A Captive Heart (19 page)

“You
needn’t.”

“Sorry.”
Awkwardly he stood up.

“No,
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound offended. It’s just that I’m not used to people helping me.”

“Then
let me.”

He
knelt down again as she leaned forward. Their heads cracked painfully together.

“Sorry!”

“No, my fault.” Feeling stupid, he whisked the boot undone.

One
of the little girls from the kitchen came in, very carefully clutching a tray on which stood two pewter tankards. “Please, sir, Mother says you’re to have a cup of ale for your kindness to Anne.”

“Thanks.”
He grabbed the tankards before they could spill.

“One’s
for Anne. And Mother says you must stay to supper.”

“How
very kind of her. But I am afraid I cannot.” He handed Anne her drink.

“Oh.”

“Another time, perhaps?” Anne said, then blushed.

“I’d
like that. Er – excellent ale.”

“Anne
brewed it,” said the little girl. “She’s good at that.”

“She
is indeed. What’s your name?”

“Frances.
What’s yours?”

“William.”

“My little brother’s name is William.”

“There
are a lot of us about. Frances is a pretty name.”

“I
know. Anne has a cousin Frances.”

“Yes
I have,” she said quickly. “But I haven’t seen her lately. Frances, ask mother for some bandages for my ankle, please.” When the child had gone she said quietly, “Don’t mention what we were talking about to my stepmother, please. I’ll arrange it, but she… Well, best not to mention it.”

“All
right. The children are your stepmother’s?”

“Yes,
my half-brothers and sisters. Four of them; Frances, Margaret, Thomas and William. My own brother and sister – you’ll remember Bartholomew and Catherine – are both married now and moved away.”

“I
see. Should I go to help Thomas with the water?”

“Yes.
Oh – no.”

Heaving
and staggering under the weight, slopping water everywhere, the child dumped the bucket down in front of Anne. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“If
I stand on it.”

“Don’t
stand on it, then,” he said with a smirk William would have enjoyed smacking off his face. Instead, he gave the brat the look that worked on his own younger brothers, and Thomas fled. Affecting great interest in the proverb on one of the painted hangings, William turned away so Anne could in modesty take her stocking off; also he didn’t want to discover she had ugly legs. When he heard the rustle of skirts again he turned back. Grimacing, she was dipping her toes into the water. She had pretty ankles. Very pretty.

“All
the way in,” he said too loudly. “Plunge it in. Your foot. Into the water.”

“I
know, but it’s straight from the well, and cold.”

“That’s
the idea. Go on, screw up your courage to the sticking point.” She did so. “And keep it in. All the way in. Until the water’s no longer cold. Then bandage it.” He finished his ale and put the tankard down, too sharply. “I had better go.”

“If
you must. But if you would like to come again? For supper?”

“Please.”

“Good. Although… no, that’s all right… I may be going to stop with an elderly cousin of mine over at Temple Grafton, it’s she I was visiting today. I, er, I…”

Gently,
remembering something she had said, drawing a conclusion from her family’s unconcern today, he said, half under his breath, “I’m not the only one unhappy at home.”

“Quite
right,” she answered as softly. “Useful to have an elderly cousin whose daughter is going away. But I’ll see you next market day. Thursday. Could you be free for dinner? I’ll arrange it with my cousin Frances.”

“Thank
you. But don’t mention what we talked about to my parents, please.”

“Of
course not. William, thank you for helping me today. I’m sure I’ve held you up; please explain to your father and give him my apologies and thanks.”

“I
shall. I hope your ankle mends soon. Well, goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

“Good
manners, that boy,” Mrs Hathaway said when she came to remove the bucket.

“Yes,
he’s a very pleasant lad.”

“Good
looking, too.”

Bent
over to bandage her ankle, Anne didn’t have to meet the other woman’s eye. “I suppose so,” she said indifferently. “Takes after his father. His mother’s much lighter in colouring. By the way, Mother, my cousin’s daughter said that if you can spare me she would like to go away on Monday. She wants to see her new grandchild in Bristol.”

“I
can spare you.”

“Good.
Two months at least.”

“That’s
through sheep-shearing and harvest.”

“If
you can’t manage…”

“Oh,
I can manage.”

“Then
I’ll send word that I’ll be at Temple Grafton on Monday.”

“Very
well. Don’t encourage that Shakspere boy to hang around you. He’s far too young, but people will still talk.”

“Oh,
Mother,” said Anne, “don’t be so ridiculous.”

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