Read Online The Girl in the Gatehouse by Julie Klassen - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie Klassen
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“Nothing. Only that she has a way with horses and is a well-spoken young woman.”
“Then you are correct; you know nothing.” Hugh drew himself up officiously. “But the letting of the gatehouse is not your concern. I need all the funds I can raise at present. She can pay up, or she can go.”
Worried as she was about the future, Mariah warmly welcomed Jeremiah Martin as he entered the kitchen, still dressed in black. Without a word, he stepped to the kettle on the sideboard and spooned modest portions of mutton and potatoes onto his plate. He tucked fork, knife, and table napkin into his pocket, and then picked up his plate and carried it outside with him. She noticed he had left the door slightly ajar so that he could open it with his hook on the way out, as his lone hand was full.
When the door closed behind him, Mariah whispered to Dixon, “Did you tell him he could not take his meals with us?”
“Didn’t have to. He certainly never ate his meals with Mrs. Prin-Hallsey – that I can tell you.”
“But I don’t mind. I am no fine lady that – ”
“Of course you are, Miss Mariah. It is bad enough that you eat here in the kitchen with me.”
It was an argument they’d often had last autumn, until Dixon finally conceded to Mariah’s wishes. How ridiculous Mariah would feel eating alone in the drawing room.
Mariah stood at the window, watching as Martin placed his plate and himself on the garden bench, spread his napkin on his lap, and set his plate atop it. She wondered how he would manage to cut Dixon’s tough mutton chop. She observed with admiration as he lanced the meat with his fork, propped up the utensil with the inner forearm of his hook hand, and then commenced to take up his knife with his good hand and saw at the mutton with vigor. She wondered why he did not simply impale the meat with his hook, undignified as that might appear. Did he realize she was watching?
Suddenly self-conscious, she turned her attention to her own bland meal and left him to his.
A few minutes later, Martin stepped inside once more and glanced about. “Might I trouble you for the salt cellar? I don’t see it.”
“And why should you need salt, Mr. Martin?” challenged Dixon.
“Ahh. You see, I am accustomed to food having, mmm, flavor , Miss Dixon. A weakness in my character, no doubt.”
Dixon frowned darkly.
Oh dear . Mariah rose swiftly and retrieved the salt cellar from the cupboard. “Here you are, Martin.”
While her back was to Dixon, Mariah spooned salt into her own palm before handing it to him.
He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I shall do the washing up after, all right?”
“Thank you, Martin.”
Though Dixon would have scolded had she known, Mariah stayed behind to dry while Martin managed the dishes. His hook seemed to hinder him only when it came to the silverware. These he swished about the dishwater with one hand. Mariah checked each piece carefully before drying it.
“Did you know our neighbor enjoys a bit of fame?” Martin asked.
She glanced at him. “Hugh Prin-Hallsey?”
“I said fame, not infamy,” he huffed. “I meant Captain Bryant.”
She was instantly alert, though she tried not to show it. “How so?”
Martin braced a carving knife against the basin with his hook arm and scrubbed at it with the cloth in his hand.
“Mrs. Prin-Hallsey let me have the newspapers after she was finished with them. I’ve saved all the interesting articles about the navy and the war in general. There were several about Captain Bryant.”
“Really?” she murmured, hoping to sound nonchalant.
Apparently she failed, because Martin wiped his hands on the apron and pulled a piece of newsprint from his pocket. “Here’s one that might interest you.” Unfolding it, he read, “ ‘Captain Matthew Bryant, recently of the frigate Sparta , has lately returned to England after an absence of four years. Not only has Bryant achieved the rank of captain at a relatively young age, but
“Then you are correct; you know nothing.” Hugh drew himself up officiously. “But the letting of the gatehouse is not your concern. I need all the funds I can raise at present. She can pay up, or she can go.”
Worried as she was about the future, Mariah warmly welcomed Jeremiah Martin as he entered the kitchen, still dressed in black. Without a word, he stepped to the kettle on the sideboard and spooned modest portions of mutton and potatoes onto his plate. He tucked fork, knife, and table napkin into his pocket, and then picked up his plate and carried it outside with him. She noticed he had left the door slightly ajar so that he could open it with his hook on the way out, as his lone hand was full.
When the door closed behind him, Mariah whispered to Dixon, “Did you tell him he could not take his meals with us?”
“Didn’t have to. He certainly never ate his meals with Mrs. Prin-Hallsey – that I can tell you.”
“But I don’t mind. I am no fine lady that – ”
“Of course you are, Miss Mariah. It is bad enough that you eat here in the kitchen with me.”
It was an argument they’d often had last autumn, until Dixon finally conceded to Mariah’s wishes. How ridiculous Mariah would feel eating alone in the drawing room.
Mariah stood at the window, watching as Martin placed his plate and himself on the garden bench, spread his napkin on his lap, and set his plate atop it. She wondered how he would manage to cut Dixon’s tough mutton chop. She observed with admiration as he lanced the meat with his fork, propped up the utensil with the inner forearm of his hook hand, and then commenced to take up his knife with his good hand and saw at the mutton with vigor. She wondered why he did not simply impale the meat with his hook, undignified as that might appear. Did he realize she was watching?
Suddenly self-conscious, she turned her attention to her own bland meal and left him to his.
A few minutes later, Martin stepped inside once more and glanced about. “Might I trouble you for the salt cellar? I don’t see it.”
“And why should you need salt, Mr. Martin?” challenged Dixon.
“Ahh. You see, I am accustomed to food having, mmm, flavor , Miss Dixon. A weakness in my character, no doubt.”
Dixon frowned darkly.
Oh dear . Mariah rose swiftly and retrieved the salt cellar from the cupboard. “Here you are, Martin.”
While her back was to Dixon, Mariah spooned salt into her own palm before handing it to him.
He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I shall do the washing up after, all right?”
“Thank you, Martin.”
Though Dixon would have scolded had she known, Mariah stayed behind to dry while Martin managed the dishes. His hook seemed to hinder him only when it came to the silverware. These he swished about the dishwater with one hand. Mariah checked each piece carefully before drying it.
“Did you know our neighbor enjoys a bit of fame?” Martin asked.
She glanced at him. “Hugh Prin-Hallsey?”
“I said fame, not infamy,” he huffed. “I meant Captain Bryant.”
She was instantly alert, though she tried not to show it. “How so?”
Martin braced a carving knife against the basin with his hook arm and scrubbed at it with the cloth in his hand.
“Mrs. Prin-Hallsey let me have the newspapers after she was finished with them. I’ve saved all the interesting articles about the navy and the war in general. There were several about Captain Bryant.”
“Really?” she murmured, hoping to sound nonchalant.
Apparently she failed, because Martin wiped his hands on the apron and pulled a piece of newsprint from his pocket. “Here’s one that might interest you.” Unfolding it, he read, “ ‘Captain Matthew Bryant, recently of the frigate Sparta , has lately returned to England after an absence of four years. Not only has Bryant achieved the rank of captain at a relatively young age, but
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