Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [4]
So an Englishman standing on the beach in the dawn hours appeared suspect at best, outright criminal at worst. Yet he hadn’t seemed in the least alarmed when she ran straight into him. None of his words or actions spoke of a man guilty of wrongdoing.
And he’d distracted her from thoughts of Mrs. Wilkins’s pain and death, from her husband’s coldness then burst of anger, better than had any of her hazy dreams of knights riding out of the mist. He was flesh and blood and no doubt a danger to the community she served and loved.
She reached her garden gate and paused, her hand on the latch, reconsidering going back to town. But the man was gone and she would awaken Mayor Kendall for nothing. She would stay with her original plan and go into town later, after she slept.
The idea of sleep suddenly the most important thought in her head, she pushed open the gate and froze. Her nostrils flared, catching a scent familiar and out of place, a sharp tang piercing through the subtle richness of newly turned earth. To her right, fabric rustled.
She started to turn. “Who’s—”
A hand clamped over her mouth. “This is a warning.” The voice was sibilant, muffled, as though he spoke from behind a kerchief. Something sharp pricked the skin of her throat. “Keep silent about this night if you don’t want to swim with the fishes.”
2
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Dominick Cherrett finished sharpening the last of the kitchen knives and removed his own blade from its sheath inside his boot. He hadn’t cut anything with it since having to slice up the rock-hard beef aboard the merchant brig that had carried him into exile. But rusty stains marred the perfection of the steel blade, and he wanted the weapon sharp, ready for action at any time.
And whetting knives made an excellent excuse for coming in from outside at six o’clock in the morning instead of stumbling down from his cupboard of a chamber at the top of the Kendall mansion. It wouldn’t do for his master to discover Dominick had spent the night outside of the village. He hadn’t earned that kind of trust in his two weeks as a servant to the mayor of Seabourne.
He shuddered at the notion of donning the ill-fitting uniform and powdering his hair like some English butler of the previous century, gave his knife one last swipe along the whetstone, and held it up to the light. Sunshine breaking through the mist sparkled and shimmered along the blade. Not a speck of rust, not a hint of a nick marred the steel. With a nod of satisfaction, Dominick slipped the knife into its sheath and gathered up the kitchen utensils.
The kitchen door sprang open behind him. “That’s what I like to see, a man willing to work before his breakfast.”
Dominick faced the tall cook whose thinness belied the fact that her culinary arts rivaled the best he’d eaten in any nobleman’s home. “I figured it was the best way to get a fine breakfast if you could slice the bacon thick and the toast thin.”
“Yes, and you want me to cook your egg as runny as tree sap.” Letty Robins shuddered. “But that’s not cooking and I won’t have it in my kitchen.”
“Please.” He gave her his most engaging grin. “I already make my own tea so as not to offend the sensibilities of you Yankees.”
“I’ll soft-boil your egg.” Letty spun on the heel of a sturdy brogan and stomped back to the kitchen.
Laughing, Dominick followed with the knives. Coffee he could abide, with a generous dollop of cream applied. Eggs cooked until they resembled the beef served aboard ship, turned his stomach.
Letty stood before the fire, pouring water from a bucket into an iron kettle suspended over the flames. Despite her height, she appeared too scrawny to heft the five-gallon pail.
Dominick took it from her. “Kendall would have been better off buying my indenture to make me your assistant here than to answer his front door.”
“He’s the mayor.” Letty picked up a basket of eggs. “He needs to maintain an appearance