Catch! he yells and throws something at her.
Cake grabs what she thinks is a small brick or a large stone. It slips in her palm, but she keeps hold. It smells like Sunday evenings.
You need a wash! Gobber yells from the doorway. You stink. You can't meet his Lordship smelling like pigs.
Cake sniffs and turns a shade of red.
Fuck off, Gobber!
But he is right of course.
She heads off to the pond with the bar of soap and the cleanest bit of cloth she can find in the barn.
There is no one there.
It does not surprise her. The day has just broken and it is cold. Bitterly cold. She breaks the ice on the pond, removes her clothes, and jumps in. She rubs herself with the soap and then dives down in, the cold forcing the air from her lungs.
She dries herself quickly, her hair already cracking with ice. Back in the barn, Gobber nods.
You smell better, he says. You still look like a peasant but you smell like a Lady.
...
