Read Home From The Sea: The Elemental Masters, Book Seven for Free Online Page B

hadn’t been the ones that sent him or sent for him. From the approval with which that tale was told, it looked as if the village had decided that if the Manor was “the English landlords,” the Manor was
their
English landlords and not such bad sorts after all.
    He then came marching down to the village and began issuing his orders. But word of gossip had already come flying ahead of him down from the Manor, and he either got snubbed or ignored until he parted with money—and then he got as little help as people could reasonably get by with giving him. He’d wanted those with building experience to come and put a jail cell on the back of the cottage free of charge, since there was little enough room for one inside; those with building experience had told him bluntly that they had families to feed, and were not taking time off their work, and that he could hire it done in Criccieth if he wanted it. Same for the roof repairs. And it appeared that the man—in the midst of the bounty of the sea, the rivers, and the farms—was going to be eating out of tins, tinned food heated over the fire and tea boiled in a kettle, because not a single woman in the village would cook for him, and he seemed to lack all domestic skills. He’d bought all the tinned food that Mr. Bythell had, and had left orders for more.
    Small wonder, Mari thought, he looked so sour.
    It made her feel warm to know that the villagers included her and her father in their company. She really had not expected that. She and her da were off by themselves so much…
    And unlike the tenants of the half dozen farms around the village that belonged to the Manor, she and her da didn’t have the protection of the Manor.
    But for now, at least, it looked like they had the protection of the village.
    Something told her not to let her guard down, however, and she made sure to keep at least two people between her and the eyes of the constable while she finished her shopping. And when she left the market, she did so by going the long way, so that when she took the path back home, she was out of his sight. Eventually, she knew, she was going to have to talk to the man. From the sound of it he was asking everything about everybody. But she was going to put off that day as long as possible.
    To her relief, there were no uncanny things about today, no whispers in her ear, no odd creatures showing themselves. She couldn’t run, carrying the heavy basket as she was, but she certainly kept her steps as brisk as she could without running, and whisked inside the cottage with a heavy sigh of relief. She made the pie, tidied up, put the rest of the shopping away, and did the washing. Last of all, she washed her newly purchased flannel to get the stiffness out of it—red flannel always bled out its dye, so she took advantage of that by washing one of her faded petticoats with the new flannel to freshen the color up a bit.
    By now, there was a brisk wind blowing, holding her skirts against her legs as she pinned up the laundry. She was glad that the wash line was on the side of the cottage away from the village. A line of washing would have told the constable there was someone home, if he looked. He
might
be too busy making a show of watching the market to look, but then again, he might not. Would he actually walk all the way out here?
    Possibly. From the little she knew of constables, they were supposed to walk a great deal. “Making the rounds,” it was called. So he might not consider the long walk a hardship.
    But the wind was lovely, and it finally smelled like spring, all green and growing. The sun warmed her head and arms, and even the smell of seaweed—
    Wait
…
    “And why are you so afraid of the new man, Mari Prothero?”
asked a voice behind her.
“He is only one man. You are an entire village. You should not be so afraid of one man no matter who he is.”
    She gritted her teeth. She was
not
going to turn around. She was
not
going to talk to this… whatever it