standing ajar, despite the cold wind, I could see Aunt Ottie standing motionless in front of some monstrous shape, smoking a cheroot, her back to me.
I pushed open the door and went in. Without turning, she said: ‘Well, Sophy, what do you think?’
Chapter Nine: Lost in Translation
Tomorrow I will be marryed. Fond though I am of Thomas, to embrace him will be to embrace death itself—yet there is no escape. I look to the future and see only dark shadows closing in on mee.
I asked one bride gift only—that my mother’s maid, Joan, be sent for, since my father hath turned her off, and this boon was granted to mee. Though seemingly a simple creature, she is of our old ways and was devoted to my mother. She brought with her my mother’s household book, which I mean to continue with, and some other things I have hid to be safe.
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