THIRTY-SIX
Bernard carried a new pot up the stairs, trying to keep the other bundle from sliding out from under his arm as he knocked on her door.
"Ursula, sweet Ursula, I'm sorry. I swear, I've never lied to you. Every word I've told you is the truth."
No answer, as always. He wondered why he bothered trying. Surely she'd heard his apologies, and decided not to accept them. But he could not let her starve, so he brought her food, and each time, he hoped.
"It's a venison stew, with the last of the chestnuts. Fresh venison, frozen in the snow. Gosse caught the deer, and I saved the best of it for you."
Bernard held his breath. Still nothing.
"And there's bread. It's taken me all week to work out how to make it. I wasted a lot of flour, and it's still not perfect, but it's real brea
