A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,7
gesture of displeasure. Her hostess tapped at the knobbed arm of her chair and then extended a wreathed limb, its exposed finger not unlike a parrot's claw.
“Sorry? So you should be, young woman, so you should! You have the advantage of me, as you were not invited. But what's this? Do I hear you drip, madam? Do I smell the bog?”
“If you'll allow me to approach your hearth, I'll do my best to dry.”
“Approach, then. It's been years since anyone melted before me.” Another cackle forced itself from the stooped chest, only to be allayed by a new thought. The old woman strained forward, nearly upsetting herself from her rococo perch. “But I know you after all, do I not? Charlotte Howard—or Willett, now. What other female would have the courage to come here alone? Or even in company, for that matter! You see, your sullied reputation precedes you—and I think I can guess what you've been up to…”
While the old woman's eyes, nearly white, continued to gleam in the firelight, Charlotte was surprised to observe the beginnings of a smile. Catherine Knowles went on without waiting for an explanation.
“I recall a little girl—nearly twenty years ago. It was on one of my visits to Bracebridge, and beyond, when I still made such excruciating journeys. You were walking down the road with your mother. A decent woman, I supposed, and brave enough to say a kind word when others feared me—probably for good reason! Is she dead? I thought so. Those I knew are all gone, or very nearly. You were an unusual child… obedient, with fair braids, and eyes bluer than the North Sea. And now?”
Charlotte reached up to push her loose hair away from her face, wishing she'd not lost her cap in the marsh below. The woman before her did not seem to notice.
“But I hear you've managed to lose a husband,” Mrs. Knowles continued. “As have I… as have I. Quite recently, too. You're puzzled by that, I suppose. Good! Come and sit by the fire, in Magdalene's chair. She will bring another pot of tea. And a cake from the storeroom,” the old lady ordered.
Charlotte watched as Magdalene finished adding a pair of logs to the fire and moved off without a word. Then, for several minutes, while her outer garments began to drip in earnest, Charlotte found herself answering more questions concerning her family. At Magdalene's return she was directed by her hostess to take up a cup of tea and a lap robe, and go into an adjoining room to await a change of clothing. She went at once, while old Mrs. Knowles whispered a new set of instructions, sending Magdalene off in a different direction.
Chapter 3
THE SMALL ROOM appeared to serve as a poor sort of kitchen. No doubt it was more convenient than the one Charlotte guessed lay beneath the rest of the house. Over a fire simmered soup in an iron kettle. This she swung out of the way to add sticks from a nearby bin, feeling a twinge of conscience for the liberty she took. She removed her cloak and boots, stripped off her skirts and all the rest, and wrapped herself in the lap robe she'd been given. Everything else she put onto a rack standing to one side, which already supported a woman's cloak.
Later, while noting that her hair had nearly dried, she saw Magdalene come in with an armful of surprisingly fine garments. Careful hands helped her to put them on. At last, both reentered the larger room. Moving slowly in a trained gown of heavy green silk, Charlotte imagined she might have gained the approval of a duchess. The long silk gloves she'd been given were welcome for their warmth, but she hardly knew what to make of their many buttons, every one a pearl. Walking toward the fire with a rustling sound, she wobbled in shoes that held her heels three inches from the floor.
Over the mantel hung a gold-framed mirror, its silver backing speckled with dark spots that proved its age, the rest tinted to reflect a rosy world. In it, Charlotte saw enough to ensure her embarrassment. Mrs. Knowles, however, seemed satisfied, and bid her guest come close so she might touch the smooth fabric of the gown.
“What a pleasure it is to enjoy something bright!” she said decidedly. “For color, at least, I can see. Magdalene wears dull things, as she is determined to save her best robes—though of course no