To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(9)

Helen blinked, gazing around the dim little passageway. Well, that was just silly. He’d make a terribly cutting remark if she told him her impression of him. She’d never met a man less likely to take kindly to the concern of another human being. And yet, there it was: He’d seemed lonely to her. He lived all alone, far from civilization in this great dirty castle, his only company a big dog. Could anyone, even a man who seemed to dislike people, be truly happy in such a circumstance?

She shook her head and began marching toward the kitchen again. There was no place in her life at the moment for such sentimental thoughts. She couldn’t afford to be swayed by soft emotions. She’d done that once and look where it’d gotten her—fleeing in fear with her children. No, better to be pragmatic about the castle and its master. She had Abigail and Jamie to consider.

Helen rounded the corner and heard shouting from the castle kitchen. Good Lord! What if a tramp or some other villain had invaded the kitchen? Abigail and Jamie were in there alone! She picked up her skirts and ran the rest of the way, bursting into the kitchen quite out of breath.

The sight that met her didn’t do anything to calm her fears. A stubby little man was waving his arms and shouting at the children, who were arrayed before him. Abigail held an iron skillet in both hands, resolute, though her face was pale. Behind his sister, Jamie hopped from one foot to the other, his eyes wide and excited.

“—all of you! Thieves and murderers, a-stealin’ into places you don’t belong! Hangin’s too good for you!”

“Out!” Helen bellowed. She advanced on the creature haranguing her children. “Out, I say!”

The little man jumped and whirled at the sound of her voice. He wore a greasy waistcoat over too-big breeches and patched stockings. His hair was a graying ginger, and it stood out in a frizzy cloud on either side of his head.

He had bulging eyes, but he narrowed them at the sight of her. “Who’re you?”

Helen drew herself up. “I am Mrs. Halifax, Sir Alistair’s housekeeper. Now, you must remove yourself from this kitchen, or I shall be forced to call Sir Alistair himself.”

The little man gaped. “Dinna talk nonsense, woman. Sir Alistair doesn’t have a housekeeper. I’m his man. I’d know if he had one!”

For a moment, Helen stared at the repulsive creature, nonplussed. She’d begun to think Sir Alistair hadn’t any help at all. Indeed, that prospect, dim as it had been, was preferable to the nasty manservant in front of her.

“What is your name?” she finally asked.

The little man threw out his thin chest. “Wiggins.”

Helen nodded and folded her arms. The one thing she’d learned in her years in London was not to show fear before bullies. “Well, then, Mr. Wiggins, Sir Alistair may not’ve had a housekeeper in the past, but he has one now, and I am she.”

“Go on with you!”

“I assure you it’s true, and what’s more, you’d best get used to the idea.”

Wiggins scratched his rear end contemplatively. “Well, if’n it’s true, you got a wagon load of hard work on yer hands.”

“Indeed.” Helen softened her tone. The little man had no doubt been startled to find strangers in the castle kitchen. “I hope I can count on your help, Mr. Wiggins.”

“Ur,” he grunted noncommittally.

She let it go for the moment. “Now. Would you care for some breakfast?”

“Naw.” Wiggins shuffled to the hall. “Hisself will be wantin’ ta see me and give me his orders for the day, won’t he?”

He stomped out of the kitchen.

Abigail set the iron skillet on a table. “That man smells.”

“He does indeed,” Helen said. “But we shouldn’t hold that against him. However, I want you both to stay out of his way when I’m not by your side.”

Jamie nodded vigorously, while Abigail merely looked worried.

“Well, enough of that,” Helen said briskly. “Let’s do the washing up, and then we’ll start on the kitchen.”

“We’re going to clean this kitchen?” Jamie gaped at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

“Of course.” Helen said it confidently, ignoring the flutter of trepidation in her stomach. The kitchen was very dirty. “Now. Let’s go fetch some water to wash with.”

They’d found the old pump in a corner of the stable yard just this morning. She’d pumped one bucket of water then, but she’d used it all up in making breakfast. Jamie carried the tin bucket as they all tramped out to the stable yard. Helen grasped the pump handle and gave an encouraging smile to the children before hauling it up with both hands. Unfortunately, the pump was rather rusted, and it took a great deal of effort to work it.

Ten minutes later, Helen pushed sweaty hair off her forehead and eyed the half-full bucket.

“It’s not very much,” Abigail said dubiously.

“Yes, well, it’ll do for now,” Helen panted. She took the bucket and returned to the kitchen, the children trailing behind.

She set the bucket down and bit her lip. The water had to be heated to wash the dishes, but she’d let the fire go out since breakfast. Only a few embers still glowed in the fireplace ashes.

Mr. Wiggins entered the kitchen as she was standing and staring at the hearth in dismay. The little man looked from her to the pitiful bucket of water and grunted. “Had a grand start, have ye? Why, th’ kitchen’s so clean it near blinds me eyes t’ look at it. Well, never fear. Yer stay is fixin’ to be short. Hisself is sendin’ me to fetch a carriage from th’ village.”