The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,37
an hour before she was able to descend the stairs. She had given herself a hasty, one-handed sponge bath. It had been very awkward getting into the unfamiliar clothing, and she had deliberately left off some of the more esoteric undergarments. Her hair had been easy: a few hard sweeps with the brush had sent it into an enchanting halo for the pale beautiful face. Kathryn felt no envy nor pride. It was Nadine’s face; she could admire it without self-adulation. Gathering her courage, Kathryn went downstairs.
The farmhouse was very large, very comfortable, and very clean. It would take a pretty rash grain of dust to invade Elspeth Cameron’s domain, thought Kathryn, following her nose to the kitchen. Well, if smell is any criterion, I’ll be the best fed American tourist in all of England.
The food was delicious, but Kathryn had trouble with some of it. The porridge was ambrosial—heavy with coarse brown sugar and cream that was as thick and yellow as custard. The poached eggs were a tender delight, and the strong dark tea (did everyone in England drink it this black?) put heart into her. But she couldn’t begin to cut the thick slice of ham one-handed, and she stared with dismay at the roast beef and the covered pie.
“Is there something wrong with the food?” challenged Elspeth.
“No,” answered Kathryn honestly, “I’ve never tasted anything as good. It’s just that I can’t cut the meat with one arm.”
“Och, then you’ll surely be needing help, like I said,” Elspeth nodded. “We can’t have you wastin’ good food. ‘Waste not, want not’ is my motto.”
“You can save it for my lunch,” said Kathryn weakly.
“Will you be able to cut it any easier then?” asked Elspeth.
“I shall tear it with my teeth,” said Kathryn calmly. “Now if you will tell me where to go to find a young woman who would be willing to come to help me, I’ll get out of your way.”
The pompous sentence had its effect. Elspeth said almost placatingly, “What-all would you be wantin’ from the girl? There’s none of them up to maidin’ a fine lady.”
“I shall need some help in dressing myself until my arm heals, which should be by next week,” Kathryn enunciated clearly. “Also in cutting my food, as you have remarked. And I shall need a young woman with enough skill to make me a few simple dresses to work in.”
Elspeth’s eyebrow rose. “That last would be a sensible proceeding. You really intend to seek for employment?”
“I am a qualified librarian and am also competent to teach children,” Kathryn retorted.
“¼Tis few of the gentry would have you to instruct their bairns,” Elspeth told her.
“And why not?” snapped Kathryn.
“Because of the very strange way you have of using the language,” explained Elspeth, smugly.
Since her own sentence had come out sounding like: “Becos o’ the vayahry sturrange way ye hae o’ usin’ the longwidge,” Kathryn found herself grinning, her good humor restored. “You and me both Elspeth,” she said. “We’re nothing but a pair of foreigners among the Sassenachs. Now give me the directions to find a suitable maid.”
*****
She thought, as she walked along a green lane in the fresh morning sunlight, that Elspeth could very easily have sent her on a wild-goose chase. The small black eyes had still been hostile as she gave directions. But eventually Kathryn came to a neat, white-painted gate hung between white posts, just as Elspeth had described. She followed a wide track toward a prosperous-looking farmhouse. She was already feeling too warm, since she had donned Bennet’s cloak and bonnet. She had decided not to wear the veil.
“They’ll all have to see me sooner or later,” she thought. “Better not to make a mystery. I’ll get a white mob cap and wear it all the time over this hair. Or would black be better?” There was an unpleasant feel to that idea. Where had she—oh! Donner’s white face closely encased in a black cap like a helmet. Well, she wouldn’t wear anything like that. Maybe she’d show these English something new in widow’s caps. Smiling faintly at that idea, she went, still following Elspeth’s instructions, around to the kitchen door at the rear of the building.
There was a cheerful sound of women’s voices and the clatter of pots. At her knock, one comfortable voice rose above the rest. “Hush now, girls, you’re like a treeful of starlings with your chatter!” and then, louder, “Come in, Sarah!”
Kathryn pushed open the door. All sound abruptly ceased. A fat