Read Online To Dream of Snow by Rosalind Laker - Free Book Online Page A

to keep me occupied.’ He scooped her up in his arms, ready to leave. She held out her hand to Marguerite, who caught hold of it.
    â€˜We must not lose touch, Marguerite! I’ll write to you and we must meet again one day.’
    â€˜Take care, dear friend. I wish you well.’
    â€˜Adieu, Mam’selle Laurent,’ Tom said with a smile that turned her heart over. ‘I thank you most heartily for your care of my wife.’
    She watched them go before sinking down on to the chair that Sarah had vacated and closing her eyes, desperate to recover from the devastating experience that she had just been through. What tricks Fate managed to play! All the time Tom had been talking to Sarah she had watched his face unwaveringly, catching those faint similarities that had stirred such joy and anguish within her.
    Determinedly she drew in a deep breath. But it was over. Moscow and St Petersburg were very far apart and it was most likely that in spite of Sarah’s wish their friendship would remain only in an exchange of letters with no chance of ever seeing each other again. Although it would spare her any more meetings with Tom it also saddened her, for she and Sarah had become good friends during the many trials and tribulations of the journey.
    That night she dreamed of Jacques for the first time since losing him, and they were walking hand in hand by the Seine just as they had done so many times. A feeling of contentment stayed with her when she awoke, even after the dream had slipped away beyond recall. She was also aware of a sudden uplifting sense of freedom. It had been quite a responsibility looking after Sarah, not that she regretted a minute of it, but now she could look forward clearly to her own future.
    It was a cold and bright morning. Downstairs at breakfast Marguerite and her companions were told that during the night all their baggage had been transferred to sledges for the rest of the journey to St Petersburg. There was no sign of the Comtesse, but a note from her was handed to Marguerite and a purse of money. She read the note through.
    â€˜The Comtesse has written that there was a message awaiting her from her husband yesterday evening. He is presently in Moscow with the Ambassador and so she is to meet him there. To speed our journey she arranged with the Master of the Port of Riga that a courier be sent ahead of us all the way to the capital to ensure that horses are ordered in time to prevent any hold-ups on the last lap of our journey.’
    â€˜Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ Jeanne commented. ‘But the armed guards won’t be with us.’
    â€˜The coachmen will be armed,’ Marguerite replied reassuringly. ‘Now if you’ve all finished eating let’s get going without further delay.’
    The seamstresses split up to ride in the two enclosed sledges allotted to them and tucked under heaped furs to keep warm as the fiercely bearded coachmen cracked whips and the runners sped swiftly along the snowy streets out of the city.
    The countryside was dazzlingly beautiful in its winter cloak and hoar frost had robed the trees in diamonds. Frozen lakes gleamed blue and grey and silver while the sky was palest amber as if the fallen snow of the previous night must have come from some other source.
    Now and again the sledges drove through poor-looking villages, the dwellings all built of log and wattle, a finger of wood-smoke arising from each. The inhabitants scurried out of their path while others paused in whatever they were doing to gaze at the brightly hued sledges shooting by. As with all peasants the men were bearded and most of them wore fur hats, and although some of the women did likewise the rest had bright scarves tied about their heads. Nearly all were clad in sheepskin coats tied with a leather belt or a length of rope around their waists, high boots on their feet. As for the little children, they looked like balls of clothes running