Free The Ashford Affair by Lauren Willig Page B

sailed out again that the ice cracked and the inhabitants of the room could move and speak again.
    The one who had been flipping through the fashion papers started forward. We’ve been waiting forever for you to arrive! Did you drive all the way down in the car? Did you—
    Bedtime! said Nanny, clapping her hands. She took the cousin by the shoulders and turned her firmly in the direction she wanted her to go. No dawdling, Miss Bea. Go along with you.
    The cousin—Bea?—made a comical face over her shoulder at Addie, shrugged, and skipped off.
    The older cousin, the one who had been sitting on the chair, nodded at Addie. See you in the morning! she said, and was gone, too.
    Nanny hoisted the toddler up to her shoulder, where she wiggled, agitating to be put down. As for you, Miss Adeline, said Nanny, you’ll sleep here.
    There was something very ominous about the way she said it.
    Nanny took her down the same hallway into which Bea and the other cousin had disappeared. There was a cluster of doors and a curious half stair that paused briefly at a landing with two doors before meeting up with another, longer stair. Addie had never seen so many doors. Their house in London had been constructed on far simpler lines; this hallway alone had more rooms than the entirety of Addie’s old home put together. And this was just a tiny corner of Ashford. Her mind boggled at it.
    Nanny had made sure Addie scrubbed behind her ears and said her prayers, performing the tasks with a sort of grim determination. Then Nanny had shut the door and Addie had been alone. She slipped Fernie’s book under her pillow, touching it as though it were a sort of talisman.
    If this were home, Fernie would have kissed her good night. If this were home, Mother would be poking her head around the door to see if she were asleep.
    That was when the door opened and a slender figure slipped through.
    “Is it true that you were raised by heathens?” she demanded, plunking herself down on the foot of Addie’s bed. “It did seem unfair that you came in so late, we never got to talk to you. I’ve been half-dead of curiosity.”
    She didn’t seem half-dead. She seemed incredibly alive and making a large dent at the bottom of Addie’s bed. Addie could see her only as a combination of shadows, but she recognized the voice; it was the fashion-paper cousin, the one who had been waiting forever for her to arrive.
    Addie wiggled herself up. “You’re Bea, aren’t you?” she said, unsure what the etiquette was under the circumstances.
    “Beatrice, if we’re being formal. I was named after a particularly dreary aunt. One of Mother’s sisters, so you needn’t worry, she’s not one of yours. She gave me a miserable little spoon as a christening gift, not even an apostle on it. I do call that mean. Don’t you agree?”
    At this point, Addie would have agreed to anything. “I suppose,” she hedged.
    “If one is to be named after dreary aunts, they should at least give good presents,” said Bea with authority. “Dodo’s left her a tiara, not that it does Dodo any good.”
    “Dodo?”
    “Diana. You met her just now—well, not met, really, but she was there. She’s the older of us. Goodness, no one has told you anything, have they?”
    Addie shook her head, feeling the tears prickle at the backs of her eyes.
    “Well, you needn’t worry,” said Bea. “I’ll take care of you. It’s all very dull, really. There’s four of us, only Edward is off at school most of the time. Dodo likes horses better than people and Poppy is still at the babbling stage, so she’s not terribly much of a conversationalist. How old are you?”
    “Almost six.” Somehow, Addie had the sense that it was very important to be almost six rather than five. One wouldn’t want to be dismissed as still at the babbling stage. “How old are you?”
    “I’m just past seven.” Bea considered her. “I must say, you don’t look like a savage.”
    She sounded deeply