Apples. Victor never thought he’d ever become so enraptured by the scent of apples. And pears. And the full and ripe blackberries that grew about in thick brambles around his farm’s orchard. For years he had been quietly despairing over the seeming fact that all he would ever smell would be the reek of sulfurous black powder, the stench of heavy coal dust and smoke, and the coppery tang of blood that always tickled the back of his tongue. Now, discharged and too lame to march, the young man reveled in the sweet smell of ripe fruit and loamy earth! Even the pitch and tar used for fixing his new home had been offset by the healthy aroma of fresh cut wood. Were he ever so disfigured or blinded, he could still be happy until death if he could just inhale these heavenly scents.

It wasn’t that he was all that old. Some twenty and five winters, maybe? He didn’t rightly know himself, having no clue as to his Natal Day. The great Hall of Records in Verrun might have the details of his birth, the great city-state being run by such meticulous clerks and counters as he might ever have imagined… or despised. As an orphan and a medically discharge infantryman, he was scarcely the sort they would bother to place any sort of importance upon. Victor knew most of his letters and could read a little. It was not enough for him to work his own way through the labyrinth of archives that reportedly ran for miles beneath Verrun’s Library, though. So instead he simply ignored the passage of the years, guessing as to what his own age might be when pressed and refusing to delve further into it.

He placed a scarred hand upon one of the trees. It was old and stout, with heavy apples of golden reds dangling among the autumnal leaves. Harvest time was soon. He couldn’t wait. Victor had been all too lucky to find the farm and orchard up for sale upon his discharge a year ago, lucky still he had been smart enough to save his pay instead of squandering it upon drink, doxies and dice like his comrades. Plunder had also filled his pockets. The dead soldiers of Poictesme (who in their own heathen tongue pronounced it ‘Pwa-tem’) had no use further use for their coppers and silvers, whereas Victor planned for a future. Having no home to return to, this tiny village far from the protection of Verrun and further still from the devastation of Poictesme was the perfect place to start a new life. He chuckled at the thought of his careless comrades who foolishly spent their coin and would be stuck sucking in the foul airs of factories and sweating at their masters’ forges. This small cottage and great barn? These hundreds of fruit bearing trees? These were all his. And if his shattered knee and twisted foot made the work harder, it made his apples all the sweeter to his tongue. There were no farm hands to help him, all off to war or in the service of some other master, so the work, and the rewards, would be his.

Off he paced slowly towards his cottage to prepare his evening meal, his dark thatch of hair ruffled by the wind. He chuckled again at the enjoyment of his freedom. Victor had nothing but his life before him. Mayhaps he might find a woman that took pleasure in such a plain face marred by the single long scar along his jaw and with brown eyes as his own, or who appreciated strong shoulders on a middling frame but with a game leg. The chuckle became a laugh. He knew from his early days that farming could be a hard life, a life in danger from vermin and droughts. But it was his life now, now the regiments and not the Council of Verrun’s. If only his iron fisted and whip wielding commanders could see him now, happy and content far from their tyrannies while they still faced death daily.

It was surprising, really, how easy it was. Now that she had the luxury of thinking time, she was amazed at how simple her escape had become. Good coin could grease a lot of palms, and make many a man turn a blind eye.

Kijani sat in the carriage cab, musing as she was gently jostled on her journey. More than once, she nearly went to the window, to look out and backward at what she was leaving behind her. But self-discipline won out, and she kept her body still and her face hidden. The sunlight flickered through the trees as the road took her further and further out of the city. Reaching into the hidden pocket within her bustle, she checked her golden pocket watch. It had been a little over an hour. Her father was off at work. Her mother, at some grand lunch party. Neither of them would return for several hours, and it would be another hour besides that before they actually noticed she was not at home. By that time it would be incredibly hard for them to pick up her trail. Her parents were smart, yes, but she knew she'd been smarter.

All of her reading had prepared her for her departure. The fantasy novels of the great detective Sherlock Holmes, solving crimes in a cold, machineless world, with nothing more than his wits and his senses. She knew what clues the police could find, so she made sure not to leave those clues. Her escape had been planned for months. She'd stored up her monthly allowance bit by bit, and brought bits and pieces of clothing. A skirt here, a pair of boots there. Nothing in large amounts, so there wouldn't be a signal that she was storing them away. The final part had been the hardest- her very nature made her leaving the house an occurrence by itself. She snuck out in the middle of the day, when the servants were busy with tasks, and she'd sent off her old aging made on some simple, yet time consuming errand. Then she'd simply walked out the front door, hailed a cab, and was gone.

She wound one of her thin, black dreadlocks around her finger, an idle habit for when she was deep in thought. Unfortunately, beyond her getting out of the house unseen, there had been no further planning. When she handed the driver her money, she'd told him to take her as far as her coin would last. That had been several minutes and miles ago. With a sigh, she realized she'd have to settle into the journey. Removing her black touring hat, she set it on the seat of the carriage and smoothed the tiny flyaway hairs that always came with wearing a hat. Her dreadlocks were tidily pinned back in an elegantly twisted bun. Idly she tugged on her white silk gloves, lacing and unlacing her fingers. She was dressed head to toe in the latest fashions. Her white blouse was crisp and spotless, her vest deep burgundy and neatly pinstriped. Her skirt was the finest black taffeta with a ruffled edge, and her heeled boots were shined to a glisten. She was the very image of a city woman. Calmly, she shut her eyes and relaxed herself. The next thing she heard, an hour later, was a voice.

“We're coming up to the limit of your coin, miss!” Called the driver. “We'll be stopping at the next town.”

“Ah, yes. What is the next town, please?”

“Little farming place called Arbordale, miss!”

That sounded nice and quiet. She put her hat back on, smoothed her skirt and readied herself. Once the carriage stopped, and the door was opened for her, she stepped out and tipped the driver, before stepping out and simply observing the town.

“Well. Now what?”

Alderman Brown watched from his porch as the carriage rolled into village. Seeing such transports pass through the village wasn't uncommon as the road passed by their homes and towards the more popular seaside towns. Seeing someone stop now? That was strange. Especially in the evening! The coaches would normally stop over in the larger town of Applefell, where they might gorge themselves on meats and brews of the finest until morning brought them to the road again. There was no inn or hostel here, Arbordale being too small to support such services or even a coach yard. So the sight of the pretty young woman stepping out and down upon the ground with a bewildered air was puzzling. Still. No need to make her feel unwelcome, he decided. Pushing his ancient and amble frame out of his chair, he ambled down towards the road with his pipe leaving a fine trail of plumed smoke behind him. Balding and aged, Brown was alderman because he had six sons to work his lands, the wealth to show for it, a genial everyman's common sense that passed for wisdom and for the fact that he was the oldest man in or around Arbordale.

"Good morrow, miss! Good morrow!" he huffed as he laboriously made his way up to her. "Not many travelers stop their stay here! Is there trouble with your coach or horses, then?" He braced himself for some acid response, the arrogance and surly attitude of even the lowest of the city dwellers well known even in this back-beyond. Yet the Alderman was of a mind that no one who passed or stopped in his village would find them lacking in manners or kindness, despite whatever passed for decency in the urban sprawls. "We've no inn here, but if you're parched or sickly we can open the public house early for you while you wait?"

“Good morrow, sir.” Kijani smiled politely at the old gentleman, but was inwardly wincing. She hadn't expected to make a scene, at all. Now she was scrambling for a story. Luckily, she'd always been quite creative. “No trouble at all, actually. I am on holiday, and... I would appreciate your help in finding potential housing for the time being.” The coachmen set down her traveling bag at her feet, tipped his hat to her, and was off before she had the idea to call him back.

Her story wasn't bad. It was simple enough to be believed, but open enough that she could add details as necessary. “If it's not too much trouble, that is.” She was used to being obeyed by people that dressed like this man did, but she wasn't completely fooled by her upbringing. There wasn't her name to back her up, here. She was strictly on her own merits, and it wouldn't do well for her if she started things off by insulting the only person to greet her so far.

"Holiday, is it?" The old man's eyebrows shot up to his nearly nonexistent hair line. "Not many folks of quality like yourself come here for such! But as I said, you're welcome and I'll not be called a liar for it. I'm the Alderman here in Abordale, by Stone Brown I'm called. Only... we don't be having much room here. Not right sure where you'd stay. All I could offers is a stall of hay, and that wouldn't do! Not at all." He puffed on his pipe furiously as he tried to think of what to do with her. Pudgy fingers with gnarled knuckles ran through the remains of grey hair that still clung stubbornly to his head, his face a flushed rose hue. There was the Fitters family, young couple who might have a spare room but she was about due with their first; not the best of situations to place a lady of breeding in. Old Widow Nutt had a small room she might spare, yet her irascible nature made that option a last resort. Farmer Oak had too many of his acorns running about the place for anyone to relax. If only the Pearsons were still alive, them with that great big cottage and their orchard...

"There... there may be something we can do for you, miss. Not exactly in town, like, but a not too far a walk if you're up for it!" He glanced down at her fine boots, dainty little things next to his rough worn farmers brogans. Talking of walking while she was wearing those things seemed a might silly, suddenly. The Alderman hurried on. "There's a young man with an orchard down the lane a ways, former soldier who settled with us last year. Nice enough fellow. Victor... what was it again? Oh, aye. Victor Croil. We just calls him Vinegar. Makes the best short batch as I've ever tasted here a bouts! Doesn't talk much but always has a friendly nod and smile for us in the village proper. He's got a fine cottage with lots of rooms I don't think he uses. We can take a stroll... or maybe I should say, grab my cart and take a ride over to him, if you'd like. If you're both agreeable, I'll have my daughter Feather comes as chaperone and maid servant to you. How does that sound then?"

The Alderman was well aware she actually had little choice. The sun was setting, and it was doubtful there would be any other carriages along to whisk her away tonight. Or the next several days for that matter. Arbordale was scarcely on the beaten path for all that it was near the main road to the sea; it was a hamlet that travelers looked at and thought to themselves, 'Oh, how quaint' and then promptly forgot about it as they dealt with far more important matters. But Stone Brown was a kindly man, and the mercy within his heart wanted the young lady to feel as though she was selecting from a platter of options even if there was only one palatable one. She didn't seem that much older than his Feather for all that she was perfumed and scented. A paternal instinct tugged at his conscience, ensuring that he was of a mind to assist her.

Kijani fidgeted, very slightly, as the old man took her story for truth. That had been easy enough, but the question of her lodging was an important one. She honestly hadn't expected the town not to have rooms to rent. How far out of town was she? When he mentioned the orchard, her eyes lit up. “That sounds like just the place. If your daughter agrees to it, of course, I am definitely in need of a chaperone. She would be well paid, as well, and honestly it would not be hard work. My usual servant is quite elderly so I don't like to tax her much.” She smiled warmly. “Mr. Brown, you are a true gentleman. I don't know anyone else who would help me so readily.”

She looked around herself, just taking in her surroundings. There was something immediately different about this place. It was very green, for one thing. She was far too used to steel and stone, brass and bronze. Here, there were trees and grass, and ripe-looking fruit. Also, something else... that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It revealed itself all at once. “...do you smell that? That... wonderful, loamy scent?” She inhaled slowly as if sniffing a fine wine. “It's so... rich.”

The Alderman frowned for a moment, taking a tentative sniff of the air. He found nothing strange or out of the ordinary, at least nothing that would elicit such delighted reaction from the young lady. Then it dawned on his not too overly taxed mind that she was from the city. She wouldn't used to the scents and smells of the land and well might be experiencing some of them for the first time. And there was only one over-powering fragrance that he could make out at the moment. With his red jovial face and wide grin, he chuckled. "Why, miss! That's manure! You know. Pig shit! Nothing for good crops like pig shit!"

***

Victor eased back in the old wooden chair upon his porch. His porch. He chuckled. It was still hard to believe! Two years ago he'd been discharged as no longer fit for service and not fit for one of those new fangled artificial limbs that were all the rage; cheaper to give him his half pay and get rid of him than spend the small fortune those damnable devices cost. His leg might be weak and tremble at the knee when overly tasked, but at least it was still his own! He sat back and smoked his briar pipe in ease as he watched the sun set. Soon he'd head in, clump over to the room he'd made for his bed, and turn in for the night. There was no point in staying up late and wasting the precious lamp oil, and the reek of the tallow-fat candles tickled his nose too much to bother with. But in that moment, he paused to reflect his good fortune in life.

Until the rumble of a horse cart disturbed his pleasure. Squinting down the lane that lead towards the village square, Victor could just make out old Brown at the reins, his wisp of a daughter Feather behind him. And someone else. Someone dressed in finery far too great for the farmlands of Abordale. The sight of her made him frown, memories of dandy ladies with all their fripperies laughing at soldiers returned from the front, brining men in the hospitals some small treat as though it were a great act of charity... The former soldier's ease was disturbed. In stony trepidation, he watched the comical show of the Alderman lowering himself out of the cart's driving bench (a sight sure to cure the worse of depressions) and ambled over towards the house. Victor said nothing as the old man approached.

"Vinegar! Glad to see you awake still! I know you're a true man of the land, for all that rifle carrying you done. Early to bed, early to rise, and all that. A proper farmer. Should have been among us years ago." Alderman Brown waited for a reply that was not forth coming. Nervously shifting on his feet, he gestured back towards the cart. "I... er.... I was wondering if you might do me, and the village, a bit of a favor, Vinegar? Young lady there. She come into town, nowhere else to go. Want to have one of them there... er... holidays! That's it. A holiday here among us. Only we've got no rooms for her, least none as fit for such gel. You with this big cottage, and I know you don't have use for the second floor of it what with your leg. So... I was hoping...?"

Victor still said nothing, although the scowl in his face said everything that needed saying.

"Oh, come now," pleaded the elder, "I knows your not fond of the city, but she's just a gel! My Feather will take care of her, you won't even know she's here! And she's for paying, tis not a charity we're asking!"

Closing his eyes for a moment, Victor fought the oncoming headache. Feather again. Chit of a girl, some sixteen or seventeen years old and in want of a husband that she wasn't somehow related to; that was the problem with small towns like this. Everyone ended up related to each other sooner or later. Brown had been trying to foist her off on Victor no more than a month after he'd purchased the orchard and lands, and this was no doubt another scheme of his to invest her into his home and thoughts. It didn't matter that he had no interest in the girl at all, even though she could arguably be called 'pretty.' She simply had no spine! No thoughts of her own! It wasn't that Feather was simple in the head, just... simple. No, if Victor were to ever marry, it would have to be a woman with strong will and determination, someone not afraid of work and full of life! It was tempting to utter a few scathing remarks to drive Brown and his flighty offspring off so they might leave him be.

The mention of coin changed his mind. He was far from wealthy, nor was he exactly wanting. Still, new coin would buy a better pump for the washhouse, maybe hire some lads in to help with the harvest; prideful enough he wanted the work to be all his, the throbbing in his knee brought some common sense. And how long a holiday could it be? He let the Alderman twist in the wind for several minutes before heaving a great sigh of annoyance.

"Fine," he agreed curtly. "Room and meals, morning and evening. She have to do for herself if she wants 'luncheon.' I'll trust to you to manage the coin, Alderman, and see me my fair share. But they both are to stay out of my way. I have enough trouble getting about without more underfoot."

Kijani watched as the Alderman discussed what was hopefully to be her lodging with the owner of the property. Even from where she was sitting, she could see he was less than pleased. That didn't bode well. A twist of nerves hit her stomach. If this Vinegar man didn't agree, she had no idea what she'd do for sleeping quarters.

To try and distract herself, she turned to the girl beside her. Feather. A unique and lovely name, that spoke at something both beautiful and incredibly fragile. Something of use, too, if you thought about it. She smiled politely at the girl who was to be her chaperone for this "holiday" of hers.

"Have you ever been a maid before, Feather?" She wanted to know what the girl knew- and what Kijani could perhaps get away with not telling her. "I am an easier charge than most, but I will still need help with the basics. Laying out my clothing, the wash... you know, usual things. Honestly, the rest of it I can handle, though I know it's not my station to do so."

She paused, thinking. Since the whole 'pig shit' incident several miles back, Kijani had been more than reluctant to marvel aloud about the simplistic beauty of the town. She didn't want to sound like an idiotic city girl, though she was, if she really, really thought about it. But there were simply things that she didn't know. "What sort of places are there, in town? Shops, perhaps? A bookstore?" The second one was something wished for, but not something she wagered on actually getting. Good thing she'd packed plenty of books, and her journal, within her traveling bag.

Feather sat besides the great lady in all of her finery, feeling small and mousy next to her. The Alderman was stout, wide and rosy cheeked, Feather was just the opposite: tall, thin, gawky and whey faced with plain features and flyaway blond hair that fought the attempt to braid it in even a single plait. Soulful grey eyes stared out in tremulous terror of saying the wrong thing or near anything at all. She was pretty, actually, in an underfed, country sort of way. A meek girl of seventeen, she feared offending the fine guest from the city. She had no idea what might offend such a person, but her father was taking great pains to tend to her so she must be important. Feather paused before and after each sentence. It was a halting way of speaking, but the farmer's daughter knew no other way to communicate; the words were there in her head, but she had to concentrate on getting them to come out in the right order.

"No, miss. Never been a maid." Feather looked down at her own feet as she sat upon her hands to still them. Eyes darted to and fro as she worked out what to say next, and there was a small smile of pleasure as she said eagerly, "I can wash, though, miss! Me Ma and I, we do the washing at home! And I can sew and cook, too!" Pause. "I don't know about stations though, mum. No engines come out this way, Da says, they're for the army men."

Her eyes lit up again as the next answer worked its winding way to her lips. "There's no shop, miss, but Master Bandleman comes with his cart every Seventh Day! He says he has wonders from all over the word for those of us with the coin! He might have some books, miss. And Seventh Day is only two days from now since this is Fifth Day!" Feathers eyes danced about again as if searching for anything she might have missed within her own mind. "Oh, and Da has a book!" she added helpfully. Feather looked up towards the city girl hopefully, watching for any sign of kindness or approval at her contributions.

Alderman Brown, the meanwhile, was rubbing his hands and chuckling in satisfaction. Everything was going well. The young lady would be safe in the house of a soldier, even one as wounded as Vinegar; she would have her holiday and hopefully tell her friends of the delightful little village that was good for resting the body and soul; Feather and Vinegar would spend some time close together and might grow on each other; and... and... all would be right with the world! "Well and good, Vinegar! Well and good! And I promise you, promise you I will, that you'll scarce hear a peep! Er... if you might spend at least a little time... helping Feather? You know she can be a bit... well... She's a good girl! Knows how to keep a house! But..."

Victor resisted sighing in annoyance again. This hardly sounded like he wouldn't notice the women living in his house. What it did sound like was that he was correct in thinning the Alderman was throwing his beloved daughter at Victor again in the hopes of a wedding and someone else to care for her. Brown loved his daughter, doted on her even! But declining years and sons who had families of their own to tend to made it harder to look after the simple girl. Having already given his word, though, Victor was loathe to go back on it.

"Fine. Fine. She can have the grand room up and on the left, the door locks on the inside. There's a crib room off of that with a small bed that Feather can have. Feather'll need to clean the dust out of the rooms and put to fresh sheets. There's spare blankets in the cedar chest in my room. Spare comforter, too." He rose up with wince, leaning heavily on his cane and glaring at the Alderman when he started forward as if to help. Defiant against his pain, Victor stumped about. "You get her things in. I'll stoke up the fire so she had embers for the bed warmer. I just have to find the damned thing, first."

Kijani was glad that the girl didn't already know how to be a maid. It meant that she would have more freedom, and could basically make her own rules. The pay she wouldn't shirk on. She had the money to make it worth Feather's while, and keep her father happy. It wasn't until the girl started talking about stations and engines that Kijani realized she was somewhat... outclassing young Feather, in a few significant ways. She opened her mouth to politely correct the girl, but then Feather spoke again, this time with more helpful information. No shops, but a traveling merchant. It would have to do. Thank goodness she'd packed books. And then Feather made her puzzled again, because of course Seventh Day would be two days after Fifth Day... everyone knew that, or could at least work it out for themselves. Once young Feather had finished her little speech, Kijani put a smile on. Poor young girl seemed desperate to please. Kijani could deal with that- Feather was sweet. Simple, goodness knew, but sweet all the same. Perhaps she could teach the girl a thing or two, starting with vocabulary.

“Thank you, Feather, for all of your helpful information. We're going to get along quite well.” She paused. Feather seemed quite young, and unsure of the formal rules of class and station. Maybe this would be to her advantage. “I would appreciate to learn from you, Feather. Such things that I could not learn myself. Cooking and such.” She smiled, warmly. “I hope we can learn to be friends.” It didn't seem quite right for her to trick someone as... mild as Feather seemed to be. It would just be too easy, like playing pranks on a young child. It took most of the fun out of things. So perhaps she'd simply ask Feather for what she wanted, instead of sneaking around.

Turning her gaze back to the two men at the house, she frowned slightly. The conversation seemed to be over, as the man known as “Vinegar” was up and moving around. Though he seemed to be doing that moving under some duress.

“Feather, what do you know about our host?”

Friend?? The country girl considered the word. She had a few friends that she saw now and then: Lilac from down the way, Wrenfly from over the way, cousin Brookfall... she hadn't seen any of them much of late, on account of them having already married. The lady was asking to be friends... but she was to serve the lady... She shrugged off the confusion, the thought too taxing for her mind to stay on top of. It was strange the lady not knowing to cook! What mother wouldn't teach her daughter such a needed task??

Feather's eyes darted about again while she bit her bottom lip. "He was a soldier," she finally volunteered, "I remember Da saying he were a soldier. But they sent him home. On account of his leg, miss. He were wounded, Da said, but they couldn't put on one of them legs that weren't a leg for whatever reason. So he came here and lives in Master and Mistress Pearsons' home." The girl paused. "They're dead, you see, miss. Only he didn't kill them, even though he's a soldier. They died almost three years ago. Master Vinegar didn't come here until a year later, which was two years ago." Her eyes narrowed with the effort of trying to recall something that happened more than a year ago. They finally focused as though she was staring at something far, far in the distance. "He does't come into town much, miss, or so my Da says. He... tends to stay on his own, quiet like. Doesn't like Master Bandleman, though. They fought about something, I remember. Now Master Vinegar takes his cart into one of the bigger towns for his chandleries and the like." The focus was gone, and Feather shrugged happily for she thought she was being of use. "Da thinks Master Vinegar ought to be married, that it's no good for a man his age to live without a wife, and my Ma told me I should find my way into his bed while I'm here, which is silly." Feather laughed at the ridiculousness of the very thought. "If I slept in his bed, where would he sleep?!"

There was a cough from the roadside, and Alderman Brown hustled his amble bulk towards the cart with his chest heaving. "Ah! Miss! Ah!" He stops before the cart, bent over with hands upon knees as he wheezed. Waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the cottage, he coughed again. "G-good new, miss! Master Vinegar'll take you in, right enough. Keep you safe, dry and fed. He's asked me to handle his accounts for him in this manner, but with night falling we should... we should get you settled! He's... ah... he's a busy man, though, so mid-days meals... er... you'll have those at our house, if you're willing. Or you can do as you like, well... of course you can, miss. A minute while I... catches me breathe, then... and I'll have your bags and such into the house." He gave another flutter of a hand wave towards his daughter. "Feather, sweets? Give your mistress a hand down and take her to Master Vinegar, would you, love?"

***

Victor closed the door behind him as he surveyed the central room, still trying to reconcile the idea of having people in his home after enjoying his solitude for some time. It wasn't that the large cottage was unkept or dirty. Far from it! Years of soldiering had left their mark upon him in many ways, including the discipline of keeping one's domicile and possessions in order. The large room of the stone cottage was dominated by fireplace and chimney that stood central and rose up through the ceiling beams; a clever design, its opposing hearths allowed for heating both sides of the room. The wider of the two sections served as a section for eating and crafting. It was homey, with a rag woven rug to keep the cold from biting the feet and simple but sturdy wooden chairs and tables; a narrow stairwell led up the second floor where the three bedrooms were located. None of them were used by Victor, though. He hadn't been up there more than a handful of times since purchasing the property. No, his bed he had wrestled himself to the far side of the fireplace. The space had originally been used for cooking and as a pantry for a large family; with himself as the only occupant, Victor easily had space to set up his sleeping arrangements to the back of the cottage while leaving the cooking area closer to the front door.

People. In the house.

Young Feather he could dodge. Victor had nothing against her personally, but he was growing tired of her family's machinations to see him married off. Some day he might well marry still, there being dances and festivals of one sort or another nearly every moon's passing, and those celebrations often bringing in folks from outside the village or taking the village to outside folks. It wasn't unreasonable to think he might meet some woman there to take to wife. Weary as his mind was, he was simply not ready for the venture.

This lass from the city, now? That was a different matter! He knew what the gentry and nobles and well to do preferred, which was to be in charge. Victor had scars across his back from 'gentlemen' officers who asserted their dominance with lash and frame, who ordered men into the breaches to die by the hundreds so they could declare their superiority over 'gentlemen' that did the same to their rank and file. Why would he have any expectation to believe different of her?

Kijani stayed quiet as Feather spoke, stopping and starting and thinking hard. She picked up more vital information from the girl's ramble than she'd expected. So, Master Vinegar was an injured veteran, and a homebody. Wanted to be left alone, and didn't like this Mr. Bandleman much. Kijani wondered if there was a reason for that- as a soldier Mr Vinegar would have seen plenty of the world. Mostly the worst parts. If he didn't like Mr. Bandleman, then maybe he'd recognized something in the salesman that he distrusted...

She couldn't help but smile at Feather's innocence, even though her mother's suggestion made her own ears a bit red. Imagine, a mother telling a daughter to give herself away to a stranger... how awful! She found herself very glad for Feather's simple misunderstanding- that meant the poor girl could be safe. Kijani felt her stomach go cold, and twist with nausea. Even without her being willing, a man could take what he wanted from a woman and no one could be the wiser...

Alderman Brown's wheezing caught her attention and drew her from her memory. She smiled politely and showed happiness at being taken in. She was good at the upturning of lips, but any smart soul who caught her eye would see the depth of the trouble within. But she stepped down carefully from the carriage, smoothing her skirt and looking to the Alderman. “Thank you, sir, for everything you've done. I promise you'll be well rewarded. Come along, miss Feather.” She gestured and smiled to Feather. “Let's go meet our host.”

She squared her shoulders and started walking toward the house.

The wayward bed warmer found and laid by the stair, Victor stumped back out the the porch in time to see the trio approach the steps. The Alderman looked as though he were about to explode from the way he gasped and wheezed as he struggled with the lady's baggage; Victor offered him no sympathies or help. Even if he had, the Alderman was the type to refuse and possibly even take insult at the idea that he was no longer a hale and fit farmer. Feather was... Feather. There was no changing that. The woman from the city was another matter, for she clearly was attractive and poised in such a manner that no one would ever mistake her for a local. His eye caught the the way the pinstriped waistcoat fitted to her torso, the skirt about her hips, and there beneath that ridiculous hat was a face fresh and angelic, framed by the the black dreads. It made the former soldier regretfully reflect on how long it had been since he'd lain with a woman.

"Ah, Master Vinegar!" panted Brown as he mounted the steps. "Allow me to... to present Miss Kijani. Ah, Miss Kijani? This here's Master Vinegar. He'll see to your lodgings and safety." He nodes enthusiastically again as though it was because his words made it all so. He directed Feather inside and up the stairs, following after with the luggage and calling back over his shoulder, "I'll leave you two fine folks to become acquainted like! Me 'n' Feather? We'll set this all to rights, so we will!"

And then it was just the two of them. Victor felt slightly uncomfortable as she looked up at him, then angry at himself for feeling that way beneath her scrutiny. His simple workman's shirt with its low collar and buttoned sleeves was far from being the same white as her impeccable blouse, and the faded forest green long pants with their leather patches and sewn up rents was definitely a far cry from the rest of her finery. Those and his stained leather vest of were all of local make. Only his knee-high black boots marked him as having any city connections; the were the boots of a rifleman and cared for with a soldier's pride. Leaning on the stout hickory cane, he gave Kijani a curt nod.

"Mistress Kijani," he rumbled flatly. "You're as welcome as you may be. My salt and hearth are yours, your health and safety mine."

The traditional country greeting done, he eased himself into his chair with out regard for offering her one. "Strange place for a holiday, if I might say. Not many folks stop in Arbordale." His accent was a strange mix of lower class city life and rural argot, a blend that tripped off the tongue and marked him as an outsider to either place.

Kijani gazed up at her host with an air of polite curiosity, her yellow-brown eyes taking him in all at once, and then in pieces. The scar along his jaw made her want to wince, what had caused that? Perhaps the same thing as the scar on his hand... She deduced that the war had likely caused the cane, because he couldn't have been a soldier with a limp for long. His clothing was plain, obviously well worn and rough. His shoes, of all things, made her pause. These were shined to a pleasant luster, better than some butlers she'd seen. There was something in the boots he wanted keeping.

Her eyes flicked back upward as he began to speak. He didn't sound happy to see her, and despite his words, she really did not feel welcome. There was a flatness to his voice, as if he was bored, or simply tired. His phrasing seemed rote, like an oft repeated saying, but she didn't recognize the words. His voice was odd- was it possible to have two accents? Once he was done greeting her, she let slowly spill the prepared story she'd concocted on the drive over.

“Thank you, Mr. Croil, for allowing me to stay.” She'd pulled up his name from her memory with some difficulty and was proud she'd remembered. “I promise I will not be a bother. This is your domicile, I will obey your customs.” She paused, one hand subconsciously going to the hair, to spin a dreadlock around her finger. “I wanted a place far removed from Verrun's city life- this seemed like exactly what I was looking for.” No need to mention her budget for travel had simply run out here. The rest of her money she was saving, but she did not know for what. “I must say, it's beautiful here.” A faint, true smile quirked her lips upward. “Somehow I've had the luck of choosing the best scenery in town. Were those apple trees outside?” The trees were looking heavy with fruit, and she wondered for a fleeting moment what they would taste like. “Apples are my favorite...” That was actually truth and not just polite conversation. Kijani had always found something pleasing in the snap and crunch of a well-ripened apple, and she'd had many a young night cozied in her bed, with a novel in one hand and an apple in the other, the sweet juice dripping down her chin.

She realized she didn't know what to say to him. “Is there anything... I should be aware of while I board here?”

Maybe it was the mention of apples that softened his heart towards her just a bit. It was the apple trees that had snared him when he first found the property, the sight of them hanging untended and heavy upon their branches and the smell of those that had fallen to the ground fermenting and filling the country air with the sweet aroma. Upon his discharge, he knew he wanted a life in the rural hills that was far from either city or battlefield. Victor had never desired to be a farmer so much in his life, despite a childhood spent being shipped back and forth between the orphanage and the work fields. Yet with his senses lulled by ripe redness and intoxicating fresh fruit, he knew his place was working the land by his own hand. His softening towards his guest was betrayed to her by the way Victor's body marginally relaxed as he gazed at those same trees.

"The trees in front there?" he finally offered quietly. "Those apples are free for the picking. Take any you want off of those. Pear trees 'long the far side of the house, too. They're all just as good as anything else I grow. Any one from Arbordale can do the same if they like, so long as they don't get cocky and strip them bare by the wagonload. Small enough price to pay to keep the neighbors happy, and it keeps most of the children from stealing outright from the proper orchard in back. Speaking of which? You can go walking back there if you want, makes for a nice morning hike, but leave off any of the fruit. That all gets sold to the City and towns."

Turning his gaze from the line of trees that separated his property from the country lane that lead past it, Victor turned to look up at her. How long ago had he been the stranger here? True, the villagers of Arbordale had accepted him fairly quickly as one of their own. Most of them even acted as though he had lived among them all of his life instead of just a couple of years, especially once they discovered that despite having been a soldier he did know something of farming. But this pretty young lady was from the city, and while she might have been welcomed as a guest, there would be those in the village who would be far happier with her coin than with her. "Miss...Kijani, is it, then? Not sure if you'll understand, but... Folks around here tend to be a bit private. They like their quiet. And while they all love a good tongue wag to pass the time, they don't like to share that gossip too much with outsiders. So if a bunch of washer wives suddenly shut their gobs when you walk by, don't take it too personally."

Victor looked away suddenly, busying himself with pulling out his pipe from a belt pouch and relighting it with a lucifer match. While trying to give her a kind word, he realized he had been gazing at her as though she were one of his trees. Like the apple trees, she was fresh and alive and healthy. This close to her, Victor could catch the faint whiff of day-faded perfume that came across as enticing as apple blossoms and pear leaves. To cover the sudden embarrassment, he coarsely struck the match and started to puff at the briarwood's stem. "Best advice I can give, Miss Kijani? Don't go poking about. And don't bring any trouble."

Kijani noticed Mr. Croil relax a bit as he started to talk about his fields. No wonder, if she was in charge of something so wonderful and grand, she'd want to talk about it too. She was glad to hear that she could have some apples, as well. She hadn't had any with the skin on in years. Her mother had said the biting and crunching was not at all ladylike, and so she'd been forced to eat her fruit in small slices, with a knife and fork, ever since. Embarrassingly enough, she could feel her mouth filling at the thought of biting into the sweet delicious treat, feeling the glossy red skin snap under her teeth.

She wasn't surprised as he told her that people would be quiet around her. She was used to it in the city. Her family wasn't the most powerful or wealthy, but they were still in enough circles of note to be noticed, and held higher than most. People spoke differently around her, as if they were afraid. What that fear was, she didn't quite understand fully. Something about upsetting people with power. She honestly couldn't stand it. No one spoke to her like she was just a woman. No, she was always and forever a Ryane, destined to walk and talk and be a Ryane, until she married and took some man's name but even then, she'd be a Ryane as well.

The thought of marriage triggered a twist in her stomach, an ice cold pang that spread through her body. Mr. Croil's mention of bringing trouble only made her colder, and she started to twist her hands in endless motion, the silk gloves doing little to stop her. Her eyes had gone a bit dim, and distant, and she barely realized that her host had stopped speaking. Inside, she was simply begging herself: not now, not now, not in front of people. Her hands were starting to hurt but she was somehow detached from the pain. She inhaled a breath that shook somewhat and tried to smile. “No trouble at all, sir.”

That was, after all, exactly why she'd left.

Victor narrowed his eyes as he watched how she wrung her hands, the strange shift in stance and the distant look in her eyes telling the one time solider that she had become preoccupied with some weighty and worrisome matter. Even the smile that she tried to give him was a tad strained. He made note of it, then looked out towards his trees again to make it appear he'd either seen nothing or was disinterested in pursuing it. Another puff, and a plume of white smoke floated up and away into the air, the scent of rum enriched pipe weed sweetly carried upon the breeze. Vincent lowered the pipe to stare into the shadows cast by the setting sun.

"There's a pot of stew bubbling on the heart," he finally offered. "Hard cider in the jug by the back door, and you'll find bowls and mugs on the table, miss. Not the fare you're used to probably, living in Verrun and eating... whatever you nobs eat. But it'll fill your belly and warm your toes. 'Specially the cider." Vincent said nothing more, instead taking a deep breath and relaxing back into his chair as though he was the only one there. All the while, however, his mind ran over how nice it might be to have a pretty face about the house, even if just for a little while.

Alderman Brown struggled up the last of the bags before taking his leave. "You're all set then, Miss!" he huffed red-faced as he exited. "I'll be taking the cart back home now before the missus wonders where I took myself to. Good night to you both, then."

Feather followed close behind, her pale face glowing happily as she came out onto the porch. "Oh, Mistress Kijani!" she bubbled. "I've got the rooms aired out a bit, Mistress, and the bedding's all changed out. I've never had my own room before. And I get my own bed with it, Mistress! It's smaller than the one I share with my Gram, but since she's pretty heavy it looks bigger! I don't know why me Mum told me to use Master Vinegar's bed!"

At this last piece of news, Victor choked on his pipe smoke and began to cough violently in surprise, a wracking sputter that took him a bit to recover.

Kijani's new maid continued onwards blithely, completely oblivious to their host's sudden convulsive fit. "I have your things neatly in the wardrobe, Mistress Kijani, and your unmentionables in the drawers by the bed." There was another bout of coughing. "If you'd like to eat, I can serve you now, Mistress!"

Before Kijani could say that she appreciated Mr. Croil's offer of food, the Alderman and young Feather returned. “Thank you, Alderman, you've been an immense help to me. I promise I won't work Feather too hard.” He was off, and then Feather was so delighted about having a space of her own. She hadn't thought of things that way. Imagine sharing a bed! That must have been horrid...

And then Feather's innocence nearly made her jaw drop open. Mr. Croil seemed to be choking to death in his chair, and she really could do absolutely nothing to aid him, as she was somewhere between hysterical laughter and utter pity. “Oh, dear Feather, you must show me our lodgings... A whole bed all to yourself, that does sound nice. I wouldn't want to share a thing with my grandmother, she's quite the bear and snores like my father.” She cast an apologetic, mildly worried at the still-coughing Croil, before she led Feather off.

“Ah, Feather... you don't know what... being in someone else's bed means, do you?” She didn't know why she was asking a question when the answer had already been made plain, so she continued on. “That means you are that person's wife.” She paused, trying to figure out how to explain a wife's duties in a non-scary way. She could feel the cold creeping into her chest already, but she wanted to make sure Feather understood what her mother wished of her. The sooner she dealt with the subject, the easier it wold be for all of them. “Er... that means you are expected to lie with the man and... make children.”

The look on Feather's face was one that would have made a dead man smile, so puzzled and turned about in thought as she pondered what her new mistress had just said. The words seemed to be working their way through to her brainpan. They were having a hard job of it, however. "Master Vinegar?" she finally half whispered to Kijani. "Well, that's even sillier! Why would he swive me? We're not even married!" There followed a girlish giggle. "Besides, he's so old, Mistress! Why, I've barely seen seventeen harvests, and he must have seen at least twenty five! Maybe even thirty! It would be like swiving with me Da!" That there remained a solid three decades or more between her father and Victor appeared to be a trivial gap compared to the different between her and the lame soldier.

Feather sighed wistfully. "Not like the miller's son, Stone. He says the nicest things to me and brings me presents, Mistress!" She giggled again. "And when he kissed me-"

Her new servant was interrupted as Victor entered his own home, stumping along towards the far side of the house where his bed lay hidden by the hearth. "I'm off to bed, Mistress Kijani. I like to rise early." He waved vaguely towards the pot where the stew bubbled and popped, filling the room with the scent of peppered meat and onions in thick gravy. "Bread box is on the table by the bowls."

Vincent paused, sure he should say something more to her but having little idea as to what. His tongue seemed frozen even as his thoughts tumbled about disorderly, the discomfort of having someone else beneath his roof in close agreement with his distaste for anything or anyone that came from Verrun and yet clashing with the desire to be a good host, the knowledge of what it was to be the outsider and the damage a beautiful face could cause. Leaning on his cane, he teetered there just staring at Kijani and Feather. Finally, Vincent just nodded curtly and limped around the hearth. Finding his bed, he shucked off his boots and socks to ease his sore leg up onto the blankets, followed by the rest of his body. He would undress later, when they were upstairs. For now, Victor just wanted to close his eyes and relax in the dimness of the shadows.

Kijani wanted to laugh at the look on Feather's face as what she said slowly took hold. She seemed to understand it, to a point. But what actually surprised her is that Feather seemed to have a beau of her own. That was sweet and unexpected. She wanted to hear more, but then Mr. Croil stepped up to the two of them.

Once he'd gestured to the food, there was a space of silence, where she was simply looking at him, unsure of what to say. But before she could make up her mind, between thanking him or wishing him a good sleep, he nodded and was gone. He probably wanted to be free of her for the time being. She couldn't blame him for that- she hated having houseguests at home. Even if her home was big enough that she could avoid them.

"Well, Feather, show me where we're to sleep." She smiled gently at her chaperone. "And do tell me more about this young Mr. Stone... he seems quite nice." She wondered if Feather's parents realized that she seemed to have her heart already set for someone else. There was certainly no hint of attraction to Mr. Croil, in any case. Maybe if Alderman Brown knew, he could let Feather have a happy coupledom instead of a forced marriage, and-

She cut her own thoughts short with a slight inward flinch. There was no need for her to get so involved in the lives of strangers. These people had been living their lives just fine before she got here, and they would continue to do so when she left. They didn't need a city woman to 'fix' their lives. It made her someone upset at herself, knowing that she'd fallen into that pattern without even meaning to.

"After that I suppose I should eat, and so should you, of course..." She realized she hadn't eaten anything substantial for hours, and was already feeling slightly lightheaded.