Freedom Read Online Free PDF Page A

miss.” Meggie curtseyed and took up the rest of the kettles.
     
    “You must feel desperately in need of a bath. I know if my head were full of twigs it would be the first thing I’d ask for. Modesty aside, miss, I see you’re not familiar with being tended to, but here it’s necessary. You must allow me to serve you, lest His Grace be angered.”
     
    Francine saw the lightly veiled worry on the housekeeper’s face and flinched at the thought of Mrs. Weston going to tattle her behavior to that man. She nodded as a tremor started in her knees and traveled throughout her body. She allowed herself to be stripped of her drawers, then waited patiently, her eyes clenched, for Mrs. Weston to remove the chemise. She was astonished when Mrs. Weston merely nudged her toward the tub, and she went, fighting her body’s urge to run.
     
    She eased one toe into the water, only to feel the powerful wash of heat move swiftly up her leg, drawing her into the warmth. She settled into the tub and closed her eyes as Mrs. Weston set about carefully removing brambles before washing her hair.
     
    Mrs. Weston handed her a lump of lavender soap then went to the wardrobe. “We have very little here for a lady to wear, I’m afraid. I’ve some older nightgowns and robes that have been forgotten by previous guests, but there are no day clothes. As it stands, you’ll have to stay here discreetly, for propriety’s sake. And His Grace would never allow a gentle lady to wander his manor in an untoward fashion. He certainly wouldn’t want to be your ruination.”
     
    Francine watched her, thinking of how like a mother she was, or rather, how like a mother she would like, and it soothed her. She remembered the warm feeling of her own mother’s hands moving over her shoulders and massaging her hair while she bathed as a child. She remembered the safe feeling of her mother’s arms when she pulled her into an embrace, and the soft touch of her kisses that covered her face when she was frightened. Her eyes stung and her body trembled in a great sob that seemed to begin inside and extend out, creating a ripple of water in the tub that threatened to slosh over the edge.
     
    “Please, dear one, do not cry,” came Mrs. Weston’s voice, then a pause. “I beg your pardon. I tend to be a bit forward even when I shouldn’t. But I find there’s no reason to skirt the issue.” She wrapped a towel around Francine’s shoulders and urged her to stand.
     
    Francine had no idea how she came to be in County Lanarkshire in the United Kingdom. All she wanted was to go back to her small apartment on Lafayette Street in Denver, crawl into her pillow-top bed, and sleep until she woke up, exactly where she’d lay down.
     
    She shuddered again and stepped out of the tub. Mrs. Weston loosed the neck of the chemise and let it fall to the floor at her feet then dried her off, wrapping the large, soft towel around her and steering her toward the dressing table. She sat her down in front of the mirror and Francine raised her hand to touch her face. It was beaten and bruised, but it looked like the face she remembered. She just could not reconcile the color and amount of hair that fringed it. Hers was short and blonde. She was most definitely no longer blonde. She stared into the eyes in the mirror and the girl in the miniature danced across her memory.
     
    Madeleine .
     
    Her studious silence was broken by Mrs. Weston’s cheerful voice. “Don’t you worry, miss, the doctor thought the bruises and marks would all heal well. In due time you’ll have your pretty face back to rights. As well as your voice. He said you should not be speaking.”
     
    Francine looked at Mrs. Weston in the mirror’s reflection as the older woman combed out the tangles from her long hair. “Francine,” she said on a breath.
     
    Mrs. Weston started, almost dropping the brush, her eyes growing wide as she looked in the mirror. “Beg pardon, miss, did you say something?” she