Birdie and the Beastly Duke by Sofi Laporte

Chapter 9

After having spent the entire day in the library, Birdie retreated to her room, tired and covered in dust. She’d never felt so dirty. There were still mud flecks in her clothes, and cobwebs in her hair. She’d tried to scrub the dirt off her face, neck and arms as best as could by dipping a towel into ice-cold water from the pitcher. She fervently wished for a hot bath. But who would carry the pails of hot water? Surely not Higgins.

She’d fallen into her large, canopied bed and slept like the dead. In the middle of the night, she sat straight up in bed, her heart hammering.

What was that?

Her hands grappled for the candle, and it took her three tries to light it.

She listened intently.

The castle seemed alive at night. There were unidentifiable sounds deep within its walls.

Footsteps. Thumps. Scraping, scratching sounds.

There were surely ghosts within these walls. Birdie shivered and drew her blanket closer around her.

“Stuff and nonsense, Roberta. There are no such things as ghosts.” She padded the pillow around her head, lay down again and fell asleep.

Before any kindof refurbishing could happen to house, man, or otherwise, one needed to have man—or womanpower.

Which meant servants.

After Higgins had served another round of cold, lumpy porridge for breakfast, Birdie decided she had enough.

She pushed her spectacles up her nose and stared at the velvet purse that still lay on the table.

A plan formed in her mind.

The village. Maybe that was a place where she could get some more information.

And hire a cook.

And a maid.

And—she glanced about the room––a few girls to help clean out this place. It looked like the room hadn’t been dusted since the Middle Ages.

She would begin her role as a duchess by visiting the cottages and delivering food baskets. For this is what duchesses commonly did. Birdie liked the idea excessively.

“I need baskets, Higgins,” she told the butler as he cleared the table.

“A casket?”

“Bas-ket,” she articulated. “You know. To put things in.” She’d seen a collection of gooseberry jam jars on the shelves in the kitchen. The place certainly didn’t lack in gooseberry jam, porridge and blood sausages. She could add a batch of sugar biscuits she’d quickly made this morning, in the presence of Higgins, who’d wrung his hands in agony the entire time. She’d given him a biscuit to munch on, and then he was quiet, and a blissful smile crossed his face. She’d given him three and a plate to take up to the duke. Ever since then, she had a niggling suspicion that she’d been elevated in Higgins’ grudging respect. Suddenly, she could get anything she wanted. He’d even cleared the bookshelf away in the library—she wondered how he did it on his own. Maybe the man was stronger than he led on—and attempted some meagre dusting in the hall. Not that it had made much of a difference. She was still stuck with porridge for supper and that wouldn’t do.

The morning wasblustery and cold as Birdie marched down the path to the village. Higgins, bless his soul, had obtained two small rickety baskets from a stable somewhere. She’d cleaned them as best as she could and filled them with the food she’d got from the larder.

“If only I could add something pretty, like flowers.” But the only flowers she could see were purple thistles that grew along the stone wall. She picked several and adorned the basket with them. “It will have to do.”

She hadn’t seen Gabriel since their meeting in the library yesterday. She wondered what he did all day. What about his duties and obligations? So far, she hadn’t seen him fulfilling any ducal duties at all.

The man was deeply wounded––and not just externally. But was that a reason to wall oneself up in this stone tower? He was a duke, not Rapunzel. Though, if he kept growing that hair, he could compete with Rapunzel for sure.

Soon, Birdie reached the quaint village and stopped outside a thatched hut. A group of children were playing in the muddy street. They stopped when she approached, looking at her curiously.

“Hello there. Are your mothers at home?” Birdie asked them.

A little urchin in bare feet, with mud on her face, stuck her thumb into her mouth and nodded.

“Where does she live, my dear?”

The girl pointed to another hut further down the dirt street.

Excellent.

Birdie rapped on the door in joyful anticipation of finally being able to execute her duty as a duchess.

The door opened, and a little boy stood in front of her. He had a shock of unruly red curls, tremendous eyes and was bare-footed. He had only one arm. The sleeve of his right arm was knotted together and dangled down at his side.

Birdie beamed at him. “Hello there. Who are you?”

“Tommy.”

“Hello, Tommy. Is your mother here, perhaps?”

A woman came to the door and protectively planted her hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Good day. I’m Roberta Tal–I mean, I’m the new duchess. I married the duke yesterday. I wanted to introduce myself.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Aye. They’ve read the banns in kirk the last three Sundays.” The woman looked her up and down. She didn’t look particularly friendly.

“And who might you be?” Birdie asked brightly.

“The name’s McKenna.”

“Mrs McKenna. I have a basket for you, something small, nothing special—” Birdie handed her the basket. The woman took it reluctantly.

“I didna expect—” She interrupted herself. Evidently, Birdie didn’t fulfil her expectation of what a duchess should look like. The woman looked down at the basket.

“I hope you like this. I apologise for the selection. I made the biscuits myself. I thought, maybe the children would like them.”

A look of surprise crossed the woman’s face. “Ye made these yersel?”

“Yes. I rather enjoy baking.”

“Ye bake these yersel?” she repeated. Birdie nodded. The woman took a biscuit out and bit into it. “It’s… good.” The note of surprise in her voice grew.

“I whiled away much of my time in the kitchen where I grew up. Sometimes I helped Cook cut out biscuits. I like to add some lavender to them. It gives them this extra special taste…” Her voice petered out as she took in the woman’s abode.

It was dark and dank inside. Aside from a straw pallet where a bulky figure lay, the room had only a rickety table with two chairs and a shelf with pots. She’d never seen such poverty. Birdie tore her gaze away and smiled at the woman.

“I’m Eilidh McKenna,” the woman snapped.

“Eilidh. What a pretty name. Are these your children?” Birdie turned to the three urchins that had crowded around them, curiously looking at her. She gave them some biscuits, which they took shyly.

“Aye.”

“Eilidh, I was wondering if you could be of assistance to me. The castle is sadly understaffed. Do you know where I can find people who might be willing to help out?”

Eilidh’s eyes grew. She looked away. “No. Naebody would work… up there.”

“Eilidh!” a rough voice sounded from inside. It seemed to belong to the bulky figure lying on the bed. “Who is this?”

The figure rose from the bed and walked towards them. He was a rough-looking man.

“My husband,” Eilidh explained. “Logan, this is the new duchess. She’s brought us a basket.” Logan was tall and would have been a good-looking fellow if he groomed himself better. His auburn hair stuck out in all directions. His beard was matted and tangled. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of alcohol. Birdie took an involuntary step back.

“We don’t need no basket. We don’t need no duchess neither,” Logan snapped.

His wife pulled him back into the house. “Oh, whisht. This is for the bairns. And look, a bottle of wine.” Logan took the bottle, uncorked it and sniffed at it. He shot Birdie a mistrustful look.

“As I was telling your wife, I am looking for people to hire,” Birdie said nervously as she fiddled with her shawl.

“Nae.”

“But why?”

“I forbid it.”

“Excuse me, Mr McKenna, but it’s not up to you whether I hire people in the castle or not.”

He shrugged.

“I happen to need a maid,” Birdie continued. “A housekeeper. And a cook. And two, or three, or more people who clean up the place. You would be paid, of course.”

Eilidh’s head snapped up. “Paid?”

“Of course. Make no mistake, his Grace will pay any retainers he hires. He won’t be ungenerous. Well, I have to go. If you know anyone who might be interested in work, be sure to let me know.”

Birdie hesitated. For a moment, she hoped Eilidh would speak. But no, Eilidh shot a fearful look at her husband, who was drinking directly out of the bottle of wine.

“Nae is nae, and that is nae,” he said and burped.

Eilidh shook her head and closed the door.

Birdie sighed and turned to go.

She delivered the second basket to the reverend’s wife, who was grateful to receive it. There, too, she asked whether she could help with finding domestics. Mrs McAloy was more talkative than Eilidh.

“That will be a challenge, Your Grace. The old duke was none too popular. And the new one…” Her voice petered away. “People are afraid. Which is nonsense, of course. My husband says he’s a perfectly normal man. Despite his—you know.” She gestured with her hand to one side of her face. “He’s a recluse, though, and that doesn’t help. The people look on him with mistrust.”

Birdie nodded. “What about the old duke? What was wrong with him?”

Mrs McAloy’s face darkened. “He was an evil man. Bled the people, and the land, dry. He let the estate degenerate and now it is as you see it. The people here are poor. They have no fondness for neither old nor new duke.” Her face softened as she looked upon Birdie. “But you seem to be a sensible young woman, Your Grace. Forgive me for speaking familiarly, but you remind me of my daughter. It is kind of you to have delivered the baskets. The people here receive little kindness. God bless.”

Birdie pondered on Mrs McAloy’s words on her way back to the castle. She took a small, pebbled side-path that wound itself up the mount where the castle perched. Turning around, she saw the village nestled underneath. On the other side, the ocean stretched in front of her, calm and blue. She inhaled a big breath of fresh salt air. Life wouldn’t be too bad here, if they’d give her a chance to settle.

She heard quick footsteps and laboured breathing behind her. Birdie whirled around. It was Eilidh.

“Your Grace.” Eilidh reached her and halted, panting. Her eyes flitted back furtively to check if someone was there. Then she continued, “My sister can do it. Be yer maid. She’s worked fer a lady fer seven years. She’s clean. Can take care of a lady’s wardrobe, do her hair and all else. And I can sew. I used to be a seamstress before I married Logan, and he brought me here. I also ken someone who cooks real well. And I know some girls who’d love to earn a penny or two cleaning.”

“Eilidh, that is wonderful.” Birdie clasped Eilidh’s rough hands between hers.

“The problem is, miss, I mean, Yer Grace, that the men cannae know. Especially mine.”

“Well, that’s bound to be a problem. Whyever not?” Birdie frowned. They desperately needed money, yet they wouldn’t let the women work. How so?

Eilidh shook her head. “That’s the condition on which we can work. We can do it fer a certain time only during the day while they’re out at sea. An’ we’ve got bairns.”

Birdie nodded slowly. “The village school?”

“Nae teacher. The school master’s left after a tiff a year ago because no one could pay him.”

Birdie patted the woman’s rough hands.

“Don’t you worry about the children. I’ll make sure they’ll be taken care of. Bring whoever is willing to work tomorrow morning.”

“Yes ma’am. Yer Grace.” The woman bobbed her head, bowed, and ran back down the hill.

Birdie’s brain set in motion. She returned to the castle feeling that she had accomplished something that day.