A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,8
one ever gave her many. But I think you're less than sure of your feet, madam. Have you perhaps found a forgotten bottle of wine? In my time, that robe did not drag so in the front. Today it would be a different story—it is why I have abandoned my own finery, of which this is a small part. The longer the life God grants you, Mrs. Willett, the shorter you, too, will become. Despite the high source, I do not find the joke amusing. But my mind has not withered, I assure you! A good thing, too. Growing old graciously demands strength of will, a quality I suspect you yourself enjoy. Without such a thing, you might well have perished this very afternoon.”
Charlotte felt a new discomfort, as she realized the old woman had guessed at her swim. She explained the reason she'd arrived in such a disheveled state.
“Well done!” cried Catherine Knowles, wringing her hands once she'd heard the exciting story to its end. “We've heard from young Godwin that you are a woman who makes a habit of falling into trouble. You do know Alexander?”
“Not well, I'm afraid.”
“Though the boy came well recommended, he is no better than most poor things others praise. At least he gives me someone to tease when I tire of trying to improve Magdalene. That is one of the few things youths are good for. How odd that so few grow to be true men— and those who do may be the worst of the lot. How they admire their own sex, and value their male spawn. This one, I think, will one day receive something of a shock…” Catherine paused to give another unpleasant chuckle before moving on.
“But you have found a way to lead a useful life yourself, have you not? Or has Alexander exaggerated, in the same way he magnifies his own accomplishments? I see you have sense enough to admit nothing—you have no wish to tell me you make a habit of exposing the criminal acts of others. Such a rescue as you do admit to is remarkable enough! I, myself, can no longer boast of such abilities. Perhaps Magdalene, though, would have survived, as you did. Vigorous health is some compensation, I suppose, for a weak mind… and a foolish heart.”
A small sound came from Magdalene, but she continued to stare toward an east facing window, its curtains parted. In the light beyond, Charlotte saw the small plateau where the blue shadow of a track had been trampled into the snow. This led to a rocky point. Beyond, she was sure, was a long drop to the marshes.
Charlotte shuddered and looked back, startled anew by a feeling that they had been joined by someone else. She had glimpsed an odd movement; though perhaps it had been no more than a reflection of her borrowed splendor as she'd turned.
“We'll have no more,” said Mrs. Knowles, “on that subject. Instead, let me tell you something of my younger days. You may be interested to learn I was once little more than a prisoner here, kept by my father. There was a strong, ruthless man! It was he who caused me to be straddled by a strutting fool of a husband. For twenty-two years, I endured those miserable men! Finally, my father died, and Peter's family agreed to a new arrangement. What a glorious day it was, when they came to cart home the heir! Magdalene stayed, for there was no reason for her to live in a fine city—and she had become useful to me here. You may not know she is my husband's sister, born much later than he, sent here twenty years ago by relations who thought her mad. Her elder brother was little better, I assure you! Such things follow the blood. Godwin tells us it's even said that the present monarch—”
“For whose recent recovery we're all thankful?” Charlotte suggested. She had no wish to trade speculations on the King's illness. Her hostess dismissed this with a snort, and moved on.
“My marriage was arranged solely for financial gain, Mrs. Willett, and proved to me that in the eyes of men, a woman's soul is worth nothing. At least marriage is one insult Magdalene has been spared. After all, she could hardly be left anything of value. You, too, I suppose, though for different reasons, had no worries in that respect.” Despite her proud words, the old woman's tone became almost wistful. “Were you allowed to marry