James entered and was rather surprised to find the interior of the cottage in even better condition than the exterior! It was easy enough to imagine that the home had only just recently been built and occupied by this woman rather than having stood for several centuries to house generations of families. Even the sweet smell of dry grasses and hays seemed to indicate a roof recently thatched. The aroma of the hot herbal tea only helped to complete the sensation that he had somehow traveled back in time. Even her dress was somewhat dated, he had to admit, although it certainly made her none the less lovely for it.

"Magic, is it then, Miss Windwood?" he chuckled as he accepted the bucket and cloth. "My nurse would tell me tales of dark woods and faeries and witches and goblins at bedtime when I was a babe, warning me away from such black and unwholesome acquaintances. Though I must say that if this is magic... a warm fire, hot tea and a pleasant face in my time of distress? Then may I always welcome such enchantments!"

Slippin behind the screen, James drew off the wet and algae-slick clothing from his body. It was like peeling his way out of second set of skin by the way the fabrics clung tightly to his frame. His nose wrinkled as he realized just how badly he reeked of still water and mud. Still, it could have been worse: no doubt there were ancient middens and chess pits dug out here somewhere, and he could just as easily fallen into one of those! The warm water in the bucket was refreshing as it washed the chill from his body. The process did dampen his enthusiasm a little. Trying to clean the worst of his misfortune off in the dim and shadowy light was difficult at best, removing some of the cottage's charm and making him regret not having access to his own well lit bathing room with its scent soaps and oils. James clucked at himself as he thought of it. A few hours ago he had been looking forward to a night roughing it in the woods! Now here he was, sheltered and warm yet critical of the amenities! He had to admit, it was rather ridiculous of him to be comfortable one extreme to the other and yet find little satisfaction in the compromise. In fact, that longer he pondered on his own absurdity, he had to laugh out loud.

"So, Miss Windwood!" he gaily called as he scrubbed behind one ear, "It's a fair stroll to the nearest village from here, I imagine. What is it you do out here on your own?" A passing thought made him pause. His uncle had been... eccentric. "I say, you're not one of my late uncle's gamekeepers are you? I know the old man wasn't keen on people hunting or fishing on his lands so I shouldn't think it all that strange he'd hire some help to keep poachers away. Is that what you do here then?"

He peeked his head out from around the screen. "It is just you, I surmise? No husband that will come barreling through the door demanding whose horse is outside and whose boots are by the door?" James retreated again to finish his washing. "If there is, just tell him the horse is a sow and the boots are flower pots. With laces. All the rage in London or something."