The grey light of a rainy morning filled her room as another day began. Elisabeth stared blindly into the fire as she brushed through her hair. The mess of waves almost reached her waist, hanging loose over her shoulder as she worked to rein it into a more orderly form.
Her hair had always been unruly, the staff of the orphanage had often threatened to cut it short and leave her ridiculed, so she had learned to tame it. Combing through it was a regular necessity, but now she continued brushing although the bristles went through it without sticking, lost in thought.
Recovering was tedious business, and inactivity was testing her patience. She had stayed in her room for more than a week now, sleeping, resting and watching the walls as the hours ticked past in agonisingly slow pace. She was at a point where she wanted to scream if nothing happened, but the Matron would not let her leave her room.
Her hand pulled idly through the curls a couple of times, before she got to grips with present day. Without much thought, she braided the length of the locks and coiled the braid on her neck, securing it with a pin.
She cleaned the brush from loos strands of hair before putting it away. Hairs should never lie about. Although she was not particularly superstitious, Elisabeth always made sure to burn the strands, a custom she had learned from the older children in the orphanage. She crossed the floor on bare feet to throw the hairs into the fire, then crouched down to watch them shrivel and burn.
She had asked to be allowed downstairs for breakfast, at least, to relieve the women of having to bring the food to her room, but the Matron had blatantly refused. You're staying put until you recover, Liz, she had said, and Elisabeth's hopes had plummeted. The last couple of days she had felt much better; a hundred times better than when she woke up after the injury, however, a full recovery would still take a while. Despair gripped her chest at the prospect of days and weeks cooped up in her room and she forced the thought away. That could not be, she could not let that happen.
Her feet were getting cold, drawing her away from her miserable trail of thoughts and Elisabeth found her clothes, lying on the chair beside the fire.
She had been provided with a new shirt, a simple but pretty garment in white cotton with decorative seams down the front. The tightfitting collar was buttoned up with a row of small buttons at the neck and the shoulder. She didn't know where it came from, but Elisabeth loved it.
Doing her hair and putting on her clothes made her feel a little better. She made a point of dressing each day, even if Mrs. Cutler seemed to think it unnecessary. It was necessary to her. Those who brought her meals usually sat down for a little while, keeping her company as she ate. Taking her meals at the table, chatting of the everyday happenings at the base brought a sense of normality into her day, and Elisabeth looked forward to every visit, no matter how short it was.
She sat down to wait by the fire, losing herself in thought for a while until a knock on her door broke through the monotony. The door opened as the woman bringing her breakfast entered the room. Elisabeth's face broke into a pleased grin. The woman threw back a brittle smile.
"I'm sorry, Elisabeth, I can't stay. I have to fill the wash kettle before breakfast," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Elisabeth felt her smile stiffen as she tried to keep a level appearance despite the disappointment surging through her.
"Don't worry about it," she said, "I'll be fine." The girl gave her another apologetic smile and left.
As the door closed, Elisabeth scolded herself for her reaction. Self-pity was not a trait she wanted to confess, and she was angry with herself for falling into it. Instead, she felt a surge of guilt. While recovering, she was dead weight, not even capable to do her share of work. The women had their hands full running the base and they were hard at work all day. A missing set of hands always put a strain on the others, and here she was fretting over idleness. In fact, she was even worse than dead weight; she was a burden, adding to the load by staying in her room and making them tend to her needs.
She ate in silence.
There had to be something she could do, some way to get out of this futile existence. If only Mrs. Cutler would let her help, but of course she would not. Elisabeth could not help but feel somewhat angry with her.
She'll never budge unless she is proven wrong! She thought darkly.
And there it was. A wide grin spread across her face and light tingled in her eyes for the first time in days.
I'll just have to prove to her that I am fit enough to help.
The idea started to form in her head. Breakfast was served in a short while, and while people ate, the kitchen would be empty. She would have half an hour there alone, to prove herself. She needed an easy task, something where she could make headway in half an hour, something that didn't involve heavy lifting, a chore… such as peeling potatoes.
Peeling potatoes was useful, it was an everyday undertaking that stole time from the others and could be done while sitting down; perfect in other words. She would start peeling, and when the others returned from breakfast, she would surprize them. Then they would have to let her stay.
Spurred on by the prospect of spending time with the others, Elisabeth finished her food and by the time the residents of the base slowly made their way inside and the bustle outside died down, she was ready. She got up and peered out into the hallway. There were no one there, and she quietly made her way downstairs. The hallway swayed a bit as she got to the front door. She took a pause inside, closing her eyes and breathing until the dizziness died down.
The next step was worse, getting past there guards outside to access the kitchen. She did not think they would stop her, but she would rather they did not see her at all. She peered outside. They were standing by the gate, chatting. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her mind and stepped outside. She stole along the wall, feeling the yard start to sway, but ignored it and pushed on until she reached the kitchen stairs. She could hear the guards' easy chatter and jokes and was pretty sure none of them had seen her, though she did not look their way.
The kitchen swayed precariously as she leaned against the door and closed her eyes, feeling victorious that she made it, unseen. Although getting out of the base was a challenge, getting around inside undetected was possible.
The swirling in her head took its time slowing back down but Elisabeth knew the clock was ticking. If she wanted to prove herself, she could not hang about. She steeled her mind once more and focused on the task she had set herself. She collected a bowl on the counter and made her way across the room. The potatoes were stored in the cellars of the base, lying off the corridor at the back of the kitchen.
The room soon started swaying again and she had to put a hand to the wall, to find her way down the corridor to the cellar. It was chilly and smelled of earth, but the cold soothed the queasy feeling somewhat. However, by the time she reached the right cellar and opened the door, her hands were trembling and cold sweat lined her brow. She had to take another pause to breathe, before she filled the bowl. She leaned her back and head against the cold stone wall, and tried to breathe through the dizziness, as she had done before, but this time, the room continued churning.
Time was ticking. She had to get going.
You can't give up now, she told herself.
The kitchen was just six yards away. She would just get the potatoes in the bowl and hurry back there.
Pull yourself together! Once you sit down you will be fine.
She filled the bowl and picked it up with trembling hands. The bowl felt heavy. How could she be so weak? It was just one bowlful.
She pushed herself to her feet and the room churned insistently as her heart beat hard against her chest. Bright spots of light were dancing in her sight and she started to feel sick.
Don't be such a baby. You are going to prove yourself, remember.
She closed the door behind her, and willed herself on, feeling worse than in days. Her feet were heavy and the corridor seemed longer than ever. Suddenly she did not know how she was going to reach the kitchen. The swirling picked up pace and the spots of light were growing, multiplying; soon covering her sight and blinding her.
Maybe… this was not such a good idea after all.
She blinked, trying to clear her sight as she took another step, trying to stop the ever faster churning in her head. Strength seemed to escape her, seeping through her fingers like water from a strainer. Her fingers were numb, her legs like jelly. There was a loud crack as the bowl slipped from her grip and broke against the flagstone floor. She heaved for breath and grasped for something to hold onto, something solid in a churning sea of movement.
Time seemed to stand still and move very fast all at the same time. For a moment she had a queer sense of being weightless; floating. Then darkness enveloped her and all was nothing.
/
A warm hand against the side of her neck. Muffled voices talking.
"How did you find her?"
A female voice
"The guard thought he saw her cross the yard. He thought it strange and so did I."
A darker voice. A man, her mind mused.
"I came down here looking for you; instead I found her lying like this; out cold."
She knew that voice. A strong and assertive voice. A voice that made her feel warm inside.
Her head was spinning, she felt weak and there was something about her side, irritating and painful.
"Is she bleeding?" The other voice again; Mrs Cutler's. She liked her too. Strict, but fair, Mrs Cutler. The voices seemed to come from afar, somewhere above her. Why was she so far below?
"She has probably pulled a few stitches. I'll have to look at it."
Something hard against her back. Cold, like stone. Was she on the floor?
"Come on, Love. Wake up now."
The warm hand against her neck was removed and came back against her cheek with a stinging sense. She flinched. Opened her eyes. Another set of eyes were staring back, worried and assessing. She closed her eyes again. She had seen those hazel coloured eyes before…
Oh no. Not this. Not in front of him.
Her mind finally caught on, of what had happened and of her surroundings. She had fainted in the kitchen and he had been the one to find her. She stirred and tried to sit up. The insistent spots of light reappeared and the room swayed at the effort. A gentle weight against her shoulders pushed her back.
"Easy now. Give yourself a minute, Elisabeth."
"What on earth were you doing down here, Liz?" the Matron asked. "You're supposed to stay in bed."
"I was… going to help," she said. Speaking was such an effort. It was hard to find the words. The room was swirling and she was feeling ill.
"Oh, you silly girl!" Mrs Cutler's voice was rimmed with both pity and annoyance. "It's been little over a week since your injury. What made you think you were well enough to work?"
Elisabeth felt the words sting. Blood rushed to her face and a lump formed in her throat, making it even harder to speak.
"I just don't want to be a burden!"
"Oh, don't be daft! You were injured Liz."
"Right now you have no choice, Elisabeth. You need rest to heal," Jacob said.
The Matron turned to Jacob.
"We'll have to get her back to bed," she said.
"Mm," Jacob replied. "I'll take her. Will you manage the doors?"
Elisabeth felt horrid.
Oh, please no.
She was supposed to prove herself, not end up going back to bed and most certainly not being carried there.
"No, no. There's no need," she assured them, "Just give me a minute and I'll walk, myself."
Jacob let out a disgruntled snort and his eyes gleamed in irritation as he met her gaze.
"Who do you think you're fooling, Love? You were out cold for ten minutes. You are walking nowhere."
He dug his hands under her back and knees and with a heave of effort, he lifted her into his lap and rose to his feet. The movement sent the room into a spin, making all sense of strength drain from her body again. She stifled a moan and covered her eyes with her hand.
"Are you all right, Love?" Jacob asked. She wanted to reply, wanted to tell him there was nothing wrong, but all that came out was a whimper.
"She's passing out again," she heard him say as the abyss swallowed her back up.
/
She was moving. A smell of leather tingled her nose. A warm smell… a masculine smell… and something else. Something sharp, metallic, like gunfire. Somewhere she had a sense that she should not enjoy this smell so much, but she could not recollect why. The smell was warm and inviting, it made her feel safe. There was a reminiscence of protection in that smell.
Why would she not welcome that?
The smell made her feel as if someone was holding her close and somewhere it registered someone was. Her head was resting against his shoulder. The room was moving, everything was churning sickeningly and she could not muster the energy to open her eyes.
She was lowered to a bed; the softness there was welcoming, embracing her, but she could not seem to still her breathing. The warm hand came back to her neck, steady and sure. She opened her eyes, tried to focus, but her world continued on the relentless roll.
A face in front of her, worried eyes lingering on her face. She could not bear the weight of that look, the irritation burning behind the concern.
"Remove or loosen anything that's tight," Jacob said. "I'll get the suture kit."
Heavy footfalls retreated, and the door was closed. There was a sound of movement, and something cold was placed on her forehead. It felt nice.
"Oh, you silly girl." The matron said, her voice quiet, sad, as she removed the boots, then proceeded to undress her, unbuttoning the shirt at the neck and pulling off the skirt. Then the soft, flowing feel of the nightgown graced her skin before the cover was draped over her. That too felt nice. The racing of her heart slowed down. She felt weightless, drifted, it could have been a second or an hour, she could not really tell.
There was a knock on the door and the heavy footfalls came back. Something was moved about, scraping against the floor, and then tiny things made tiny, jingling sounds, as they were unpacked.
Someone started pulling at her, moving her to lie on her side, disturbing her rest. The churning picked up again, as did her heartrate.
Leave me be…, I'm so tired.
Something cold graced her side, metallic, ripping through the inner layers of fabric. Her skin prickled in the cool air, but the warm hands were soothing. Muffled voices talking, something about stiches.
Then there was a sharp pain in her side. It pierced through the swirling and cleared her head. Mrs. Cutler was holding her hands and stroking her cheek.
"Just lie still," she said. "It will be over soon."
Another sharp sting and a queer sensation of the skin being pulled and tightened, then suddenly let go.
She was very aware of the cool air against her mid, and worse; the warm hand on her side before the needle pierced her skin once more.
She closed her eyes, feeling her face heat up and tears burn behind her eyelids. She wanted to sink down into oblivion again. This had all gone horribly wrong.
The needle pierced her skin again, and she could not hold back the tears. They pooled behind the eyelids and trickled in silent streams over her nose.
/
Jacob tied the last knot and cut the thread. He packed away the suture kit and retrieved a roll of bandage from the bag.
Mrs. Cutler met his gaze.
"How do you want to do this?" she asked.
"I don't want to move her too much, but there's no way around it. She has to sit up."
The girl looked ash grey against the white sheets, and Jacob felt anger burn inside. How could she do this to herself? He handed over the bandage to Mrs. Cutler and rolled Elisabeth onto her back.
"I'll hold her up, while you dress the wound, but you'll have to be quick about it," he said.
Tears trickled silently down the girl's cheeks, as he crossed her arms over her chest. He had no doubt she regretted her actions by now, feeling the effects of pushing herself too far. Somewhere beyond the irritation, he did feel sorry for her, however, that drowned under the nuisance at her pointless feat.
"Are you ready?" he asked, and the matron nodded. Jacob leaned over digging his arm behind the girl's back and raised her upright. She whimpered quietly and her forehead came to rest against his shoulder. Her hair graced the skin of his face. The matron worked efficiently, but the girl in his arms was withering away faster. Her shallow breathing picked up, and she was going limp within his hold.
"I need to lay her down," he said, and the matron stopped. He eased the girl back down and felt for her pulse. Her heart was racing, working hard to bring blood to her head, but the softness of the beat told him it was struggling. She still suffered from the blood loss after the injury. Her body was not coping after her short outing and even moving was exerting her.
At least, Mrs Cutler had been able to cover the wound, if not dress it the way they should. It would have to do, for now.
He waited, but the girl's breathing did not come down nor did her heartrate, still racing in that weak pulse he did not like. Jacob cursed under his breath. Her heart could give in from this, he knew. The matron watched him with concern as he pulled the pillows from under the girl's head and moved them under her legs. He did not even register, attentively studying the girl's face, checking her pulse and watching her breathing.
The measures had effect, her pulse slowed and the beat became more insistent. Her breathing followed suit, slowing down and deepening.
The claw of worry inside him eased a bit, only for the anger to flare instead. What an idiotic way to set herself back. Needless, futile, thoughtless were words that came to mind. He would have given her a piece of his mind, had she been able to withstand it, but at this point she would not.
He checked her pulse one last time, feeling the steady beat as the girl slept, then stroke a lock of hair out of her face, before turning to the Matron.
"It's adamant she rest," he said. "I know this puts a toll on our staff, Mrs. Cutler, but I would prefer if someone stayed with her."
The Matron's eyes were clinging to Elisabeth, a soft expression of worry lining her brow.
"I know," she said. "I was thinking the same. I'll have someone watch over her and keep her company when she awakes. We'll find a way to manage."
She turned towards him and caught his eyes.
"Don't be too hard on her for this Mr. Frye," she said. "I should have seen this coming. Condemning her to solitude in her room… I should have known better."
"She should have known better," Jacob said, but in his mind, an image surfaced of Elisabeth's face screwed up in pain as she carried water to the kitchen a few weeks before, however, it did not quell the anger inside.
"This was NOT not your fault," he said meeting her gaze firmly. He lingered until she acknowledged it, closing her eyes and nodding quietly, and then he left.
/
The train was rattling along the railway line as the morning drew to a close. Evie had summoned him for a meeting, wanting to plan what boroughs to take and which Templars to root out and assassinate next. They had eaten breakfast, and now they were in the library compartment of the train, Evie pacing the floor, energetically laying out her plans and drawing conclusions.
Henry stood leaning against the table; one foot resting on the chair beside him as his eyes attentively followed Evie. Finishing a trail of thoughts on how best to go about tackling Starrick's henchmen, Evie turned to him.
"That's very good Evie. Your work is thoroughly planned out, as always," Henry said. Jacob noted the way her eyes lit up and the slight flush covering her cheeks as Henry seconded her opinion and smiled to himself.
His sister had grown fond of Henry over the year. Jacob had seen it evolve. At first, he had not liked it, uneasy of the thought of his sister with a man. He had taunted her for her infatuation. Really, he still did, however, he had come to hold Henry in high esteem. He would never admit to that to Evie though, and he would never call Henry anything but Greenie in front of her, however, there was no way around the fact that he was the only Assassin who had remained in London when all the rest of them had abandoned the city to the Templars tyranny. Although he did not go after the Templars, the knowledge he had gathered of the Templars organization and the network he had built, using urchins to spy for him, had proven invaluable to them. They would not have known where to start without Henry.
Jacob was casually strewn on the couch with his feet up and was idly tinkering with the gauntlet while following the interaction between the two others. It pleased him that Henry seemed to return Evie's feelings. He treated her with the utmost respect, and made an effort at all times to be at service to her, whether it was aiding her work or pulling out her chair.
Some of the lads had asked if Henry had sought his approval before pursuing his sister. Jacob had laughed heartedly at that. He had long since accepted Evie's love life was none of his business, moreover, had he tried to prevent her, he had been in for a fight, and one he was quite sure he would lose. Question only remained which of Henry or Evie, (if any of them,) would ever make a move on the other. Jacob smirked, thinking about it, earning him a smack on the head from Evie.
"Jacob. Pay attention, will you!" He met her gaze smirking, and somehow she knew what that smile was about. She shot him a glare saying "don't you dare!". Jacob innocently raised his hands, and Evie turned back to Henry.
They started discussing the piece of Eden and the clues the diary held. Jacob's mind trailed away. On the table beside him, lay the journal. Jacob had not really taken the time to look at it. Once recovered, he had given it to Evie and lost all interest in it. The trails inside it were Evie's domain, and his mind was otherwise preoccupied at the time.
It looked like any other old book. Its leather cover was worn, the edge of the pages were frayed and had by age obtained a yellow, sunburned color. The oilskin wrapping, in which it was found, had kept it dry enough to prevent serious damage. He picked it up. The leather felt soft and warm against his hand as he turned it over. Such an insignificant thing, and yet, it had come at a high price, depriving Elisabeth of her father and landing her years of misery.
The book brought an image of her face to his mind and a wave of annoyance washed through him. The girl's exertion had cost her. She had slept for two solid days after the ordeal. And yet, it seemed she had learned little form the experience.
The Matron had denied her to leave her room again, and there was someone with her at all times during the day, but still she found ways around staying idle.
The woman watching over her was mending clothes, and Elisabeth had persuades her to join the work. She had a way with words, that one, and it took a while before Mrs. Cutler caught on to what was happening.
Jacob had complained about her little outing and the senseless reason for it to Evie and Henry during breakfast. Evie had eyed him in silence as he spoke, then laughed mirthlessly and pointed out to him her trouble with getting him to stay in bed while recovering. Somehow, Jacob did not find it all that amusing.
"Jacob!"
Evie had caught him daydreaming again, and was eying him irritated. "Since you are clearly not going to contribute planning; will you go do something useful?"
Hoping for an excuse to get out of the train, Jacob jumped to his feet. "Anything, sweet sister," he said.
"Anything? Go get us some tea then, brother dearest," she said with a smug smile. His hopes dove right back down. What?
Then he noticed the amusement in her eye before her face broke into an earnest smile.
"I'm just kidding, Jacob. There is a Templar we need to get rid of."
Jacob felt his senses starting to tingle, a shrewd smile spreading across his face. Finally some action.
"I want you to take out Edgar Collicott. He controls part of Westminster, but he is heavily guarded, Jacob. You need to be careful."
Bah. Stealth.
"I mean it, Jacob."
"Yes, yes. Stealth. I heard you." Well. It was better than listening to Evie and Henry planning.
/
Back at the base, Jacob greeted the Rook by the gate, walking into the empty yard. There was a satisfied spring in his step as he walked over to the water post to wash the Templars blood off his hands. A successful mission, despite the lack of thrill, he reflected.
The target had indeed, been heavily guarded. The grounds around the building had Blighters on sentry duty, and using the eagle sense he had noted red figures littering the whole building. The target was located atop the roof.
The water was cold against his skin as he cupped his hands and filled them with water and watched the dried blood dissolve in swirls of red.
The building was one of the larger in the area, a romantic take on a medieval fortress with massive stone walls and turrets on each corner. Fortresses were built to keep a large amount of people out. It took a large amount of people to guard such a large place, and yet, keeping watch of every angle was hardly possible. There were always gaps to be found. Sometimes, being alone was an advantage.
Spreading his fingers, the water drained out. He rubbed the spots where blood had dried on his skin then shut the gaps between his fingers and watched the water rise again.
Despite the massive amount of people watching the place, no one had thought to post guards atop the turrets, only on the roof between them.
What a mistake.
Jacob smirked to himself as he rinsed the last memories of the kill off his hands.
All the guards were watching the ground beneath, none suspecting a from-above attack. Jacob had snuck into the grounds and killed a sentry to get close to the building. Then he had used the rope launcher to get to the top of the turret. From there it was just a question of waiting until the man was within striking range and the other guards had their backs turned, before dropping down, making an air assassination.
He filled his hands with clean water again and rinsed off his face and neck, before shaking the water off.
Even Evie should be content with this mission.
The dining hall was as usual full and buzzing with chatter when he entered. To his surprise, he found Elisabeth sitting at one of the tables. He knew Mrs Cutler would not have consented to it and felt irritation spread like an itch inside. With an angry glare locked onto the insolent girl, he walked in determined strides along the tables. Mrs. Cutler had seen him arrive and met him as he approached.
"Who said you could leave your room?" he said addressing Elisabeth. Mrs. Cutler stood beside him, arms crossed in front of her chest.
"I told her she should get back to bed, but she would not listen," she said and gave the girl a stern look. Elisabeth had seen the two of them rounding on her. Knowing they would put in question if she was fit to stay, she was prepared to argue her cause.
"I feel fine! I will go back once I have finished eating."
"No you will not. You either go back to bed or I will carry you there myself."
Elisabeth glared at him and made no attempt of getting up. Jacob shortly had enough. This girl would not get away with questioning his authority in front of all his men. A few of the Rooks sitting nearby, chuckled amongst themselves, having followed the debate. They knew Elisabeth was crossing a line in testing him, and were amusedly anticipating his reaction.
Without another word, he rounded the table, and that had effect. Elisabeth hurriedly stood to her feet as he crossed the space between them.
"Fine. Fine! I'll go myself," she said.
However, she had wasted his tolerance. Jacob seized her arm and led her out of the room. Out in the hallway he let go her arm.
"Why is it you think yourself above following orders?" he asked. Her eyes burned as she met his gaze.
"If you think me one to bend over backwards, you are sorely mistaken. Where would that have left me in the orphanage?"
Her provocation sparked anger to burn inside his chest.
"Do not compare us to Blighters and Templars, Elisabeth! We are doing this for your own good."
Her cheeks reddened in a pretty pink colour and her indignation fell away.
"I didn't mean…It's just not that easy to change the way I am. It's become a part of my nature." There was no apology in her tone of voice, just a flustered presentation of facts. She looked away.
Her abrupt change of countenance had him surprised, and Jacob started laughing. Her mouth drew up in a small smile and the colour on her cheeks seemed to deepen.
"Well," he said, "I would have gladly carried you, had it come to that." He met her short, cautious glance with a wide smile. She made no reply to his comment, just hid the gorgeous blush he had conjured on her skin.
They walked on until Jacob shot her a glance another quip on his tongue, and saw that colour was draining from her skin. Her jaw was set in determination and her hand gripped the handrail, the skin of her knuckles turning white with the effort.
Grasping her arm, he stopped her.
"Take your time, Elisabeth. There is no need to push yourself like this," he said.
She clenched her eyes shut and let him steady her until the spell of dizziness wore off.
"I'm fine now," she said. His eyes clung to her face, and a sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Elisabeth," he said. "You won't convince me of that until you run away from me again. Then I'll know you're fine." His smile broadened as she smiled bashfuly, colour returning to her cheeks.
Keeping a steadying grip on her arm, he led her the last steps up the stair and along the corridor to her room. She didn't really need it, but she did not protest either and he enjoyed keeping her close.
In front of her door, she turned around and he let go her arm. A lock of hair graced her cheek as she looked down at her hands.
"I never got to thank you properly," she said and met his gaze. "For getting me out of the orphanage, for making me stay, and making me part of this community. Thank you, Jacob, I am very grateful." The earnest look in her eyes made his heart beat faster.
Then she stood on her toes, shut her eyes and kissed his cheek, her hand touching the side of his neck. Jacob fought the desire to put his arms around her and pull her close, to tilt her face up and kiss her mouth. Instead, he answered her a throaty "It was my pleasure," and let her go as she entered her room.
Her grateful gesture was innocent, but her touch lingered as a tingling sensation on his skin long after she removed her hand. Even as went back downstairs, he could feel it, sending warm waves through him at the thought.
When he came back into the dining hall Mrs. Cutler took him aside and caught his eye.
"You be careful with that girl, Mr. Frye," she said sternly, not letting go of his gaze.
Jacob looked back at her, blankly. He was not used to being addressed like this, and the surprise was evident on his face.
"You know what I mean," Mrs. Cutler said, still holding his gaze.
She knew. He should not have been surprised. It was this quality about her, the ability to look through people and keep an eye out for trouble, which had earned her his respect in the first place. As Jacob felt his cheeks starting to burn, she nodded shortly and left.