Chapter 32: The Date on the Warrant

The day on the warrant fell on a Thursday, and it was raining.

Maud had set the long table in the hall at Wexmoor, with the good silver and every chair in the house.

I came down at noon with one hand on the banister and the other on my belly.

It was a good deal bigger than it had been at midsummer.

"Careful," said Alaric from the bottom step.

"I have walked down these stairs all my life."

"You have walked down them for nearly two years, and a woman in your state should have a rail on both sides."

"It is only four months more."

"That is what worries me."

He took my elbow, and I let him.

The hall smelled of roast goose and candle wax.

My father sat at the head of the table, because Maud had insisted, in the chair with the arms.

Wynne sat halfway down on the left, in a new green dress.

Her red-brown hair was loose for once, and there was no pin in her mouth.

She had been given a seat by the duke himself, who had said that the chair was hers and the household could lump it.

The household had not lumped it.

The cook had cried.

"Your Grace," said Wynne, rising.

"Sit, Wynne. It's a family dinner."

"Then I'll sit and call you Linnet when I feel like it," she said, and sat.

Maud was at the foot of the table with her cane across her knees and a glass of wine already in her hand.

"You are late," she said.

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