I stood at the window and kept my back to the door. Tears slid down my cheeks, and when Jane entered, I made sure they were unseen by her.
“I’ve your tea, Master Ashton. I’ll just leave it here on this little table then.”
Ashamed and mortified at having been struck, horrified at feeling blood dribble down my legs from my broken knees, I refused to acknowledge her presence, even as she tried to make me feel welcome to some degree and chattered as she laid a fire in the corner fireplace.
“There’s a jug of warm water on the washstand for you to wash.” She fell silent at my unresponsiveness and set about unpacking my meagre belongings. Finally, she said, “Well, I’m done. Ring if you need anything, Master Ashton. But it won’t be me as is coming up here again,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her, and again the key was turned in the lock.
Alone once more, I crossed to the washstand, wet a cloth, and dabbed at my knees as gently as I could, while I wept silent tears. 2