The Tale of Mally Biddle (5 page)

“Bonnie!” Mally called, and with a firm grip on the reigns and one hand steadying the rider, she led them slowly back to the field, the rain lashing them violently.

5
The Spy

Ivan thought his skull was smashed. He groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in a small, simple room. The cu
rtains over a square window had been drawn back, revealing the torrential rain outside. He could hear the wind whistling and he suddenly remembered. He’d fallen off Arrow. A blasted dog. A stupid,
stupid
hound had run in front of Arrow and he had fallen off.
He’d never fallen off!
And the stab of pain that went through his skull only emphasized his wounded pride. He tried to sit up but gasped in pain and quickly lowered back down. By the burning in his ankle, he guessed he had twisted it along with cracking open his skull. If he got his hands on that mongrel he’d skin it!

The door suddenly opened, and Ivan jerked his head around, but quickly regretted it as stars shot before his eyes.

“You’re awake, I was worried you wouldn’t be ‘till tomorrow.”

“Sorry?” Ivan asked through gritted teeth, trying to steady his sight, and when he did, he found a young girl with thick, curly hair sitting in a chair beside the bed. She had freckles on her cheeks. They stood out clearly on her colorless skin.

“How do you feel?” she asked, and the worry in her voice made it clear to Ivan that she had somehow witnessed his fall. He noticed that her hair looked very damp.

“Fine,” he said, trying to sound indifferent as he lowered his head back onto the pillow. “Just a few bruises.”

“You’re lying,” and the matter-of-fact tone caught Ivan by surprise. “I saw you grimace when I came in.”

“So it’s a little bit more than a few bruises,” Ivan snapped, a
nnoyed. “Who are you?”

“Mally Biddle. I’m sorry that Bonnie frightened your horse. He’s in the—”

“That was
your
dog? Can’t you keep better track of that animal?” Ivan barked in anger.

Mally seemed to bristle, color returning to her cheeks.

“Why can’t you ride slower in the rain?” she snapped back. “Was a ghost after you?”

“Mally?”

The door opened again and a woman walked in.

“He’s awake, Mother,” Mally stated, the lack of enthusiasm clear in her voice. She rose and left the room.

“You must excuse my daughter, sir,” the woman apologized after Mally had shut the door with a bang. “She has been very worried about you.”

Ivan didn’t respond, but allowed her to see to his cuts and a
nkle.

“You needn’t worry about your horse. He was uninjured in the fall. My daughter put him up in our stable. As for your ankle, I’m sorry to say that you shouldn’t walk on it for a few days.”

“Thank you, madam, but I need to be somewhere.”

“Nonsense, you’re not going to be able to walk much less ride with a foot like that. You’re staying here.”

Ivan opened his mouth to argue but shut it, nodding.

“My name’s Susie Biddle, by the way, and my daughter is Ma
lly. We’ll bring you up some dinner shortly, mister…?”

“Finley. Ivan Finley.”

“If you need anything, Mr. Finley, call for one of us.”

Susie walked across the room and closed the door gently b
ehind her.

Down below in the kitchen, Mally sat with her arms and legs crossed so tightly she looked like she was tied in knots. She scowled fiercely at the fireplace. Raindrops were steadily falling through the chimney to land on a heavy, black kettle sitting on a crackling fire. The drops hissed and sputtered on their landing. A very quiet Bonnie lay curled under the table.

What manners,
Mally thought savagely, her foot jerking up and down,
I’ve met pigs who behaved better.

The sound of footsteps reached her ears and Susie Biddle walked through the doorway. She smiled in amusement at the sight of Mally and took the kettle off the fire after checking on Mally’s clothes drip-drying by the fire.

“I’ll make a cup of tea,” said Susie, turning to a canister where she stored the tea leaves. “You were drenched to the bone.”

“I feel fine,” Mally growled, glaring at the fire. “And aren’t we getting low? We shouldn’t be wasteful about it.”

“Have one anyway. Oh. Oh my.”

“What is it?” asked Mally, turning in her chair. Her mother stood very still, the lid of the canister in one hand, staring down into its depths. She put her hand into the pot and pulled out five gold coins.

“Did you put these there?” she asked, turning to Mally.

“No,” said Mally, startled, staring at the gold in shock. “Where would I have gotten five gold pieces? Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Susie said slowly. She closed her fingers over the gold in her hand. For a moment she was silent and then as if she had suddenly decided something, she put the gold in her apron pocket and turned to the stove.

“I’m going to take Mr. Ivan Finley some soup—”

The reminder of their rude guest turned Mally’s mood sour.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to him,” she grumbled. “He’s as rude as a—”

“—and I want you to treat him as our guest. He’ll be here for a few days.”

“A few days?!” Mally gasped.

“At least,” Susie nodded firmly.

Mally watched her ladle up a bowl of steaming soup in furious horror. The little black mushrooms she had picked less than an hour ago bobbed up and down as Susie carried it from the room and up the stairs.

Mally snorted.

“Don’t know why she’s trying,” she fumed to Bonnie. “He’ll be completely ungrateful, I’m sure.”

Mally tried not to think about their surprise guest, but her mother kept making her send up his meals and when Ivan reques
ted pen and paper for a letter to his family to tell them not to worry, it was Mally who had to deliver them. Mally had a strong suspicion that her mother was trying to entice an apology from her. The few days that her mother had said he would stay turned into two weeks (“It really is a nasty sprain,” her mother had explained to a scowling Mally).

But by the fourth day of his recovery, Mally found herself thinking of Ivan more often than she liked. She’d brush it off like a disgruntled hen.

“So what if he’s good looking,” she’d mutter to herself as she pulled up carrots from their vegetable patch. “Lots of people are good looking.”

But he made her laugh and her palms would become irritatingly sweaty when he looked at her. She didn’t need to be pestered to take him his tea anymore. She started steeping it herself and car
efully carrying it and a few biscuits to his room.

“What is this tea?” Ivan once asked, making an odd face after he had sipped from his cup.

“Mint tea,” Mally had answered, and instead of feeling herself bristle at his expression, she had felt her stomach twist—as if worried he didn’t like it. “It’s what we drink. I suppose you’re not used to it.”

It was clear that Ivan came from wealth.

“I think I’m starting to like it,” was his reply, which sent Mally’s insides into a flutter.

She knew that it was stupid to be attracted to Ivan. The moment his ankle was healed, he would be off on his horse, back to wherever he came from or wherever he was off to.  She understood the difference between their social spheres.

But Ivan didn’t seem to mind her visits to his room, bringing tea and meals. He never seemed to find their conversations ir
ksome. He actually, if Mally dared to believe it, seemed to
enjoy
her company.

***

Ivan couldn’t believe his luck. Twisting his foot on a trip to see Coletta! It didn’t put him any closer to finding his spy, but avoiding Coletta was worth it. He could only imagine how his dear mother was taking the news—his letter would have reached them by now. And to have landed in a simple yet comfortable home with the best food he had ever tasted. Except the tea.
That
was disgusting. But he had told Mally otherwise, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

Ivan rested his head back on his pillow and tapped a finger to his lips. Mally. She was an interesting girl. Ivan hadn’t met many girls like her.

There was a soft knock on the door and Ivan sat up straight. It was time for his daily tea and visit from Mally.

“Come in,” said Ivan and as expected, Mally stepped into the room with a tray of that horrible tea, but also with Susie’s ph
enomenal cookies and biscuits.

“Hi. Mom just told me that your ankle is much better,” Mally said. She set the tray on his lap and took her usual seat by the bed. Ivan didn’t get to see her in the morning as she had jobs to do. Something about goats, he thought.

“So she said,” Ivan agreed, stirring some honey into his chipped mug. “It feels much better. But I’m not complaining. I’m glad I got this sprain when I did—I should thank your dog.”

Mally looked startled.

“Why—”

“My mother sent me to Halspeare,” Ivan explained.

“Why don’t you want to go to Halspeare?” Mally asked.

Ivan swallowed some tea and picked up one of the cookies off the tray.

“Because the only reason she wanted me to go was to get me to marry a Miss Coletta Smith who lives there.”

An odd flush spread over Mally’s cheeks at Ivan’s words.

“Oh.”

“But I have absolutely no intention of marrying Coletta or any one else for that matter,” Ivan continued, pretending he hadn’t n
oticed her blush.

At his words, Mally perked up immediately.

“Try one of the fig biscuits,” she recommended. “We had to hide them from Gibbs when he came collecting taxes.”

“He’s making his rounds, is he?” Ivan asked, taking the ind
icated biscuit. “Big, fat beetle.”

Mally laughed and Ivan grinned.

“I don’t like him at all—him or the other knights,” Mally said with relish. “I hate them.”

Ivan’s ears perked up at that.

“My mom’s terrified of them,” Mally continued. “She won’t let me go to Bosc to find work even though we need it. I don’t know what we’ll do through the winter.”

The conversation had taken an unpleasant turn, and Mally seemed to have realized how bitter she sounded for she suddenly grinned widely and rose.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, her voice merry again. She lifted the empty tray. “We’re making stewed hen.”

Ivan nodded and watched the door long after she had closed it, thinking.

Shortly thereafter, Ivan’s ankle was healed enough that he could walk. He had met Bonnie up close, and because Mally had been watching, patted her on the head. He liked Mally. She wasn’t Coletta at all, that was for sure. There was a strength about her that he liked … that he admired. Ivan still hadn’t forgotten their co
nversation about the knights. It had set his mind in motion. Mally looked just the part for a servant. There wasn’t anything flashy about her. She was a farm girl. Ivan bet that, dressed in a servant’s uniform, she’d look like she had always been a servant. She knew hard work. She hated the knights. She wanted to see them gone. Maybe, just maybe …

The next day, Ivan woke refreshed and feeling completely normal. After Susie had inspected his ankle and deemed him fit enough to ride, Ivan nearly skipped down the stairs. But the grin on his face slid off as he looked at the empty kitchen.

“Where’s Mally?” he asked Susie, who had followed him down the stairs.

“Trying to get the goats to come back.”

“But didn’t she do that yesterday?”

“She does it everyday,” and Susie smiled at the look on Ivan’s face. “If you want to meet her, she’s probably given up by now and is on her way back. Ah, ah, ah!” she said forcefully as he started for the door. “Not until you’ve eaten.”

Ivan didn’t complain. Susie’s cooking was the best he’d ever had and, having grown up in a wealthy family with a personal cook, Ivan thought that was saying something. After he had his fill, Ivan asked Susie where to find Mally.

Susie told him how to get to the hill that the goats enjoyed most and after snatching another sausage off the table, he headed down the little lane that led to the hill.

This is all working out for the best
, he thought to himself gleefully. He’d be able to talk to Mally away from her mother for as long as it took to convince her. And he was
going
to convince her, of that he was sure. He was
not
leaving without her.

It turned out that Susie was right. Ivan spotted Mally and Bo
nnie half way down the hill. He waved at her and she waved back. Bonnie barked and sped down the hill to him and he rubbed her behind the ears until Mally reached him.

“Hi!” said Mally, and Ivan was pleased to see she was smiling wide
ly at his sudden appearance. “Your ankle’s healed?”

“Completely. Fancy a walk?” Ivan asked as Bonnie bounded around their ankles. “But if you can’t … I don’t want to interfere … if you’re busy, that is.”
“No, no! I’d love a walk.”