Cassandra stood, stretched her arms above her head, being careful not to hit the low ceiling, stepped to the window, and pulled the thin covering away. Outside, the inn was visible. Carriages, horses, and men all moved about in the morning’s low-hanging fog.
A bout of laughter from the kitchen captured her attention as the scents of ham and bread met her senses. Her stomach grumbled. She’d forgone the previous night’s evening meal. If she was to be effective today in the meeting Mr. North had promised, she’d need her wits about her.
She removed her cloak and quickly changed yesterday’s gown to a lighter gown of soft peacock-blue twill with long sleeves and a Vandyke hem. After letting down her hair, brushing the long tresses, and pinning them tidily against the back of her head, she checkedher reflection in the cracked looking glass on the wall. The shadows under her eyes bore the only visible evidence to the previous night’s events.
She pinched her cheeks for color.
This would have to do.
Mr. North had indicated that several seamstresses lived here. From what she could hear, they sounded chatty. Happy.
When she entered the kitchen, all attention turned to her. Six women, all of whom were plainly dressed and appeared to be about her age, stared in her direction.
Silence engulfed the chamber.
Cassandra forced a smile and gave a nod in the direction of the others.
A woman whom she recognized as one of the maids stood next to the fire and pointed toward the table with the spoon in her hand. “Sit there. We’ll bring ’bout your plate.”
Cassandra took the closest open seat and sat down.
The whispers started once again in the room, and Cassandra was reminded of her first day at the new school nearly nineteen years prior. She generally considered herself confident and self-assured. Had not Mrs. Denton taught her to be such? But as she sat here, the object of conspicuous scrutiny, her confidence wavered.
A tawny-haired girl from the end of the table stood, picked up her plate, moved toward Cassandra, and dropped into the chair next to her. “So, you are the vicar’s friend, eh?”
“Mr. N-North?” Cassandra stammered at the odd line.
“Of course! He’s the only vicar around here.” The girl laughed at her own little jest before she took a bite of the salted pork on her plate. “I heard he recommended you to Mrs. Martin.”
Cassandra tried to read the inflection in the woman’s cheery tone and carefully chose her words. “I met Mr. North yesterday. I needed some assistance, and he was very kind to help me.”
“Ah yes. Kind indeed. But then again, he has to be, hasn’t he? He’s the vicar. Besides him, most other people are suspicious about newcomers.” A twinkle sparkled in her pale green eyes. “My name is Betsy Tilken.”
“I’m Cassandra Hale.”
A giggle emerged from the other end of the table, and Cassandra looked up to see that the women were staring at her slyly, as if a jest had just been made at her expense.
Fresh self-consciousness wound its way through her. She shifted uncomfortably.
“Don’t mind them.” With a toss of her frizzy locks, Betsy glanced over her shoulder at the other women and lowed her otherwise high-pitched voice. “Like I said, many people are suspicious about newcomers. But not me. Where are you from then?”
“Lamby. A village outside of London.”
“London, eh? I’ve never been to London. Heard it is a wonder to behold. Anston must be a sight different.”
“I rarely had cause to venture into the main parts of London. Lamby was quite small. This reminds me of it, actually.”
“So, what brings you here? Not many people come to Anston for no purpose.”
Mr. North’s warning about sharing too many details flamed in her mind. “Family affairs.”
“Ah.” Betsy raised a playful brow. “Family affairs, is it?”
A distant bell rang, and all the women at the table shuffled up. Betsy grabbed a piece of bread from the table and stood. “Well then, Cassandra Hale, that’s my call. I must be going. Tomorrow is Sunday, and Mrs. Martin requires us all to attend church. Even you, I reckon. The girls and I walk over together. You should join us. I will wait for you in the morning, if you like.”
Perhaps it was the friendliness in her tone, or simply that sheoffered a sincere smile that eased Cassandra’s tension. “Of course, Miss Tilken. I should like that.”
“No, no. NotMiss Tilken. Nobody calls me that. Betsy’s fine.”
