A Winter's Promise by Christelle Dabos

Author:Christelle Dabos
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Europa Editions UK
Published: 2018-07-19T16:00:00+00:00

Fox

Ophelia’s second test as a valet had just begun. What was she supposed to do with the trunks? Berenilde had gone off to dance without giving her the slightest instruction. The grandmother and Aunt Rosaline had got lost in the crowd. So Ophelia found herself alone beneath the stars, between two weeping willows, lumbered with her luggage trolley. Archibald had spoken of settling Berenilde into his personal apartments, but all the same, Ophelia wasn’t just going to go into the castle as if it were her home. And where exactly were they, these apartments? The drawback of being mute is that one can’t ask a single question.

She cast a few hesitant glances at the servants serving refreshments in the gardens, hoping that they would understand her predicament, but they all turned away from her with a look of indifference.

“Hey! You!” A valet wearing exactly the same uniform as Ophelia was coming towards her on the double. He was built like a kitchen dresser and had hair so red, it seemed to have caught fire on his head. Ophelia found him very striking.

“So, dawdling are we? Soon as the masters’ backs are turned, think we can just stand and gape?” When he raised a hand as big as a carpet beater, Ophelia thought he was going to hit her with full force. Instead, he patted her good-naturedly on the back. “We’re going to get on, in that case. My name’s Fox and I’m the king of the skivers. So, never been here before? Looked so lost on your own, I felt sorry for you. Follow me, sonny!”

The valet grabbed hold of the luggage trolley and pushed it in front of him as if it were a baby’s perambulator. “In fact, my real name is Foster,” he continued with gusto, “but everyone calls me Fox. I’m in the service of the master’s grandmother, and you, jammy little so-and-so, you’re Madam Berenilde’s flunky. I’d sell my innards to get near such a woman!”

He kissed the tips of his fingers with ardor, and, smiling greedily, curled his lips back to reveal bright-white canines. As she went along the path with him, Ophelia studied him closely, totally captivated. This Fox made her think of a blazing fire in the hearth. He must have been close to forty, but he had the energy of a really young man.

He looked down at Ophelia in surprise, with eyes the green of emeralds. “Not very chatty, are we! Is it the effect I have on you, or are you always so shy?”

With her thumb, Ophelia drew a cross over her lips, looking helpless. “A mute?” smirked Fox. “Smart, that Berenilde—she knows to surround herself with discreet types! Not deaf as well, I hope. D’you get what I’m on about?”

Ophelia nodded. He had an accent you could cut with a knife, but still not as thick as Pistache’s.

Fox maneuvered the luggage trolley onto a small paved path, bordered by two rows of perfectly manicured hedges, in order to skirt around the castle and gardens.

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