Free Calico Captive by Elizabeth George Speare Page B

anticipation.

Chapter 8
    W HEN M IRIAM woke it was still dark, and the loft was barely visible in the smoky candlelight. The chattering had begun again, but in whispers and subdued giggles. The women were rousing from the row of mattresses and getting dressed. Hortense, sitting on the edge of the mat she had shared with Miriam, was lost in the folds of the petticoat she was pulling over her head. The bobbing black curls and plump round cheeks emerged in a moment, and her black eyes twinkled at Miriam. Miriam dragged herself up, though she could have slept straight through the day, and pulled on her own dress and the leather shoes that were far too big. She followed the others down the loft ladder, took her turn at washing her face in the big basin, and sat down at the table. After a few moments' bustle, breakfast was ready, porridge and thick yellow cream, and a mug of indescribably luscious brew called chocolate, dark and rich and sweet.
    This morning the other women had lost their curiosity and quite casually accepted her as one of them. She was tossed a towel and she set to wiping plates and spoons, and then to shining a set of pewter mugs, and for some time she worked in a corner undisturbed. Then Hortense beckoned to her.
    The French girl was deftly arranging on a brass tray a delicate white china cup and plate, thin silver spoons, a little pot of chocolate and two crusty rolls. A late breakfast for the lady of the house, Miriam guessed. She followed Hortense with some curiosity. She had discarded her timidity with the disgraceful Indian clothes. Those icy blue eyes would not fluster her so easily this morning. The two girls passed from the kitchen into a sitting room that made Miriam gasp. Such elegance I She glimpsed a fine stuffed sofa, chairs of dark polished wood, hangings of deep red velvet. Beyond this room they mounted a short flight of stairs into a narrow hallway, and Hortense opened a door into a small chamber.
    That anyone in the world had such a room merely for sleeping was beyond imagination. It was all white and pale blue. There were thick creamy rugs on a blue-painted floor. The windows and a little dressing table were hung with white draperies ending in a long netted fringe. There was a wide four-poster bed with full white draw curtains and deep scalloped valances. In the center of the bed, under a fringed and embroidered coverlet and propped up against a mass of ruffled pillows, sat not the formidable woman Miriam expected but the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She was pink and white and fragile as a china figurine, her eyes like blue flowers, and her hair a fine powdery gold mist against the pillows. The blue eyes darted past Hortense and the tray, and went wide at the sight of Miriam. For a long moment the two girls stared at each other, each too dumfounded to speak. Then the girl on the bed broke into a flood of French, as rapid as the chatter in the kitchen, but softer, with a hint of a lisp that reminded Miriam of Polly. Hortense laughed, plumped the tray down on the bed, and gave an explanation. The girl turned to Miriam.

    "You no speak
français?
" she demanded. Miriam shook her head. The girl laughed, showing a row of perfect small teeth. "It no matter. I speak the English with you. You surprise—
n'est-ce pas?
"
    For the first time since she had left James at the landing place Miriam could speak her own tongue freely, and the words rushed out with all the old frankness.
    "Everything in Montreal surprises me. It is all so different from what I expected." Especially you, she almost added, but remembered her manners in time.
    The girl was delighted. "You like it—no?"
    "I haven't seen anything but this house. 'Tis the most beautiful house I have ever seen."
    "It is one of best houses in Montreal. We get everything from France—chairs, tables, dishes, everything. Where you come from, you not have house like this?"
    "Goodness no! At Number Four the men themselves had to build the houses out