Read Online Crimson Snow by Jeanne Dams - Free Book Online Page A

early-morning chores and went down for breakfast, she found Mrs. Sullivan in a state of total distraction.
    â€œMr. Williams can’t get up at all this morning,” the cook announced when all were seated at the breakfast table. “He’s terrible bad. The doctor’s been, and he says it’s la grippe, not just a cold. He’s afraid it may turn to pneumonia.”
    The servants were struck silent. Mr. Williams could be a hard taskmaster, but they had worked for him and lived under the same roof, some of them for a long time. He was never ill. This was a frightful and a frightening thing. He was not a young man. None of them had ever thought much about his age until now.
    They turned solemn faces to Mrs. Sullivan as she continued.
    â€œYou know there’s a big dinner party tomorrow night. It’s important, because it’s something to do with politics. I’ve never understood politics and I never will, but I hope I know my duty in this household. It’s up to us to make sure everything goes like clockwork, the more so since it’s the first time we’ve entertained on a grand scale since Mr. Clem died, rest his soul.” She crossed herself, took a deep breath, and continued.
    â€œSo it’s extra work for everyone. I’ve tried to think what must be done, because Mr. Williams is too sick to give instructions. I’ll have Janecska to nurse him this morning, Hilda. She has a nice way about her when she wants to, and a light step and hand. When Mrs. George is up, I’ll ask if we should have a real nurse in. Meanwhile, Hilda, you’ll have to see that Janecska’s regular work gets done, and you’ll have to see, yourself, to the silver Mr. Williams hasn’t polished. Oh, there’ll be no rest for any of us till this is over!”
    Hilda wasn’t sure whether the cook meant the dinner party or Mr. Williams’s illness, and she didn’t like to ask. One possible end to Mr. Williams’s illness was too disturbing even to mention.
    She was, however, quite clear about the most important matter. She wouldn’t get out of the house today, nor tomorrow. So much for talking to Patrick.
    But Hilda was due for another surprise that day.
    Things went badly from the start. Everyone had extra duties, some of them unfamiliar, so the work went slowly. But worse than that was the feeling of unease about the house. A trained nurse took over from Janecska in midmorning, and came out of Mr. Williams’s room from time to time looking grave. Even the family was worried. Mrs. Clem had known Mr. Williams ever since the family had moved into Tippecanoe Place fifteen years before, and she paid a call on him herself, taking him a little vase of hothouse roses from the bouquet in her own room.
    Hilda took a moment to glance at the papers when they arrived. Wild speculation about the murder continued, but little new fact. Apparently Miss Jacobs had not actually been raped, after all. The Tribune conveyed, in delicate euphemism, the impression that she was a virgin still. Hilda shook her head, sighed, and left the papers to be dealt with later. There was no time for ironing them tonight.
    At about five o’clock, Hilda was scurrying from the kitchen to the butler’s pantry, carrying a tray full of the best china. (In the emergency conditions Elsie had, with threats of dire consequences if she damaged anything, been allowed to wash the Royal Crown Derby.) A loud knock sounded as Hilda passed the back door. She was so startled she nearly dropped the tray. She glanced at the shadow visible behind the glass in the door, and muttered Swedish imprecations under her breath as she called for Anton to see who was there.
    But Anton was apparently out of earshot, so Hilda set the tray down on a table in an alcove and stomped to the door.
    Patrick stood outside.
    A wave of longing swept over her, so strong that she had to catch hold of the door for support. For an