Charming Miss Atherton

Five

"There are things in this world that cannot be explained, and Miss Atherton is one of them." -An excerpt from Ripley's journal describing his first impression of Bridget after their meeting.

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The following morning roosters disturbed the quiet tranquility of the dawn by crowing around 4:30 am. Bridget rolled on her side to look out the window. If she must be awake at this dreadful hour then she might as well enjoy watching the colors change in the sky rather than staring at the wooden slatted ceiling.

Normally, Bridget slept with ease, but surviving yesterday's events left her completely restless. At various interludes during the night, Bridget's bed had become too hot. Then she had to readjust her pillows from their former position because they had made her backache. Next, she woke to find the patchwork quilt, sheets, and nightgown had tangled her into one large ball of fabric. Bridget ripped the covers from her body in frustration. She closed her eyes, hoping she would finally secure a peaceful slumber. She woke, in what seemed like minutes later, to find her nightgown completely glued to her body with perspiration. Bridget rolled onto her stomach in irritation. The roosters crowed again releasing an exasperated sigh from Bridget. Surely the servants must have already risen? For who could possibly sleep through all that noise? Bridget clutched her stomach as it groaned for food. She could not keep lying in bed. It would be a torment. Her mind entertained the notion that if she ventured downstairs, the cook might take pity on her and offer a hot roll smeared with fresh cream butter. Bridget licked her lips at the thought. Wasting no time, she grabbed her bed quilt and tiptoed down the creaky stairs in the direction of the kitchen. She had no idea where she was going but followed the delicious smells that wafted in the cool air.

As Bridget neared the bottom of the stairs, she turned to find a narrow doorway that led to the stone-walled kitchen. Bridget drew near, carefully keeping to the shadows. She watched as Betsey prepared firewood bundles for the guest bed-chambers tying small packages of kindling in ripped sheets of oilcloth. The cook, a French-like looking man, wearing a crisp white apron, stood over a large stockpot dropping herbs unfamiliar to Bridget into the steaming liquid. The oven glowed hot as several loaves of bread cooked merrily in its orange and red flames.

On a long work table covered in flour, several kitchen maids kneaded dough fiercely, the sweat on their brows glistened in the glow of the firelight. Bridget drew back in panic as one servant glanced in her direction. Her nightgown sheath was made of very thin, fine material, and the firelight made it transparent despite having a large quilt around her. Bridget decided it would be prudent to return to her room so as not to disturb the house. Betsey would come to her bed-chamber to tend her fire soon so Bridget would wait to request tea and hot bread then.

In the corridor, Bridget noticed one of the northeast chamber doors open. Its dim candlelight flickered into the narrow passageway. Bridget hugged the quilt tight around her body as she tiptoed towards the door. She slid along the wall and peered inside.

Lord Ripley.

She lunged back into the darkness twisting her fingers nervously. Bridget cast her eyes toward the heavens with a silent prayer of thanks that Lord Ripley's back had been facing the door. She wondered what sort of urgent business would demand him to be awake at such an early hour. She strained her ears to hear the sound of brisk strokes from his quill pen against parchment paper.

Curious, she inched closer to obtain a better view of his desk. The old wooden floor of the inn was warped and badly weathered. It gave the inn a comfortable, if not lived in, appearance so it should not have been a shock that it made tiny creaking sounds when one trudged upon it. But when the floor groaned beneath the weight of Bridget's foot as she inched closer to Lord Ripley's door, her astonishment was so profound that the sound she emitted might as well have been an elephant's cry.