Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse Read Free

uproariously. “I
see what this is. You’re out of wood again.” Jewel yanked the door open and
poked Brigitta’s chest. “Let me tell you something. Just because your pa worked
for fancy people and you speak all proper like a lady don’t make you important.”
Brigitta opened her mouth to explain but Jewel crossed her arms over her chest
and said, “Besides, my man has brought food home today and I don’t plan on
sharing my wood with you or anyone else!”
    The door slammed shut. Brigitta
groaned aloud, grabbed her basket, turned on her heel, and stalked away.
    Instead of heading home, she
hoisted the basket under her arm and took the path to the River Mersey. She
found a clearing in the woods and set about gathering broken sticks and rocks.
Depressed by the thought of returning to her lonely abode, she built a fire pit
where she was. However, the fire wasn’t so easily started. She had to rub the
flint pieces over and over. Finally, a spark caught the tender, and the flame
spread. Hunger gnawed at her gut, and she thought of throwing the meat directly
into the fire, but instead she washed a rock and set it in the center. The meat
on top, and the potatoes sitting in the ash, she hoped to eat soon.
    The wind kicked up and Brigitta
huddled closer to the flames. She inhaled deeply, the aroma of the cooking food
made her stomach rumble. Jewel, the old hag, didn’t deserve any part of her
meal.
    She flipped the meat and studied
the waves on the water. Wind whistled through the trees, rattling the leaves,
and Brigitta pushed the potatoes farther into the ash. Impatiently, she tapped
her foot. In the distance, sunlight glinted off the windows of the baron’s
estate. Rumor held that the estate was built so close to the ancient Stockport
Castle that they shared the same hallways.
    Brigitta laughed at the thought
and narrowed her gaze. Even through the trees, she could make out the Stockport
Castle ruins. The motte-and-bailey castle had been demolished in 1775, at
around the same time Baron Luther Andrews had built the west wing of his
estate. Her father had told her many stories about his visits to the castle,
filling her head with notions of grandeur and wonder most girls couldn’t even
hope to dream about.
    If she closed her eyes, she could
almost visualize the grand balls with women dressed in gowns that doubled the
size of their bottom. How they must have looked! Turning sideways to walk
through doors, bending to ensure their feather-plumed hats stayed atop their
heads, and even struggling to stay upright as they wobbled like ducks during
their dances.
    Brigitta covered a snicker. She
was ever thankful that styles had changed. Now gowns were more simplistic.
Restriction of movement was a thing of the past. Finery of course was still a
part of a noble’s life, but it wasn’t as gaudy as it had once been. It did take
away the humor when one poked fun, but there were always ways to make that
occur.
    The potatoes blackened before her
eyes and Brigitta used a stick to roll them from the flames.
    The afternoon was alive with
sounds. Distant voices, horses neighing, crickets chirping, and birds tweeting
filled the air.
    Brigitta froze. Overhanging tree
limbs rattled and in front of her, the underbrush spread apart. She widened her
eyes and jumped to her feet, holding the stick in front of her for protection.
    “What are you doing here?” asked
a man dressed in livery as he pushed into her clearing.
    She gulped and pointed at the
fire.
    “Cooking? On the baron’s
property?” The footman crossed his arms over his chest.
    Angry, Brigitta said, “I don’t
think the baron owns the sticks.”
    “Oh, you don’t, do you? Well, I
guess we’ll just have to see about that.”
    The man grabbed her arm and
hoisted her over his shoulder.
    “Hey, what are you doing? Put me
down!”
    The man struggled to talk and
hold her. “Be still!”
    “I will not!”
    He adjusted her position and she
used her fists to whack his back, but