“It’s good against itching,” Aoife explained.
The cook shook her head. “Look in the courtyard. It grows everywhere around here.”
“Thank you,” Aoife turned to Clara. “Would you show me the way?”
Clara led Aoife out of the kitchens, down a narrow corridor, clean but uninviting. She opened a heavy wooden door, and they stepped out into a courtyard. On one side was the compost heap, next to it scraps to be collected by the rag and bone man. In the centre, a water pump drawing from a deep well, and on the opposite wall, the weed grew, climbing up the red bricks on either side of the archway that led out to the garden. Aoife picked a few.
Now that she’d completed her task, her mind turned to the greater challenge at hand: getting food down to the village, and how to broach the topic with Clara.
Aoife made sure no one was watching or listening before she spoke. “There’s so much food here. I was wondering if we could get some out to the village.”
Clara’s face turned pale. “Lord Halverton wouldn’t like that.”
“Would he even notice?” Aoife asked. “If food meant for the pigs went elsewhere?”
Clara glanced around. “Maybe not. But if he did—”
Aoife recognised the fear in her. “I know,” she said softly. “I… it’s bad out there, Clara. Worse than you think. A few pieces of fruit, a bit of meat, it would mean everything.”
Clara twisted her hands. “I don’t even know how we’d do it. I get half a day every fortnight, that’s all. I could try to take something then, but if I’m caught…” She shook her head. “I can’t lose this job.”
Aoife’s heart sank. “No. Of course not. Forget I asked.”
Clara looked at her, worried.
“It’s all right,” Aoife said. “I’ll think of something.”
Someone coughed, and Aoife whipped her head around to look.
Alton stood in the archway, his one good eye fixed on them. Clara dropped her gaze, colour rising in her cheeks.
“I’ll walk you upstairs, miss,” Alton said evenly.
Aoife straightened. “That’s not necessary. I know the way.”
He inclined his head. “All the same.”
Clara murmured about unfinished work and slipped away. Aoife followed Alton through the narrow servant’s corridor, the air still thick with heat and steam.
They climbed the servants’ stairs in silence until Alton spoke. “You shouldn’t get her into trouble.”
Aoife glanced at him. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I know what you were trying to do,” he said. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions. Lord Halverton doesn’t forgive betrayal. He’ll hand down the harshest punishment the empire allows.”
“For taking scraps of food meant for the pigs?”
“Stealing is stealing.” Alton clenched his jaw. “you might be willing to risk your own skin. You don’t get to make that choice for anyone else.”
They reached the landing. Aoife slowed, studying him. “You like her,” she said softly.
For the first time, he faltered. “I… what makes you say that?”
“It’s all right,” Aoife said. “There’s no way Lord Halverton’s noticed.”
Alton gave a dry, uneasy laugh. “Still, we must be obvious if you’ve guessed after a day.”
They stopped outside her door. “You should give him a chance. He’s a fair master. You know where you stand. You could be content here.”
