The Weaver's Daughter

by Elizabeth Jeffrey

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

When Anna hears her father's plans to marry her off to an old widower, she is determined to escape. Gathering together everything they own, Anna and her childhood sweetheart Jan board a boat from Holland to England. Heading for Colchester, the hub of the thriving cloth trade, life is not easy for the young lovers - Jan falls terribly ill on their journey and they are shocked to find seething tensions between the English and the Dutch. On the advice of the local church minister, Jan finds work in very poor conditions. Faring better, Anna is offered a place in the minister's house. But when lecherous motives behind Minister Archer's generosity are revealed, Anna flees her new home. But with no money and nowhere to live, the future looks perilous for Jan and Anna . . .

Release date: August 7, 2014

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 305

Sample

Anna crept along the passage that ran the length of the house and peered through a crack in the door at the two men seated at the table in the room to the left of the front door – the best room, proving that the meeting was important. One of the men was her father, a spare, black-clad man of above average height, although this was not apparent as he sat deep in conversation with his companion, occasionally stroking his neat grey-tinged beard, his expression sombre, his eyes watchful under beetle brows. Cornelis Fromenteel found life, like his religion, a serious matter; Anna could rarely remember her father smiling, and she had never heard him laugh.

The other man was older, fatter, with a florid face and a red nose that proclaimed his love of red wine, a goblet of which stood before him, refilled at frequent intervals from the flagon at her father’s elbow. But although he was mindful of his duties as a host and kept his guest’s goblet full Cornelis Fromenteel drank sparingly, unwilling to be ruled by anything but his own iron will.

As Anna watched, Otto de Hane lifted his goblet and drank, a few drops of the red wine dribbling down his beard on to his ruff, to join other unidentifiable stains there. She shuddered. This was the man, a widower twice over, with daughters older than Anna herself, who was at this moment negotiating with her father for her hand in marriage. And to her utter disgust, her father was nodding agreeably at his terms. He even raised his goblet and drank to the bargain.

Anna waited no longer, but picked up her skirts and fled, her slippers making no sound on the patterned tiles of the passage, out of the door and into the early spring sunshine. As she ran she paid no heed to the gardener who came twice a week and was putting the finishing touches to the complicated knot garden he had created. She ran on, slipping through the gap in the tall hedge that screened the house from the old tumbledown weaving shed, no longer in use, at the end of the garden. This weaving shed was her private domain. Nobody bothered to come here any more, although her father had plans for demolishing it and using the space for cultivating vegetables when the knot garden was finished. And when he could afford it.

There was the rub. Cornelis Fromenteel was living above his means. It required money to maintain the standing he aspired to and it was money he no longer possessed. The tall, bow-windowed house on the outskirts of the town was far larger than necessary for himself, his wife Judith, his only child Anna and Bettris their servant, but it was a good house, in a prominent position and he was reluctant to leave it for something less ostentatious. But things were difficult for the Flemish cloth merchant in the year 1580. Prices were being undercut by cheaper cloth imported from England, much of which was manufactured by Flemish people – ironically, some of them probably his own relatives – who had fled there from Flanders during the time of the worst of the religious persecutions some twenty years ago. He had been a young man of some twenty-five summers then and he had seen no need to leave the country of his birth; his religious beliefs, though firm, were adaptable and had never been allowed to get in the way of either profit or expediency. He had never regretted his decision to stay. Until now, that is, when the ship he had bought part shares in to transport his cloth to Portugal in an effort to revive his flagging fortunes had foundered in the Bay of Biscay, with the loss of all hands and the better part of his fortune.

So Cornelis had been forced to look to his only remaining asset. His eighteen-year-old daughter. Not that he would have entertained the notion that he might be regarded as selling her as he would sell a bolt of cloth; the very thought would have horrified him. He was simply anxious that she should marry well, he told himself.

It was providential that Otto de Hane was rich and looking for a young wife just at the time when Anna was young and marriageable. What more suitable than that she should marry his friend – if such a term could be applied to a recent acquaintance – and prospective business associate?

The final details of the ‘arrangement’ were being agreed that very afternoon in a room furnished in a way that gave no hint of its owner’s straightened circumstances. That is to say, the tables were of good, solid oak under the boldly figured table rugs that covered them. The floor tiles were spotless and more tiles, depicting scenes from the Bible, decorated the skirting. The wall opposite the window, carefully chosen so that it could be seen from the street, was covered in gold-tooled leather; the other three walls were hung with tapestries. The silver candlesticks and sconces about the room had been polished to a high degree by Bettris and the wine was a good, full-bodied red. Cornelis refilled his guest’s goblet yet again. Things were going well.

In the weaving shed Anna leaned against the dusty framework of the one remaining loom, her eyes tightly closed, her breast heaving as much from pent-up emotion as from her flight from the house, waiting. She didn’t have to wait long. A few moments later the door clicked quietly open and Jan was there. This was where they always managed to meet on the days Jan came to work in the garden.

He took her in his arms and she leaned against him, savouring the familiar smell of rich earth mingled with manly sweat and the sharp tang of the herbs he had been planting. But when he put his finger under her chin and lifted it to kiss her she started to tremble and cry.

‘What is it, my love?’ he asked, immediately concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, Jan. What am I going to do? The thing I most feared has come to pass. My father is making arrangements to marry me off to Mynheer Otto de Hane, that rich, ugly old man who lives in the big house on the corner of the market square.’

‘What!’ Jan took a step back and stared down at her.

She nodded and gulped. ‘It’s true. At this very moment my father is appealing to that dreadful old man’s generosity with his best wine.’ She gulped again. ‘I had to take in another flagon half an hour ago so that he could take another look at the goods on offer. He’d have sampled them, too, if I hadn’t got out of his way. His hand was halfway up my leg before I could escape.’ She shuddered. ‘What am I going to do, Jan?’ she cried desperately. ‘I can’t marry that awful old man. I can’t!’

‘Of course you can’t. You’re going to marry me, as we’ve planned,’ Jan said firmly, gathering her into his arms again. ‘You know I’ve been saving as hard as I can so that I’ll be able to tell your father I can offer you a respectable life …’ He held her slightly away from him. ‘You do want to marry me, don’t you, Anna?’

‘You know I do. More than anything in the world. But it’s too late, Jan. He’s at this very moment promising me to that old man.’ She clung to him, sobbing harder than ever.

He stood silently stroking her hair, deep in thought, for a long time. Then he said simply, ‘Then I’ll just have to take you away.’

Her head shot up. ‘But you can’t … I mean … where would we go? He’ll find us. He’ll fetch me back and make me …’ she shuddered, unable to even speak the words.

‘Not if we go to England.’

‘England!’

‘Why not? There are quite a lot of our people there. They went to escape from the Spanish during the time of the Inquisition. I know it was some time ago but I’m sure we’ll find a friendly face there somewhere.’ He spoke with slightly more conviction than he felt.

She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I’m told my grandparents went there. But they came back after a few years.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t think they liked England much.’

‘Maybe they didn’t. But a lot of people did stay, Anna,’ he said, his voice urgent. ‘And England can’t be that bad because people are still travelling over there to live. I’ve heard there’s a good living to be made if you’re prepared to work hard. And you know I’ve never been afraid of that.’ He gave a wicked grin. ‘I’ll wager your father would never think of coming to England to look for you.’

She shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t. He hates the English. He thinks they’re robbing him of his trade.’ She returned his smile tremulously through her tears. ‘Do you think we could, Jan? Do you really think we could escape to England?’

‘We can do anything if it’s going to save you from Otto de Hane,’ he said vehemently. He released her and went over to the window. It was of no consequence that it was covered in dust and cobwebs because his thoughts were turned inwards. ‘We need to get to Nieuwport,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If we can only get there I’m sure we’ll find a ship bound for England.’

She came and stood beside him. ‘That’s quite a long way from here. How long will it take us to walk?’ she asked anxiously.

‘About two days …’ he spoke absently. Then his tone changed. ‘But if I could get hold of a boat …’ He turned to her, his face alight with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, that’s it. We’ll go by boat.’

‘When?’

‘No point in wasting time. We’ll go tonight. Now, listen. Here’s what you must do …’

A little later and a great deal happier, Anna went back to the house, first collecting an armful of laundry that had been laid out on the bushes to dry, then dawdling a little to see how the gardener was progressing with the knot garden. She crossed the courtyard into the big, stone-flagged kitchen, where she helped Bettris to fold the linen and lay it in the press, then she escaped to her room.

This was a large, low-ceilinged room, hung with rather faded tapestries depicting dull country scenes. It would have been a gloomy room had it not been lightened by the two latticed windows that overlooked the street below and brightened by the pale yellow curtains and bed hangings. Anna loved her room and the ornaments and pictures with which she had decorated it over the years, and she would often sit on the wide window seat watching the scenes in the street, the men striding out on their business or pausing to exchange the latest news, the women with their laden shopping baskets hurrying home from the market, the children playing with their hoops or balls. But there was no time to look out of the window today. Trying not to hurry, she began to select what she would wear for her journey across the sea; something dark and plain, Jan had suggested, so as not to attract attention; something warm but not cumbersome. She selected a dark-green woollen dress with a white lace collar. Worn with her black grosgrain cloak and without a farthingale she would look no different from any wife or servant on market day. With shaking hands she collected what little money she had and put it in a bag, together with her few pieces of jewellery, ready to tie round her waist under her petticoat.

Busy with her preparations, she was startled by a knock on her door. Hastily gathering up the things lying on the bed and shoving them into a cupboard, she opened the door.

Her father stood there, her mother just behind him. Anna stood aside and he stepped inside, ducking his head as he entered the low doorway. Her mother followed him, like a pale ghost. Judith Fromenteel had once been a beautiful woman, with golden hair and a creamy complexion, but her colour had faded and with it the exuberant manner of her youth, sapped by years of living with a man with no humour and little compassion.

Anna bobbed a slight curtsey, then stood by the bed, twisting the bed-hangings in her hands, a wary expression on her face, waiting.

Cornelis gave a satisfied nod and said in his stentorian tone, ‘Anna, I have come to inform you that all is arranged. My good friend, Mynheer Otto de Hane, looks forward to taking you for his wife. He tells me he hopes for a son. I trust you will not disappoint him.’ The look he gave her was not quite a glare. ‘You are to visit his house next week and be married within the month. Have you anything to say?’

Anna swallowed nervously, her mouth dry. ‘No, father. I have nothing to say,’ she said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘No word of thanks that I have arranged such a good marriage for you?’

‘Thank you, father,’ she said obediently.

‘That’s better.’ He nodded. ‘Good. I’m going to the Cloth Hall now. I need to be about my business. I’ve wasted enough time for one day.’ He turned and left the room. Anna looked wordlessly at her mother. A minute later they both started as the street door slammed behind him.

Anna took a deep breath and lifted her chin. ‘I’m sorry, mother but I can’t do it. I won’t do it,’ she said defiantly, ‘I refuse to be married to that dreadful old man.’

Judith went over to the window and watched her husband striding along the street towards the Cloth Hall. She waited a moment to make sure he didn’t turn back, then turned to Anna, her eyes bright. ‘Of course you can’t marry Otto de Hane,’ she whispered fiercely. She put her fingers to her temples. ‘We must think of something. Some way out …’ She looked up. ‘You’ll have to leave, of course. Immediately. You can go to your Aunt Dionis in Amsterdam. She’ll find some way of hiding you.’

Anna gaped. ‘You mean you agree with me?’ she said in amazement.

‘Of course I do,’ Judith said impatiently. ‘Now listen. You must go tonight. I’ll make arrangements …’ She began to pace up and down the room. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’ll tell Jan where to find you.’

Anna gaped. ‘How did you know about Jan?’

Judith stopped her pacing and smiled gently at her daughter. ‘I’ve got eyes in my head, child. And don’t forget I was young once.’ She sat down on the bed and sighed dreamily.

Anna sat down with her and took her hands. ‘Then perhaps you’ll understand when I say that I’ve no need to go to Aunt Dionis, mother,’ she said eagerly. ‘Because Jan is making plans to take me away.’

‘Take you away? But where?’ Judith asked, astonished. ‘Where can you go that your father won’t find you and have you brought back? You know he is a determined man and will not take lightly to being made to look a fool if you disappear.’

‘We’re to go to England, mother,’ Anna said, her eyes shining with excitement.

‘England!’ Judith’s face lit up. ‘Oh, thank God! Go, child, with my blessing.’ She planted a kiss on Anna’s forehead. ‘A good choice. He’ll never come to look for you there, he hates the sea!’ She gave Anna’s hands a little shake. ‘Now, tell me. What are your plans?’

‘I have to meet Jan at the old fulling mill by the canal an hour after dark. He’ll be there with a boat to take us to the coast. If we’re lucky along the way we might be taken on board a barge carrying cloth to Nieuwport, if not we shall manage as best we can. When we get to Nieuwport we’ll find a ship that’s going to England. Jan says that won’t be difficult because there are always ships back and forth from there.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know what will happen after that but Jan says there’s sure to be work in England for a gardener.’

Judith digested her daughter’s words, then she nodded. ‘Jan is a good man. I’ve watched him and seen how hard he works. I’m happy to trust you to him. I know he’ll look after you.’ She put her hands up to her face. ‘Now, let me think. You’ll need money. And food for the journey. And what will you wear?’

Anna pulled out the garments she had pushed into the cupboard earlier.

Judith nodded approvingly. ‘Good. Warm but not heavy. But you’ll need a change of clothing, too.’

‘I can’t take much. We may have to walk some distance,’ Anna reminded her.

‘A small bundle. Just a few caps and collars, a spare apron, some shifts and stockings. It’s very important, because you must keep yourself clean at all costs. That’s what creates a good impression,’ Judith insisted. She pinched her lip. ‘Now, I suggest you rest. You’ll need all your strength for what lies ahead. You needn’t come down to the meal tonight. I’ll tell Cornelis you’re unwell and will have something in your room.’ She gave a half smile. ‘I imagine you’re not anxious to sit and listen to him gloating over the bargain he’s made with the old man.’ She clamped her lips together. ‘I shall never forgive him for what he’s done this day. Never.’ Her mood changed again and she became quite animated. ‘I’ll see that the door is left unlatched tonight and I’ll leave food in the hutch for your journey.’

‘Thank you, mother.’ Anna leaned over and kissed her. ‘And thank you for being so understanding. Oh, I shall miss you,’ she said, clinging to her.

‘And I shall miss you, child. Always remember how much I love you.’ For a moment the two women clung together weeping, then Judith released her hold a little and said, ‘I realise I may never see you again, Anna. So there is something I must tell you.’ She paused and blew her nose to regain her composure, then she went on, ‘Perhaps I should have told you before but I lacked the courage. I’m afraid what I’m going to say may shock you.’

Anna stared at her. ‘Mother, what can you mean?’

Judith plucked at the dornicle that covered the bed. ‘It’s because you are going to England that I think I should tell you. Because that’s where he went. Of course, England is quite a big country. You might never meet. On the other hand …’

‘Mother, what are you talking about?’ Anna said with a frown.

Judith looked up. ‘I’m talking about your father, Anna.’

Anna’s jaw dropped. ‘My father.’

‘Oh, not Cornelis, my husband,’ Judith said with a trace of impatience. ‘No, Henrick, the man I used to meet in the same loom shed where you’ve been meeting your Jan.’ She paused. ‘Only Henrick was not a gardener, he was a weaver who worked for my husband.’ Her expression softened. ‘He was a fine man and we had a wonderful summer, meeting whenever we could. I knew he was not happy working for Cornelis. He was ambitious and he left to go to England to seek a better life.’ She paused. ‘He begged me to go with him. But I was afraid. I was afraid things wouldn’t work out for Henrick and that we would starve. I was afraid to leave my comfortable life with Cornelis, even though I’d never loved him. And I was afraid for the child. Henrick’s child. You, my dear.’ She sighed. ‘I was stupid. I should have trusted him. I’ve often wished I’d had the courage to go with him. I still think about him.’

Anna listened, her eyes and mouth open, hardly able to take in what her mother was saying. ‘But what about my … your husband?’ she managed to croak. ‘Didn’t he discover …?’

‘Oh, no. Cornelis knew nothing about Henrick and me,’ Judith said, her tone almost airy. ‘He was so conceited it never occurred to him I would ever look twice at another man. And he never suspected the child I carried wasn’t his.’ She smiled at Anna. ‘You’re very like your father – your real father. He was a handsome man. His hair was blond and he had the same deep violet-blue eyes. Eyes the same colour as yours, Anna. It was the colour of your eyes that I most feared might give me away, but Cornelis never noticed. Cornelis never notices anything except money in the bank. Not like Henrick. He noticed everything. I’ve often wondered what happened to him. I’d dearly love to know.’ She smiled, a secret little smile. ‘It is the memory of those stolen hours in the weaving shed that has sustained me through the years, Anna. That and his likeness in you.’ She lifted her head and her tone became brisker. ‘And that is why you have my blessing to go with Jan.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘I refuse to have Henrick’s child sold into that old man’s bed.’

She got to her feet. ‘Now, rest, child. You have a long night ahead of you. May God go with you.’ With a last embrace, Judith slipped from the room, before Anna could begin to ask any of the questions that were already forming in her mind.

After her mother had left, Anna lay down on her bed. But she could not rest. Her mind was in too much turmoil. Not only was there the excitement, the thrill, the apprehension, not to mention the fear over her planned elopement with Jan, she was now having to come to terms with the fact that the man she had known as her father for the past twenty years was not her father at all.

Thinking back over her life, this fact troubled her less than might have been expected. She had never felt close to Cornelis, in fact he had always been something of a shadowy figure in her life, a stern, black-clad, raven-like stranger she had feared as a child and tended to avoid as she grew older. Not that he had ever been physically cruel to her; but his acid tongue had reduced her to tears more times than she could remember.

The truth was, Cornelis was a businessman; he had no idea how to relate to children, and for some reason blossoming womanhood embarrassed him. In any case, bringing up the family was women’s work and he wanted no part in it. Although he would have liked a son to carry on his name he was not displeased that Judith had only brought forth one child, even though it was a girl. He wanted no more squalling brats to disturb the peace of his household. It would never have occurred to him that the one child his wife had borne might not be of his begetting.

Lying on her bed, her hands clasped behind her head, Anna tried to imagine her real father. A fair-haired man, her mother had said, with deep violet-blue eyes. Her mother had clearly loved him very much. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine her faded mother as a young woman, hurrying to the loom shed to be with her Henrick, experiencing the same feelings that she, Anna, felt for Jan. Only Henrick and Judith had been unwilling, or unable, to curb their passion … Anna smiled to herself. She could understand how they had felt. Her breath quickened a little as she recalled the times she and Jan had almost … but not quite …

She opened her eyes again and frowned up at the heavy yellow silk that covered the tester above her head. How could it be that although Judith had risked so much to meet with her lover, even conceiving his child, she had been afraid to take the final step and go away with him? Why had she been so afraid to leave her comfortable lifestyle, so afraid of the unknown across the sea? She gave a sigh. Even though Judith admitted she had never loved Cornelis, the truth was that he represented the safety and security that she craved, something Henrick was unable to promise.

Anna stretched her arms above her head. She didn’t share her mother’s fears. She wasn’t afraid to go away with Jan, she was excited. She looked forward to the adventure. She searched her mind. Well, perhaps she was a little afraid. But she feared having to stay and marry Otto de Hane more. Much, much more.

Towards evening her mother brought her soup and cheese and dark bread and a mug of weak beer, insisting that she ate and drank in preparation for her journey.

‘I will make sure there is food in the hutch to take with you,’ she whispered. ‘But you need to eat this while you can.’

‘Don’t go, mother,’ Anna said, as she began the meal. ‘There are questions – things I must ask you …’

Judith glanced over her shoulder. ‘Then be quick, my child. I mustn’t be away for too long.’

‘Tell me, where did Henrick plan to go to in England? I need to know so that I can search for him.’

Judith frowned. ‘As far as I can remember there were three places that took people from this area …’ Her frown deepened. ‘A place called Norwich, the town of Sandwich and somewhere else … Colchester? I think that may have been the name.’

‘But which one did my father go to?’ Anna asked urgently.

Judith smiled a little. ‘It was a long time ago, child. I believe he was going to try to get to London. I don’t know which would have been the nearest town for that.’ She spread her hands. ‘But what does it matter? He would probably have had to go to wherever a boat was going that would take him.’

‘Did he never write to you?’

Judith shook her head sadly. ‘Henrick couldn’t read or write. If I’d gone with him I could have taught him.’

Anna finished her meal and Judith embraced her, holding her close for a long time. Then, with a whispered, ‘God go with you, my child,’ she left and Anna knew she would never see her again.

She lay down on her bed. All her preparations were made so she could only watch the light fade, listening to her heart beating and trying to doze a little in preparation for the long night ahead.

When the time came, she picked up her bundle and stole from her room, her slippers making no noise on the wooden stairs, gliding through the dark, silent house, like a wraith. She could hear Bettris snoring in her bed in the wall when she reached the kitchen but this didn’t worry her, she needed no light to find the packet of food her mother had left in the hutch. She unlatched the door and disappeared into the night.

Although the day had been warm for late March, the night was cold, the sky hung with icily glittering stars. The moon was not quite full and shed a grey, shadowy light sufficient for Anna to see her way. She slipped through the darkened streets and alleyways, careful to keep to the shadows in case there were roaming thieves and vagabonds. Waiting until she was well past the cobbled streets she exchanged her slippers for the stout leather shoes in her bundle, but still made sure to walk where there was grass to deaden the sound of her footsteps. Every now and then she looked behind her to make sure she was not being followed.

At last, in the distance over the fields, she could see silhouetted against the skyline the shadowy bulk of the old fulling mill, its skeletal sails spread like welcoming arms. She offered up a quick prayer that Jan would be there with the boat and quickened her step, keeping to the edge of the fields against the hedgerows so that she wouldn’t be seen.

She was breathless by the time she reached the mill, partly from hurrying but also from apprehension. Suppose Jan wasn’t there …

‘Anna? Over here.’ Suddenly she heard Jan’s voice, barely more than a whisper in the darkness.

She hurried to the water’s edge behind the mill. He was there, beside a small boat tied to the rotting jetty.

She ran into his arms. ‘Oh, thank God. I was afraid …’

‘Silly. You knew I’d be here.’ He held her close for a few seconds, then released her. ‘Quickly, there’s no time to lose. Get in. I’ll hold the boat steady,’ he said.

Minutes later he was standing in the stern, poling the boat silently along while she crouched in the bow, shivering with cold and – although she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself – fright.

‘I can hear your teeth chattering,’ he whispered and she thought she detected a trace of amusement in his voice. ‘There’s no need to be afraid, Anna. You’re with me now and you know how much I love you. You don’t have to worry, sweetheart, I’ve promised to look after you and I will. With luck, when we reach the river we might get picked up by a boat carrying goods to Nieuwport.’

‘When will that be?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Oh, before daylight. With luck we’ll be in Nieuwport before dark.’

Jan was right. They were taken on board a boat carrying sheep and pigs to be slaughtered for the market, giving the boatman their small boat, which had begun to leak, in payment for the journey. Anna would have preferred a less smelly boat, away from the all-pervading stink of animals, but she realised they were lucky to be picked up at all since several other boats had simply sailed on past them. So they sat together in the bow of the boat, watching the dawn come up, accompanied by a dawn chorus of squealing and bleating from the pens behind them.

At last they reached Nieuwport, a busy, thriving port. They thanked the boatman and hurried over to the docks where they could see the tall masts of the ocean-going ships rising above the dockside buildings. Jan left Anna and went to see if he could find a ship bound for England willing to take them as passengers. Whilst he was gone she sat on a bollard and watched the feverish activity on the waterfront, cargoes being loaded and unloaded, men running up and down gangplanks with huge bales of cloth, baulks of timber, sacks of grain or coal on their shoulders, sure-footed on the narrow planks and seemingly unhampered by the weights they carried. She saw animals protesting loudly at being forced either on or off boats and couldn’t help laughing when a pig escaped and created havoc among the bales and barrels on the quayside as it evaded the men chasing it. There was another commotion when a cow fell in the water. The poor thing drowned before they could haul it out so it had to be butchered on the spot, to the delight of the scavenging dogs that roamed the quayside.

She saw sailors, sure-footed as monkeys, swarming up masts and along spars at a dizzying height, checking rigging, furling or unfurling sails, shouting orders or obscenities to each other, the wind carrying their words away so that she couldn’t tell which.

Once or twice she glimpsed a tall figure striding along that so resembled her father that she cowered trembling into the folds of her cloak and tur