Mr. Stitch Read Online Free Page A

hear the soft brush as Mrs. Crewell wrung her hands. “So, I’ve to close the house down. By the end of the month, they say. Now, don’t you worry about the money; I’ve plenty by me, and Word knows there’s little more you can do. But you’ll need to find a place for yourself, and soon as can be.”
    “I…” Skinner’s stomach flipflopped, and her hand went involuntarily to her mouth. At least she doesn’t want the rent for this month . She choked off a bitter, perverse laugh at that. “Yes. I understand. Thank you, Mrs. Crewell, you’ve been very kind.”
    “Course, course,” Mrs. Crewell said, softly. “Oh! Someone’s left a letter for you. Fancy paper, looks like. Have you got a gentlemen, Miss Skinner?”
    “No,” Skinner said, firmly. It was probably a bill from the Committee, asking for her salary back.
    “Shall I read it for you?”
    “No. Not…I’d just like to sit down for a minute, Mrs. Crewell.”
    “Oh dearie, of course,” the housekeeper replied. “You go on up to your room, I’ll send Roger in to you in a few minutes.” Roger was one of Mrs. Crewell’s innumerable grandchildren. He was only ten, and just learning how to read, so Mrs. Crewell employed him as Skinner’s reader. The arrangement actually worked out fairly well; while ten-year-olds are not notable for their ability to keep secrets, Roger was just young and incurious enough that he hardly understood a word of the messages that he relayed to the knocker.
    Not that it matters, Skinner thought. She was unlikely to receive any missives from the Coroners any time soon. “Yes, all right,” she told the housekeeper, and, shucking her coat and gloves, made her way to her room.
    She sat in her small chair, and held her cane between her hands, wondering what she should do. She had little in the way of personal items or clothes, so packing them up should be no great trial. Except that she had nowhere to take them, nothing to do with them. If she went down to Red Lanes, maybe, or into Riverside. The indige had different ideas about their women, one that the Empire tended to tolerate. Maybe they’d let her rent a room there? Six crowns would buy her a little more than a month, if she set something aside for food. That would take her to the end of Second Winter, at least. She’d never afford movers, though, or a coach, so she could bring only what she could carry. A few dresses, and she’d have to be diligent about laundering them herself. The guitar was light, but would not hold up well in the freezing cold air, even in the short time it took to get across the city. She’d have to wrap it up in her smallclothes. And then what? Once she got there, once she was living in Riverside, then what?
    Don’t think about that . You can’t do anything about that. Solve the problems that are in front of you first. Skinner noted, with a wry grin, that her inner voice had begun to sound an awful lot like Elijah Beckett.
    “Mum?” Roger rapped on her door. “Mum, I’ve got your letter, mum.”
    “Come in, Roger,” Skinner told him, and suddenly realized that her room was freezing. She’d left the heat on low when she went out. “Go ahead and put on a light, and turn the heat up a little, would you darling?” She heard the faint screech of the lamp-switch, and felt the warmth from the heater. “Good lad.”
    “Gram says I’m to read this. All right?”
    “Yes, please.”
    “Uhm.” The sound of paper rustling, as the boy opened it. “Oh! There’s a fancy crest on it, looks like. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be…”
    “It’s all right, Roger, just read the letter.”
    “Uhm. To. Miss Elizabeth Skinner. It has come to my at…attent...”
    “Attention.”
    “Attention. That you and I share si-mi-lar in-terest. Interests. I wooled—”
    “Would.”
    “Would. Be pleased if you joined me at the Royal the-a-ter. Oh! At the theater. I shall send a coach for you. At seven. Yours…” The boy stopped, and Skinner