A brief thaw in February had melted the snow. Then the wind had turned, hurling icy gales in from the sea; dry, frozen gales that whistled and sang through the hard, dry grass. Like a sleeping princess, Susie remained immured in the strong walls of the keep, escaping occasionally from Felicity’s harsh social training to lie on her bed and weave endless fantasies about that homely young man who would one day ride up to the castle walls to rescue her. Dominated by Felicity’s iron will, Susie never contemplated escaping by herself. Her late husband’s man of business had paid her a visit and had taught her how to write checks for “pin money,” and had advised her to charge everything else and have the bills sent to him. Susie longed to buy some pretty dresses, but it was unthinkable that she should wear anything but black until at least a year of mourning had passed. She had been allowed to visit the local town of Barminster, draped in a heavy black crepe veil and accompanied by Felicity.
