position of ostler, if required.
It was well after noon before Faith found the inn.
It looked shabbier in the daylight than she remembered. The faded sign
of a rampaging bull dangled from only one link. The ancient leaded glass
in the tavern window was so filthy as to make it useless for letting in
light. The mud and wattle between the half-timbered siding was chinked
and moldy and hadn’t seen whitewash in a century, if ever.
Refusing to be discouraged, Faith stepped inside the
dusky interior. The brisk March wind had done nothing to air the reek
of ale and cooked cabbage. The odors of unwashed chamber pots mixed with
other noisome stenches that she had not noticed the night she had
arrived on Morgan’s arm. Morgan had a way of waving his hand and making
the unpleasant disappear.
Drawing her frayed cloak tighter, Faith searched for the proprietor.
When he finally waddled out, the innkeeper was taken
aback by her soft-spoken request for employment. Ladies did not work in
public houses, and certainly not ones like this. When she pulled back
her cloak to reveal her youth, a head of russet hair capped in a scrap
of lace, and innocent wide eyes, he nearly choked—until he remembered
her in his taproom some months ago.
She had been with Black Jack. He swept his gaze down
her slender figure, but the cloak concealed any sign of a swelling
belly. Well, if Black Jack had tired of her, then his patrons would
enjoy a new face.
Nodding his head and wiping his sweaty hands on his
apron, the innkeeper agreed. “Ye can begin with the linens. T’night,
I’ll set ye to the taproom.” Her smile of pleasure quelled any further
doubts. Wait until the boys saw the surprise he had for them!
***
Faith frowned at the tightness of the bodice stays
Mrs. Whitehead had insisted that she wear. She knew maids were expected
to wear uniforms, but she had scarcely expected one so indiscreet. Her
small breasts were pushed up until they resembled overripe melons. How
was she supposed to work in such binding?
She had no mirror. She wished for a brooch to keep
her kerchief securely fastened over her bosom, but she had to be
satisfied with tucking the ends inside her bodice and praying they would
not work loose.
The skirt and petticoat were too long, thank
goodness. The last maid must have been of taller stature. They would be a
nuisance, but better than revealing any more than the gown already did.
Changing the linens and emptying slop jars was
tedious, but Faith was experienced and efficient and accomplished it
with little instruction. Proudly, she discovered she had time to scrub
the jars.
She was offered a tankard of ale, a bowl of stew,
and a chunk of stale bread for her supper. Sitting in the kitchen, Faith
eyed the grease-coated hearth and utensils with doubt and an itch to
scrub them, but no one had mentioned a need for a kitchen maid.
She wondered what Morgan would do if he came home
tonight and found a cold hearth and an empty table. She had hoped to
find a position to occupy only her daylight hours, but surely he would
understand if she must work the evenings too.
She had finally found work and was well on her way to independence. Let him put that in his hat and lump it.
She wasn’t feeling quite so confident a little while
later when she stood behind the bar washing tankards. It was early yet,
and the room was nearly empty, but the smoke and the dimness and the
male laughter made her edgy.
Molly had already made it clear that the tables were
her territory, and Faith gratefully agreed to that. She tried to keep
her back to the room as she washed and dried, but the occasional shout
from behind her made her jump often enough.
The cheap, high table that served as bar between
kegs and customers was never intended for more than overflow from the
tables, so Faith held back uncertainly when two of the customers strode
up and demanded refills. That was Molly’s job, and she sent the other
girl a
It was well after noon before Faith found the inn.
It looked shabbier in the daylight than she remembered. The faded sign
of a rampaging bull dangled from only one link. The ancient leaded glass
in the tavern window was so filthy as to make it useless for letting in
light. The mud and wattle between the half-timbered siding was chinked
and moldy and hadn’t seen whitewash in a century, if ever.
Refusing to be discouraged, Faith stepped inside the
dusky interior. The brisk March wind had done nothing to air the reek
of ale and cooked cabbage. The odors of unwashed chamber pots mixed with
other noisome stenches that she had not noticed the night she had
arrived on Morgan’s arm. Morgan had a way of waving his hand and making
the unpleasant disappear.
Drawing her frayed cloak tighter, Faith searched for the proprietor.
When he finally waddled out, the innkeeper was taken
aback by her soft-spoken request for employment. Ladies did not work in
public houses, and certainly not ones like this. When she pulled back
her cloak to reveal her youth, a head of russet hair capped in a scrap
of lace, and innocent wide eyes, he nearly choked—until he remembered
her in his taproom some months ago.
She had been with Black Jack. He swept his gaze down
her slender figure, but the cloak concealed any sign of a swelling
belly. Well, if Black Jack had tired of her, then his patrons would
enjoy a new face.
Nodding his head and wiping his sweaty hands on his
apron, the innkeeper agreed. “Ye can begin with the linens. T’night,
I’ll set ye to the taproom.” Her smile of pleasure quelled any further
doubts. Wait until the boys saw the surprise he had for them!
***
Faith frowned at the tightness of the bodice stays
Mrs. Whitehead had insisted that she wear. She knew maids were expected
to wear uniforms, but she had scarcely expected one so indiscreet. Her
small breasts were pushed up until they resembled overripe melons. How
was she supposed to work in such binding?
She had no mirror. She wished for a brooch to keep
her kerchief securely fastened over her bosom, but she had to be
satisfied with tucking the ends inside her bodice and praying they would
not work loose.
The skirt and petticoat were too long, thank
goodness. The last maid must have been of taller stature. They would be a
nuisance, but better than revealing any more than the gown already did.
Changing the linens and emptying slop jars was
tedious, but Faith was experienced and efficient and accomplished it
with little instruction. Proudly, she discovered she had time to scrub
the jars.
She was offered a tankard of ale, a bowl of stew,
and a chunk of stale bread for her supper. Sitting in the kitchen, Faith
eyed the grease-coated hearth and utensils with doubt and an itch to
scrub them, but no one had mentioned a need for a kitchen maid.
She wondered what Morgan would do if he came home
tonight and found a cold hearth and an empty table. She had hoped to
find a position to occupy only her daylight hours, but surely he would
understand if she must work the evenings too.
She had finally found work and was well on her way to independence. Let him put that in his hat and lump it.
She wasn’t feeling quite so confident a little while
later when she stood behind the bar washing tankards. It was early yet,
and the room was nearly empty, but the smoke and the dimness and the
male laughter made her edgy.
Molly had already made it clear that the tables were
her territory, and Faith gratefully agreed to that. She tried to keep
her back to the room as she washed and dried, but the occasional shout
from behind her made her jump often enough.
The cheap, high table that served as bar between
kegs and customers was never intended for more than overflow from the
tables, so Faith held back uncertainly when two of the customers strode
up and demanded refills. That was Molly’s job, and she sent the other
girl a
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