My Lady Imposter Read Online Free PDF Page A

encounter with stone. She was, indeed, a prisoner. What would Grisel say? Would she rant and rave and demand her sister back? Would she scream and fetch Snuff back from the fields, and both of them come running to save her? She sighed and knew it would never be so. Even if they wished to save her, how could they? They were the property of Lord Ralf, just as she was.
    A sound disturbed her melancholy thoughts. An army of footsteps this time, accompanied by the swishing of skirts and the clanking of some monstrous weapon striking the walls of the narrow stairwell. She rose to her feet as the key turned, her eyes growing rounder as the door swung open. A gaggle of serving women poured in, and they carried between them a great metal instrument of torture. A great oval shaped thing, hollowed out, and with protruberances to stand upon.
    She watched in speechless horror as it was set down upon the stone floor, and the women, with jugs and pails of steaming hot water, began to fill its hollowed insides. They filled it, until the gurgling water slapped at the edge of the thing, and then one of them, ignoring the whispering curiosity of her companions, took up a tall opaque jar and poured in an oily substance, filling the room with the scent of roses.
    Kathryn’s eyes bulged as a white cloth was laid out, and upon it blocks of scented tallow and a bundle of richly-colored cloth, with shoes. And then the stoutest, ugliest serving woman rolled up her sleeves above her elbows, and started towards her. She backed away, even knowing she had nowhere to go, trying to shield herself with her arms.
    The torture was indeed terrifying. She was, firstly, stripped—her dress tossed like rags into a corner—and with much screeching and wailing, the women forced her flailing limbs into the steaming tub. The water closed over her. She tried to rise up, splashing wildly, but they held her in and set to work with the soap, covering her entirely. There was a brush, hard and painful on her skin, which they used to scrub her. Not even her head was safe, and they pushed it under and soaped her hair and face without heed for stinging eyes and spluttering mouth. In the end, strength gave out, and she lay limply, sobbing as they worked.
    It was over at last. She lay there, too weak to rise. They hauled her from the water, dripping, her body pale and clean as a newborn babe. Her limbs trembled as she tried to cover herself, but they brushed her hands aside and began to dry her with the cloth until she glowed.
    The stout woman clicked her tongue, muttering all the while, but Kathryn was too weary to take notice of her disapproval. She allowed herself to be bundled into a white chemise and a blue gown, of heavy soft cloth. It was fitted snugly to her body from neck to waist, and flared out over her hips. The sleeves were fitted to the elbows, and then they too flared. She wore thick stockings, and upon her feet flat, pointed shoes. Her hair was brushed, hard and painfully, and then pulled into two long braids. Finally, they had placed a veil upon her head, transparent and light as breath, and fastened it there with a headband of black and white embroidered colors.
    When at last they had done, she sat clean and exhausted upon the window ledge, tears streaking her pale face, flushed at the cheeks, her sooty lashes clubbed together about her great dark eyes. The women, as exhausted as she, stood back and viewed her with curious and approving eyes. They noted how long and thick was the dark hair, how it caught the blue lights from her gown. They admired her oval face, framed by the veil, and the fine arrogance of her chin and nose. They admired her long fingers, tightly clasped, and her slim body and firm bosom. They were pleased with their exertions.
    The stout woman mopped her pink brow. “Aye, well, at least she’s clean.” And then, with a shrug, “For the moment.”
    The instrument of torture was emptied with those same jugs and pails. The bath itself was