Page 57 of Lady for a Season
He gazed out of the window. “I hope I find one with whom I can be as happy as we have been these last few weeks.”
Their quiet happiness was shortlived. By the end of January, the Duchess had returned and deemed that, no matter how bad the roads, it was time to travel to London. The journey was made in the savagely cold weather that had now descended over the country. The carriage was full of woollen blankets and fur wraps, footwarmers filled with hot coals had been placed at their feet, all of them were wearing so many layers of clothing that their outer coats would barely fit over the top. Both Maggie and the Duchess used their giant fur muffs and at every coaching inn they all huddled around the blazing fires drinking cups ofhot soup, desperate to feel warmth. Even in the well-appointed private bedchambers they occupied for the night, Maggie had to add her furs and wraps to the covers provided and wear her coat over her nightdress.
“I have never known such cold,” said Celine, her teeth chattering as she helped Maggie dress.
“Are you all warm enough in the servants’ carriage?” asked Maggie, concerned.
“There are enough of us in the carriage to huddle together,” said Celine. “It is the best heat, to be close to another person.”
Maggie, who sat opposite Edward and the Duchess, could not imagine huddling together with the Duchess.
Atherton House was shrouded in a deep fog, but Maggie was grateful for the warmth and comforts provided. The servants were kept hard at work lighting and caring for more fires than usual to keep the rooms warm, and Maggie kept a shawl always wrapped about her.
“The fog does not seem to have abated,” said the Duchess to the housekeeper.
“It is still very bad, Your Grace, but it was worse. At Christmas it was so thick no-one dared venture out for fear of getting lost.”
“Let us hope it improves,” said the Duchess. “The season will be hard pressed to commence if no-one can go out of their houses for the cold and fog.”
Maggie woke very late. Her bedroom fire had already been lit, but she had not heard the maid. The room seemed darker than it should be, and when she pulled back the curtains to look out she stared in surprise, for the world outside had disappeared altogether into a thick fog, so dense that she could not even see into the centre of the square, could barely even see the railings and steps directly below her, by the front door. There was only a thick whiteness and an eerie silence, unlike the usual clip clopof hooves and the rolling of wheels. Maggie pressed her face against the glass but could still see nothing at all.
“No-one can go out today,” reported back Joseph when she came to breakfast. “Coachmen are walking their coaches if they must take them out, with lanterns. It is like night-time out there.”
They spent three days in thick fog, which eventually cleared but the weather remained misty, the cold still bitter. There was nothing to do but spend time at home, reading, sewing, writing. Some of their meals became less elaborate, for it was difficult to get reliable supplies.
When Maggie awoke on the first of February, for a moment she thought she was back at the Hospital, where winters had been cold, and they sometimes had to break the ice in their washbasins before they could wash their faces of a morning. But no, she was under the thick covers in the Willow Room, and a maid had scurried in and was on her knees at the fireplace.
“Sorry to be late, Miss, we had to light more fires than usual, what with the snow.” The maid hurriedly got the fire going and jumped up as Celine entered the room.
“You should have lit Miss Seton’s fire earlier,” she scolded.
“Sorry, Duval,” said the girl, scampering from the room.
“More snow,” exclaimed Celine, opening the curtains. “But the fog has lifted, at least.”
Maggie climbed out of bed, bringing a whole blanket with her, wrapped about her nightdress. She stood with Celine at the window and gazed out over the square, which looked entirely different, carpeted in thick pristine snow over every part of the gardens and houses.
“Up to your knees,” said Celine. “It’ll take most of the morning for the streets to be clear. They say the Thames has frozen over.There might even be a frost fair if it holds. There hasn’t been a big one for twenty-five years.”
“What’s a frost fair?”
“Skating and all sorts, on the Thames.”
“That can’t be safe!”
“It is if it freezes solid. I’ve heard they even had fires on it, last time.”
“Fires on the ice?”
Celine nodded, moving to gather Maggie’s clothing for the day. Maggie was grateful to see not only a blue woollen dress but a thick shawl to go with it.
“If you go out later for a walk, wear furs and take your muff.”
Bundled up in layers of clothes, Maggie and Edward stepped out into a world transformed. Everywhere was white and the air so cold it was hard to breathe. But wrapped in her warm woollen dress and thick furs, her boots and a vast muff, Maggie felt oddly warm.
“Except my nose and lips,” she said to Edward. “They feel like they’re going to entirely freeze, and I shall have a face made of ice.”
He stopped at once and turned to her, removed his gloves and placed his warm hands on her cheeks. “Better?”
