. “Can you explain to your mother it was a misunderstanding?”

His anger dissolved as he contemplated her difficult situation, trying to adjust to her new way of life, although he refused to be taken in by her shameless attempt at guile. “You must speak on your own behalf. Leaning on me will make you look weak. ”

“But you will go with me? Please!” She reached out and touched his arm. “I need an advocate. Your mother speaks little English and I no Jèrriais.”

“If she agrees to take you back, promise this will never happen again.”

“I give you my word.”

“Be forewarned—my mother does not easily forgive.” Without waiting for her, he headed up the hill.

T homasse lifted her skirt to keep from stumbling as she tried to keep pace with James.

She regretted disappointing him. Nonetheless, she was grateful he would be with her when she faced his mother’s wrath.

Never in her life had she dreaded an impending conversation.

How could she have displayed such folly?

It was humiliating enough that she needed to seek work, but now she needed to beg to keep it.

Her survival, and that of her father, might rest on the success of her plea to Colette for mercy.

She reminded herself, better to suffer shame now than be reduced to begging along the roadside or seeking help at the almshouse.

Thomasse’s steps slowed as they neared the cottage. “Do you think Colette will give me another chance?”

James shrugged. “I cannot say. She was greatly vexed. I suggest showing penitence and confessing your wrongdoing.”

Thomasse smoothed the skirt of the blue cotehardie and pushed her braid behind her shoulder. Colette scowled at the sight of her. When the other women began to whisper, she barked a few words, and they quickly resumed spinning.

Colette stood, her legs firmly planted as she spoke with James, pointing toward the door. He listened quietly until she finished.

He replied in a hushed tone, and Colette calmed. Thomasse wished she understood what they were saying. Finally, he addressed her. “My mother has agreed to listen to your explanation. ”

Thomasse dipped her head. “Give Colette my apologies. I beg her forgiveness for my ignorance.” She showed Colette her palms. “I thought myself unfit to be of use.”

James translated for his mother, who shook her head. “She refuses to accept your explanation. All her spinsters have suffered the same, so ’tis no excuse for your willful absence.”

“Tell her I promise never to miss again.”

After another exchange, James relayed Colette’s response. “She says begone, that we are wasting her time.”

Unbidden, tears leaked from Thomasse’s eyes. She dropped to the ground and grabbed Colette’s hand. “I beg you to reconsider. Is there no mercy in your Christian heart for a stranger?”

James relayed the message. Had her words been enough? As he continued speaking, she wondered if he was pleading on her behalf. Colette’s face softened, and she nodded.

“She agrees to give you one more chance. Do not disappoint her for she will not relent again.”

Thomasse rose. “Thank you, James. I shall repay this kindness.”

She hurried over and retrieved the distaff and spindle from the basket, fumbling and dropping it. As she stooped to pick it up, she saw James disappear out the door.

The women, who had smiled and tried to be helpful yesterday, glared their disapproval. Thomasse kept her eyes on her work. I will not cry. What do I need of them? “I can do this,” she whispered to herself over and over.

T he afternoon passed slowly, and by the time the bells tolled, Thomasse could hardly move. She laid away her tools and the poorly made thread in the basket, noting how the other spinsters’ work was far superior and in greater quantity. It was strange to feel lacking compared to common folk .

Halfway down the path to St. Ouen’s Manor, footfalls sounded behind her.

“I hope all went well,” James said as he caught up.

“Thank you again for interceding for me.”

He frowned. “Do not make me regret it.”

Thomasse smiled shyly. “I fear the alternative.”

When they crested the hillock, Thomasse bid him farewell. At the door, she turned back and waved. James waved back, then disappeared behind the hillock.

Inside, her father sat at the table examining the fishing net.

“I believe I have discovered the problem.” He lifted a portion of the net. “There is a small hole. Might I impose upon your womanly skills to mend it?”

Thomasse examined the net. “How do you propose I do that?”

Her father shrugged. “I know nothing of these things. Someone at least taught you needlework.”

“But I was never proficient. Even if I had thread, it would not be strong enough to hold.” Thomasse stepped to the fire and stirred the kettle. “I guess this means there is no fish in our stew tonight.”

The vein in his temple ticked. “God’s teeth, woman. Did I not just explain why?”

She flinched at the frustration in his voice. Retrieving the bowls from the sideboard, she scraped out the remains from the kettle. Tomorrow she would visit the manor cookhouse again and ask for more victuals.

“Maybe James can help,” she said softly. “Perchance he has something in the stable with which to mend it.”

Her father grunted and shoveled down the last of his stew. “I will go, but I do not approve of how much time you spend with that man.”

He rose and hoisted the net onto his shoulder. “Bar the door, and do not open it for anyone but me.” With that, he disappeared into the darkness.

W ith the horses bedded down for the night, James settled onto the pile of hay beneath the hanging lantern, and pulled out the block of wood and small knife from his pouch.

He resumed whittling the toy horse. All the while, his thoughts centered on Thomasse, hoping she showed up for work on the morrow.

It had taken a lot of convincing for his mother to agree to take her back.

Honestly, he did not know why he had bothered.

Some misguided sympathy, perhaps, for someone who considered herself better than the common folk.

Her kind might possess power and wealth, but underneath it all, they were no different—save for the happenstance of their birth or a bit of good fortune.

Perhaps it was pity. But that did not explain why he eagerly anticipated their next meeting.

The stable door creaked. James jumped up, dropping the toy horse and knife, and grabbed a pitchfork. “Who goes there?”

A shadow slipped in through the door and stepped into the circle of light. “Whoa, James, it is I, Nicholas.”

James lowered the pitchfork and returned it to its place against the wall. “To what do I owe the honor of this late-night visit?”

Nicholas lifted the fishing net from his shoulder. “It has a hole. Thomasse thought you might have something I could use to mend it.”

The corner of James’s mouth ticked. “I admire her faith, however, I am not capable of miracles.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “Why did I listen to that girl? What would a groom know of fishing nets?”

“My grandfather was a fisher, so I know a little. Since you are here, let us take a look,” James replied.

Spreading the net out on the ground, the two men examined it. Near the center a few of the fibers of the mesh were broken, leaving a hole big enough for most fish to escape.

“Any thoughts on a fix?” Nicholas asked.

“I do not have the proper materials for a repair, but we could braid together some hay for a temporary fix.”

James quickly braided together several hay stalks and tied them together to mend the hole.

“Mind, this will not hold long. You need to visit the market in St. Helier forthwith to purchase some flax twine.” He handed back the net.

“When you arrived, I had thought your sojourn would be but a few days. How long do you intend to stay?”

Nicholas shook his head. “I cannot speak to the duration. Things have not gone as I had planned.”

“As the cottage has sat abandoned, you may stay as long as needed,” James replied.

“Thank you for that,” Nicholas said. “Before I go, there is another subject I wish to discuss.”

James picked up the wooden horse carving and settled back onto the pile of hay, waiting for Nicholas to continue.

“I wish to speak of my daughter and your intentions.”

“I have none.”

“Let us be honest. A man does not spend so much time with a maiden without some intent, whether for good or ill.”

“Surely you have noticed the soldiers about the isle. I accompany your daughter for her protection. That is all.”

Nicholas relaxed. “I pray you speak truly. Once we return to England, she is to be espoused to a man of noble birth.”

“Then you should be gratified to know I have vowed not to marry again. I have found contentment in caring for the horses. I need nothing more.”

Nicholas slung the net onto his shoulder. “Thank you again for your help. I shall set out for St. Helier on the morrow to get proper twine.”

The stable door creaked shut, and James stared at it for several minutes.

Just another man with an elevated opinion of himself.

But if Nicholas thought his warning would scare James away from his daughter, he was wrong.

She needed protection. But even as he wanted to attribute his actions as noble, there was something more, he was just not sure what.