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Dara walked to the barn, determined to encourage one of the men to tell her the truth. Somehow, she had to salvage her relationship with Matthew. Only Ezekiel was there. The other two had gone to calm the animals disturbed by the storm. Ezekiel was moving pails around to collect the rainwater dripping through the holes in the roof.
“I tell the master, fix this damn roof, but he says there’s better things to spend money on,” he said jovially, undaunted by the inconvenience.
“What things?” she asked, hovering by the barn door.
He shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“What do you know about him? Is he a good man, Ezekiel? Or has he done something terrible? Is somebody blackmailing him?”
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bsp; Ezekiel, startled by her question, nearly dropped the pail. “What? Why would you think that?”
Rattled by her improvised train of thoughts, she stuttered through her explanation. “He has money, but doesn’t spend it on the farm... And... The master found out I went up into the upper room... the bedroom, where there’s a bed... and a crib. He’s very cross with me, but I don’t know why.” She brushed aside a tumbling tear.
“Oh,” said Ezekiel. He lowered the pail. A few raindrops plopped inside the bucket.
“Has he done something bad?”
“Oh, miss, whatever makes you think that?”
“Because he was so angry.” She sank onto a bale of hay and buried her face in her hands. “I got angry, too, at his deceit, and said I was leaving. Now the storm has ended, I don’t think he means to stop me going.”
Ezekiel collected a stool and sat. He kept a good distance between them, still wary of Matthew’s warnings about fraternising with Dara. “Miss, the room you found was where he slept with his missus for five years.”
“I guessed he was married.” She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “What was she like? Did you know her?”
“Not for long, a few months. She was beautiful.”
“I see. How did they meet?”
“Well, not as you might expect. She was begging in town, poor lass, and he took pity on her and brought her here. They fell in love and married.” Ezekiel examined his hands.
Just like how she met Matthew herself, apart from the begging part. “What became of her?”
“Nothing wicked. I don’t know why you would think of such a thing, miss. She died in childbirth. The baby was stillborn. Master was heartbroken. He boarded up the room, removed the stairs, and forbade anyone to speak of her. Ever.”
“When was this?”
“A few months after me and Lemuel came to work for him. Three years ago this week.”
It explained his unusual quietness and lack of interest in Dara. He had retreated into mourning. “What became of her?”
“She was with child. Rosy-cheeked, everything was fine. Then she fell ill suddenly with a fever and terrible fits. She slipped away and never woke up. Never saw the babe. That really shook Master to the core.”
“Did her family come?”
“Family? She had none. You see, miss, she was French—”
“French!”
“One of them religious kind that were thrown out of France, and she came with her folks looking for work. They travelled from town to town. Sadly, her parents died of a fever, leaving her destitute and on the streets. Master was the only one who could understand her. She hadn’t learnt much English.”
“Matthew speaks French?” The books of poetry—they had to belong to his wife, and likely to have been brought over when her family escaped persecution.
“Aye. He’s an educated man, miss. Mainly self-taught, I believe, as a boy. French, Latin. He helped Kurt learn English, because he speaks some German too.”
“Educated,” she murmured. “He speaks so uncouthly for a man of education.” He had been reading the poetry book and fell asleep at the table, exhausted by his grief. Now she understood the bitter nature of his behaviour when she addressed his past.
