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Lucy kept her hand on his arm while she tugged at her petticoat as if it had wrinkled. “Thank you for your quick action,” she said, the usual smile in her voice. “The roads are treacherous even in my boots.” She held his arm as they walked farther along the Strand.
“There is treachery everywhere,” he said.
“I hardly think the puddle sought to kill me.”
He leaned toward her, his chest warming at her cheerful banter. “Lo, a murderer may have spread water about in hopes of making everyone slip.”
She glanced at the sky where clouds hung heavy. “I do believe you’re calling God a murderer.”
“If He is,” Greer said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “then we are all doomed.”
They turned up another lane, walking like lord and lady. It seemed Lucy could take on any role she desired.
Cranfield House looked cheerful in the sunlight. He was about to comment on its upkeep when a scream tore through the icy air. Lucy gasped, dropped his arm, and ran toward the house.
Chapter Six
“December 25th was a minor feast for the household when compared with Twelfth Night itself. Sir William Petre of Ingatestone Hall in Essex sat down to dinner on January 6, 1552 with over a hundred guests, who consumed between them sixteen raised meat pies, fifteen joints of beef, four of veal, three of pork– including a whole suckling pig– three geese, a brace each of partridge, teal, capons and coneys, a woodcock, and one dozen larks, with a whole sheep and numerous dishes of salads, vegetables, anddesserts.”
Shakespeare.org.uk
“Let him go!”Nick’s young voice had taken on the high-pitched wail of panic. As Lucy rounded the corner of Cranfield House, she saw him standing before Simmons in the snowy yard, Catherine and Alyce off to the side.
“A rooster is for consuming, young man,” Simmons yelled back. “Not for strutting around, eating, and shitting.”
“That’s what you do, and we don’t behead you,” Nick yelled, his hands in fists at his sides.
“Stop,” Lucy called and held out her arms.
Catherine clutched hands before her mouth, tears in her eyes. Alyce held her in the folds of her cloak, her hood thrown back, showing her scarred cheek. Simmons held the rooster tucked against his body, standing near a stone where he’d killed numerous chickens for her mother before.
“Simmons,” Lucy said, keeping her voice stern. “We don’t kill creatures who are pets.”
He looked at her, his gaze rising behind to Greer. “A chicken is not a pet.”
“To me, he is. His name is Xerxes,” Nick said.
“And you can’t kill Simmons either,” Catherine added. “He’s named after you.”
Lucy walked closer. “Surrender Xerxes, Simmons.” She held out her arms for the rooster whose head was bobbing left to right as if he might know the dangerous topic being discussed. Simmons had such a tight hold of him that the bird couldn’t move much else. “Once they’re named, we cannot eat them,” she said.
“I didn’t name it,” Simmons said, but he loosened his hold.
Nick ran up. “I did, and I’m keeping him.” He snatched the rooster from the old man’s arms, both men, young and old, glaring at one another.
“I will not live in a house with chickens,” Simmons yelled.
“Very understandable,” Lucy said and looked at Nick who cuddled Xerxes. The rooster was content to stay in his arms. He seemed much more like a hen than a fighting cock. “Then Nick must refurbish the coop out here.” She pointed to a wooden structure.
Nick looked at it. “But will it keep them warm?”
“If there’s still compost on the bottom from the old chickens, leave it. ’Twill keep them warm enough. But make sure there’s a place for Xerxes and Simmons, the feathered Simmons that is, to roost up off the ground. And feed them before nightfall.”
Greer walked over to the block and picked up the lethal axe. “Tie a cabbage with string and hang it inside,” he pointed to the coop, “from the ceiling. They can peck and bat at it to keep them from getting into mischief or dying from boredom.” He tucked the axe under his arm.
Lucy tilted her head at him. “You know about chickens?”
“My mother keeps a flock.” The smallest smile tipped his lips. “And she names each one.”
