This is the twenty-third entry out of the thirty I'm attempting. It is part of a series of thirty entries so I hope you'll read each daily post to find out what happens in the end.
Thank you for reading!
The woman didn’t turn. She was cooking something on the Rumford. “Well rested, are you? You arrived awfully late.”
“My apologies if it was inconvenient-”
“None needed! I’ve not had company for a while.” She dropped a handful of herbs into the pot and stirred till their scent infused the air. “I only hope you’re not running from the magistrate.”
He almost grinned. “I’m afraid it’s nothing quite so exciting.”
“Anything is more so than this little inn.”
Being in such a removed area, he could easily believe that.
“Sit down,” she said kindly. “A meal will do you good.”
Note - A Rumford is merely the type of stove that was used.
It was invented in approx. 1800 by Count Rumford (aka Benjamin Thompson.)