Crimson Snow Read Free

must go and clean—”
    â€œYou will stay here and answer my questions. Why was your brother not in school? Or is he as ready to flout rules as you appear to be?”
    Hilda clenched her jaw. “The matter was urgent, sir. He has gone back to school.” She knew Mr. Williams would be even more incensed by the details of Erik’s tale.
    â€œI’m not at all satisfied, Hilda. You have not explained why he came here. What are you hiding from me? Is it that your caller was not your brother at all?”
    If Mrs. George hadn’t come into the servants’ quarters just then, Hilda might have said a great many regrettable things.
    â€œOh, good morning, Hilda, Williams.”
    â€œGood morning, madam. Is there something you wish?” His manner was stiff. Not only did he hate being interrupted when he was dressing down a subordinate, but he did not approve of the mistress of the house venturing into the backstairs regions.
    â€œNo, no, I’m just going to show Mrs. Sullivan how to make a new soup I want to serve for dinner on Saturday.”
    â€œVery good, madam.” His manner continued to show just what he thought of the idea. Mrs. Sullivan did not appreciate being shown anything, especially not by a member of the family, all of whom were supposed to have the sense to stay out of the kitchen.
    Hilda, however, was profoundly grateful. Mr. Williams would have to accompany Mrs. George, in an attempt to keep the peace, and she, Hilda, could escape.
    She went about her work the rest of the morning with great care to avoid the butler. Fortunately, he had extra work to do in preparation for Saturday’s dinner party, a large affair for Colonel George’s professional and political associates. Mrs. George wanted the big silver punchbowl polished, along with the punch cups, all six dozen of them, and Mr. Williams would trust no one else to do the work—not that anyone else wanted to.
    Thus it was that, when the front doorbell rang at about ten-thirty, Hilda was sent to answer it. She knew the caller, an elderly attorney named Barrett who was a close associate of Colonel George. “Good morning, sir,” she said with a curtsey.
    â€œGood morning, Hilda.” He handed her his coat and hat. “Is the colonel in?”
    â€œYes, sir.” With most visitors she would have used the standard formula about not being sure, but Mr. Barrett was always admitted.
    â€œGood. Would you tell him, please, that I apologize for calling without notice, but I would be very glad to see him for a few minutes, if I’m not interrupting.”
    â€œOf course, sir. Will you come and sit down?” She led him to the small reception room off the big hall. She walked slowly, because Mr. Barrett had a game leg. His limp was pronounced today, probably because of the cold. Hilda took a moment to stir up the fire. Mr. Barrett was shivering. “Excuse me, sir, but you look cold. Sit here by the fire and warm yourself. And would you like a cup of coffee, or tea? You look cold,” she repeated.
    In fact, he looked terrible. His hands shook, and his face looked as though he hadn’t slept for days.
    â€œThank you, my dear, that’s very kind of you, but I’ll be fine. I am a little cold, but that’s a splendid fire.” Stiffly, he folded himself into a chair, crossed his long legs, and nodded a dismissal. Hilda went to find Colonel George. She did hope Mr. Barrett wasn’t ill. He was a nice man. She wondered what his urgent business was. Probably something political. This was an election year, after all, although January was very early to begin thinking about such things.
    Once she had delivered the guest to Colonel George’s office, Hilda’s next task was the fireplaces. There were twenty of them, and they were all Hilda’s responsibility. Those in the bedrooms had been done earlier, of course, but the reception rooms, the dining rooms, Colonel