Page 57 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“No.”
Clara tried not to frown. Instead, she pulled her shoulders back and tried again.
“I do hope the weather holds out,” she said, looking up towards the grey skies. “It would be a shame if it rained.” Violet didn’t speak at all in response to this, so Clara tried again, hoping this time to shock her. “I’d hate to return home without my slippers.”
That seemed to catch Violet’s attention. Her sister-in-law stared at her for a long moment before her curiosity got the better of her.
“Why would the rain have anything to do with your slippers returning home?”
“It’s an old Lincolnshire custom. Or perhaps not Lincolnshire so much as the village of Kimberton. And really, to assume everyone in the village of Kimberton participates would be a gross overestimate. In truth, it was mostly just one person, Miss Hilda Franklin—and those who chose to follow her example. But there was good reason to follow in her footsteps, as it were, given that she never caught a cold.”
“What are you talking about?” Violet asked, obviously confused by Clara’s train of thought.
Clara smiled. Got her.
“Mm? Oh yes. Well, Miss Hilda Franklin was the oldest woman to ever live in Kimberton. That’s where I grew up. She was a very sweet old woman and she was one hundred and two the day she died, not five years ago.”
“One hundred and two?” Violet asked, disbelieving. “I don’t believe it.”
“I might not have either, except that there was a record of her baptism in the Kimberton Chapel. Everyone could confirm that Miss Franklin had lived in her family cottage for over a hundred years. She lived with her great grandnephew by then, but she was still spry the day before she died.”
“And what does she have to do with slippers and the rain?”
“Well, Miss Franklin was a very proper sort. A good, God-fearing sort of woman who never let her skirt come over her ankle, or wore a neckline below her collar bone. She was completely prim in every way. Except that whenever it rained, if she was caught outside in a storm, she would remove her slippers and walk barefoot right through the center of town.”
Violet stared at her. “What?”
“It’s true. Whenever Miss Franklin was caught in a storm or a summer shower, she would remove her shoes and carry them in the crook of her arm as she would march through the middle of town back to her cottage.”
“Why?”
“No one understood exactly. Even her own family tried to dissuade her from doing something so bizarre, but it never failed that on a wet day, she would be seen barefoot.” Clara tried not to smile at the confusion on Violet’s face. “Of course, there were rumors as to why she did so.”
“What rumors?”
“Oh, there were a few stories. One suggested that she had been cursed in her youth by a witch. Another said that a gypsy woman told her that she would live to be a hundred if she neverwore shoes in the rain. Others believed she was simply mad, though you wouldn’t have assumed as much from talking to her.”
“But no one knew the truth? Did no one ask her?”
“Oh, everyone asked her—but she would never give an answer.” Clara shook her head. “And it would have been a strange story on its own, except for the day that she died.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it was a day, not unlike today,” Clara said, glancing up at the sky once more. “And Miss Franklin was out attending morning mass. Supposedly, it hadn’t started to rain when she left church, but then she never made it home and it rained and rained all that day. The family went out to search for her, and it wasn’t long before they found her. She had passed away, seated beneath an old oak tree. They said she appeared as peaceful as any person ever did.”
“Was she wearing her shoes?” Violet asked.
“She was, but that’s just it. Usually, Miss Franklin wore slippers, which were easy for her to take off. That day when they found her, she was wearing a pair of new leather ankle boots, tied tightly all the way up.”
Violet’s eyes went slightly wide.
“Did she wear them on purpose?”
Clara shrugged.
“No one knows. But then, no one ever did when it came to Miss Franklin.”
Violet seemed contemplative as she rested back against her seat and Clara hoped that her little story had cracked her hard exterior. It was a silly tale, but one that always seemed to intrigue people. Of course, when Violet didn’t speak for the next five tenant visits, Clara assumed she’d failed miserably.
