Page 8 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Chapter 3

Sheltering Trouble.

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, 22nd January 1816

“Izzy! Izzy, Izzy, busy, busy.”

Izzy groaned, swatting away the little hand that poked at her eyelid.

“Wakey, wakey. Time to rise and shine!”

Caspar, a five-year-old bundle of energy and a determined little devil, delicately prised her eyelid open, peering in at her. Izzy huffed out a breath. “Good morning, Caspar.”

“Why are you still sleeping, slug-a-bed?”

Pushing his hand from her face, Izzy turned her bleary gaze to the clock beside her bed. “Blast!” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed as she realised she’d overslept. It was gone eight, and she’d meant to rise earlier, not later, so she could creep into the attic before the house was awake.

“Oooh. Izzy. You said a bad word,” Caspar crowed in delight, rushing from the room, no doubt to tattle on her to Mrs Mabbs.

Staggering from the bed, sleep still clinging to her mind like cobwebs, Izzy went to the nightstand and washed with as much haste as possible. She danced about on the freezing floorboards, her skin prickling with gooseflesh, and was only too glad to dry herself and get dressed. It was strange to consider that Boreas slept directly overhead, and she cast a dubious glance towards the ceiling. Izzy had chosen that corner specifically so only she would hear if he moved about or made a sound, but she heard nothing, and anxiety clutched at her heart.

What if she’d botched cleaning the wound. What if he’d torn the stitches, and it had started bleeding, or infection had set in while she slept? What if he was dead?

“Izzy!”

Mrs Adie’s strident voice bellowed from downstairs, making Izzy jump. Forcefully telling herself she was being dramatic for no good reason, Izzy rammed her feet into her slippers and hurried from the room.

“What is wrong with everyone today?” Mrs Adie demanded as Izzy ran into the dining room and sat down with a thud.

Mrs Mabbs was helping little Daisy to eat a boiled egg, spooning the golden yolk into the child’s open mouth. Caspar looked up, grinning at Izzy.

“Izzy said a bad word,” he remarked conversationally before returning his attention to piling jam upon a thick piece of bread.

Mrs Adie tutted, her hands resting on her ample hips. “It don’t surprise me a whit. The reverend went out at the crack of dawn without a by your leave, no mention of not being here for breakfast, and you decided to sleep the day away! And here I am with this lovely breakfast going to waste with no one to eat it!”

“Beg pardon, Mrs Adie,” Izzy said, hastily piling her plate with three times as much bacon and eggs as she’d usually eat, wondering how she could get it to Boreas. “I’ll do it justice, you’ll see. I’m famished.”

Mrs Adie sent a doubtful glance towards Izzy’s plate as she heaped it with fried bread. “Good Lord above. You’ll eat all that?”

Izzy took a large bite of bread and chewed, nodding eagerly. Swallowing, she gave the woman a bright smile. “I’m starved, I swear.”

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes, considering Izzy. “You’ve not got worms, I hope.”

Izzy choked as Caspar howled with laughter.

“Certainly not!” she said in disgust. “I’m just hungry.”

“Hmph, so you say, but you look peaked, if you ask me. Don’t she look peaked, Mrs Mabbs?”

Mrs Mabbs paused, the spoon suspended in mid-air in front of Daisy, who held her mouth open, waiting.

“Pale, certainly. There’s a putrid sore throat going about. Could be that.”

Daisy made an indignant sound, and Mrs Mabbs directed the spoon to its destination.

“I’m fine. Just hungry.” Izzy scowled at the two women and took another bite of the bread.

“Well, so long as it don’t go to waste,” Mrs Adie grumbled, bustling out of the room.