The Stepsister's Tale. Tracy Barrett

subsided. She sat down on her milking stool and wiped Baby’s pink udder. The cow, a wisp of straw hanging from her mouth, swung her huge head around to look at Isabella. The girl yelped and jumped back.

      “Baby won’t hurt you,” Jane said. “See, you have to make sure everything is clean so the milk stays fresh.”

      “How do you know she won’t hurt me?” Isabella asked. “And why do you call such a big cow ‘Baby’?”

      “She wasn’t big when she was born,” Jane said. “That’s when Maude named her.” Jane rhythmically wiped, wiped, wiped the udder, long past the need to clean and dry it, as she remembered that day. It was shortly after they had gotten word that Papa would never be coming home again. Mamma had taken to her bed, and as soon as she recovered, she’d dismissed the milkmaids and cowherds and sold all the horses but Saladin, and all the cows except Duchess. A few days later, Duchess had started having her calf. Somehow Jane had been able to tell something was wrong, so she’d run for Hannah Herb-Woman, who’d rolled up her sleeves and got down on her knees, and she and Jane had wrestled the little creature out. Despite careful doctoring by Hannah, Duchess had died, and Jane had raised Baby on a bottle.

      And now look at the size of her, Jane thought, briefly resting her head against the familiar hard, warm flank. Mamma acted as though someone else had saved the calf’s life on the bloody wet straw in the stable. Not Jane Montjoy, daughter of Lady Margaret Montjoy, mistress of Halsey Hall, the finest house in the kingdom.

      Jane roused herself. “When everything’s clean, you squeeze like this.”

      Isabella upset the cow so that she would hardly let down her milk, despite Jane’s coaxing and gentle touch. She finally told the girl to go, and once the disturbing presence was no longer there, Baby relaxed. Jane would just have to stop trying to make Isabella do her share. It isn’t worth the effort, she thought. She filled half a bucket with Betsy’s warm milk and then moved on to the goats. When she finished, she left the buckets to cool in the dairy, and then looked for eggs in the grass. Maude was protective about the chicken coop, claiming that when anyone else but she went in there the chickens would get upset and not lay. Jane suspected that the real reason was that Maude hid some of her treasures in there. She found two eggs under a bush and added them to Maude’s basket when she emerged from the coop, and they walked back to the house together.

      A group of men from the village stood in the drive with a mule cart full of tools and lumber. The girls caught little snatches of their conversation with Harry—“Too far gone” and “We might put a support under here” and “The outer wood is sound, but what is underneath has rotted.”

      Among the men stood a few boys, awkwardly holding tools that looked too big for them. Jane nudged Maude and pointed at Hannah Herb-Woman’s son, Hugh. His red hair made him visible even from where they stood. Maude waved at him, but he pretended not to notice. Some rough-looking men and boys wearing ragged clothes and heavy boots hung on the edge of the crowd, not mingling with the others. Several were familiar to Jane from the rare services at St. Cuthbert’s Church. One man had a large wooden mallet hanging from his belt. Another, the tallest and broadest, rested a wood ax on his shoulder. He stood with his hand protectively on the shoulder of a boy who appeared to be about Jane’s age, with curls so long that they almost covered his eyes. The boy’s mouth was turned down at the corners, although whether this was some trick of his features or a scowl, Jane could not tell. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned and glared at her. Jane flinched. What was he so angry about?

      “From the woods,” Maude whispered, pointing at them. Jane snatched her sister’s hand down. Maude leaned close to Jane. “What are they doing here?”

      “They must be desperately hungry,” Jane whispered back. “Mamma said that they only come out of the woods when they’re starving.” The hot, dry summer had made game scarce, and she knew herself how scarce berries and mushrooms were.

      “Why?” Maude asked. “Aren’t they glad to be working for us? Mamma says the servants were always so happy, when we had them.”

      “Hush!” Jane was in an agony that her sister would be overheard. She didn’t know how the people of the woods felt about the Halseys, but she didn’t believe they were like the happy maids and nannies and footmen and butlers that Mamma talked about. She even thought, uncomfortably, that perhaps those same servants hadn’t been as contented as Mamma always said.

      Maude tugged at her sleeve. “If they fix the house, do you think we’ll give parties like the ones Mamma talks about?” Jane felt a ripple of excitement at the thought, followed by dread. They didn’t even know how to curtsey, much less dance. How would they talk to people they didn’t know?

      The men swarmed up ladders and over the roof, and tiles crashed down to the ground. They shattered as they fell from the great height, leaving scraps of dark gray slate everywhere, so the girls retreated into the house. Isabella was sitting in the big chair, drumming her little fingers on its arm. Her father was seated opposite her, leaning forward and speaking in a low and pleading tone. “Just until tomorrow, darling. You can take the carriage out all day tomorrow, if you like. The pony’s too tired.”

      “Please, Papa,” Isabella wheedled. “I want to take it out today. It’s so noisy here—I’m sure it’s giving you a headache. I want to take my carriage to the river where it’s quiet.”

      Mamma came into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. The smell of slightly soured milk accompanied her, as it always did when she had been in the dairy. Isabella wrinkled her nose. Jane could tell that Mamma had noticed the grimace, but she said nothing about it, instead addressing the man. “The work is progressing nicely. There must be a dozen men. At this rate, they will have a little money to spend in the village on Saturday.”

      “I won’t pay them until they’ve finished,” Harry said. “You must be firm with workmen. If you’re not, they take advantage of you. Leave it to me, Margaret.” And he added in a lower tone, “It’s my money, after all.” Mamma turned away.

      Maude pulled Jane into the hallway. “Why does he care when they’re paid?” she whispered. “They’ll finish the roof. Mamma wouldn’t have hired someone who would cheat us. Harry can buy Isabella a golden carriage and shoes made of glass. Why won’t he pay the roofers?”