She put a steaming bowl on the table. “Come eat, child,” she said, as if I was already late. I took my seat without a word. It was some sort of tan mush. Porridge, probably, though not done well. Whoever had made the spread last night clearly hadn’t cooked this morning. But it was a blessing I had food at all, and it was nice and hot.

“Peggy.” Emma leaned in the doorway, her cheeks red, her breath a bit heavy as if she’d been rushing around. “Have you seen Edward?”

“Did you check the stables?” Peggy responded harshly.

“He’s not there.” Emma’s eyes were wide. “Do you think he—?”

“He’s there,” Peggy snapped, her sharp reaction jolting me a little. “Of course he’s there. And if not, he’s somewhere else. Go, get on with your day.”

Emma hesitated, her eyes glistening a bit in the firelight. And then she disappeared around the corner again, her hurried steps disappearing down the hall.

One thing was certain—I would have to do everything in my power to avoid dealing with Peggy. Stabbing my employer’s housekeeper was most likely grounds for immediate termination, no matter how detestably she carried herself.

I ate my mush with a cup of water, and then followed Peggy down the hall—but a few safe feet behind, because her hands were in her apron pockets and I hated that I couldn’t see them. It was silly when I thought about it—Peggy wasn’t going to attack me. She was rude, but obviously not a killer. And even if she was, I had quick reflexes.

You’re in a grand house, Andi. Get your mind off the streets.

Peggy turned a corner, and I rushed to catch up, nearly bumping into another woman. She looked a little older than me. Her head was shaved, and her skin was dark and smooth, radiant against her simple yellow dress—not at all equipped for the cold. She was tall and athletic and beautiful. I wondered if she was Mr. Rochester’s wife.

But if she was a rich lady of the house, Peggy would’ve acknowledged her when she passed her in the hall, especially since she looked as if she was trying to hold back tears.

I opened my mouth to comfort her … then remembered the last time I’d tried to comfort someone and instead rushed to catch up with Peggy. It was seven years ago, when seven of my peers decided they didn’t like me being kind to a girl they’d already deemed not worth their time. I’d paid for it with a beating and a knife to the face.

“Whose life is more important to you?” Jember asked. “Yours, or that stranger who will never think of you again?”

“God loves us both,” I’d replied, struggling to see him through swollen eyes.