So Worthy My Love (17 page)

Elise surveyed the room and commented wryly, “Considering my choices, I shall take the bedchamber below for my own. Perhaps your lordship has a penchant for the crisp air of this clime, but I do not.”

Fitch's mouth sagged open as he was struck with the sudden realization that there were no alternatives and that his lordship would be highly displeased with the chambers. Lost in deep thought, he made no move to follow Ebise as she turned to go. Instead, he mumbled as much to himself as to her, “Me an' Spence'll ‘ave ta fix ‘at roof just as soon as we can.”

Elise's small, tight smile readily conveyed her lack of concern for his lordship. “Other repairs will have to be done first to make this place livable for us,” she pressed. “Since your master is not expected immediately, the roof can wait. We have need to place ourselves in comfort first.”

Fitch cast a worried glance at the hole, unsure of where his own priorities should be, but Elise gave him little space to dwell on the matter.

“First things first,” she reasserted. “Come along. We've much to do before you get back to this.”

Reluctantly he followed her down the hall, but grumbled to himself, quite bemused as to just when this small, slim snip of a girl had taken charge of the household.

“We'll start with the sweeping, dusting, and scrubbing. Hopefully there is enough light left to aid us in making some improvement to this place before night befalls us.”

The woolen cloak billowed out around her, swirling up small puffs of dust on the stairs as Elise began her descent. She moved so swiftly, Fitch was hard-pressed to keep up. When she halted suddenly, he nearly trod on her heels and accomplished a sideways, skittering jig to keep from doing so.

“Is there a serviceable well from whence to draw water?” she asked.

“Aye, mistress. In the courtyard ‘ere be one. An' another in the stable.”

“Good,” she replied. “We'll need a fair flood of the stuff to clean this heap of stone.” She spoke to him over her shoulder as she again hastened her descent. “We'll need supplies! Whether you find,
make, or borrow them! Brooms! Buckets! Soap! Rags!” Each word seemed to jolt from her as she took a step downward. “And capable hands! But yours and Spence's will have to do for the time being.”

Elise swept past the hall near the chamber she had claimed and continued on down the stairs. “There was a kettle here . . .”

And what Fitch and Spence recalled of the rest of that day was nothing more than work, work, work!

E
LISE WAS WAVERING
near the brink of complete exhaustion when she retired that evening. Her limbs felt so heavy she could hardly manage the climb to her bedchamber. She had thrown herself into a frenzy of activity as she sought to improve their state of circumstance before the fall of eventide, little progress had been made, and considering the monumental task laid out for them, their efforts that afternoon were comparable to scratching a stony surface with a green stick. For the moment she felt defeated, and when the door of her chamber was securely closed behind her, she collapsed weakly to her knees before the hearth and stared into the flames in a dull stupor. Tears glistened in the heavy lashes as memories of her father came stealing upon her, and the agonizing questions roiled up. Was he in some prison? Was he being tortured? Was he even alive?

She closed her eyes, spilling the overflow of tears down her cheeks, and from the dark recesses of her mind a vision took shape, that of her father pacing the length and breadth of a dark cell. Around his ankles and wrists he wore bands of iron, and his face had a gaunt, ravaged book about it. His clothes
were torn and filthy; his once-costly cloak was pulled close about his shoulders as his only protection against the cold. With vacant eyes he stared at the blank stone of the opposite wall while his lips moved slowly in unintelligible words.

Elise dropped her face in her hands and began to sob out her heart. She wanted desperately to be gone from this place, to have her father free, and to be at home within the comforting security of his arms. She was afraid for him, and she was tired of being snatched about, poked, and degraded. She had had her fill of captivity, from that which her cousins had inflicted upon her, to the greedy, grasping, and questionable hospitality of her uncle, and now to this latest farce of misguided, misdirected miscreants. Her youth yearned for a lighter, gayer side of life, of an adoring father advising her on no more important matters than caring swains who passionately quoted sonnets and urgently whispered declarations of undying devotion. She longed to let her feet fly to the steps of unending measures, galliards, and lavaltos. She wanted to smile and coyly lower her eyelids in a flirtatious moment. For once in her life, she wanted to act as if life was made just for her and the world was at her feet waiting to be recognized,
with her father standing in the background, nodding his approval.

Alas, it was not so, and might never be!

Her sobs slowly eased, and she lowered her hands and raised her head to stare through brimming tears at the filthy chamber. They had swept the floor, washed the wall, and cleaned a spot barge enough for her to lie on a pile of furs in front of the fire, but this was reality,
this cold, dirty, barren place of pervading musty odors and chilling breezes which whistled through every crack and crevice. And she was here, not on some soft, high throne served by a legion of anxious suitors. Her father was either being held a captive somewhere or he was dead.

Her surroundings presented Elise with the cold, hard facts of her present state, and she realized if she yielded her thoughts to dreaming dreams of another world without first bettering her plight in this one she would be forever caught in the bondage of defeat and would never progress. If she wanted a softer life or one filled with glory and excitement, she would have to work hard to attain it, for it was not free nor easily garnered.

Taking firm command of her emotions, Elise sat back upon her heels and brushed the tears from her cheeks. A long, calming sigh escaped her as she continued to peruse her surroundings. With a few minor repairs, a thorough cleaning, fresh ticking for the bed and a bolt of cloth or two, the chamber could be made into a rather pleasant room. All she would need herself was a great deal of strength, wit, and patience to see it changed.

In the morning Elise's newly formed resolve nearly crumbled as she stared at the unappetizing fare of hard bread, salty meat, and sticky porridge. It was the latter's reluctance to leave the spoon that persuaded her to reject Fitch's offering. When she mentioned the possibility of hiring a cook from Hamburg, the servant shrugged lamely and opened his mouth to explain, but sensing what he would say, Elise waved away his answer.

“Never mind,” she sighed glumly. “You needn't tell me. There's not enough coin in your purse.”

The man gave her a woeful smile. “ ‘Tis sorry I be, mistress.”

“ ‘Tis sorry we all will be if one of us doesn't learn to cook in the very near future. I've managed servants for several years now, but cooking I've never done.”

Fitch and Spence exchanged inquiring glances and both answered in the negative, bending little hope for the possibility of a palatable meal any time soon. Elise heaved a long, laborious sigh and nibbled on a crust of bread. She was beginning to hope his lordship would make haste to come ere they all starved to death.

“Just when will this lord, earl, duke arrive?” she questioned. “Where is he now, and why was he not here to take care of these money matters?”

“ ‘Twas a matter o' importance 'e ‘ad ta attend ta, mistress. ‘E'll be along in a few days.”

“A matter of foul deeds, no doubt,” Elise mumbled. She wrinkled her nose in repugnance as she tried to rub a soiled spot from her woolen gown. Perhaps it would have helped her mood if she had been given other garments to wear while she cleaned the keep. Her choices were limited to the dress she was wearing now and the rich blue gown. She refused to ruin her fine clothes at such dirty labors, but the woolen gown was becoming nearby impossible to bear.

“ ‘Tis certain we've a need ta go back ta ‘Amburg,” Spence declared. “We've precious few supplies ta see us through another day.”

“ ‘Tis certain we've precious few coins ta buy 'em wit',” Fitch reminded him emphatically.

“We'll ‘ave ta find a merchant what'll trust ‘at ‘is lor'ship will pay when 'e comes.”

“An' what if ‘Ans Rubert spreads a tale ‘at ‘is lor'ship is lost at sea? Betwixt ye an' me, Spence, ‘ow much do ye think we're worth?”

“We'll have ta at least try!” Spence argued, emphasizing his point by thumping his fist into his palm. “No good in thinkin' ‘ey'll be sayin' nay ‘til we ask 'em.”

The need for the journey was fully realized, and a full host of problems reared uniformly ugly heads. Spence neither trusted Fitch to go and find a merchant with a sympathetic ear with whom they might beg credit from, nor did he think him capable of staying behind and watching the girl. If Faulder Castle was an example of his dealings, he would need a guide in the matter of haggling, and as to his performance as a gaoler, their hostage had already proven herself of far quicker wit.

Fitch had his own doubts about his companion's abilities, considering the bony nags he had acquired “ ‘Tis certain ye've no eye for horseflesh.”

“Wit' scant few coin,” Spence flared in his own defense, “what else could ye expect after ye wasted ‘is lor'ship's purse on this pile o' rock? 'Em beasties were the best we could afford!”

“May I make a suggestion?” Elise asked sweetly as she listened to their heated debate. Somewhat wary, the two men gave her their full and undivided attention. “If you'll allow me to go with both of you,” she proposed, “I might be of some assistance.
Though I have no knowledge of the German tongue, I do know something about the manners and affairs of titled lords and their ladies. ‘Tis a simple fact that if you seek credit, you'll not find it as a pauper.”

Immediately rejecting the idea, Fitch resolutely shook his head. “If she escapes, what will ‘is lor'ship do ta us?”

“What will ‘is lor'ship do ta us if the roof's not mended?” Spence railed. “I say she's right. We aren't the ones ta go beggin' for credit.”

“Ye know how crafty she be! An' how'll we explain if she tells the townfolk she s been kidnapped? She'll ‘ave all o' ‘Amburg down ‘pon our heads.”

“Why would the townfolk even care? She's English.”

“An' lovely as any maid ‘ere be!” Fitch pointed out, firm in his argument. “Someone could take a likin' ta her an steal her away from us.”

“I still say she goes,” Spence replied firmly. “We'll just have ta keep an eye on her . . . an' a
closer
one on the menfolk.”

Fitch threw up his hands in a dramatic display of defeat. “She'll be the death o' us! Mark me words! If the merchants don't ‘ang us, ‘is lor'ship very well might!”

Fitch's doubts increased by leaps and bounds when their charge came down the stairs elegantly bedecked in the blue velvet gown and cloak. Her auburn hair had been parted in the middle and smoothly combed in a rather sedate coiffure that allowed only a few, softly curled tendrils to escape the knot coiled at her nape. In all, she looked the
part of a young mistress of a great house, while he saw nothing that resembled the dirty, hardworking maid who had kept pace with them since their arrival, hauling, cleaning, scrubbing, and mending.

The trip to Hamburg did not seem as long to Elise this time as it did when she had first traversed the winding path to Faulder Castle. Perhaps what lightened the mood of the journey was the prospect of seeing civilization again and being able to communicate with people. Though there loomed an enormous problem in being understood, at least she was not being kept totally a prisoner, and who was to say what opportunity for escape might be presented while she was in the port city?

Even before they arrived at the market square Elise caught a tantalizing aroma wafting from a nearby inn. The morning fare had not set well on her stomach, which was now protesting its abuse.

Fitch lifted his nose in the air and sniffed like a starving hound picking up a scent of a wounded goose. There was no need of any verbal exchange between the three of them, for with common accord they turned their mounts toward the inn. Each seemed anxious to be the first one there, and after dismounting, the two men huddled together to count the coins in his lordship's purse.

“Why, ‘tis true! We've barely ‘nough coin ta see us through ‘ill ‘is lor'ship comes,” Spence said in some surprise after tallying the coins. “ ‘Ow much did ye give ‘Ans Rubert anyway?”

Fitch's cheeks flamed a bright red as he flapped his arms in outrage. “An' would ye be tellin' me how much ye laid out for ‘ese foin an' mighty steeds
we arrived on? ‘Tis clear ta me ye were taken for a fool!”

Spence let out an offended cry. “Och, man! Ye callin' the kettle black, are ye now? If ye'd insisted ‘Ans Rubert give us the manor what ‘is lor'ship rented, ‘ere wouldna've been a need for mounts. As ‘tis, we've wasted most o' ‘is lor'ship's purse on supplies.”

“I'll take no more o' this!” Fitch flung out a hand to indicate the inn. “Ye take the mistress inside and I'll stand out ‘ere in the cold an' look after ‘ese unworthy nags!”

“Ah, no ye don't! Ye won't be doin' ‘at ta me! I've no mind ta hear ye moanin' an' complainin' 'bout how I took me fill whilst ye starved ta death in the cold.”

The two men were standing nose to nose, jabbing each other on the chest with a forefinger and were so intent upon besting the other in their disagreement, they failed to notice Elise slipping away on foot. She had seen the masts of sailing ships at the end of the lane where they stood and took advantage of her escorts' diverted attention.