The Snow Queen Read Online Free PDF Page A

from between black walls of pines into open meadowland, strewn with lichen-speckled boulders. The day was warm and damp, the sky overcast, and by late afternoon a thin rain had begun to drizzle through the trees.
    The coachman reined up before the tall iron gates that marked the entrance to the Baroness Aurore’s estate. On either side crouched improbable stone beasts, fanged jaws wide and roaring, talons clutching their stone pedestals, wings uplifted as though they were about to take flight. A chill wind had come up as the light faded, and now the rain was sweeping down in wide grey sheets.
    A bronze bell, green with verdigris, hung in a kind of wooden cage atop a post. The coachman pulled the bell-rope, and presently the gates creaked open.
    â€œThere’s no one here,” said the gatekeeper, peering out.
    Gerda thrust her head through the window of the coach. The wind snatched at her bonnet; rain stung her cheeks. The horses whickered and stamped their feet.
    â€œWhat do you mean, no one,” she shrieked over the rising wind. “Isn’t this the house of the Baroness Aurore?”
    â€œIndeed it is, Miss. But the Baroness has already left, this week past, to summer in the north.”
    â€œAnd her assistant? Is he not here?”
    The gatekeeper had already begun to close the gates. “You mean the young man?” he called out through the gap that remained.
    â€œYes, yes,” cried Gerda. Her throat was tight with panic. “Please, where has he gone?”
    â€œNorth with the Baroness,” said the gatekeeper, and the gates swung shut.
    The coachman’s boy got down from his seat and opened the carriage door. “My master says, where to now, Miss?”
    Gerda stared at him. Her heart rattled against her ribs.
    The Baroness was gone, and Kai with her, the house abandoned. What would become of her now? She had not thought past this moment.
    â€œMiss?”
    She tried to answer him, and choked on a sob.
    â€œDon’t you have anywhere else to stay?” He was a pleasant-faced boy, about her own age, and seemed concerned.
    Wretchedly, she shook her head.
    â€œShould we take you back to the city?”
    â€œI haven’t enough money left,” she whispered, ashamed.
    â€œWell, we can’t leave you here,” said the boy, and he called up to the coachman, “What shall we do with this young lady, sir? It seems she has nowhere else to go.”
    Now the coachman himself was looking in at her. “What, no family in these parts? No one who will take you in?”
    Gerda bit down on her lower lip to stop it quivering. Her eyes were blurred with tears, and her nose was starting to run.
    â€œWell, this is a fine how do you do,” said the coachman. He was rotund, red-cheeked, fatherly looking. “But I’ll tell you what. My old auntie lives round here, and she’ll put you up for the night.”
    â€œHow kind you are,” said Gerda, remembering her manners.
    â€œWell now, we can’t leave a young lady like you on the side of the road, can we?” He patted her awkwardly on the hand. “My auntie will give you a good supper and a warm bed. Things will look cheerier in the morning. They always do.”
    The coachman’s aunt lived in a pleasant thatch-roofed cottage. A river ran near her front door: behind were open fields and an apple orchard. The windows were made of stained glass, glowing squares of cherry-red and cobalt blue. A fire blazed in an open hearth. There was smell of coffee brewing, and fresh-baked bread.
    The aunt was tall and broad, with mild grey eyes behind thick spectacles, and grey-blonde hair braided round her head.
    She peered down at Gerda, benignly disapproving.
    â€œWell, Miss, I can’t imagine what your parents were thinking of, sending you off alone into these Godforsaken parts, with no money and no one waiting at the other end. Don’t they know that these high-born folk change their