Free Keeping the Castle by Patrice Kindl Page B

followed me in sulky silence to the preordained chamber in the east wing.
    This time Fido and I climbed into bed and closed our eyes in well-deserved slumber. We slept so heavily that we almost missed the third disruption of the night when a fresh squall blew in across the sea from Norway and, lying as they were on a bed positioned under the worst of the leak in the roof, they began to feel the rain dripping onto their heads. I believe I may have heard a scream or two, but I did not bother to rouse myself. Rather, I snuggled down in my bed, with a satisfied smile on my face and a sense of accomplishment in my heart.

    It required several days of continued rain and marauding rodents before Prudence and Charity capitulated. When a fine cashmere shawl belonging to Prudence that had been left in their original bedchamber was found with holes chewed along the hem (I rather fancy that our maid, Annie, who had been encouraged to exaggerate the mouse problem, may have been involved), they demanded that something be done. Faced with our undeniable poverty, they had no option save to pay for that something themselves.
    With much tsk-tsk-ing and fretful remarks about how we(my mother and I and, no doubt, my small brother and Fido as well) had allowed the castle to become so dilapidated that we had to rely on our too-trusting and too-easily-imposed-upon relations to keep it from falling into ruin, my stepsisters authorized the repairs and the extermination.
    However, at last the rain was gone. The sun was come again, and so was the mason, to fix the roof this time. Happily, the repairs required proved to be minor rather than major. Also, a boy with a ferret was employed to clear out the infestation of mice. (I assisted in this latter task by removing the nests and their occupants to an unoccupied outbuilding.)
    Mama was of course pleased, though surprised. “I can understand that they would wish to repair the roof, since they are now obliged to sleep in the leakiest bedroom, but it is a remarkable coincidence—” She looked at me and then down at her knitting, hiding a smile as she did so. “Never mind. Do not tell me. It is best I do not know.”
    Dutiful and loving daughter that I am, I honored her request, and changed the subject.

    Now the rains were over, Lord Boring came calling again, renewing his suggestion that we get up a riding party. I was delighted at the prospect, save for one or two minor matters. The Baron would know by now that my dowry was small and our income only just equal to our maintenance, but I did not wish him to know how very tightly our purse was drawn.
    Firstly, my riding habit was in tatters. And, while I was reasonably handy with my needle, ladies’ riding habits were, like gentlemen’s clothing, cut and sewn by skilled tailors. The expense of a professionally tailored riding jacket, let alone a smart hat to match, was not to be thought of. I began picking through our store of old linens and outgrown clothing, looking for something I could turn into a respectable piece of ladies’ attire.
    At last I came upon several suits of my father’s, now very outdated in appearance. I was meditating upon the possibility of adapting them for Alexander’s use someday, when an idea, full-formed, darted into my brain.
    I have said that ladies’ riding coats and jackets were traditionally tailored; they also were decidedly masculine in appearance, so that only a long skirt and sidesaddle posture gave away the sex of the rider from a distance. Even the hats of fashionable ladies on horseback were inspired by military style.
    When he was only sixteen my father had purchased a lieutenancy in the infantry in hopes of restoring his family fortune. These hopes ended at my grandfather’s death, when my father was called home to manage the estate.
    Here was a well-made, barely used uniform of an infantry lieutenant, the coat a brilliant red with shiny brass buttons, epaulettes, and a stand-up collar. The regulation hat