Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

In the end she'd fallen asleep by the fire, snuggled up in her shawl. When she awoke the next morning, she was lying on the freshly stuffed mattress, wrapped in blankets and shawls. She'd slept soundly all night, something she rarely did.

But how did she end up here? He must have picked her up and carried her, but she didn't remember it at all. Her cheeks flushed.

And him? Where had he slept?

She sat up and looked around. On the other side of the room was a simple straw pallet that hadn't been there before. The hut was empty and there was no sign of him anywhere. Once more there was that feeling of simultaneous relief and disappointment. She felt that when he was here, he took up the entire space of the hut and the air with it. But when he wasn't here, there was an odd emptiness, and she found herself looking for him. It was most irksome.

Louisa shook herself and rose from the bed. On the table, she found a loaf of coarse brown bread along with a jar of milk. That would have to be her breakfast.

After she ate, she put on a cotton dress from the previous day and briefly wondered what to do about the laundry. Where did one wash laundry? And more importantly, how? Could she hire a laundry maid to do it? She quickly dismissed the idea. No, she'd have to do it herself. Water she had aplenty in the river behind the hut. But where did one obtain lye? Or carbolic soap. Or whatever else it was that one used to wash one's clothes.

Overwhelmed by these questions, she decided that she had done enough work the previous day. Today, she would devote herself to her purpose of finding Will.

She washed her face in the ice-cold water outside, bitterly regretting that she'd left her precious Pears soap at home. Little did she know how precious and rare a commodity perfumed soap was, something only the upper classes could afford. Where could she get another bar? And what did most people use to wash themselves with, if not Pears soap?

She put on her bonnet and headed for the village, walking briskly down the mud-packed street towards the central market square. The smell of freshly baked bread led the way.

Large multi-pane windows displayed an array of baked goods. The sturdy door was open to let out the heat, and a wooden sign hung above it. It depicted a bundle of wheat and the words Brooks' Bakery.

Louisa's heart began to hammer wildly as she entered the shop.

Warmth and the fragrant smell of vanilla, cinnamon, cloves and the rich, yeasty fragrance of loaves fresh from the oven greeted her. A variety of breads, pastries, and cakes were displayed on shelves behind the wooden counter.

"How can I help you, ma'am?" asked a woman standing behind it. She was large with child and wore a white cap over her dark brown hair and an apron over her swollen stomach. Her face was red due to the warmth. For a moment, Louisa looked at her in surprise. "Is Mr Brooks here?" She tried to peer into the adjoining room of the bakehouse, where Mr Brooks usually baked.

"Mr Brooks? Oh, no. He's long gone."

"When will he be back?"

"He's passed on," the woman clarified. "Dead. Choked on a fish bone. But that was about"—she calculated—"five years ago? Six, maybe?"

"Oh!" Louisa looked at her, stricken. "I didn't know." Of course, how would she? She hadn't talked to Mr Brooks for over a decade.

"Did you know him?" The woman gave her a curious look. "I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes. I used to come here regularly when Mr Brooks was alive."

"I can't seem to remember seeing you here, though," the woman said, looking at Louisa closely.

"It's been a long time." Louisa hesitated. "Is …Will still here?"

The woman took loaves of bread from a basket and arranged them on the counter. "No."

Her shoulders slumped. Of course he wouldn't be here. Not after all this time .

"Well, then." Fighting her disappointment, Louisa fumbled with her reticule for some coins and handed them to her. "I'll take a loaf of this bread."

The woman studied her from top to bottom, taking in her fine dress and shawl. "Who's asking?"

"Miss Louisa High—that is, of course, Mrs Louisa Jones." Must remember her new name now that she was married.

"Are you of the Quality?" The woman knit her forehead together. Louisa's cotton dress, though wrinkled, was fashionable and of the finest cut.

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. She supposed that being married to a costermonger no longer made her a member of Quality. "We only arrived yesterday, my husband and I."

"Newly arrived, are you? You must be the ones who rented the cottage on the hill." The woman wrapped the bread in an old newspaper.

Louisa nodded. "News still spreads fast in this town, I see."

"Oh aye. There's nothing a body can do without the entire town knowing it the next day."

Little had changed then, in that regard.

"He's out all day delivering bread," the woman said as she handed the loaf to Louisa. "I keep telling him it's time to take on an apprentice, but he's not taking on anyone, only wants the best." The woman sighed. "But no one wants to be a baker's apprentice these days. ‘Tis hard times."

Louisa's fingers froze as she reached out for the loaf. "Excuse me?"

"I was sayin' he needs an apprentice?—"

"I mean, what you said before. He is out?" Suddenly, she was out of breath. "Will?"

"Aye. He's delivering bread and returning late. And tomorrow he's out all day in Dorchester. It's market day. If it's urgent and you want to talk to him, you'll have to go to Dorchester."

"Th-thank you." Louisa's heart leapt and pounded in a fast rhythm as she left the shop.

Will was still here. Will was still here. Will was still here. The phrase repeated in her mind in an endless loop.

Her dear friend Will was still here, and he'd become a baker, just as he'd always wanted.

A surge of pure joy shot through her and suddenly, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and life was wonderful.

With a spring in her step, Louisa hurried back to the cottage.