Page 98 of Emma & Edmund

"I'm coming!" A voice sounded from within, annoyed, devoid of any hint they were expecting a guest.

As the door ripped open, Emma swallowed a gasp.

The woman was a familiar face; one Emma fully expected to never see again.

"What do you want?" Even her voice was far too familiar.

Annie, the fortune teller that visited Belmont, stood as the sole barrier between the muddy, soaked Emma and the warmth of the cottage.

"Do you recognize me?" That wasn't what Emma had meant to say, hadn't been what she planned to say, but it was what slipped from her lips, nonetheless. The woman's eyes turned unscrupulous, looking at her from head to toe, making Emma feel even sillier.

"Why should I? What sort of vagabond shows up at someone's door this time of night?"

"I'm Emma Thompson," her teeth began to chatter, her dress now soaked to the bone, "you came to tell fortunes at Belmont. You told me to...excuse me, but may I come in?"

"Absolutely not!" Came the immediate reply, and Emma couldn't even blame her. She would have the exact response if someone had shown up as she had. "Why would I-"

"Oh! I have this for you." Remembering Molek's instructions, and desperate to get out of the cold, Emma dug around the purse at her hip, pulling out the knotted piece of paper. Clasping it in her fingers, she held it out to the woman. Annie hesitated, her eyes growing even more suspicious. "Please, I was told to give this to you."

At her insistence, Annie carefully took the offered note, unfolding it expertly in ways Emma couldn't even guess, reading it over.

Although she couldn't see the contents, Emma knew it could not have been as lengthy a note for Annie to take the time she did to read it over, look up to Emma, and back down to the note.

"Who gave this to you?" As she spoke with breathy words, Annie clutched the paper to her chest, as if it was the most precious message she had ever received.

"The author of it, I suppose."

She likely had a thousand more questions swirling, with the unwavering disbelief she regarded Emma with, but only a single question fell from her.

"Why is Lord Molek helping you?"

Unsurprised Annie knew exactly who the author was, given everything she knew about the woman, Emma felt the dirt caked across her lips crack as she smiled despite herself. "Because I love his son."

The way Annie's minutely hopeful face fell at Emma's response, the girl thought the door may just slam shut on her nose. The woman's lip even curled, grip tightening on the doorframe, unmoving.

Shivering even more violently, Emma had to wrap her arms around herself, hoping the rubbing friction on her palms would warm up the cold settling deep into her bones.

"Fine."

The word spat out of Annie's mouth the same moment she swung the door wide, granting Emma access to her home. Refusing to miss the opportunity, Emma squeezed by an unmoving Annie, soaking in the warm, dry air that welcomed her so much more fully than her hostess did.

The slamming front door rattled the very frame of the single-roomed house. There were few windows and even fewer walls, and most of the tiny home was taken up by the sprawling kitchen, stocked with any spice or herb that one could think of. Scattered in jars, hanging from the ceiling, laid out on the counter, the smell of them filled the space.

A single, slim cot was pushed up against a window, its covering haphazard, and a worn sofa sat in front of the fire. Other than a stack of books without a bookshelf and an open, sparse wardrobe, the home of fortune teller Annie could be consumed in just one look.

"You're dripping all over my floor," Annie grumbled, pushing past the girl.

"You'll have to excuse me," Emma said through gritted teeth, trying to muster every last morsel of politeness, "I left a change of clothes in the coach."

The noise Annie made was somewhere between a groan and a snort, a noise Emma could certainly not make with her own throat. She watched her unwilling hostess pad over to the disorganized wardrobe, pulling out an undistinguishable garment before throwing it at Emma.

"I don't own a bath, so you'll have to make do with the basin over there." Annie flashed a finger to the water basin on the countertop. It wasn't steaming, and as Emma approached it, it almost screamed with chill. Uninviting, to say the least, but the dirt itched her face, coated her hands, and in that moment, the chilly water didn't seem to matter much.

Her heavy dress only allowed for her face, neck, and hands to be washed, but it was night and day once they were. Even the storm seemed to calm a bit.

"Where should I change?" Emma called to Annie, who had been tending to the pot over the fire.

"Where else?" Annie countered with a wide sweep of her arm, indicating to the whole room.

---