When all else fails, be supremely polite. “If you distrust me so much, you can
follow
me.”
“Aye, you do have a point there. I didn’t think I’d become a water hauler, meself” He tapped his tooth one more time, for good measure. “All right. We’ll give you a key. But you’ll be under strict surveillance until we can be sure, Missy.”
“Thank
you, Chauncey.”
After everyone fell asleep, she took the wooden yoke with its buckets and threw it over her shoulders, trying to remember how the dairymaids did it back home. She knew there was a trick to it and couldalready predict the blisters on the backs of her shoulders and neck. She carefully opened the door, trying not to bang the buckets against the door and wake everyone.
Snow stood blinking for a moment, enjoying the young rays of a morning sun on her face. In her pocket mirror the night before she had observed her clammy white face with some alarm.
Now they really could call me Snow
. The duchess probably would have been proud of her aristocratic paleness.
Snow shook her head, trying to clear the woman’s face from her mind. She had no idea why she kept on thinking about her at unexpected times, and of almost-pleasant incidents and memories. At night before she fell asleep Snow would try to figure out what she would have said or done to the duchess if she had found out about the planned murder herself—if Alan hadn’t been there and taken care of her.
Sometimes she imagined slapping the duchess, or hitting her across the face with something heavy, like a shovel. She tried to get rid of these thoughts as well, but there was a grim satisfaction in them she couldn’t dismiss so easily.
She thought about Alan, too; he must have been worried sick about her. She must find a way of getting a note to him. For that she needed envelopes, stamps, sealing wax … she needed money.
Though she was doing quite well in her new role as maid and Chauncey had given her a few coins, she had no clue what things actually cost.
Cat had grudgingly told her about a market nearby and a public well. Snow went to the former and watched women conduct their business. This was no country market or farm stand, however; the end of a whole street was closed off, and there must have been more than a dozen tents and stalls selling everything from fish to flowers.
The cobblestones were slick with water that the merchants occasionally doused over their produce to keep it fresh. Those selling wore smocks and aprons over brown and black work clothes. Those buying were dressed in styles varying from servants gear with caps, starched skirts, and aprons, to that of old crones bent over, all in black, complete with canes to point at things they disapproved of.
Occasionally there were real aristocrats, buying nosegays or putting in special orders. Snow gawked at them, having rarely seen real city gentry.
Their skirts are so wide … like gigantic bells from the belt down!
Tiny, tiny waists that must have been corseted plumed out and up into chests fluffy with lace and trim.
Unthinkingly Snow’s hand went to her own breast and felt the plain, coarse fabric there.
The ladies’ hats were indescribable. Some were so large and covered with so many feathers that the women they sat upon had to bend very delicately so as not to tangle them in the roofs of the stalls. All the rich women also carried pretty little parasols that matched their outfits, and pretty little purses that dangled from their elbows.
Snow smugly wondered what the duchess would think of these styles.
She has no idea how out of fashion she really is
.
The men were all handsome and well groomed, with perfectly even sideburns. They wore tailored jackets, striped trousers, and shiny, shiny boots. Tall hats finished them off, and some even had monocles and walking canes that they didn’t seem to need. Some made a big deal of taking out gigantic gold pocket watches and looking at them
very carefully
.
Snow watched the parade
Brenda Novak
Italo Calvino
C. C. Hunter
ylugin
Mario Puzo
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Toby Neal
Amarinda Jones
Ashley Hunter
Riley Clifford