Sithe noticed, as Ulridge gathered his thoughts, that
Breanne was wearing a hand-me-down dress which may well have started its career
as a burlap sack. Something would have to be done about that. No one seemed to
think much about an orphan’s clothing. Though, she thought idly, Ulridge did seem honestly concerned for the girl’s welfare.
That was a fair sight better than she had any right to
expect. Sithe suspected that this man was of common stock. He’d probably
purchased his surname. He did look a
bit old for his rank, after all, which pointed to an earned position, rather
than an inherited one.
Sithe realized that she liked this man. She liked him a
great deal.
The dance continued.
“You’ve found no family who can take her in?” Sithe asked,
as she caught sight of Gloria and beckoned her over.
The soldier shook his head. “None, Missus. Some’n recognized
her with Councilor Abney some days agone.”
Sithe put on a different sort of anger. “Has the good
Councilor abstained from his duty to this girl, Sentinel?”
Ulridge raised an eyebrow. “Nay, Missus. Councilor Abney’s
dead. Dead’n a way I’d not repeat here, where the littl’uns kin hear.”
This part was always tricky. Always dangerous. Sithe opted
to say nothing, working her face into several different emotions. Ulridge
confided in the matron that he had been trying to find Breanne’s next of kin,
but as the girl was a commoner—and barely ever talked, besides—it was proving
difficult. Might she stay here, with Sithe’s boys and girls, while the investigation
continues? If a distant aunt, uncle, brother, grandparent could be found, then
the poor girl would have a proper home. But in the meantime ... ?
Sithe bristled at the term “proper home,” but opted for
continued silence.
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