Page 8 of Her Noble Groom
Chapter five
T homasse gazed about the cottage; a smile tugged at her lips as she recalled its state when they arrived on Jersey a fortnight ago.
The stone walls, the sideboard and rickety table with four mismatched chairs, and the hearth in the center remained unchanged.
However, the stench of rodents and dusty rushes, along with the cobwebs and filth, had been cleaned away.
Although it contained nothing of beauty, after days of scrubbing, using rags made from her tattered cotehardie, the air smelled pleasantly of fresh-cut rushes and the wood gleamed.
She hung the kettle filled with freshly chopped vegetables over the fire. Even her cooking had improved.
Her father arrived holding a couple of small fishes which he laid on the table to be cleaned.
“Father, I have been meaning to ask. How long until we sail for France?”
He dropped into a chair and sighed heavily. “I cannot say.”
She groaned. “Lady Eleanor and Lady Maud must be frantic worrying what has become of us.”
“No need to fuss; they never left England.”
“What? You said—”
“I said what was needed to get you to leave that night,” her father said, his tone casual.
“You lied to me!” Thomasse said, her voice rising. “And now I am living like a peasant. I wish I had never begged for a tour. I wish we were home.”
“You are in luck. We are home.”
Her mouth gaped. “That is not funny.”
“Indeed, I am sincere.” His face showed no sign of jest.
“Can we not return to England?” she asked.
“That would be unwise. I have made some dangerous enemies. ”
She dropped into a chair, determined this time to get answers. “If our stay is to be of some duration—”
“It is only until King Henry and his family arrive. Then, we will join them.”
“You are not speaking sense.” She eyed her father suspiciously. “It seems improbable they would come given the occupation by the French.”
“The garrison is under the command of Queen Margaret’s cousin.”
“Ah! But why would the royal family come to an isle of little import to the kingdom?”
He stepped over to the window and peered out. “Jersey is a safe haven.”
“And—why would the king of England need a safe haven?” A chill rippled through her body. “What are you not telling me?”
He shook his head. “It is better if you do not know.”
“Father, look at me.” She waited, but he kept his eyes averted. “If I must live this way, I deserve to know why.”
“King Henry has been dethroned. The royal family has fled into exile.”
“Nonsense. The Duke of York was killed in battle during the Christmas holy days.”
“The father, yes. It is his son Edward who sits on the throne.”
Her hands gripped the chair seat as she recalled the jubilation of Twelfth Night, when the good tidings arrived of Richard Plantagenet’s death.
Those loyal to the House of Lancaster had won a glorious victory at Wakefield.
With the death of the Duke of York, she had believed the strife between the cousins was over.
Clearly, she was ignorant of these matters.
“But why did we flee? Certainly King Edward would pardon you for remaining loyal.”
Her father flinched. “That may be true for some, but I doubt he will grant me such benevolence.”
“Why ever not?”
Her father traced a crack in the shutter. “Edward will not be so kind to those that hoisted his father’s head over the gate at York. My estate has been seized, and we are penniless.”
“But the horses, my beautiful Freya. You must have money from selling them. ”
His shoulders sagged, and he spoke barely above a whisper.
“All gone. Needing a quick sale, I could not ask the best price. The ship’s captain demanded a hefty sum for passage and his silence.
But I believe we are safe here. I have been careful to avoid anyone I might know.
Once King Henry and Queen Margaret arrive, they will raise an army.
When they reclaim the throne, what is rightfully mine will be restored. ”
“But to live like peasants? Surely you must know a seigneur that will take us in.”
“I know a few, but we are in days of shifting loyalties. It is no secret that Seigneur de Carteret of St. Ouen’s Manor supports the Yorkists. He housed Edward of York and the Earl of Warwick whilst they were in exile. It is far more prudent not to take the risk.”
“And if the royal family does not come?”
He shrugged.
Thomasse leaned back and closed her eyes. How could this be? Her future rested on the success of Margaret d’Anjou in ousting Edward from the throne, for nothing could depend on the rightful, but insane, King Henry. All the turmoil had begun on account of his inability to rule.
Meanwhile, they needed money to live. She must find work.
A fearful prospect given she possessed no skills anyone would wish to pay for.
She looked at her hands. They were already red and blistered, her nails ragged, from scrubbing the cottage.
She did not have the sturdy build to labor in the fields. God forbid.
“How could you do this to me?”
“It was not my intent.” He strode towards the door, slamming a chair against the table as he passed, and stalked out of the cottage.
Sinking to the floor, she sobbed. How dare he be angry with her when he was to blame for their awful plight.
Her stomach twisted as the weight of their difficulty sank in.
His actions may have condemned her to a life of servitude, working every day for food just to survive.
How she longed for Agnes’s comforting arms.
Ere long, she realized no one was listening to her fit of temper or even cared.
Wallowing in self-pity would not rectify her father’s mistakes or return them to their previous life.
Nor would it cook their dinner. She wiped the tears away with her sleeve, determined not to let their new circumstances win.
Despite her change in status, she was still a gentleman’s daughter.
She set about making supper. Gritting her teeth, she picked up the knife. Still repulsed by their slimy scales and squishy innards, she flayed and filleted the fish and tossed them into the kettle before laying the table.
With no one to turn to for solace, loneliness weighed heavily on her heart. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to James. At least one person had shown them kindness.
Her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again. God’s bones, Thomasse. Get ahold of yourself. The man is beneath you.
It was dark when her father returned. They ate supper in silence. When the meal was finished, her father excused himself and was soon snoring on his mat.
She retrieved the brush James had given her and began combing out her tresses; the tangles caught in the bristles. In the past, Agnes had always done this; but, perhaps, never again. Her heart felt hollow wondering what would become of her beloved maidservant.
She glanced down at the worn blue cotehardie. What would Eleanor and Maud say if they could see her now? Would they shun her? Oh, what did it matter if she would never see them again.
Thomasse paused to remove long blond strands from the bristles. It was as if with each stroke of the brush, it was ripping away the remnants of her old life.