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She flinched away. “It is well enough.” Turning toward Yurtin’s abandoned table, she started to clear away the dishes.

“Leave the cottage pie,” I advised. “Food shouldn’t go to waste. I will keep it for you, and you can eat it after your shift.”

“But you will be paying for it,” she protested.

“Do you have an objection to me buying you food?”

Her features tightened as she attempted to hide her emotions, but I could strangely feel her confusion and concern as if she was sharing her thoughts with me. “It would put me further in your debt.”

“There is no debt between friends.” I took the plate from the table and retreated to my corner as Misha followed Rue into the kitchen. Covering the food with an empty dish, I set it to the side and resumed my vigil.

When Rue emerged from the kitchen with her usual pail of soapy water and rag, Misha followed with a fresh mug of cider.

The farmers bantered and heckled Misha mildly before finishing their meal and paying their bills. By all appearances, the storm had passed. Yet something nagged at my senses, though I couldn't place the source.

Something was wrong.

Rue

“You little twit.” Misha hissed as she joined me at the sideboard. “Think you have caught the eye of the handsome Master Kent, do you? More fool you. Men like him never go for the little mice. They all like women of the world.”

Grabbing a fistful of the spoons I had dried, she dumped them into the bin and then began folding and unfolding napkins in a show of uselessness.

Rolling my eyes at her as I bent over my current stack of wet spoons, I kept my tongue. I had learned long ago, if I just kept quiet, Misha would talk herself into silence, contented that she had lectured me into submission. Not that I was submitting to anything she said.

And not that anything she had said was true. I suspected Kent’s reasons had more to do with his blood than his appearance.

“He is a handsome man. I glimpsed that easily enough despite the darkness out back.” Misha sighed. “Why would he ever hide that face beneath a hood? I will never understand it. I knew he must be hiding something always keeping his face obscured and with that beard, but never did I dream it was such a handsome face.” She let out a sigh, moved the mangled napkin to the folded pile, and reached for a fresh one. “Why hide it? If I were as pretty as he is handsome, I would flaunt it. Think of the baubles and treasures I could wheedle out of Leshewn if I looked like that.”

“Not everyone likes attention,” I observed.

Misha scoffed. “Attention gets you things.”

“Not all of them good.” My wrist ached and some movements hurt far more than they should. I doubted it was broken, but my skin had already begun turning colors. Tugging my sleeve down, I endeavored to cover the evidence of arguing with Yurtin, but from the prickling sensation between my shoulders, I suspected that she had already noted my efforts.

“Nonsense!” Misha glanced around before leaning close and lowering her voice. “Remember mad Master Linu? He gave me a brass chain for a kiss last spring. I sold it and bought enough cloth for that lovely kirtle I wore to the last festival. Every man wished me well and bought me food and drink if I would sit with them while I ate it.”

Before she could continue to list the benefits of such attention, a final customer appeared. It was the blacksmith’s son, which meant Misha didn’t want me anywhere in sight. She wished for him to propose eventually, but only after she had had her fun first.

Retreating to the kitchen, I helped the cook with preparing the food for the next day’s meals. Favoring my injured wrist, my work wasn’t as swift as usual. Or as accurate.

Broan patiently tolerated my clumsiness until I knocked a bowl of unshelled peas from the table’s edge, scattering them across the floor. I immediately stooped and began scooping the pea pods back into the bowl. Now they would require a fresh washing before I shelled them.

“What is wrong with you today?” Broan stepped over me as he crossed to the fireplace to heat a fresh pot of water to wash the heap of dishes that was my next task. “You are never so clumsy or so foolish as to pick fights with customers. Did your moppet keep you up last night?”

“Mela has been sleeping fine since Mistress Prout let me close the door on our cupboard. If it is open, Mela wakes the entire house with her night terrors.” I winced when I unheedingly put weight on my injured arm. Readjusting my weight to my other hand, I reached for a handful of peas from the pile Broan swept toward me.

“Is Prout still threatening to toss the girl out?”

I grimaced as I scooped up the last of the peas. “She still grouses, but she can’t. I made it clear. If Mela goes, I go.” And the incoming money I earned went as well.

Kent’s observation that I was being exploited teased at my thoughts. I suspected he was correct, but that didn’t change the fact I had no alternative. Even if I found a new job, Mela and I needed a safe place to sleep, which a new position wouldn’t necessarily provide. I had already asked Master Hobb to hire me directly, but he hesitated. The arrangement with Mistress Prout was long-standing. Seven other foundlings had served at the Hart and Hare over the years. Of them all, I had served in the position the longest, but that didn’t mean he wanted to jeopardize Prout placing another foundling in his establishment if I left.

As I sat shelling freshly washed peas into a bowl for the morrow’s cottage pie, I mentally tallied all the places where I had already sought work. If I worked a second job for a few hours every morning, I might save enough to rent a corner of a room or storage shed for Mela and myself.

But even if that worked out, I would still have to find something to occupy Mela while I worked. Right now, the seven-year-old cleaned and fetched for Mistress Prout all day along with all the other young children. She needed an education and time to play, along with age-appropriate work to keep her hands busy.

I frowned down into my bowl of mostly shelled peas. If only Mistress Prout hadn’t dismissed the tutor who once came thrice a week to teach the residents of the foundling house their letters and numbers. Pressing my lips together, I dropped the last of the peas into the bowl and the shell into the pile on the table next to me. I couldn’t save all the children.