Winter's End by Clarissa Cartharn Read Free Book Online Page B

it’s brown coat will change
to a charming red. Shame that someone will have to hunt it sooner or later.”
    Emma watched the
stag. Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of it being hunted through the
wild moors. “You won’t kill it now, will you?” she asked, worriedly.
      “Well, the season is still open for
stalking,” Mrs. Kinnaird said. “But we won’t kill it today. It lives another
day.” She gave an assuring smile. “Theodore is the head stalker for the estate
but he hasn’t brought his gun with him.”
    Emma glanced over at
the loyal butler. He was still hidden behind the rock, observing the stag
closely.   She gave a small relieving sigh
when she saw that he indeed didn’t carry a hunting rifle.
    Mrs. Kinnaird gave
another small chuckle. “Oh, you have so much to learn if you want to live in
Skye. Don’t worry. We are not as cruel as you think we are, Mrs. Winston.
Sometimes we also love to watch and admire these magnificent creatures at a
distance.”
    It was then the stag
retreated a step, its eyes startled by a noise. A second later, it turned and
dashed back into the winter woods.
    Emma watched keenly
after it, it’s short tail bobbing in the distance.
    “It’ll come back,”
said Mrs. Kinnaird, examining her carefully. “They come down from the hills to forage
for shrubs below, especially after a heavy snow fall like the ones we’ve been
having these last couple of nights.”
    A pang of guilt hit
Emma again. Two nights ago she had been sitting with Lisa Johnston engaged in
gossip about this seemingly harmless but lonely neighbour. So why should she
stay away from her? Why, indeed.
    The deer was long
gone now, probably foraging for food in some other secluded moor on Mrs.
Kinnaird’s estate.
    Emma stepped out from
behind the tree. There was a thin drizzle of snow showering about her.
    Mrs. Kinnaird
struggled to step forward towards her but the heaviness of the snow hindered
her posture. Emma immediately leant and steadied her with her arm.
    “You shouldn’t have
been walking in all this snow, Mrs. Kinnaird, ” Emma said a little concernedly.
“You could hurt yourself.”
    “Please call me
Ethel,” said the older woman, letting out a small, croaky cough. “We are well
past the pomp and formalities, don’t you think?”
    Emma smiled. “Only if
you call me Emma.”
    “I think I could
settle with that,” Ethel Kinnaird answered, once more wrapping her hand around
Emma’s elbow. “How about getting out of this dampness and toasting to that with
a hot cup of black tea?”
    Emma smiled, allowing
her new friend to lean onto her as they walked towards the large stone mansion,
its walls embroidered with bare ivy vines.

Chapter 6

 
 
    Nancy fired up the
hearth in the parlour. The twigs spat in the fiery tongues of the fire,1 immersing
the small room with the warmth from its flames. She sped down to the kitchen to
prepare tea for her mistress and her young guest.
    It was not always that
people came calling to the old house, and it was not always that Mrs. Kinnaird
welcomed them as she did Mrs. Winston.
    A sudden thought
occurred to her and she stood still wondering if she could make any sense of
it. Could it possibly be that her elderly mistress…?
    She shook her head from
the ludicrosity of such an idea and carried on with
the task of making some delicious black tea. She reached for some delicate
china tea cups and placed them onto a silver tray.
    A rustle at the door
caught her attention. It was Theodore stumbling through the doorway.
    “You might want to
add an extra cup to that tray, Nancy,” he said.
    “You’re having tea
with Mrs. Kinnaird?” she asked.
    “No,” he replied,
opening the kitchen cupboards. “I’d rather have a swig of brandy.” He put the
bottle to his mouth and gulped down a mouthful of the burnt wine.
    “That’s quite early
for the morning, don’t you think?”
    “Yeah. And so is Mrs.
Deanna Boyd.” He sat heavily into a chair.
    “Oh,”