While Beauty Slept Read Online Free PDF

higher, crowding out the sky. I craned my neck and still could not see the roofs.
    “Here we are,” announced the farmer, Mr. Fitz, who had acted as my protector during our travels. We pulled into a large square, where roads from every direction converged in a wide, open space surrounded by shops and a large stone church. The center, laid with bricks, had been given over to animals of every size and shape: cows on one side, pigs on another, smaller varieties such as chickens and songbirds in the middle. The noise, both human and animal, was overpowering. Disoriented and overwhelmed, I hung against the side of the cart. Mrs. Fitz placed a hand on my shoulder, but I could barely hear what she was saying.
    “I’ll go ask after your aunt. We won’t leave till you’re sorted out.”
    I nodded dumbly and remained where I was while Mr. Fitz unloaded his animals. All around me people jostled against one another, their voices assaulting my ears in a cacophony of shouts. How would I ever navigate such a place on my own?
    “You’re in luck, my girl,” Mrs. Fitz said, reappearing by my side. “The ribbon maker told me how to find your uncle’s house. Come, I’ll take you.”
    I was grateful for the press of her hand against my back as we elbowed our way through the square, past jittery horses and impatient shoppers. We had just turned down a dark, narrow side street when suddenly she threw her arm across my chest, pushing me aside and slamming my body flat against a wall. Liquid splattered on the ground next to us, and I looked up and saw a jug being pulled into a window above my head.
    “Can you believe that?” Mrs. Fitz exclaimed indignantly. “They put on airs in town, but you never see country folk empty chamber pots out the window.” I stepped around the filthy puddle with a grimace.
    As we turned from one crooked road to another, the streets and houses grew wider. Instead of passing mud-spattered workmen or scowling mothers tugging along their grubby children, we now walked past finely dressed ladies and gentlemen who strolled with the poise of good breeding.
    “This must be it, brick with a red door.” Mrs. Fitz nodded toward the building in front of us. To the right side of where I stood, a carving of a shoe hung over a simple wooden door; on the other side were two windows covered with iron bars. I looked up and saw that the house rose three stories. Cowed by her home’s size, I wondered if it had been a mistake to arrive on my aunt’s doorstep without warning. This was a woman who had not offered her own sister shelter when she needed it most desperately.
    Mrs. Fitz knocked, and the door was opened almost immediately by a middle-aged man wearing a short black tunic and black stockings. He stared at us, his expression unchanging. I wondered if this could be my uncle.
    Mrs. Fitz, more skilled in reading status from clothing, addressed him as a servant.
    “Is this the home of Agna Diepper? This girl is her niece.”
    The man looked me over as he might any other delivery from the market, then pulled the door open wider.
    “Madam is at home. I will announce you.”
    Cautiously, I took a step inside, then glanced back at Mrs. Fitz.
    “Good luck to you,” she said, patting me quickly on the back before taking her leave.
    The man who answered the door was already halfway down the hall, and I hurried to catch up. I glanced into the room we passed: a formal reception area, with carved wooden chairs arrayed before a grand stone mantelpiece; to the other side, I glimpsed a gleaming table surrounded by more chairs than I could count. Such a place would not intimidate me now, with all the riches I have seen, but at the time it seemed astounding that a person related to me by blood should live in such luxury.
    Ahead, at the end of the hall, I heard voices coming from behind a pair of closed doors.
    “Wait here,” the man ordered, opening the doors enough to allow his passage.
    I stood motionless, my hands clutching