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n something。 have i rustled the leaves； betrayed my presence？ it crosses my mind to step forward。 surely she would befriend me？ i hesitate； and the wind changes direction。 i smell the fire at the same moment she does。 she turns away； looks to the sky； gasps at the smoke that rises over the spot where angelfield house stands。 and then puzzlement shows in her face。 she holds the baby close to her nose and sniffs。 the smell of fire is on him； transferred from my clothes。 one more glance at the smoke and she steps firmly back into her house and closes the door。
i am alone。
no name。
no home。
no family。
i am nothing。
i have nowhere to go。
i have no one who belongs to me。
i stare at my burned palm but cannot feel the pain。
what kind of a thing am i？ am i even alive？
i could go anywhere； but i walk back to angelfield。 it is the only place i know。
emerging from the trees； i approach the scene。 a fire engine。 villagers with their buckets； standing back； dazed and with smoke…blackened faces； watching the professionals do battle with the flames。 women； mesmerized by smoke rising into the black sky。 an ambulance。 dr。 maudsley kneeling over a figure on the grass。
no one sees me。
on the edge of all the activity i stand； invisible。 perhaps i really am nothing。 perhaps no one can see me at all。 perhaps i died in the fire and haven’t realized it yet。 perhaps i am finally what i have always been： a ghost。
then one of the women looks in my direction。
‘look；“ she cries； pointing。 ”she’s here！“ and people turn。 stare。 one of the women runs to alert the men。 they turn from the fire and look； too。 ”thank god！“ someone says。
i open my mouth to say… i don’t know what。 but i say nothing。 just stand there； making shapes with my mouth； no voice； and no words。
‘don’t try to speak。“ dr。 maudsley is by my side now。
i stare at the girl on the lawn。 “she’ll survive；” says the doctor。
i look at the house。
the flames。 my books。 i don’t think i can bear it。 i remember the page of jane eyre； the ball of words i saved from the pyre。 i have left it behind with the baby。
i begin to weep。
‘she’s in shock；“ says the doctor to one of the women。 ”keep her warm and stay with her； while we put the sister in the ambulance。“
a woman es to me； clucking her concern。 she takes off her coat and wraps it around me； tenderly； as though dressing a baby； and she murmurs； “don’t worry； you’ll be all right； your sister’s all right； oh； my poor dear。”
they lift the girl from the grass and place her on the bed in the ambulance。 then they help me in。 sit me down opposite。 and they drive us to the hospital。
she stares into space。 eyes open； empty。 after the first moment i don’t look。 the ambulance man bends over her； assures himself that she is breathing； then turns to me。
‘what about that hand； eh？“
i am clutching my right hand in my left； unconscious of the pain in my mind； but my body giving the secret away。
he takes my hand； and i let him unfold my fingers。 a mark is burned deep into my palm。 the key。
‘that’ll heal up；“ he tells me。 ”don’t worry。 now； are you adeline or are you emmeline？“
he gestures to the other one。 “is this emmeline？”
i can’t answer； can’t feel myself； can’t move。
‘not to worry；“ he said。 ”all in good time。“
he gives up on making me understand him。 mutters for his own benefit； “still； we’ve got to call you something。 adeline； emmeline； emmeline； adeline。 fifty…fifty； isn’t it？ it’ll all e out in the wash。”
the hospital。 opening the ambulance doors。 all noise and bustle。 voices speaking fast。 the stretcher； lifted onto a trolley and wheeled away at speed。 a wheelchair。 hands on my shoulders。 “sit down； dear。” the chair moving。 a voice behind my back。 “don’t worry； child。 we’ll take care of you and your sister。 you’re safe now； adeline。”
miss winter slept。
i saw the tender slackness of her open mouth； the tuft of unruly hair that did not lay straight from her temple； and in her sleep she seemed very； very old and very； very young。 with every breath she took the bedclothes rose and fell over her thin shoulders； and at each sinking the ribboned edge of the blanket brushed against her face。 she seemed unaware of it； but all the same； i bent over her to fold the covers back and smooth the curl of pale hair back into place。
she did not stir。 was she really asleep； i wondered； or was this unconsciousness already？
i can’t say how long i watched her after that。 there was a clock； but the movements of its hands were as meaningless as a map of the surface of the sea。 wave after wave of time lapped over me as i sat with my eyes closed； not sleeping； but with the vigilance of a mother for the breathing of her child。
i hardly know what to say about the next thing。 is it possible that i hallucinated in my tiredness？ did i fall asleep and dream？ or did miss winter really speak one last time？
i will give your message to your sister。
i jerked my eyes open； but hers were closed。 she seemed to be sleeping as deeply as before。
i did not see the wolf when he came。 i did not hear him。 there was only this： a little before dawn i became aware of a hush； and i realized that the only breathing to be heard in the room was my own。
beginnings
。。
The Thirteenth TaleSNOW
。
miss winter died and the snow kept falling。 when judith came she stood with me for a time at the window； and we watched the eerie illumination of the night sky。 then； when an alteration in the whiteness told us it was morning； she sent me to bed。
i awoke at the end of the afternoon。
the snow that had already deadened the telephone now reached the window ledges and drifted halfway up the doors。 it separated us from the rest of the world as effectively as a prison key。 miss winter had escaped； so had the woman judith referred to as emmeline； and whom i avoided naming。 the rest of us； judith； maurice and i； were trapped。
the cat was restless。 it was the snow that put him out； he did not like this change in the appearance of his universe。 he went from one windowsill to another in search of his lost world； and meowed urgently at judith； maurice and me； as though its restoration was in our hands。 in parison； the loss of his mistresses was a small matter that； if he noticed it at all； left him fundamentally undisturbed。
the snow had blockaded us into a sideways extension of time； and we each found our own way of enduring it。 judith； imperturbable； made vegetable soup； cleaned the kitchen cupboards out and； when she ran out of jobs； manicured her nails and did a face pack。 maurice； chafing at the confinement and the inactivity； played endless games of solitaire； but when he had to drink his tea black for lack of milk； judith played rummy with him to distract him from the bitterness。
as for me； i spent two days writing up my final notes； but when that was done； i found i could not settle to reading。 even sherlock holmes could not reach me in the snowlocked landscape。 alone in my room i spent an hour examining my melancholy； trying to name what i thought was a new element in it。 i realized that i missed miss winter。 so； hopeful of human pany； i made my way to the kitchen。 maurice was glad to play cards with me； even though i knew only children’s games。 then； when judith’s nails were drying； i made the cocoa and tea with no milk； and later let judith file and polish my own nails。
in this way； we three and the cat sat out the days； locked in with our dead； and with the old year seeming to linger on past its time。
on the fifth day i allowed myself to be overe by a vast sorrow。
i had done the washing up； and maurice had dried while judith played solitaire at the table。 we were all glad of a change。 and when the washing up was done； i took myself away from their pany to the drawing room。 the window looked out onto the part of the garden that was in the lee of the house。 here the snow did not drift so high。 i opened a window； climbed out into the whiteness and walked across the snow。 all the grief i had kept at bay for years by means of books and bookcases approached me now。 on a bench sheltered by a tall hedge of yew i abandone