Storm of Bells

Chapter 29: The Housewife

We didn't take the main path down to the village. Instead, we took a small side path along the edge of a small clump of trees I hadn't seen before. Beyond the trees stretched wide, open fields, and dotted among the fields were a number of strange heaps of dirt. Smoke was rising from some of them.

'What are those?' I asked, pointing to the misshapen dirt piles.

The vicar blinked at me, confused. 'Err...well, I said I was going to take you to Lord Ambrose's tenants, did I not?'

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. 'Wait a second. Those are houses?'

'Holy Moly.' Amy whistled. 'I've stayed in some seriously shady places, but dis...dis takes the cake.'

'No,' I corrected. 'The mouldy bread. I doubt anyone around here could afford cake.'

It didn't take us long to reach the first dwelling. Throwing a glance at Karim, the vicar cleared his throat. 'Ladies and gentlemen, would you be so kind as to stay back a little? Some of you look a little, um...intimidating.'

Patsy nodded, looking pleased. 'Certainly. I'll stay out of sight. You, big bearded fellow! Move up to the front, will you?'

Turning back to the thing which, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, apparently was a house, the vicar knocked on the door. I could have sworn the whole building wobbled.

There were a few moments of silence—then footsteps approached from inside, and the door opened a crack.

'Y-yes?'

'It's me,' the reverend said, leaning forward with a reassuring smile. The door opened a bit wider. 'I've brought some visitors from the manor.'

The door slammed shut, hard and fast. Frantic shuffling came from inside. It sounded as if a whole family was trying to hide under one three-legged stool.

'It's not Lord Ambrose!' the vicar called over the noise.

The shuffling ceased.

A few moments, footsteps approached again, more hesitant than before. A crack appeared in the door.

'A-are you sure?'

'Pretty sure.' Sticking my head into the crack beside the vicar's, I sent a smile at the one eye that was visible through the opening. 'Unless I've grown some extra parts since last I checked.'

'M-my Lady! Vicar! You should have said there's a lady outside!'

'There isn't, actually,' I corrected.

'Th-there isn't?'

'No. Not one. Nine.'

'Nine?'

'Aber ja doch, as Prince Albert would say.'

'P-please forgive me, My Lady!' Instantly, the door was torn open. A diminutive woman in a dress made of some unidentifiable brownish-grey textile scuttled backwards, gesturing for us to enter. 'Please, come in, come in! I beg of you, please forgive the state the house is in. We, um...have had some problems recently.'

'Oh, it's not that bad,' I told her, just before a rotten piece of wooden lintel fell onto my head and bounced off. The woman in front of me made a hasty curtsy. At a guess, I would have said she was about thirty, although the drab dress and shadowy surroundings made her appear about ten years older. It felt odd being bowed to by a woman several years my senior—though I might be willing to get used to it from Aunt Brank.

My gaze was drawn back to the woman, who was still busy curtsying. Apparently, she thought one wasn't quite enough. 'Who do I 'ave da 'onor of 'avin' in me 'ouse, My Lady?'