“Hmm,” Elia looked her over some more, and then smiled. “That could be interesting.”
“It is,” Kes agreed. Had she done enough to veer attention away from her being odd?
“And your hair? Why do you wear it without braid or adornment? Why, there is not even a pin in it.”
Kes lifted her hand to it. “I’ve been outside for a day. My pins have fallen out.”
“Poor dear,” Elia cooed and ushered her into the house and into the kitchen. “You sit right down and let me prepare something for you to eat. Cook made rabbit stew earlier. It should still be…ah, aye, ’tis still in the bowl and still warm.”
“Thank you,” Kes told her. It couldn’t hurt to be polite. “What is your position here?”
“I’m the head maid,” Elia told her, filling her bowl, “and I would like to think, a friend of Sir Nicholas’.”
What did one call the head maid these days? “What would you prefer I call you?”
“Elia. And you?”
“Kes.”
They smiled at each other.
“Have you known Sir Nicholas long?” Kes asked her when Elia handed her the bowl.
Elia nodded and took a seat beside her. “His whole life.”
Kes liked the head maid. She was easy to talk to.
“When he was seven summers, his family was killed by men who fought for the House of Lancaster.”
Kes felt her blood leaving her face, her brain. Oh, no. This man hated the Lancasters with good reason.
“King Edward took him in and raised him. I had been his mother, Lady Johanna de Marre’s maid. I became Sir Nicholas’ maid after that.”
“King Edward,” Kes repeated. Which King Edward? There were so many. Oh, she couldn’t think anymore. Her brain was exhausted. Who was king during this time? “I…my lord mentioned that I can’t remember some things. One of them is the king.” She smiled sheepishly. “Who is he?”
“Richard,” Elia scowled. “RichardIII.”
The maid wasn’t scowling because of her, but because of the king. She didn’t like him. Did the earl feel the same way about his king? And if RichardIII was king, that meant Edward the IV, his brother, had died. He told her it was fourteen-eighty-five. July.
“You haven’t touched your stew,” Elia declared. “Are you ill?”
“No. I’m…” She tried to think of something to tell her. “I’m just feeling a little confused.” She spooned up some stew and cautiously tasted it. It was surprisingly good.
“My dear, has anyone ever told you that your eyes are quite beautiful?”
Kes smiled without giving her an answer. She didn’t want to come across as being vain.
“How did you and Nicky meet?”
Kes stopped. She nearly choked. Elia leaped up and patted her back until Kes held up her hands. “I’m ok.”
“Ok?” Elia asked, looking somewhat lost. “Does everyone in Bridlington speak like you?”
“Speak like me?” Kes’ heart nearly burst out of her chest. “My father is from Wales.”
“Ah,” Elia said, as if being Welsh made all the difference. “I have never been to Wales.”
Kes waved her concern away. “It’s…’tis quite all right.”