Heaven's Fire by Patricia Ryan Page B

back the volume and carefully replacing it in the satchel. “I went there today, but had no luck. Perhaps tomorrow.”
    The magister nodded toward the empty trenchers. “Have you two eaten all my supper again?”
    Thomas shook his head, grinning. “Luella has taken to cooking extra. She’s used to us by now.”
    “Where is she?”
    “Downstairs,” Brad said.
    Master Fairfax crossed to an arched opening in the corner to the right of the hearth, through which Corliss could see a spiral staircase leading to the lower level. “I’m home, Luella!” he called down.
    An odd twist of discomfort burned in Corliss’s stomach. She had wondered about women, had considered the possibility that the robust priest—now ex-priest— kept a mistress in some convenient place. What more convenient place than one’s own home?
    As if sensing her speculation, the ex-priest in question said, “Luella is my housekeeper.”
    Just as I was Father Osred’s housekeeper . Corliss heard footsteps ascend the curving staircase. Slow and heavy footsteps, she realized as they neared, and accompanied by stentorian breathing.
    “It’s about time!” came a gravelly, English-accented voice just as its owner—a very large, red-faced, and breathless woman of advanced years—appeared at the top of the stairs. “I was just tidying up the lecture hall for tomorrow, though I don’t know as I should bother, seeing as how it’ll look once that herd of yours is done with it.” Her sharp little eyes settled on Corliss. “Who the devil are you, young man, and what are you grinning at?”
    Corliss swiftly composed her features. “I didn’t mean to stare, mistress. My name is Corliss.”
    Luella crossed her arms and raked Corliss with a coolly assessing gaze. “Another mouth to feed, eh, Father?” She stalked inelegantly to the table and gathered up the used trenchers, tossing them in a pail in the corner. “ And clean up after!” she added, spearing Thomas and Brad with a censorious frown. She grabbed a large spoon from a hook and stirred the contents of the cauldron, releasing more of its seductive aroma into the room.
    “Do stop calling me ‘Father,’ Luella. And yes, I do intend to feed Corliss, but we’ll clean up after ourselves. I thought you might be ready to go home. Thomas and Brad will be happy to walk you back to Grope Lane.” He cast a meaningful glance in their direction. “Won’t you, boys?”
    The two youths assented with a decided lack of grace, then swiftly gulped down the remainder of their ale and rose unsteadily.
    “Lots of good they’ll do me in their condition,” grumbled Luella as Rainulf helped her on with her shawl.
    “I was hoping you could protect them ,” the magister said. Luella hooted with laughter, the boys rolled their eyes, and the three took their leave.
    The big hall rang with silence once Corliss and Master Fairfax were alone together. He said nothing, simply leaned back against the table, crossed his arms, and scrutinized her, as if inspecting a strange new type of creature he’d never seen before. Corliss began to shiver, as much from nervousness as from her sodden clothes. She licked her lips and looked around, observing the bare walls, the minimal furniture, the very vastness of the place.
    “This whole house is yours?” she asked.
    “Aye,” he said without taking his eyes off her.
    “It must have cost a fortune.”
    He appeared to ponder that. “I suppose that would depend on your definition of a fortune.”
    She detected a slight shift in the atmosphere between them, a subtle disquiet, and wondered at its cause. “That’s not an answer.”
    “You didn’t ask a question,” he pointed out.
    “Is this how academics converse?” she asked testily. “I hate it. Why won’t you just tell me how much the house cost?”
    “One isn’t supposed to ask such things.” He smiled oddly. “It cost thirty-eight pounds sterling.”
    Her jaw dropped open. “You have that much money?”