Catherine massaged her temples with her fingertips. She had no time to sit and worry: Henry Coachman was on his way back from the village with a cartload of lumber, the blacksmith’s son and a journeyman carpenter who was to hang doors and look at the windows. She had never in her life had to carry out menial tasks, but now it was imperative that someone make sure there was water and food, and that the few rooms they occupied were reasonably clean. It was next to impossible for her to sweep or do the washing and, in any case, Lydia would not allow it. Instead, she sent into Abergavenny for cloth and managed to fashion several plain heavy curtains to hang over draughty windows and doors.
They gingerly spread into a few more rooms, giving Henry Coachman and Thomas a private space in which to
