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“Finished,” I informed Broan.

“Dump it into the pot on the hearth.” He motioned toward a stewpot on the hearth stones just outside of the fireplace.

I complied and then used the hook to move the arm holding the boiling wash water from its place over the heat.

“Shall I start scrubbing the dishes?” I asked.

“Let it cool. Best do the final wipe-down of the common room tables.”

The door to the dining area swung open as Misha backed through with her arms full of dishes. “Master High and Mighty Kent has pronounced us closed. He is seeing to locking the front door.”

“Someone needs to let Sims know so he can close the barn doors.” I filled the washing pail and added a handful of soap flakes.

Misha grimaced as she stacked the dirty dishes on the table next to the slop pail. “I have to scrape these. Rue can do it.”

Broan paused in chopping the herbs for the cottage pie to round and glare at Misha. “And when will she be able to do that? You only have to scrape those plates and leave. Rue still has scrubbing, washing the dishes, and the mopping in here to do. Stop being such a laze-about and go speak with Sims. Take the lad his meal while you are going.” He motioned toward the bowl on the mantle above the fire where a portion of venison stew sat. “It is already cold thanks to you. He shouldn’t have to wait any longer to eat. The boy is already skin and bones.”

Misha pouted. “But Grant has promised to walk me home.”

“So finish your work and then he can.”

“I don’t want to keep him.” Misha tilted her head becomingly toward Broan with a wheedling smile.

“Then stop delaying.” Broan returned to chopping, his knife’s annoyed staccato discouraging any more conversation.

Misha glared at me the moment the cook’s back was turned.

I shrugged and backed through the door into the common room. Broan ruled the kitchen, and as the senior employee, he could dictate to all of us to some extent when Master Hobb wasn’t around.

Moments later, the back door slammed. Apparently, Misha had taken Broan’s advice.

“Everything well?” Kent asked, nodding toward the door.

“Misha tried to give me more work, and Broan overruled her. She isn’t pleased.” I began wiping down the tables one last time before putting the chairs up on them so I could spot clean the floors now that the dining room was officially closed.

Without a word, Kent came around behind me and started putting the chairs up.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He ignored me and started on the table I had just finished as I left it. “I talked with my mother.”

“Oh?” I glanced over my shoulder as I swiped at a particularly sticky spot.

“We think you should come live with us.”

“What?” I straightened in surprise and frowned at him.

He turned over the last chair and carefully set it on the tabletop while studiously avoiding my gaze. “Mother needs more help keeping the house, especially in the garden.”

“She needs a live-in caretaker?” I thought she was fae. Peering up into what I could see of Kent’s features under his hood, I tried to judge his age. He appeared to be in his early thirties, but fae aged differently than humans. As I knew intimately, being a young fae myself. By my best guess, I was somewhere in my late twenties to early thirties by human reckoning, but it was hard to be certain. Considering I had no recollection of my birthdate, I could only go on how old I had appeared to be when my mother left me on the foundling steps. Surely his mother wasn’t old enough to need a nurse.

“No, I was hoping for more of a companion for her and for someone to tend the garden. Her magic isn’t as compatible as we hoped with keeping the plants alive. A nymph would probably have more success.”

I narrowed my eyes at him a moment before resuming my work.

“We wouldn’t be able to pay you much, but you wouldn’t go hungry, and you would have a safe place to sleep.”

I considered his offer as I scrubbed. “What about Mela?”