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then he had never seen any on the battlefield, either. Yet, he would try to bring her comfort and peace.
    Too bad he could not muster any up for himself.
     

Chapter 9
     
    Eliza did not report to work until three that afternoon, and in the interim didn’t relish the thought of sitting alone in her tiny cubby-hole of a room. Instead, she offered to help Mrs. Tompkins in the kitchen, slicing carrots and potatoes for the meat pies. On top of being a tavern wench, she was now a scullery maid. It was all rather sobering. The position of governess at the manor meant she didn’t have any manual labor to contend with. Her meals were brought on trays, her clothes washed, and her room usually tidied by a maid. She never stopped to consider how hard others worked below stairs. How arrogant of her. How thoughtless.
    Well, she’d been brought down a peg or two. Reaching above yourself was not the thing to do, a lesson learned. The servants had sneered at her snobbish ways and no doubt triumphed in her downfall. She reached above herself again by lusting after the tall, broad-shouldered vicar. Would she ever learn? As if the man would offer anything more substantial than a quick toss in the sheets. Perhaps not even that, if she admitted the truth. He may be tempted, but he would never act on it. The cold, relentless control he wielded over his emotions proved her point.
    Her depressing thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Tompkins lumbering into the kitchen. “Where’s Tommy? He should take food to Ruth Payne’s. The vicar is there and has been since dawn. He and the boy, Drew, should eat.”
    “I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry none. Go on with your chores,” Mrs. Tompkins called out. Her husband gave her a smile and an affectionate slap on her backside. Mrs. Tompkins flushed. “Go on, you wicked man. Be off.”
    A stab of envy clutched Eliza. The couple, though they had no children, was loving and kind to each other. They worked side by side as partners. It struck her then and there that she longed for such a loving alliance, and if the relationship had a potent physical side, all the better. It seemed the Tompkinses did.
    “If you’ll give me directions to the Payne home, I will take the food,” Eliza offered.
    Mrs. Tompkins wiped her forehead with her sleeve, then held up her flour covered hands as she had been working with the pastries. “Bless you, my dear. If you could slap together a few bacon butties I’d be thankful. There are slices of seed cake in the larder. You will find a basket on the shelf.”
    Eliza gave the woman a warm smile as she made her way to the pantry. After assembling everything, she also made herself a bacon butty to have later. She’d not indulged in ages. After packing the food in brown paper and placing the items in the basket, she fetched her wool coat, gloves, and scarf.
    The sun shone high in the clear blue sky, but a decided chill lingered in the air. Thankfully the village was not large and the instructions Mrs. Tompkins gave were easy enough to follow. Turning down a narrow alley, Eliza noticed the structures became less prosperous. As she rounded the corner, she spotted a tall man and a small boy standing by the back entrance to the Payne’s little hovel. No mistaking those shoulders, it stretched the wool of the black coat in an attractive way. Eliza ducked into a darkened alcove, out of their sight but not hers, and near enough to hear the conversation.
    “...but why did she have to die, Vicar?” The lad sniffled.
    Tremain laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I have no words to explain why, Drew. I will not say it is all God’s plan, because I am not sure exactly what that means. Nor will I say your mother has gone to a better place. For how can death and finality be better than life and living?”
    This is a priest? Eliza was utterly fascinated at his words. No false platitudes or hollow clucks of sympathy. No droning on in prayer. He spoke truth--his truth--to