‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were hurt again. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I’m such a bastard.’ She was stil... crying. Quietly, like everything else. I could hear more ticking of sleet against the window than I could hear Elizabeth cry in little sighs. I reached out to touch her shoulder. ‘Don’t!’ She swung away from me, to the window again. After a minute I took the mug to the kitchen because I couldn’t stand it. When I came back she wasn’t crying. She began talking. She had never had much of an interest in wenching. A soft grunt caused her to look up. ‘Just look at ye! All grime and soot wit’ hardly a coin to spare for yourself and the young whelp! Why do ye not venture into one of the rooms, just one time? Ye may enjoy the earnin’ for once!’ Boislyn peered up at her with small, deep-set black eyes from a fatty, pink-cheeked face. Though short in stature, the kitchen mistress commanded authority from all that served under her. Few knew her well enough to. More

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