Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City Read Online Free PDF

explanation.” She turned on Rosemary. “Why do you fear the constabulary?”
    “Well,” said Rosemary. “You saw how people reacted to us. How do you think the police would have treated us?”
    “I would have spoken for you,” said Faith.
    “And if they didn’t listen?”
    Faith’s glare softened. “All right, I can understand why you may have run, but let me be sure: who are you and where are you from?”
    Rosemary bit back her answer. “Uh ... from away.”
    Edmund stepped around and stood by Faith’s side. “You’re just off the boat?” He turned back to Faith. “We
have
to help them. Alone in this vast country —”
    Faith silenced him with a raised hand. “You do not sound Scottish, English, or Irish.” She hesitated, frowning. “You do not even sound American. You’re not from here, but where are you from?”
    Peter opened his mouth, but couldn’t get an answer out. “Away,” he said at last.
    Faith stepped forward. “Show me your hands.” Peter and Rosemary obeyed. Faith examined Peter’s fingers first. “You’ve not done a day’s work in your life!” She snatched up Rosemary’s hand. “And you have a fine wedding ring. How came you to be in such a state?”
    “Did you elope from some dukedom?” asked Edmund. “Are you running from your families?”
    “No,” Rosemary said. “I won’t lie to you. But I won’t tell you where we came from, either. You wouldn’t believe it. All I can tell you is that we’re not criminals, we’re just lost. We need help. If you don’t want to give it, I’ll understand.”
    Faith looked Rosemary in the eye. Rosemary met her gaze. Silence stretched. Then Faith nodded. “We will help you.”
    Peter let out his breath.
    Faith added water to the stew. “Supper will be ready shortly, but first we must get the stink of the street off you.” She snapped her fingers at Edmund. “Get another bucket of water immediately. We have to run a bath!”
    “Bath!” said Peter. “That’s great! Where ....” He stopped short as Faith dragged a metal tub out of a corner. She stared at the two teenagers standing with their mouths agape.
    “Well, go on!” She motioned to the tub. “Decide between you who uses it first. Edmund will be back with water and then you will have the kitchen to yourselves. Leave your clothes by the door, and Edmund and I will have fresh clothes ready when you’re done.”
    “Um,” said Peter.
    “I ... er ...,” said Rosemary.
    “I’ll return with a towel and soap. Do not dally.” And Faith went upstairs, her hard-soled shoes clicking up the steps.
    Peter and Rosemary stood in the centre of the kitchen. They looked at the tub. They looked at each other. Peter gulped.

     
    Rosemary pulled at her collar as she clopped down the steps wearing a brown gingham dress. She felt like she was clad in curtains, strapped in a metal cage. The corset held her so upright, she felt as though her posture was on permanent trial. The skirts hid her feet and the edges of the steps. She kept one hand firm against the wall.
    At the base of the steps, she saw Faith hanging clothes near the stove. The woman fingered Rosemary’s halter top, stretched out the elastic fabric, and marvelled as it snapped back into shape. Tentatively, she measured the garment against her chest.
    Rosemary jumped into the kitchen. “Hi!”
    Faith crumpled the halter top into the hamper. “Ah, you are dressed! Let us see how my old gingham fits you.”
    She planted Rosemary in the centre of the kitchen and spun her around as though she were a clothes mannequin. “You are just my size. I was worried, but now you have a selection of clothes to choose from. And you fill them out very well.”
    “Thank you.” With no mirror, Rosemary could only imagine how she looked. Something between a schoolmistress and a farm wife, perhaps. Probably closer to the former. “How do you think Peter’s doing?”
    They heard footfalls in the hallway leading to the storefront and