humming âGod Rest Ye Merry Gentlemenâ. And somehow, making the best out of so little seemed like an accomplishment too.
Besides, when he was finally done, he looked around with a feeling that Laura would be charmed by the end result.
And that was all that mattered.
After hanging the shroud up in the wardrobe, Laura sat on her bed to wait. The hours until supper lasted for weeks. She had never anticipated a Christmas Eve before, and she wished there was something she could actually do.
Finally she went down to the kitchen, boiled water and took a jug up to her bedroom, to wash as best she could. After she had finished, she wrapped herself in the dressing gown and combed her hair, hoping her appearance was appropriate.
No, not quite, because there were line drawings of women in some of the books, and all of those women had their hair up, arranged and styled attractively. She didnât know how to begin to do that. Better to leave her hair the way it was than try to ape a fashion and look foolish as a result. Studying herself in the mirror, she made herself smile. That was the most she couldâ
A crack raced over the surface of the mirror. It sliced the reflection of her face in two.
Laura jerked back, but nothing further happened except for the edges of the crack fusing together. The split melded as she watched, and the mirror was whole again. It might never have happened, except for the pounding of her heart and the gooseprickles covering her arms.
Damn it . Even if she called Justin, there was nothing she could show him, and that had been a warning for her. Except she didnât know what exactly she was being warned about.
Feeling vulnerableâwhich was newâshe hastily struggled back into her borrowed clothes and sat down to wait. She had expected a knock at the door, but instead a bell rang downstairs. The sound disquieted her; it was high and piercing, oddly disconnected from human contact, as if the bell had rung on its own.
No, that was ridiculous. She was jumpy after seeing the crack in the mirror, and if Justin wanted to celebrate Christmas, she wouldnât cast a shadow over his efforts by imagining things.
Tossing her hair back, she straightened her shoulders and went downstairs.
The fragrance of cinnamon stole into her senses, warm and redolent of spices, but beneath it was the crispness of apples and a sweeter scent like oranges. She quickened her pace, but stopped in the doorway of the parlor.
She hadnât expected it to look very different from what sheâd seen last night, and indeed, it didnât. Justin hadnât had much to work with, after all. But the furniture had been polished, and gleams of well-kept brass shone from the fire irons and the bell on the mantelpiece. A low table had been drawn up before the fire, and on it was a little stub of tree that she guessed had been cut from one of the shrubs flanking the front door. Apples filled a basket, one of them studded with cloves. The mantelpiece was hung with a chain of red paper flowers that looked vivid in the firelight, and beside the fireplace was another sheaf of flowers in a paper cone patterned with music notes, which might have been taken from the book of sheet music.
Justin stood at the sideboard filling two glasses, but to her relief, he wore the same velvet jacket and shabby trousers, so she didnât feel plain in her blue dress. âIâm afraid the brandyâs all finished.â He looked slightly embarrassed as he gave her one of the glasses. âAll we have is sherry.â
âOh, I donât mind,â Laura said. âThe place is lovely. Where did you get all those red flowers from?â
The apologetic expression vanished in a smile. He didnât seem different when he smiled, except for the way it lit up his eyes as though they reflected the dozen or more candles that lighted the room. âI folded them out of scrap paper, and there are more uses for red ink than
Besides, when he was finally done, he looked around with a feeling that Laura would be charmed by the end result.
And that was all that mattered.
After hanging the shroud up in the wardrobe, Laura sat on her bed to wait. The hours until supper lasted for weeks. She had never anticipated a Christmas Eve before, and she wished there was something she could actually do.
Finally she went down to the kitchen, boiled water and took a jug up to her bedroom, to wash as best she could. After she had finished, she wrapped herself in the dressing gown and combed her hair, hoping her appearance was appropriate.
No, not quite, because there were line drawings of women in some of the books, and all of those women had their hair up, arranged and styled attractively. She didnât know how to begin to do that. Better to leave her hair the way it was than try to ape a fashion and look foolish as a result. Studying herself in the mirror, she made herself smile. That was the most she couldâ
A crack raced over the surface of the mirror. It sliced the reflection of her face in two.
Laura jerked back, but nothing further happened except for the edges of the crack fusing together. The split melded as she watched, and the mirror was whole again. It might never have happened, except for the pounding of her heart and the gooseprickles covering her arms.
Damn it . Even if she called Justin, there was nothing she could show him, and that had been a warning for her. Except she didnât know what exactly she was being warned about.
Feeling vulnerableâwhich was newâshe hastily struggled back into her borrowed clothes and sat down to wait. She had expected a knock at the door, but instead a bell rang downstairs. The sound disquieted her; it was high and piercing, oddly disconnected from human contact, as if the bell had rung on its own.
No, that was ridiculous. She was jumpy after seeing the crack in the mirror, and if Justin wanted to celebrate Christmas, she wouldnât cast a shadow over his efforts by imagining things.
Tossing her hair back, she straightened her shoulders and went downstairs.
The fragrance of cinnamon stole into her senses, warm and redolent of spices, but beneath it was the crispness of apples and a sweeter scent like oranges. She quickened her pace, but stopped in the doorway of the parlor.
She hadnât expected it to look very different from what sheâd seen last night, and indeed, it didnât. Justin hadnât had much to work with, after all. But the furniture had been polished, and gleams of well-kept brass shone from the fire irons and the bell on the mantelpiece. A low table had been drawn up before the fire, and on it was a little stub of tree that she guessed had been cut from one of the shrubs flanking the front door. Apples filled a basket, one of them studded with cloves. The mantelpiece was hung with a chain of red paper flowers that looked vivid in the firelight, and beside the fireplace was another sheaf of flowers in a paper cone patterned with music notes, which might have been taken from the book of sheet music.
Justin stood at the sideboard filling two glasses, but to her relief, he wore the same velvet jacket and shabby trousers, so she didnât feel plain in her blue dress. âIâm afraid the brandyâs all finished.â He looked slightly embarrassed as he gave her one of the glasses. âAll we have is sherry.â
âOh, I donât mind,â Laura said. âThe place is lovely. Where did you get all those red flowers from?â
The apologetic expression vanished in a smile. He didnât seem different when he smiled, except for the way it lit up his eyes as though they reflected the dozen or more candles that lighted the room. âI folded them out of scrap paper, and there are more uses for red ink than
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