The small wooden crucifix her grandmother had given her hung from a ribbon at her throat. “Dear me,” said Mrs. Jensen, looking askance at her daughter’s costume, “you’re as drab as a churchmouse today. What a dull family Katrine’s cousins will think us!” “The roads will be dusty,” said Gerda, helping herself to bacon omelette. “Don’t worry, I’ve packed my best dress in my portmanteau.” She had assured her mother that Katrine’s uncle would meet the stagecoach when she arrived in Copenhagen; but that, like so much else she had told her family this past week, was pure invention. When she reached Copenhagen she meant, instead, to take a room for the night at a respectable hostelry, rising before dawn to catch an early morning coach to Elsinore. If anyone should inquire why a young unmarried girl was travelling unaccompanied, she had her answer ready. “I am a governess,” she would explain, “on my way to take up my duties in a Swedish household.” Perhaps if she kept her distance, and discouraged conversation, no one would ask.
