Mally smiled and then bit the inside of her cheek. She knew her mother didn’t want to hear what she wanted to say. In the silence, Mally stared into her chipped mug, trying to think of a good way to broach the subject on her mind.
“No goats?” Susie asked suddenly.
Mally looked up and shook her head.
“No goats.”
“When the beans come in we’ll be fighting to keep them out of the garden.” Her eyes were focused out the window, the mug of tea still held in her hands.
“At least I won’t have to hike up that hill anymore,” Mally replied with half a smile, trying to lighten the mood. Mally licked her lips nervously and suddenly said in a rush, “I still don’t understand why we can’t go to the city.”
“We’ve been over that,” Susie replied firmly, still staring out the window.
“But we could sell at their market!” Mally argued for what seemed the hundredth time. “Allen’s told me about it—”
“Did he also tell you that the knights charge entry?” Susie rebuffed. “That they are just as likely to rob you blind as they are to beat you? We would be more than lucky to make any money in Bosc.” Susie took a sip, her tone steady and even. “Allen is a fool to go into that city.”
“But we need the money,” Mally said quietly. When her mother didn’t respond she forged onward. “The market in Bosc is four times the size of the one here. And there are wealthy people there. Or I could get a job at one of the shops—”
“I need you to pick mushrooms for dinner. I’m making soup,” Susie interrupted firmly. She put her mug down and rose from the table, turning her back on Mally as she faced the fireplace.
Mally heard the change of subject very clearly and slumped in her chair. Her mother would never let her go to Bosc no matter how badly they were in need of money.
At the words “mushroom hunt,” Bonnie perked up and started thumping her tail against the floor.
“You may want to get going soon,” Susie advised, speaking to the crackling logs. “It looks like it may rain. If you can find them, get black bonnets.”
Biting back further arguments, Mally rose from the table.
“Come on, Bonnie.”
And with Bonnie behind her, Mally walked back through the door and headed down the road in the direction she had come, but instead of continuing down the road, she turned sharply to the right at a small opening in the hedge. On the other side was a field and Bonnie galloped on ahead, snapping at bees. Mally followed, heading straight for a small forest at the opposite end.
Mally was a well-trained mushroom hunter. She had been taught by her father, Jonathan Biddle, who had passed away when Mally was fifteen. Mally’s skills were well known in Blighten. She was often asked by people in the small town to find them certain mushrooms in exchange for meat or cheese. Mally didn’t mind. She enjoyed finding them. It reminded her of her father, always bringing home some strange fungi and them discussing its characteristics at length over steaming mint tea or, if they were lucky and managed to hide their gold pieces from Gibbs, hot cocoa.
She and Bonnie were under the canopy of the trees now, and, glancing up at the steadily darkening sky, she quickly started her search. Black bonnets were smallish mushrooms, jet black in color with slightly pointed caps. They were usually found at the bases of old oaks, but Mally had once spotted some that had fruited under a fallen tree trunk. A sharp wind whipped suddenly through the trees, making Mally’s skirt flap violently around her ankles.
Speeding up, she headed for a cluster of large oak trees that were a little farther into the forest. She hoped that there would be enough black bonnets there to satisfy her mother and that she’d be able to get back before the downpour. Smiling grimly, she thought of the goats. They won’t be happy at all about getting their hooves wet. They’ll probably be waiting by the barn when I get back. Then she thought of Gibbs and for a moment savored a mental picture of him catching his death in the rain.
“Oh, excellent!” Mally cried suddenly, for she had just come to the cluster of oaks and as she had expected, little black mushrooms littered the ground. Mally crouched down and started to pick, but all too quickly she had to stop. The majority of the black bonnets were past their prime—shriveled with age. She rose, called for Bonnie, and headed for another promising spot by the road that ran through the forest. Mally glanced up at the sky again as a few large raindrops landed on her nose.
By the time she had spotted the road, the rain had increased at a shocking rate. Her hair was plastered to her face. She thought about turning back, but she was nearly there. Slipping and sliding down a hill, she crouched down by a smaller oak and inspected its roots. The rain was pounding now; she could barely even see the road, fifteen feet ahead of her. But she was in luck. A large group of young black bonnets clung closely to the trunk of the oak. She loaded her pockets as a sopping wet Bonnie jogged onto the road and sniffed a rabbit hole.
Mally knew what was coming a split second before it happened. She heard over the heavy rain the sound of hammering hooves.
“BONNIE!” she yelled, leaping to her feet.
But the rain was too dense for the horse or its rider to see Bonnie until it was too late. Bonnie yelped and dashed away from the road; the horse tried to stop, slipped, and tumbled off the side of the road.
Heart in her throat, Mally slid down the rest of the hill to the road. A trembling Bonnie sat crouched behind a boulder. The horse had already half risen by the time Mally had reached where it had fallen. It snorted and jerked away from her, but Mally had her eyes on the rider. He lay in the mud, unmoving. Dropping to her knees, she searched for a pulse. He had one.
Mally grabbed the horse’s reigns and tried to calm him. Frantically, she looked up and down the road, hoping someone would materialize through the curtains of rain. She’d even be glad to see Gibbs’ round form appear, but no one did. Looking back down at the pale man, Mally squared her shoulders and tried to lift him from the ground. After a few failed attempts and much straining and gasping, she managed to get him back onto the horse’s back, lying awkwardly across the saddle. Mally quickly made sure that he was breathing. She hoped feverishly that nothing was broken, that he had only hit his head hard on the road.
“Bonnie!” Mally called, and with a firm grip on the reigns and one hand steadying the rider, she led them slowly back to the field, the rain lashing them violently.
5 The Spy
Ivan thought his skull was smashed. He groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in a small, simple room. The curtains over a square window had been drawn back, revealing the torrential rain outside. He could hear the wind whistling and he suddenly remembered. He’d fallen off Arrow. A blasted dog. A stupid, stupid hound had run in front of Arrow and he had fallen off. He’d never fallen off! And the stab of pain that went through his skull only emphasized his wounded pride. He tried to sit up but gasped in pain and quickly lowered back down. By the burning in his ankle, he guessed he had twisted it along with cracking open his skull. If he got his hands on that mongrel he’d skin it!
The door suddenly opened, and Ivan jerked his head around, but quickly regretted it as stars shot before his eyes.
“You’re awake, I was worried you wouldn’t be ‘till tomorrow.”
“Sorry?” Ivan asked through gritted teeth, trying to steady his sight, and when he did, he found a young girl with thick, curly hair sitting in a chair beside the bed. She had freckles on her cheeks. They stood out clearly on her colorless skin.
“How do you feel?” she asked, and the worry in her voice made it clear to Ivan that she had somehow witnessed his fall. He noticed that her hair looked very damp.
“Fine,” he said, trying to sound indifferent as he lowered his head back onto the pillow. “Just a few bruises.”
“You’re lying,” and the matter-of-fact tone caught Ivan by surprise. “I saw you grimace when I came in.”
“So it’s a little bit more than a few bruises,” Ivan snapped,
annoyed. “Who are you?”
“Mally Biddle. I’m sorry that Bonnie frightened your horse. He’s in the—”
“That was your dog? Can’t you keep better track of that animal?” Ivan barked in anger.
Mally seemed to bristle, color returning to her cheeks.
“Why can’t you ride slower in the rain?” she snapped back. “Was a ghost after you?”
“Mally?”
The door opened again and a woman walked in.
“He’s awake, Mother,” Mally stated, the lack of enthusiasm clear in her voice. She rose and left the room.
“You must excuse my daughter, sir,” the woman apologized after Mally had shut the door with a bang. “She has been very worried about you.”
Ivan didn’t respond, but allowed her to see to his cuts and ankle.
“You needn’t worry about your horse. He was uninjured in the fall. My daughter put him up in our stable. As for your ankle, I’m sorry to say that you shouldn’t walk on it for a few days.”
“Thank you, madam, but I need to be somewhere.”
“Nonsense, you’re not going to be able to walk much less ride with a foot like that. You’re staying here.”
Ivan opened his mouth to argue but shut it, nodding.
“My name’s Susie Biddle, by the way, and my daughter is Mally. We’ll bring you up some dinner shortly, mister…?”
“Finley. Ivan Finley.”
“If you need anything, Mr. Finley, call for one of us.”
Susie walked across the room and closed the door gently behind her.
Down below in the kitchen, Mally sat with her arms and legs crossed so tightly she looked like she was tied in knots. She scowled fiercely at the fireplace. Raindrops were steadily falling through the chimney to land on a heavy, black kettle sitting on a crackling fire. The drops hissed and sputtered on their landing. A very quiet Bonnie lay curled under the table.
What manners, Mally thought savagely, her foot jerking up and down, I’ve met pigs who behaved better.
The sound of footsteps reached her ears and Susie Biddle walked through the doorway. She smiled in amusement at the sight of Mally and took the kettle off the fire after checking on Mally’s clothes drip-drying by the fire.
“I’ll make a cup of tea,” said Susie, turning to a canister where she stored the tea leaves. “You were drenched to the bone.”
“I feel fine,” Mally growled, glaring at the fire. “And aren’t we getting low? We shouldn’t be wasteful about it.”
“Have one anyway. Oh. Oh my.”
“What is it?” asked Mally, turning in her chair. Her mother stood very still, the lid of the canister in one hand, staring down into its depths. She put her hand into the pot and pulled out five gold coins.
“Did you put these there?” she asked, turning to Mally.
“No,” said Mally, startled, staring at the gold in shock. “Where would I have gotten five gold pieces? Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know,” Susie said slowly. She closed her fingers over the gold in her hand. For a moment she was silent and then as if she had suddenly decided something, she put the gold in her apron pocket and turned to the stove.
“I’m going to take Mr. Ivan Finley some soup—”
The reminder of their rude guest turned Mally’s mood sour.
“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to him,” she grumbled. “He’s as rude as a—”
“—and I want you to treat him as our guest. He’ll be here for a few days.”
“A few days?!” Mally gasped.
“At least,” Susie nodded firmly.
Mally watched her ladle up a bowl of steaming soup in furious horror. The little black mushrooms she had picked less than an hour ago bobbed up and down as Susie carried it from the room and up the stairs.
Mally snorted.
“Don’t know why she’s trying,” she fumed to Bonnie. “He’ll be completely ungrateful, I’m sure.”
Mally tried not to think about their surprise guest, but her mother kept making her send up his meals and when Ivan requested pen and paper for a letter to his family to tell them not to worry, it was Mally who had to deliver them. Mally had a strong suspicion that her mother was trying to entice an apology from her. The few days that her mother had said he would stay turned into two weeks (“It really is a nasty sprain,” her mother had explained to a scowling Mally).
But by the fourth day of his recovery, Mally found herself thinking of Ivan more often than she liked. She’d brush it off like a disgruntled hen.
“So what if he’s good looking,” she’d mutter to herself as she pulled up carrots from their vegetable patch. “Lots of people are good looking.”
But he made her laugh and her palms would become irritatingly sweaty when he looked at her. She didn’t need to be pestered to take him his tea anymore. She started steeping it herself and carefully carrying it and a few biscuits to his room.
“What is this tea?” Ivan once asked, making an odd face after he had sipped from his cup.
“Mint tea,” Mally had answered, and instead of feeling herself bristle at his expression, she had felt her stomach twist—as if worried he didn’t like it. “It’s what we drink. I suppose you’re not used to it.”
It was clear that Ivan came from wealth.
“I think I’m starting to like it,” was his reply, which sent Mally’s insides into a flutter.
She knew that it was stupid to be attracted to Ivan. The moment his ankle was healed, he would be off on his horse, back to wherever he came from or wherever he was off to. She understood the difference between their social spheres.
But Ivan didn’t seem to mind her visits to his room, bringing tea and meals. He never seemed to find their conversations irksome. He actually, if Mally dared to believe it, seemed to enjoy her company.
***
Ivan couldn’t believe his luck. Twisting his foot on a trip to see Coletta! It didn’t put him any closer to finding his spy, but avoiding Coletta was worth it. He could only imagine how his dear mother was taking the news—his letter would have reached them by now. And to have landed in a simple yet comfortable home with the best food he had ever tasted. Except the tea. That was disgusting. But he had told Mally otherwise, not wanting to hurt her feelings.
Ivan rested his head back on his pillow and tapped a finger to his lips. Mally. She was an interesting girl. Ivan hadn’t met many girls like her.
There was a soft knock on the door and Ivan sat up straight. It was time for his daily tea and visit from Mally.
“Come in,” said Ivan and as expected, Mally stepped into the room with a tray of that horrible tea, but also with Susie’s phenomenal cookies and biscuits.
“Hi. Mom just told me that your ankle is much better,” Mally said. She set the tray on his lap and took her usual seat by the bed. Ivan didn’t get to see her in the morning as she had jobs to do. Something about goats, he thought.
“So she said,” Ivan agreed, stirring some honey into his chipped mug. “It feels much better. But I’m not complaining. I’m glad I got this sprain when I did—I should thank your dog.”
Mally looked startled.
“Why—”
“My mother sent me to Halspeare,” Ivan explained.
“Why don’t you want to go to Halspeare?” Mally asked.
Ivan swallowed some tea and picked up one of the cookies off the tray.
“Because the only reason she wanted me to go was to get me to marry a Miss Coletta Smith who lives there.”
An odd flush spread over Mally’s cheeks at Ivan’s words.
“Oh.”
“But I have absolutely no intention of marrying Coletta or any one else for that matter,” Ivan continued, pretending he hadn’t noticed her blush.
At his words, Mally perked up immediately.
“Try one of the fig biscuits,” she recommended. “We had to hide them from Gibbs when he came collecting taxes.”
“He’s making his roun
ds, is he?” Ivan asked, taking the indicated biscuit. “Big, fat beetle.”
Mally laughed and Ivan grinned.
“I don’t like him at all—him or the other knights,” Mally said with relish. “I hate them.”
Ivan’s ears perked up at that.
“My mom’s terrified of them,” Mally continued. “She won’t let me go to Bosc to find work even though we need it. I don’t know what we’ll do through the winter.”
The conversation had taken an unpleasant turn, and Mally seemed to have realized how bitter she sounded for she suddenly grinned widely and rose.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, her voice merry again. She lifted the empty tray. “We’re making stewed hen.”
Ivan nodded and watched the door long after she had closed it, thinking.
Shortly thereafter, Ivan’s ankle was healed enough that he could walk. He had met Bonnie up close, and because Mally had been watching, patted her on the head. He liked Mally. She wasn’t Coletta at all, that was for sure. There was a strength about her that he liked … that he admired. Ivan still hadn’t forgotten their conversation about the knights. It had set his mind in motion. Mally looked just the part for a servant. There wasn’t anything flashy about her. She was a farm girl. Ivan bet that, dressed in a servant’s uniform, she’d look like she had always been a servant. She knew hard work. She hated the knights. She wanted to see them gone. Maybe, just maybe …
The next day, Ivan woke refreshed and feeling completely normal. After Susie had inspected his ankle and deemed him fit enough to ride, Ivan nearly skipped down the stairs. But the grin on his face slid off as he looked at the empty kitchen.
“Where’s Mally?” he asked Susie, who had followed him down the stairs.
“Trying to get the goats to come back.”
“But didn’t she do that yesterday?”
“She does it everyday,” and Susie smiled at the look on Ivan’s face. “If you want to meet her, she’s probably given up by now and is on her way back. Ah, ah, ah!” she said forcefully as he started for the door. “Not until you’ve eaten.”
The Tale of Mally Biddle Page 5