Margaret blew the wisps of hair from her face. This was harder than she thought it would be. Much harder, and much more emotionally draining than she’d expected. She’d cried every night the first week they were at the Silvica cottage.
She came into the kitchen to Frances feeding her father. “Will you be all right if I ride into the village proper to find a healer for Papa?”
Frances nodded, wiping food from her father’s mouth. “Of course, my lady. Take your time—the fresh air will do you good.”
Clearing her throat, Margaret smoothed her skirts. Apparently, Frances had heard her crying in the night. “Right, well, I’ll be back before lunch.” She kissed her father’s forehead before going to the stables.
“Where’s Duchess?” Margaret asked when she didn’t see her horse—or any horses for that matter.
Hanson stood quickly. “I put her in the pasture while I was working on the stalls, my lady.” He put down his mallet and wiped his hands on his apron. “I can get her if you need to go somewhere.”
“If you would, please.” Margaret pulled her riding gloves on and sat on a haybale to wait.
Margaret closed her eyes, sighing. She should have gotten Duchess herself. There would come a time when Hanson had ro run an errand for her, and she should know how to wrangle her own horse.
Next time.
She’d do it next time; she was already struggling enough with the changes, moving to the country. There was only so much she could take in the day.
When Hanson finished saddling Duchess, Margaret stood. “Thank you, Hanson—I’ll be back soon.” She mounted her horse with his help and nudged her onward.
The sky was a light gray that looked like it could snow in the coming weeks. There was a slight chill in the air, but not enough that she thought it would make them light the fires when she got home. It didn’t take her long to get to the village proper; it was only a twenty minute ride on Duchess.
There weren’t many people going about, just a few women grabbing their shopping for the day. Margaret scanned the row of businesses as she walked Duchess through. She found the healer’s shop at the end of the row and dismounted in front of it, tying her horse to the hitching post.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, running her hand down Duchess’s neck.
Margaret walked into the shop, grimacing when bells above her rang. Surely, there was a more subtle way to announce one’s presence to the healers. The storefront was empty, however, and no one came forth. She furrowed her brow—should there not be at least an apprentice running the shop? “Hello?”
She started when the curtain separating the front and back whipped open, revealing a harried looking man in a brown robe. She started to blink rapidly the longer he stared at her silently. Shouldn’t he be saying…something?
“Yes?” he demanded.
Margaret pursed her lips. “I’m looking for a healer for my father.”
“Can you pay?”
Margaret’s mouth fell slightly open, and she leaned forward as her brows furrowed deeper. “I beg your pardon?”
“Can you pay?” The healer said each word slowly and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Sir, I’m Lady Margaret Doremis, daughter to the Count of Dorcia, and I’ll thank you to change your attitude,” she snapped.
Another healer appeared from behind the curtain and quickly bowed to her. “My lady, please forgive him; he does not typically talk to any customers.”
“As he shouldn’t.” She glared at him, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. She resisted the urge to shoo him away. “Are you willing to help, Healer…?”
“Frederickson, my lady. Healer Frederickson.” He shoved the other healer into the back. “And that was Healer Merrick, so you know who to avoid in the future.”
“As I said, Healer Frederickson, I’m looking for someone to care for my father.”
“We’d be happy to help, madam.” He dug under the counter and pulled out a piece of parchment. “What ails him?”
“He’s had a series of strokes and can no longer walk or speak, and he suffers from a palsy brought on by the strokes.” Margaret rolled her bottom lip under her teeth. “Is this something you’d be equipped to help with?”
Healer Frederickson looked alarmed. “When did he last have an episode?”
“A while now,” she said slowly while she thought, “a little over a month, I’d say.” Not since her mother left, but she wasn’t going to tell the healer that sort of personal information. She didn’t want gossip flying around about them of her mother abandoning her sick husband because it became too much.
“I’d like to examine him if I could, my lady.” The healer grabbed a satchel and loaded a few items before stepping from behind the counter. “Will you lead the way?”
Margaret let out a frustrated huff, throwing down a burned bannock. “I can’t do it,” she complained. She’d taken to cleaning much easier than cooking. For whatever reason, she could not wrap her head around it.
“You’ve put the bannocks too close to the fire, my lady. They’re going to burn every time.”
Margaret sighed heavily. “This is hopeless. I’ll never learn how to cook in enough time.”
Giving her a sympathetic look, Frances said, “You have to learn, my lady. We might not always be here when you need something.”
Margaret fell silent as she measured out the flour for another batch of bannocks. If she couldn’t master something as simple as this, she should give up on her ambition of taking care of her father and having a simple life. She knew there were times he wished he could go back to the days where it was just his family and no servants, and she wanted to give that to him again. It would make him happy, she knew. Court life had worn on him. It was likely why he got sick in the first place; the stress of the political games they had to play constantly nagged at him. Even having people wait on him stressed him more than it should.
She formed the dough and kneaded it until it sprang back at her. Next she greased her pan and put it next to the fire.
Frances sighed before saying, “Remember to put your hand over the pan to check the heat, my lady.”
“Thank you, Frances,” Margaret said as she divided the dough.
Margaret shaped the bannocks and put two in the pan, watching them closely. She saw them swell slightly with the heat and turned them. She grinned when she saw the other side was golden and not burned. “I did it!”
“Not until you’ve got both sides, my lady,” Frances reminded Margaret.
Margaret glared at her.
“You’re doing very well,” Frances added quickly.
Margaret pulled the bannocks out of the pan and let out a small squeal when she saw they were perfect. She continued until she’d finished the batch, more of them turning out right than not. “What’s next?”
“We’ll make some eggs, and bacon, depending on how you feel after the eggs,” Frances said. “I want you to do the eggs on your own, though.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything at all?”
Frances shook her head.
“Not even where everything is?” Margaret asked.
“How long have you been living here, and you don’t know where basic supplies are?” Frances raised her brows, crossing her arms over her chest. “None of us will leave you if you can’t care for yourself, my lady.”
Margaret’s cheeks burned hot. They had arrived before the winter started, and spring was starting to creep in; she’d been there long enough to know where everything was. Feeling dressed down, she searched the kitchen for all the supplies. Twenty minutes later, she had everything she needed and avoided looking at the annoyed Frances. Maybe she was right, and Margaret should call for more servants. At this rate, she was likely to starve her and father to death if Frances had to leave for more than a week. She whisked the eggs until they looked mixed, if a little foamy, and tossed a spoonful of butter in the hot pan.
She looked to Frances, but Frances only looked impassive.
Shrugging, Margaret added the eggs to the flood of butter melted in the pan and delighted in the searing sound. She stirred quickly, but the eggs were already starting to look wrong. They were brown and runny. These didn’t look like any she’d seen before, and when she thought it was finished, she pulled it off the heat.
Frances moved closer to Margaret and looked at the pan. “My lady…I don’t know what those are, but they’re not eggs anymore.”