She didn’t hear anyone approach, but suddenly a hand was around her arm. She looked up slowly, not caring if someone meant her harm.
“Melisande,” Bill’s voice said before she could focus her eyes. “What’s wrong? Why are you in Potter’s Field?”
He’d cared enough to come for her, even though he must be tired and hungry after so many hours of work.
“I don’t want to be here,” she whispered.
“Let’s leave, then.”
“No, I mean I don’t want to end up here. And even if I leave now, I’ll be back.”
He pulled her to her feet and held her up.
“It’s my mother,” she murmured. “She’s dead.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
She nodded, but then the motion changed and she was shaking her head. “Did you mean it? About taking up with me?”
His body stiffened against her and she cringed. A stupid question. It had been only bedroom talk. She’d known that deep inside, hadn’t she?
“Melisande…” he started.
She forced a smile, already opening her mouth to tell him that it was fine, that she understood.
But he surprised her. “Of course I meant it.”
She lifted her head to study his face. Could she believe him?
“Come to my room.” He began to lead her away, making her feet walk without her even feeling it. “I’ll bring meat and bread. We’ll have dinner and get you warmed up.”
Was she cold? She stopped and turned back. Her mother’s marker was already mixed up with all the others. Soon the marker would get kicked out of place or covered up, and everything Marie Angelle had been would be lost forever.
Was it possible that Melisande could have something different?
“Adieu, Maman,” she whispered, and then she let Bill lead her away.
Chapter 6
‡
They didn’t talk at all until morning. Just as he’d promised, Bill had taken her home and fed her. He’d poured her a glass of cheap wine and undressed her, and then he’d held her until she slept.
She woke with a start, unsure where she was at first, lost in the darkness of his room. For a moment, she wondered if she were already in a grave, unable to see, the burial shroud tangled around her limbs.
Bill caught her arms and pulled her back to the bed, soothing her with the sound of his voice and pulling the blankets back up to warm her. He lit the lamp, and she finally remembered where she was.
“You’ll be late,” she protested when he settled back next to her.
“It’s barely dawn. I’ve an hour before work, at least.”
She settled thankfully into his embrace.
“Anyway, half the men won’t show up until noon after last night.”
She shot him a quizzical look.
“It’s the new year,” he said.