Once dressed, Beth made her way down to the kitchen, unsure what to expect.
It took her very little time to realize that Robert’s servants fell into two categories. The majority of the servants were just as Robert had predicted—eager to please him by pleasing her. Admittedly, they were a bit wary of her differences, probably because she had made such a spectacle of herself that first day, crawling around looking for electrical outlets, but offered no complaints when she explained what she wanted to accomplish and how she would like them to help.
Her strange speech didn’t seem to concern them overly. She had learned since arriving at Fosterly that, although the peasants spoke English, the nobility often spoke French, which seemed weird to Beth, considering they were in England. Apparently some members of the nobility—those who lived up to the ugly reputations given them by several of the period piece movies she had seen—refused to speak English at all, even if they knew it, causing communication problems for which the servants were more often than not blamed.
So the servants of Fosterly appeared pleased that she spoke English, albeit an English that was different from the one to which they were accustomed. She tried extra hard not to insert too many modern words, but still had to repeat herself periodically.
Beth didn’t mind, as it helped her gain an even better grasp of Middle English. It was pretty fascinating, seeing just how much the English language had changed in eight hundred years.
Michael helped. He remained nearby all day. Beth didn’t know if Robert had ordered him to watch over her or if Michael had volunteered for the duty, but she appreciated his attempts to help her convert modern to medieval slang whenever she slipped, if he understood it. The children were particularly tickled when such happened.
Enlisting their aid in correcting her pronunciation astounded, amused, and eventually made Beth’s helpers warm right up to her. They even shared a few laughs over it.
Most of them did, anyway.
The second group of servants quickly became a problem.
There were only a handful of them, all women around Beth’s age. In appearance, they ranged from average to pretty, tall to short, slender to plump. Vocally they ranged from stonily silent to obnoxiously outspoken. One characteristic they all shared, however, was their resentment of Beth and Robert’s obvious affection for her.
The one Beth quickly came to think of as the leader of the group boasted long, dark blond hair, pale blue eyes, and substantial—if a bit saggy, despite her youth—breasts. Her name was Alice.
According to Michael, the kitchen was a relatively new structure that had been attached to the great hall shortly after Robert took command of Fosterly. The kitchen had formerly been located across the bailey, which made Beth think the inhabitants of the keep must not have had many hot meals if the servants had been forced to lug the food that distance through snow and rain.
Beth considered the kitchen’s being a new addition something of a blessing. She hated to think of the sooty, grimy buildup that would have covered its walls and surfaces if it were as old as the rest of the keep.
Not that it was filthy. It just really needed a good scouring with modern disinfectant cleaners.
Since those were not available, she ordered all supplies and foodstuffs removed to the great hall until the walls, floors, tables, stools, cauldrons, kettles, utensils and everything else the kitchen contained could be scrubbed thoroughly with the harshest soap available. Most of the men, women, and children were busily engaged in doing just that when a spate of harsh, angry whispers sounded behind her.
The room abruptly went silent.
Beth looked up from the sack she had been hesitantly peering into, hoping she wouldn’t find any rodents or insects peering back, and found herself surrounded by an exhibition of statues and statuettes whose eyes regarded her with varying degrees of shock and horror.
“What?” As she glanced at the frozen faces around her, their gazes slid away from hers. “What did I miss?”
“’Tis naught to concern yourself with, my lady,” Maude, a plump woman who looked to be in her fifties, offered briskly. Maude had behaved in a warm, almost motherly fashion toward Beth from the instant they had met, bustling around and directing the servants in carrying out her wishes.
Now displeasure pinched her round, time-worn features as she glared at Alice.
Beth looked at the troublesome blonde, whose stance screamed stubborn defiance, then back at Maude. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“As I said, my lady, ’tis naught. Some here do not know their place is all.”