The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo Read Free Page B

that resulted from outdoor work, Cassandra thought – and anyway, the manner in which the girl held herself spoke of something refined.
    There was nothing refined about the parson. He was speaking French very, very loudly.
    â€˜
Parlez-vous français, mademoiselle?
’
    â€˜Does she speak no English?’ Cassandra said.
    Parson Davies looked at her witheringly.
    Will came out from behind the counter with a glass of sherry – Cassandra could smell it, sweet and heady. He addressed her, one hand sweeping that thick dark hair up and away from his face.
    â€˜She won’t touch a thing, Miss Worrall, and by the looks of her she’s quite parched.’
    Cassandra had to look away quickly in case she blushed. She found the girl studying her, wide-eyed. Her lips, though full, were cracked and dry.
    â€˜I think you are right, Mr Jenkins,’ she said, doing her best to sound authoritative.
    â€˜I don’t think she’s northern European . . .’ The parson took a deep breath. ‘
Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?
’ He reached out and raised her chin so that he could look directly into her eyes, but she was obviously uncomfortable with such intimacy, and shrank from his touch. Then she looked straight at Cassandra, who was struck by her large dark eyes and, as she smiled, her small, even teeth. She was, Cassandra thought, rare pretty.
    Will poured the girl some sherry. She wrinkled her pretty nose and pushed it away.
    â€˜She must drink something.’ Cassandra looked at the girl again and mimed drinking. The girl gazed back, smiling and acting the same mime.
    Will shook his head. ‘We’ve tried everything: ale, wine, cider cup.’
    â€˜Why don’t you simply fetch her some water?’ Cassandra said, looking up at him. He held her gaze for an instant and she looked away again; she couldn’t help smiling, though – she had felt it as clearly as if it were tangible. There was something between them. She had not conjured it up, or imagined it. It was real. Cassandra nearly gasped with the shock and the pleasure of it. She had not felt like this since the New Year’s Ball, when she’d danced with Edmund Gresham . . .
    Will returned with a large jug of water. The girl’s face brightened, and before he could pour it, she shooed him away. The company watched as she swilled the cup around carefully, holding it up and examining it, making sure that it was spotless. Then she began what looked like prayers, her mouth moving quickly and in a tongue Cassandra had never heard. She made some odd salute and bowed her head, then poured the water out into her cup and drank and drank and drank.
    She looked from Cassandra to Will and nodded, saying a single word – it could have been nonsense but the meaning was clear: it was a thank you.
    â€˜That might be Italian,’ the parson said. ‘I don’t have any Italian myself . . .’
    Cassandra watched as the girl finished the whole pitcher of water, and realized that everyone else was gazing at her too, like visitors staring at a lion or a giraffe in a menagerie.
    When the girl had finished, she took a napkin from a small bag she carried at her waist and dabbed her mouth dry in the daintiest manner imaginable.
    â€˜What pretty manners! If she’s a vagrant then I’m a Chinaman!’ a man said – the carter, Cassandra thought; she didn’t know his name. ‘I’m telling you, Parson, there’s something about this girl . . .’
    â€˜I’m inclined to agree. Those are not the actions of a beggar.’ The parson shook his head. ‘Fascinating! Quite, quite fascinating! A most
interesting
maid. The shape of her face! The colour of her skin! Like the best Javan coffee, don’t you think?’
    The girl looked from one man to the other and then back to Cassandra. She pressed her two palms together as though in prayer, and then