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Edith clenched her fists as her confidence plummeted. He enjoyed baiting her and he hated her wimple! She would keep her secrets. Her people were counting on her. Somehow the thought lacked comfort.
Chapter Four
The sound of Hilda’s outraged shrieks combined with the pandemonium of cauldrons crashing and heavy objects falling filled Edith’s ears even before she reached the kitchens. Edith gritted her teeth. Hilda never liked to make things easy.
‘Hilda,’ she called out as she entered the kitchen. ‘I need you. Immediately, if not sooner.’
At the sound of her voice, the tableau froze. The cook gesturing towards a black cauldron, and Hilda’s sulky expression while a variety of ladles and spoons lay on the floor as the kitchen boys cowered, told Edith everything she needed to know. Brand was right. The kitchen was no place for Hilda.
‘Hilda, it is time you leave the cook and his staff to do what they do best.’
Hilda stuck her nose in the air and marched out of the kitchen. ‘Me being a scullery maid was not one of your better ideas, cousin. That cook actually expected me to wash the cauldrons! Do you know how long it takes me every night to keep my hands soft? I was born a lady, not a thrall.’
‘Then you will be relieved to know that you are to be in the main hall tonight. Lord Bjornson has requested your presence at the feast.’
The colour fled from Hilda’s face. ‘You told him about me? You promised, Edith! What else have you done?’
‘After your little performance back there, I don’t wonder King Halfdan in Eoferwic doesn’t know about you!’ Edith crossed her arms. Hilda could not have it all her own way. ‘Try taking some responsibility, Hilda. Brand Bjornson saw us talking earlier. You should know that I do endeavour to keep my promises.’
Hilda had the grace to flush. ‘You should change the cook. He has not the least idea about proper respect.’
‘Fulke has been with us since before my father died, first as a kitchen boy and now the head cook.’ Edith took a calming breath. Screaming at Hilda wouldn’t serve any purpose. Hilda had never liked hard work. ‘In the kitchen, he is king. It has always been that way. What precisely did he do, besides ask you to clean the pots?’
Hilda picked at her sleeve. ‘If you must know, I became angry at that blasted cook for saying you were a Norseman’s whore. He had no right.’
Edith winced. She could well imagine the insults which were bandied about, but they were only words. Words only had the power to hurt if she let them. She’d learned that lesson long ago with Egbert. Inside she knew her reasons and some day everyone who mocked her would be grateful. ‘I believe that is what a concubine is.’
‘But it isn’t right. It hurts to be called such things.’
Edith drew in her breath. ‘All I have is your word, Hilda. Fulke has not dared say it to my face.’
Hilda blushed and Edith breathed easier. Hilda had spun another tall tale to get someone into trouble.
‘Did you know they are slaughtering two of the cattle? You refused Egbert cattle when he left. And Fulke wants the spice cupboard unlocked because Lord Bjornson asked if we had any cinnamon bark. Who uses such a thing?’
Edith fumbled for her keys, only to grasp thin air. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. ‘Fulke will have to ask Lord Bjornson for the key.’
‘He has taken your keys!’
‘The hall and all its contents belong to him.’
‘I can’t believe you, Edith. You are so calm about the whole thing. All your spirit is gone. I thought you were a Northumbrian through and through, yet you surrendered your keys. Your mother’s keys!’
‘Who can I fight, Hilda?’ Edith held out her hands. Somehow she had to make Hilda understand that it was dangerous to be belligerent. She was playing this game for the long term. No one would be helped if she broke down now. The gold, silver and jewellery were well hidden. You had to know where in the lord’s bedchamber to look. Brand Bjornson would never find it. ‘We are in this mess because Egbert decided to fight, rather than accepting my father’s pledge of fealty. The Norsemen would have left us alone if we paid that tithe. Yes, it would have been hard, but we could have done it.’
‘But don’t you care?’
‘I don’t like it any more than you do. I don’t like the increased demand of tithes, but the Norsemen won. The rebellion is no more. I have a duty to look after the living. Petty vengeance solves nothing.’
