"Cecilia Dart-Thornton - The Bitterbynde 02 - The Lady of the Sorrows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart-Thornton Cecilia)

pause, she hastened on, casting many a backward glance, as if the mysterious riders who had watched
the house might spring out of the darkness. At last, lacking breath, she slowed to a swift walk.
The money from the emerald had been well-spent. Rohain of the Sorrows, an elegant lady, would
become a widow as soon as she unfolded the silk mask across her face to hide her grief, in the fashion of
bereaved women. By her ornaments and garments, she would appear a noble widow of considerable
means. The silk domino, blue as night, was worked with scarlet. Jet beads sparkled in her long dark hair.
Matching needlework, dark red and azure on midnight blue, drenched the full bell-sleeves of her gown,
slashed to show contrasting lining, and dripped down the voluminous skirts from below whose picoted
hems several petticoats peeped demurely. Her waist was cinched by a crimson leather girdle, housed
within silver filigree. A long, fitted fur-lined traveling cloak, frogged down the front, covered the yards of
fancy fabric. A fur-lined velvet taltry topped the outfit.
She went forward. Hours passed. A soft noise like the wind in an Autumn wood came rustling. She
thought it strange, for there was no wind, and all around, stark boughs plowed black furrows into the
fitful moonlight, unmoving. A tall, pale figure glided past; some wight in almost mortal form. It groaned
and soon passed out of sight. The susurration of falling leaves went on and on. Suddenly the moon shone
out radiantly and the sounds changed to faint murmurs of laughter and ridicule that continued for a while,
then faded.
Down among the tree roots, tiny lights were moving. The path climbed a final slope and came out on
the Caermelor Road as the sky began to pale. Farther down the Road, to the left, squatted a white
milestone. It was there that the coach waited, its coach-lamps glowing like two amber flowers. The
horses' breath steamed, a silver mist combed to shreds by the sharp and bitter cold.
The coachman had received an enticing down payment on the understanding that his services were
to be performed with confidentialityтАФnot that the noble lady passenger had held a clandestine tryst in the
woods with a bucolic lover, of course. Simply, she desired privacy and no questions. Given his utmost
discretion, the pecuniary reward at the end of the journey would exceed even the down payment.
He saw a slender, cloaked figure materialize out of the darkness, silent as a moth.
Bowing, he murmured, "Your ladyship." Her name was unknown to him.
She nodded. He could not see her face behind the decorative blind. Handing her into the carriage,
the coachman stepped up into his box-seat and shook the reins. His bellowed "Giddap!" harshly
interrupted the night.
With a sudden thrust forward, the equipage bowled rapidly along the Road to Caermelor.
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Light wooden caskets were waiting in the coach. With a sense of excitement, the passenger opened
them. One was filled with sweetmeats and refreshments for the journey, one contained a most risible
headdress, another an absurd pair of shoes, and a fourth accommodated an ermine muff and a pair of
gloves. With difficulty inside the cramped and jolting compartment, the "widow" added these items to her
person.
The wide headdress was fashioned from a thick roll of stiffened fabric trimmed with sweeping
carmine plumes, beaded, latticed with silver. It possessed a crown rising to a point draped with yards of
azure gauze. Altogether, the dainty, fragile shoes, the voluminous sleeves, the stiff, embroidery-crusted
fabric of the gowns, the heavy girdle that made it difficult to bend forward, and the wide headdress that
made it impossible to approach any wall seemed most onerous and impractical, not only for travel but for
everyday living. These garments and accoutrements would impede the simplest of tasks. Could it be that
such strange raiment was truly the fashion at Court? Had her benefactress and the lad been mistaken, out
of touch? Quickly she dismissed the thought. Nothing escaped the carlin's noticeтАФthe costume would be
correct.
Her heel kicked against a heavy object sitting on the floorтАФa foot-warmer. Tom Coppins had
thought of everything. Housed in its elaborately carved wooden case, the brass container with its pierced
lid gave off a welcome warmth from the glowing charcoal in its belly. The passenger propped her feet
thereon and sat back against the padded leather upholstery.