In The Night

CHAPTER NINE

~IX~

The english forests that surrounded the village of Bolham and adjacent areas suffered under the fierce bullets of water that were plummeting into the damp earth with so much force that they refracted away upon impact. Birds and smaller creatures lingered elsewhere in a desperate attempt to be spared the earth's harsh rainfall, the nocturnal critters trapped in their burrows for fear of drowning in the terrible torrential downpour. Though the night was dark, the soft glow of the part moon was enough to illuminate the smaller passages between the tangled branches of the trees, yet the paths were left unused as the wild winds whipped roughly through the nature, the night's conditions too tough for anyone: man, beast or any other wild animal.

"May perhaps I have another cup to drink?" Ainslie queried quietly to Charlotte from where she was perched on a wooden stool within the kitchen, watching with great interest as Charlotte baked.

Ainslie found the whole process of baking bread to be a fascinating act. By merely applying heat to the soft dough the bread raised to life, a delicious crust acting as a protective shield for the soft, fluffy bread within. It was amazing. Utterly ordinary and mundane, a chore most partook in and yet Ainslie was fascinated by the simplicity of it.

"Feel free," Charlotte gestured with flour dusted hands towards the large pitcher of water resting on the table top beside them, alongside Ainslie's empty cup. Gratefully, Ainslie poured herself another refreshment before gulping down the water with greed, her tongue swiping at her dry lips afterwards with satisfaction.

"Would you like to help me?" Charlotte queried politely, accidentally smearing flour across her flushed cheeks.

"Truly?" Ainslie's eyes lit up with delight. "I would be permitted?" Never before had Ainslie been given the chance to cook. Her father did not like her socialising with the staff, he had told her on countless occasions that they were beneath her. Her only purpose was to please her husband and produce heirs.

Ainslie did not despise her life like one might assume. Truly, most of the time her father had left her to herself and she was able to wonder the manor as she pleased with no thought to Darniel's dreadfully dull company or her unfortunate isolation from the other townsfolk. She could read and write; that was what she filled her time with, writing letters constantly. Letters not meant to be read, to her deceased mother, to people she did not know, never-ending conversations with the silent. Because the audience in her imagination was far better company than those she had been trapped with.

She did desire to learn the valuable skills that other women seemed to know so well: cooking, cleaning, sewing. Come to think of it, it was a wonder Ainslie was educated at all. Despite her father's wealth, she had been deprived of so much that what little she had was astonishing.

"Have you not made bread before?" Charlotte moved around the table to take a seat, on the only chair with a backrest, beside Ainslie as she too poured herself a glass of water. Charlotte winced as her growing frame sank into the wooden support but did not openly voice her discomfort. Ainslie recognised her as a strong woman, Charlotte would surely excel at motherhood.

"I have not been given the chance," Ainslie replied meekly, almost ashamed of her upbringing. However, it had not been her fault and now she was faced with the wondrous opportunity of starting anew. A concept she had never before dared to dream of.

Charlottes mouth wilted at the corners, but for only a second before a bright, almost blinding, smile concocted of pure content, encompassed her pale pink lips.

"I shall be honoured to teach you," she spoke softly, sipping at her own cup of water, the hot flush still present on her face. After a short lull in their conversation, Charlotte pursed her lips and questioned, "How long have you and your companion been travelling?"