Page 14 of The Curse of Penryth Hall

“—you know we aren’t supposed to be talking about this. She forbade us to say a word inside the house. Said the mistress is beside herself with worry.”

“Well, we ain’t in the house now, are we?”

The other girl laughed huskily.

“Besides, if I was the mistress, I’d be glad he’s gone. She may as well kick up her heels now. He never was a right husband to her. And the way they’d row.”

The whiskey-voiced one laughed again.

Row? Tamsyn scarcely spoke in his presence, I couldn’t imagine her summoning the passion required to argue.

That was worrisome.

I closed my eyes to memorize the sounds and cadences of their voices, in hopes that I could place these to the girls when I saw them inside. I edged closer to the rectangular yew bush, to better catch what was said.

“That bird isn’t heartsick in the least. You saw how she was. She’s glad he’s gone as she ought to be. He was a beast, and I say he got as good as he deserved.”

She’d get no argument from me on that score.

“Hush now,” the one nearer to me started. She shuffled in the gravel. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“And why not? The man was a terror.”

Touché, bloodthirsty maid.

“Do you suppose it’s that poor Smythe girl? Remember how she carried on in the street about it only a fortnight past.”

“Rose, don’t be a dolt, you know they wouldn’t callhimfor that. The Pellar only gets brought out for serious business. Speaking of… what took you so long to come back with him?”

I heard Rose make a sound low in her throat, and the playful smack of the other maid against her arm.

“You’re redder than an apple, love. You have to tell me now.” Another giggle.

“It was nothing. He wasn’t in his cottage is all. I had to go look for him.”

“And where was he?”

A loaded silence sat between the two maids.

“He wasn’t doing that! I just found him down at the lake…” She hesitated before finishing. “Bathing.”

“Did you at least get a good look at him then while he was there?” Whiskey asked.

“You shouldn’t talk that way. He’s the Pellar!”

“And he’s still a man, ain’t he? With all the bits and parts? Or did you not get a good look to tell if he had ’em?” Another hushed pause before the more brazen maid continued on. “All’s a pity. But it’s probably for the best. You know as good as I he’s not for the likes of us.”

More laughter from the other side of the hedge.

“Well, he might not be for marrying, but no one said I can’t look at him. There’s not a one in the village half as good-looking.”

“Not since poor George Martin passed, that’s for certain. Now, he was a right handsome one.”

A yellow-and-black hoverfly buzzed around my nose, and I shooed it away, growing increasingly bored of village gossip and the debatable charms of the irritating Pellar. I was of half a mind to continue on to the house when the whiskey-voiced maid continued.

“Speaking of George Martin. I still can’t get over what happened to his poor Miss Smythe.”

“She wasn’thisanymore, he broke things off with her before he even came home from the war.”