Read Online A Bitter Chill by Jane Finnis - Free Book Online

rearranging the room. The bed had been pushed into a corner, and a couple of reading-couches and several chairs and stools were arranged around the walls. There were two tables, and two bronze lamp-standards. All of this furniture had been moved in here from other guest-rooms, and so had two big braziers, which were throwing out heat like furnaces, making the whole room hotter than a bath-house caldarium.
    Even so Sempronia was wrapped in a thick shawl, and had a bright wool rug across her knees. A fluffy yellow-and-white cat sat in her lap, looking bored. Horatius was there, and Priscus, and Margarita. Diogenes was sitting calmly at one of the tables. The little toe-rag had entered the room through the bedroom door, which had given the impression that I was late in answering her ladyship’s summons.
    “Aurelia Marcella! You’ve taken your time.” Her look would have curdled milk, but innkeepers are tough, and I just smiled and made a silent vow to get even with Diogenes later.
    “Well, now you’ve deigned to appear, sit down, and let’s get on.” She waved me towards a stool, and glanced round the room. “Are we agreed then? Horatius?”
    He sighed. “I suppose so. Yes, agreed.”
    “Aulus, dear? You agree?”
    “Yes,” Priscus said. “If we must.”
    “Good. Because the quicker I can go back south where it’s warm, the happier I shall be. What do you say, Medusa?” She paused to stroke the cat, which stared disdainfully at her, and then began washing itself. “I can’t think how anyone survives in such a climate. Frost and snow and hail, and freezing winds! No wonder only natives and ne’er-do-wells live up here.”
    Which category does she think I fit into? I wondered. “You get used to it, my lady. I’ve been in Britannia sixteen years now, and it doesn’t seem so bad.”
    “Where are you from originally?”
    “From Italia. Pompeii.”
    Most people make sympathetic noises at this point in my life story, but all Sempronia said was, “There, Horatius, I told you she isn’t a native.”
    “I only said she has native colouring,” Horatius objected. He was sitting next to a table piled high with scrolls, but I noticed he’d made room on it for a wine jug and beaker. “Easy enough mistake to make. She’s tall and fair, like all the natives. But now I look closer, her eyes are green, and the barbarians here have blue eyes. That right, m’dear?”
    “That’s right,” I agreed, trying not to feel like a slave being auctioned and having my good and bad points discussed by potential buyers.
    “And your housekeeper’s not a native either, I’ll bet,” Horatius went on, reaching for his drink. “All those brown curls, and brown eyes. Where’s she from?”
    “My sister Albia? She’s from Pompeii too.”
    “Your sister?” he said in surprise. “You don’t look much alike, the two of you.”
    I wish I had a gold piece for every time I’ve heard that remark.
    “We’re half-sisters. We had the same father, but different mothers.”
    He sipped some wine. “She’s a pretty little thing. Nice smile. Is she married?” Another often-repeated question.
    “Not yet, but she’s engaged. The wedding will be in the spring.”
    “Pity,” he grunted.
    I agreed with him.
    “Now I trust I can rely on your discretion,” Sempronia said. “I don’t want every minute detail of our business to become common bar-room talk. So no tittle-tattling to the customers.”
    “Of course not. Absolute discretion.”
    She pushed the cat gently onto the couch beside her and held an imperious hand out to Horatius. “Pass me the letter, will you. The quickest way to give her the facts is to read it.”
    The lawyer picked out a slim scroll and tossed it to Diogenes, who got up and brought it to her ladyship.
    Sempronia cleared her throat as she unrolled the papyrus. “This is from my elder son Decimus. Now, let me see….” She paused for a couple of heartbeats, making sure she was the focus of everyone’s