Snow (19 page)

According to the clock tower Snow still had a few minutes, so she crept up to the closest patch of
real
pigeons and carefully took out a handful of crumbs.

She needn’t have worried about stealth. Like everything else in this upside-down city, city birds were very different from their timid country cousins. Quick, greedy eyes saw her instantly and a dozen pigeons flew at her. Before she could react, three of them had landed on each arm, and one fat brown one roosted on her head.

Once she got over her surprise and fear—the pigeons’ feet dug into her—she began to smile. Then, for the first time in a very long time, Snow laughed, out loud and uproariously. The pigeons continued to eat, cocking their heads at her as if they were trying to get the joke.

“Well, Jessica, I see your way with animals hasn’t changed at all.”

Snow froze, then slowly turned around.

She had envisioned her eventual reunion with the duchess a number of ways: a dramatic, eloquent fight between two well-dressed ladies as Snow told her off; a violent, bloody struggle in which Snow was forced to kill her; a pathetic, emotional scene in which the duchess apologized and wept. But never had Snow imagined it would be with a pigeon on her head.

The duchess was dressed simply and elegantly, in dark petticoats with thick trim that made the people around her look gaudy and clownish. Her hair was perfect and high off her crown like a Roman
empress, and two expensive, simple pearl drop earrings swung slightly in the breeze.

But was there more steel and snow, in her hair, than gold, this rime?
And doesn’t she look smaller, or frailer?

The duchess had her eyebrow raised in the familiar mocking way, but her eyes were sorter, and her lips had a faint smile.

“My Lady” Snow curtsied so gracefully and elegantly the pigeon on her head wasn’t disturbed. She shook the birds off of her.

“Jessica,” the old duchess said softly. “I’m … so
glad
you’re all right.” It was as if her face melted a little.

“No thanks to you” Snow raised her chin defiantly.

“I know, I know—I know I do not deserve your forgiveness.” The duchess put a hand to her head and patted her forehead with a handkerchief in a gesture Snow did not remember. Maybe it had something to do with her treatments. “I have been
so cruel
to you…. When I received your note … it was like God was giving me another chance.”

Snow didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the way she had pictured their reunion at all.

“Are you … well?” the duchess asked after an uncomfortable moment.

“I’m fine, yes,” Snow answered coolly.

“And you have found a … suitable situation?”

She really thinks I’m a maid. I must play the part well.
“I am employed by—and living with—a most respectable family.”
With furry ears. And tails.

“Amazing.” The duchess sighed, and sounded like
she meant it. “I—I commend you for your strength…. I am not sure I could do such a thing…. Few … women of means could …”

Snow shrugged—a habit she had picked up from Raven.
And distinctly unladylike, speaking of ladies
.

“Jessica,” the duchess tried again. “I understand if you do not trust me, but—let me at least have a chance to talk with you, to show you how I have changed. Spend the afternoon with me! We will … stay in public places, if you feel more comfortable with that, with the crowds around. We can spend a real day in London, as two ladies. We could start by setting you up with a … proper wardrobe.” She held the handkerchief to her nose and looked Snow’s ratty dress up and down.

For some reason this made Snow smile.
Just like the old duchess
. It shouldn’t have comforted her, but it did. A little glimpse of the old, shallow woman somehow made the new one more real.
We’re both two people now. It was the duchess and Jessica, and now I’m Snow, and she’s … she’s …

She looked up at the woman’s face. The duchess looked hopeful, and concerned.

…
Anne,
she decided.

For that one afternoon Snow was transported to the perfect, if somewhat occasionally uncomfortable, fantasy life she had always dreamed of. She could not think of the duchess as her mother, but she was getting much better at finding roles that fit now, both for
herself as well as for other people.
Aunt,
she decided, or much older sister-in-law.

The first place they went was indeed a dressmaker’s. The duchess silenced any snootiness or shocked looks directed at Snow’s dress with a raised eyebrow and a cutting remark. The duchess sipped a cup of tea while Snow stood on a stool and they measured her. Snow talked about her present life—with major alterations. The Lonely Ones became a family with many children, with Chauncey as the father, and the Mouser as a favorite uncle. The mother had died, she extemporized.

Apparently the duchess did not feel comfortable discussing her own situation in front of the seamstresses.

Snow was fascinated by the free cup of tea, something she would not have thought twice about in her previous life as Jessica. Something she had taken as a matter of course before was often too expensive now; the Lonely Ones reused leaves several times before throwing them out, making weaker and weaker drinks with each cup. And lumps of sugar! Snow hadn’t had any except a little to bake with since her “new employment.”

The duchess picked out a matching hat, umbrella, and purse, which they took with them; the dress itself would be ready the next week. Snow felt special walking out of the store with wrapped brownpaper parcels under her arm; she was already planning to use some of the paper to cook fish in and
carefully cut up the rest for letter paper.

They wandered some more, mostly just looking in windows; despite her insistence on keeping beautiful, the duchess wasn’t, at heart, a shopping woman. She did take Snow to a little boutique where everything smelted good and had French names, and bought her cold cream that smelled like roses, powder that smelled like lavender, and toilet water that smelled like freesia.

“You’re young,” the duchess said. “You should wear floral scents.”

Snow had no idea what she meant, but she already felt beautiful just holding the pretty little jars.

Finally they stopped for a
proper
tea in a lovely little salon that was so fancy no one looked at Snow or questioned her appearance next to the beautiful duchess. The two women were served a silver tiered tray of tiny sandwiches with the crusts removed, cucumber and smoked salmon and dill, and sugarsprinkled scones with fresh clotted cream and strawberry jam, and on the top, tiny little tea cakes topped with sugared violets.

Snow had to pace herself; it had been a long time since she had eaten anything so good. She also snuck a chocolate and violet cake into her pocket for Sparrow.

“I suppose—I suppose I will tell you what has happened with me …,” the duchess said, nervously sipping her tea.

“I am interested,” Snow said, a little more forcefully than she meant.

With one dainty, gloved pinky extended from her cup handle, the duchess told her story.

It was very much like what the old woman had told Snow, except for the breakdown Anne experienced soon after Snow disappeared. The duchess blushed as she told how she had raved like a madwoman and threw herself against walls and hurt herself until they brought a doctor, who immediately ordered that she be sent to a sanitarium in Bath—not France, as the woman working for the orphanage had said.

She was there for a number of months, taking the healing waters, listening to improvment lectures, and even being leeched. More scientific treatments were also administered, and magnets and the theories of mesmerism were applied, but it was one little old doctor from Prussia who effected a cure, using the most advanced electric techniques.

“Though sometimes I get the most infernal headaches,” Anne admitted. “Anyway, after I was …
cured
… I realized the horrendous thing I had tried to do, through the calmer eyes of sanity. I put a reward out for you, advertisements in newspapers … I even sent agents all over the countryside and Cardiff, thinking you would have stayed with friends or some sort of relation. When it was apparent you weren’t coming back, or you were dead, I decided to devote my life to as much charity as possible. If there was no way I could undo the evil my previous madness had wrought, at least I could spend the rest of
my time on earth bringing good into other peoples lives.”

An inspiring story. If the duchess had looked Snow in the eye while she said it, and had wept, the younger woman wouldn’t have believed a word of it.

But she finished the story dry eyed and trailed off, staring through the window of the shop at something far in the distance, or perhaps far back in her own mind. There was no look of sadness, just wonder and loss.

“It’s getting late,” she said suddenly. “Your employers must be getting annoyed.”

“Yes, I should be getting back.” Snow stood up. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.” Everything she said sounded too formal, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. “And the tea, and the clothes …”

“Oh, they are nothing.” Anne waved her fingers tiredly. “I shall not rest until I have earned your forgiveness, and re-earned your trust.”

“I shall have a hard time forgiving what you attempted,” Snow finally ventured, though she longed to say just the opposite.

“I … understand.”

The duchess looked down at the floor for a long moment. From that angle Snow could see just how high and sharp the other woman’s cheekbones were, and how age was making her skin taut and dry, like the life was being sucked out of her from inside. “Only—” She paused, hopeful. “Only—
do
come visit me at my apartment. When your dress is ready—a
week Wednesday, You can try it on there. I’ll have the seamstress come on the chance alterations will need to be made.”

Snow didn’t know what to say The duchess was finally trying to—begging to—act like a mother, and the girl saw in her mind’s eye another perfect, if somewhat strained, afternoon of chatting—Anne sipping tea, Snow telling her about things she saw …
Just like today, only better
…

She paused too long.

“I see you still do not trust me at all,” the duchess said disappointedly. “What if you were to bring a maid friend? She shall keep watch for you.”

Well, that’s out of the question,
Snow realized glumly. Even if she did decide to finally tell the Lonely Ones about the duchess and their reacquaintance, she had a hard time imagining Cat dressed up as a lady’s maid, her tail going unnoticed by Anne.

“We shall see,” Snow replied, uncertain. There was a telltale gleam in Anne’s eyes that reminded her of the old duchess; she could tell that Snow’s “maybe” was really more of a yes.

“Oh, do come! You won’t be disappointed, I shall order the best sandwiches for us … and maybe some music …”

Music.

“Before I go,” Snow said as casually as she could, “may I enquire as to the health of Alan?”

“Oh,” the duchess said, surprised, “Well, I don’t know, really. Apparently he stole some jewelry from
your father—a locket that matches yours. I received a letter about it.” Her eyes grew black for a moment. Then she smiled and waved her hand. “He ran off—something about a girl, another maid—not long after I came to London.”

S
now was upset about the news of Alan. She couldn’t for the life of her picture Alan with a girl, much less running off with one.

Am I jealous?

She turned the thought over in her mind. Thinking back on Alan’s face, which was just beginning to fill out in a handsome, manly way when she left, made her smile.
Is that love, or affection?

She frowned.

More importantly, how did he meet this other girl?
She had only been away for half a year and had known all of the girls on the estate. Alan was friendly with each and every one, but not
too
friendly. And not as close as
she
was to him.

She had even written him a letter—all right, she had not sent it yet. It was difficult, and she wanted to go to a post office far away so it couldn’t be traced. Now she had nowhere to send it. Could he have come to London?

In a peevish, pensive mood she returned to the hideout, almost forgetting to be quiet. She needn’t have worried; it was four thirty and everyone was sound asleep. Snow was sleepy herself, having stayed up extra hours in the day to meet the duchess. She
panicked for a moment when she couldn’t find the note, but it was just pushed farther back under the lantern than she had thought.

She put the little cake she pocketed for Sparrow on the table; later she would think of some story about how she acquired it.
Maybe I just
bought
it
.

She took a quick nap, managing to awake just as the others were stirring in their own rooms.
I must be developing animal hearing, like them
. She grinned to herself as she began to cook. Maybe if she stayed with them long enough she would develop her own animal features.
I wonder what animal I would be
. Maybe a cat, like Cat; but she didn’t have the personality. Maybe a raven—but did they all brood so darkly, like Raven?

A seagull,
she decided. That was what she would most like to be. A pretty, playful bird, not too fancy.

She played with these thoughts to cover her anxiety during dinner, which nonetheless passed without a hitch. No one had noticed her absence, or mentioned her acting oddly. Chauncey complimented her on the roast quail while picking his teeth with a bone. Snow shuddered, remembering the old man at the poorhouse.

After dinner Chauncey and the Mouser went for a walk—the Mouser called it a “post-prandial constitutional,” but Chauncey used it as an excuse to smoke his pipe, which Snow had forbidden him to do inside after she noticed her clothes stinking of it. Cat was in her room, brushing her hair, and Sparrow went off “on a job,”

So Snow was alone, sweeping the living room, when Raven confronted her.