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Out of House and Home
It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again. – Henry IV, Part II
Kel wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and returned to stirring the cauldron bubbling over the fire. The fire was gods-cursed hot, and the steam that curled up delicately from the roiling water wasn't half as elusive as it looked. Already her hair was plastered to her face, and she could feel the unpleasant dampness of sweat forming down her back and beneath her arms and breasts. And the contents of the pot weren't even attractive to smell. Not that boiling cloths didn't smell unpleasant; but it was a far cry from the delicious savory aromas of stew or pudding.
The housekeeper, an older woman called Narda, peered around Kel and nodded decisively. "They'll be done now, just about. Swing 'em away from the fire and we'll set 'em out to dry."
Kel obeyed wordlessly – it was too hot even to speak – and swung the arm of the cauldron out and away from the fire. Safely back from the flames, she reached in with her paddle and removed the cloths one by one and laid them on a drying rack.
The laundry room, built just beneath the kitchen with slitted windows near the ceiling, was bustling with activity. House servants and village women alike moved to and fro bearing arm- and basketfuls of laundry, dirty as well as clean, to be washed or taken upstairs as needed. Others bundled up wet blankets to be taken outside for drying, or worked to shave the large blocks of soap into smaller, manageable fragments. And always, at each station, a fire burning hot to keep the water boiling.
The illness had struck without warning three days ago. The local healer had identified it quickly enough to prevent it from spreading, for which Kel was incredibly grateful. It was hard enough worrying about tending more than half the village without worrying about the rest of the fief. As soon as Wyldon had word, he'd had the sick transported to the manor house for quarantine and sent messengers to the capital asking for more healers. The village surrounding the manor house had three healers, but only two were fully trained. The third, while powerful, was still an apprentice, and had little control over the intensity of her magic.
So instead of hunting bandits or training villagers, as she'd been doing for a little over a month, Kel was sweating and stirring in the laundry of Cavall manor, doing her part to help fight the viciously contagious fever. At least it was better than emptying chamber-pots and bedpans, she reminded herself wryly.
Once the cloths were laid out, Kel hefted the wooden frame and bore it upstairs to the kitchen garden where they would dry more quickly in the sun. It was there that the cook found her, and frantically – or as frantically as the calm, collected woman could be – requested her assistance in the kitchens.
"I feel bad for the poor souls, sweatin' and tossin' and turnin' in their beds," she said, small brown eyes crinkled with worry, "but Goddess bless, they're eatin' us out o' house and home!"
"I'm sure we can come up with something," Kel said, not feeling as confident as she sounded. "It's good that they keep down what they eat, instead of throwing it back up."
The cook managed a wan smile before leading the way back into the kitchen.