Chapter One
It wasn't a wet day; in terms of winter it was quite warm. The sun was shining, not much cloud, but there was sharp chilliness to the air.
You can imagine the matron's surprise when Elinor came in the night before. The matron, known as Charlotte to her companions, was a sensible woman, old and fair. Sensible grey eyes and sensible black hair, pulled into a sensible bun crowning her head. She kindly sheltered the women and children who had nowhere else to go, those who were hit heaviest by the other kingdom's invasions. The village was safely tucked away in the middle of the Middluns, but the matron housed refugees from all kingdoms. She also was an active supporter of the council.
Many of the villagers often came calling on her; some stopped to give her eggs and bread. Her reputation was well established in the village.
A winter afternoon, rapidly a winter night, as the sun was leaving the sky, the matron could be found out the front of her large house, sweeping up the leaves winter left on her frontcourt. Soon there will be snow to deal with, she sighed. Her breath painted the air silver–white. Inside her house, she could her the women preparing their sup. A babe was crying somewhere.
It was then a dishevelled young woman walked carefully through her front gate, and squinted at the matron, before she scurried towards her. Her name was Elinor, the matron would come to learn. But at that moment she only saw a woman, in her early twenties, if that. Her ratty skirts and muddied bodice were clinging together by only a few tentative threads. Her hair could be described as hanging in ropes; it came to her hips, tangled and unkempt. Elinor's hair was a white-blond, her eyes dark blue and deep-set. She looked gaunt and pale. Her high cheekbones and strong nose gave her the appearance of aloofness and high class, if it weren't for the clothes she wore, the fact she was covered head-to-toe in muck and grime, and was heavily pregnant. Elinor, the matron noticed, was shaking, and softly crying. The matron felt a rush of sympathy for this poor woman, but chose to keep her face blank. "Are you the woman who takes us in?" Elinor asked. She spoke in a soft, gentle voice that the matron likened to that of a beaten and whimpering animal.
The matron knew very well who "us" were. "Yes, love. Would you like a bath, and some food? You're lucky you came in when you did– before winter has truly started. Many women flock in then; and we have nothing to give them. I believe I have a room spare– if you'll let me help you."
Elinor let out a soft gasp; such kindness was unknown to her. "The rumours are true, then," Elinor said.
"What rumours?" The matron said in clipped tones.
"That you are an angel," Elinor stated. She soon added a "please help me" when she realised she'd not accepted the matron, and "thank you" when the matron ushered her inside.
The matron had seen too many girls like Elinor. This one will be hard work to get clean, she thought, whilst steering the girl to into her new home. The matron's only regret was that she didn't have enough to provide for them all, and that she wasn't graced with the ability of untangling the knotted hair of a pregnant young woman.
The rake she left lying on her front court, leaves and other debris suck in its teeth.