Silent on the Moor by Deanna Raybourn Page A

heaped it with coals from the kitchen fire and thrust it between the sheets. Within minutes clouds of steam were billowing from the bed, and Miss Allenby had the grace to look abashed.
    “It is difficult to air things properly. It can be rather damp on the moor,” she murmured. She left us then, and it was justas well. I would have hated a stranger to hear the imprecations uttered by Morag when she inspected the tiny adjoining room and realised she would have to share with Minna.
    “Do be quiet, Morag,” I instructed. “I am far too tired to listen to you tonight. Finish the unpacking and I promise you may abuse me as long as you like in the morning.”
    She yanked a gown from my trunk and spun slowly on her heel, surveying the near-empty room. “And where do you suggest I unpack to, my lady?”
    I sighed. “Very well, I take your point. Not so much as a peg to hang a hat upon. Just fling me my nightdress and go to bed. We will sort it out in the morning.”
    She snorted and did as she was bid, banging the connecting door to register her displeasure. Minna had already retired, having done twice the work in half the time, and Portia and I were left alone. We made our preparations hastily and scrambled into bed.
    “It reminds me of the Great Bed of Ware,” Portia observed in ominous tones.
    “Not quite so large, but certainly as forbidding,” I agreed. “At least the bed curtains are still in evidence. We should freeze otherwise.”
    She looked around the room, shaking her head slowly. “Steaming beds, no paraffin lamps, and I do not like to look under the bed to make certain, but I believe that is a chamber pot.”
    “Do not speak of it, I beg you,” I said faintly.
    We stared at each other a long moment. “It is like something out of the Middle Ages. I had no idea people actually lived like this anymore.”
    “Hush,” I warned. “I should not like Miss Allenby to hear you. She has been most hospitable. Clearly, their means are reduced. I am certain it is not their fault.”
    She pressed her lips together. “Just because they are in res angusta doesn’t mean the rest of us have to endure it.”
    There was no possible reply to that, so I did not attempt one. Portia blew out the candle and I drew the bed curtains, shutting out the pale, tattered remnants of moonlight. We huddled together for warmth, careful to keep our toes well clear of the steaming bed warmer.
    “Are you going to tell me what he said?” my sister whispered into the darkness.
    “No. But we are staying.”
    “For how long?”
    “I cannot say. As long as he needs me, I suppose. Or until I grow tired of bashing my head against the wall.”
    She reached out and took my hand, saying nothing. We had not slept in the same bed since we were children, and I had forgot what a comfort it could be to have a hand to hold in the dark. Just as I was dropping off to sleep I heard a door close nearby, and female voices—one raised in impatience, the other low and soothing. Ailith was telling her sister of the new arrivals, I surmised. At length they quieted, and I heard nothing more.
    The next morning I rose early, feeling better than I had since I had left London. True, Brisbane was bedevilled, and the accommodations were far from comfortable, but the sun was shining, Brisbane had not sent me away, and I had slept surprisingly well. I woke feeling rested and a little stiff from the chill of the room. Portia slept on and I slipped throughthe curtains, careful not to rouse her. The fire had died, but sunlight was streaming through the window. I pushed it open, breathing in great gusts of fresh moorland air. The moor stretched as far as the eye could see, green and brown, and purpled with heather in a few brave patches. There were dark shadows where the bogs lurked, but the moor had lost the sinister feeling of the previous night. Tufts of grasses spotted with tiny flowers rippled like waves, beckoning me out of doors, and I longed to explore. But first