Page 59 of A Secret Correspondence
The taproom smelled of rich meat and freshly baked bread. She was tempted to remain for a meal, and her stomach could sense it, gurgling its agreement. A handful of patrons sat at the tables, but they were otherwise empty.
Mrs. Leeks noticed her straightaway and crossed the dim room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her frizzy blonde hair was fading to gray and scraped back into a knot. She looked tired but well.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Leeks,” Marguerite said. “I have your…items.” She passed over the brown paper-wrapped parcel containing two new chemises.
The woman took it without so much as a blush. “Come with me. Your food is in the kitchen.”
Marguerite’s stomach rumbled again. Mrs. Leeks glanced down at it, lifting an eyebrow. “You want to stay for some ham?”
“There’s no need. I am about to receive ham from you now, I think.”
“Not cooked, you won’t.”
Weary exhaustion bent Marguerite’s shoulders. “Perhaps something small, then. I haven’t the time to fix anything.”
“I’ll wrap it for you to take with you. How does that sound?”
“Very practical. Thank you, Mrs. Leeks. Our arrangement is working nicely for me. It is so difficult for me to make time to go to the market.”
“You’ve no need, dear. Not when I send my boys anyway.” She hefted a full basket and plopped it down in front of Marguerite. “Now wait a moment.”
Marguerite looked at the overflowing basket holding all manner of fruits, vegetables, and meats. She was certain it contained more than the money she provided could pay for. Next time she sewed for Mrs. Leeks, she would need to include something additional as well.
“Here you are,” Mrs. Leeks said, holding a paper-wrapped bundle forward. “Not much, but you look tired, dear.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well. What do I owe you?”
Mrs. Leeks puffed a stray hair from her face, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
Marguerite tried to give it back. “I cannot accept.”
“You will. It is my way of thanking you. I do not have the time to come and be measured and choose fabrics and all that rubbish, mind. You do me a great service, and I’ll show my gratitude in the only way I can.”
The woman was formidable, her wide eyes brooking no argument. Marguerite swallowed the emotion clouding her throat. “Thank you.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Mrs. Leeks dug in her pocket and lifted out a letter, sealed with a name written on the front. “Someone asked my boys in the market to bring this to you. Must have known they were from Harewood, I suppose.”
Marguerite accepted the letter, trying to ease her shaky hand. She turned it over and recognized the hurried scrawl at once. A chill swept through her body, but she did her best to keep her voice even. “Who was it? Did they say?”
“They didn’t know the lad.”
Marguerite could have cursed. Of course, he would sent a boy to deliver the note. The man himself was clearly too clever to reveal his face. She tucked the note into her pocket and lifted the heavy basket with two hands. “Thank you, Mrs. Leeks.”
“You come by anytime you’re hungry, you hear? I will feed you.”
Marguerite nodded, dipping a curtsy before leaving the inn. Warmth permeated her belly from her neighbor’s kindness, and she could not deny the friendship this woman showed her. Perhaps Harewood had supplied more companionship for Marguerite than she had previously given it credit for.
That did not lessen the anxious pestering in her gut, however.
Once she left the inn, Marguerite hurried across the road,gripping her basket tightly despite the slick sweat of her palms beneath her gloves. When she unlocked her shop, she left the sign in the window saying she was closed and took the basket back into her tiny kitchen to store her food.
An onion dropped and rolled across the floor as her grip failed her. She closed her eyes, then retrieved the onion, tucking it into the basket. She would return the basket to Mrs. Leeks another time. The letter was burning through her pocket and her thoughts needed addressing.
Marguerite left the kitchen, lowering herself onto the sofa. She pulled the note out and turned it over.
Marguerite Perreau
Should she be grateful they had not used her birth-given name? She shuddered, bending the paper to break the plain seal, then sliding her thumb beneath it to work the paper free.
