Read Online The Crimson Ribbon by Katherine Clements - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine Clements
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before stowing it safe beneath the bed, out of sight. Its gifts must be used sparingly and I must wait for the right time.
I find Lizzie in a room at the front of the house that looks onto the street. She is sitting by the fire, deep in conversation with a man I take to be her father, although you would not know it by the look of him. He is frail and grey for a man in his middle years, with none of the presence or beauty of his child. That must come from her mother, I think, as I hover by the door, afraid to disturb them.
‘It is not only the money we must think of,’ Master Poole is saying. ‘We do not want the old rumours to surface again. We must be wary. We cannot trust outsiders . . .’
‘Oh, Father . . .’ Lizzie talks to him as if he is the child and she the parent. ‘Must we always return to that? She is gone, long gone, and forgotten by all but those who loved her. We must think of the future. Think what a connection to the Cromwells might do for business.’
‘Mistress Bess is clear. She asks particularly that no one else in the household must know the girl’s origins. If you had not opened this private letter, Lizzie, you would not know either.’
Lizzie rolls her eyes.
‘I suppose, out of respect for past ties, I must do it,’ he goes on, ‘but she will stay in the kitchens. And you will tell her nothing of what has gone before.’
The remains of a good breakfast sit on a table next to him and he reaches for his mug.
Fearing that they will notice me standing mute on the threshold and think me a sneak, I reach out and rap upon the door.
‘Oh, Ruth! There you are.’ Lizzie smiles. ‘Come in, come in.’
I go into the room, keeping my eyes to the flagstones.
‘Ruth, this is my father.’
Master Poole nods at me and wipes his whiskers with a linen kerchief.
‘Did you sleep?’ Lizzie is up and at my side, guiding me to her chair by the fire.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘And will you eat? I had Margaret prepare plenty. There is bread and meat and cheese.’ She goes to the table and carves a great hunk of crust before I can answer. I watch her pale hands wielding the knife. She is soberly dressed this morning in dark skirts, her lovely hair tucked away beneath her cap like my own, tiny copper strands escaping at the nape of her neck. Next to her, the table is strewn with swatches of fabric, so many hues of wool, silk and velvet, as if a rainbow has fallen from the skies and landed there.
‘Well, child,’ Master Poole says gravely. ‘I have read the letter you brought with you and I believe it to be genuine.’ He pauses and looks me over. ‘Bess Cromwell was a friend to me once, many years ago, when I found myself in need. She tells me you are orphaned and need a home. Well, I find myself able to return her favour. We are not a wealthy household, but if you are willing to earn your keep, we can manage one more. What kind of girl are you?’
‘A good girl, sir,’ I say.
He suppresses a smile. ‘Kitchen? Laundry? Can you sew?’
‘A little. I was kitchen maid for Mistress Cromwell.’
‘Then you will help Margaret.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, Ruth, there must be no mention of Mistress Cromwell, or your previous place, to anyone. No mention at all. Her letter is quite clear on that. It must be a secret between the three of us.’ He tucks his napkin into his jacket pocket. ‘Are you a gossip?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I cannot abide a gossip. If I hear of any idle talk, you will be out on the street. Do you understand?’
‘Father!’ Lizzie exclaims, bringing me a plate of food. ‘Do not be so harsh. Ruth deserves our pity.’ She flutters around me like a butterfly, setting down a mug of small beer and fetching a stool for herself. I am hungry, I realise, and unable to stop myself falling on the meal as if I am starved. Between mouthfuls I thank them both.
‘There is no need for that.’ Master Poole flaps his hands at me and stands, dusting crumbs from his coat. ‘I
I find Lizzie in a room at the front of the house that looks onto the street. She is sitting by the fire, deep in conversation with a man I take to be her father, although you would not know it by the look of him. He is frail and grey for a man in his middle years, with none of the presence or beauty of his child. That must come from her mother, I think, as I hover by the door, afraid to disturb them.
‘It is not only the money we must think of,’ Master Poole is saying. ‘We do not want the old rumours to surface again. We must be wary. We cannot trust outsiders . . .’
‘Oh, Father . . .’ Lizzie talks to him as if he is the child and she the parent. ‘Must we always return to that? She is gone, long gone, and forgotten by all but those who loved her. We must think of the future. Think what a connection to the Cromwells might do for business.’
‘Mistress Bess is clear. She asks particularly that no one else in the household must know the girl’s origins. If you had not opened this private letter, Lizzie, you would not know either.’
Lizzie rolls her eyes.
‘I suppose, out of respect for past ties, I must do it,’ he goes on, ‘but she will stay in the kitchens. And you will tell her nothing of what has gone before.’
The remains of a good breakfast sit on a table next to him and he reaches for his mug.
Fearing that they will notice me standing mute on the threshold and think me a sneak, I reach out and rap upon the door.
‘Oh, Ruth! There you are.’ Lizzie smiles. ‘Come in, come in.’
I go into the room, keeping my eyes to the flagstones.
‘Ruth, this is my father.’
Master Poole nods at me and wipes his whiskers with a linen kerchief.
‘Did you sleep?’ Lizzie is up and at my side, guiding me to her chair by the fire.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘And will you eat? I had Margaret prepare plenty. There is bread and meat and cheese.’ She goes to the table and carves a great hunk of crust before I can answer. I watch her pale hands wielding the knife. She is soberly dressed this morning in dark skirts, her lovely hair tucked away beneath her cap like my own, tiny copper strands escaping at the nape of her neck. Next to her, the table is strewn with swatches of fabric, so many hues of wool, silk and velvet, as if a rainbow has fallen from the skies and landed there.
‘Well, child,’ Master Poole says gravely. ‘I have read the letter you brought with you and I believe it to be genuine.’ He pauses and looks me over. ‘Bess Cromwell was a friend to me once, many years ago, when I found myself in need. She tells me you are orphaned and need a home. Well, I find myself able to return her favour. We are not a wealthy household, but if you are willing to earn your keep, we can manage one more. What kind of girl are you?’
‘A good girl, sir,’ I say.
He suppresses a smile. ‘Kitchen? Laundry? Can you sew?’
‘A little. I was kitchen maid for Mistress Cromwell.’
‘Then you will help Margaret.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, Ruth, there must be no mention of Mistress Cromwell, or your previous place, to anyone. No mention at all. Her letter is quite clear on that. It must be a secret between the three of us.’ He tucks his napkin into his jacket pocket. ‘Are you a gossip?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I cannot abide a gossip. If I hear of any idle talk, you will be out on the street. Do you understand?’
‘Father!’ Lizzie exclaims, bringing me a plate of food. ‘Do not be so harsh. Ruth deserves our pity.’ She flutters around me like a butterfly, setting down a mug of small beer and fetching a stool for herself. I am hungry, I realise, and unable to stop myself falling on the meal as if I am starved. Between mouthfuls I thank them both.
‘There is no need for that.’ Master Poole flaps his hands at me and stands, dusting crumbs from his coat. ‘I
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