stockings anyway and rubbed her feet.
“Well, they’re bitterly cold for certain, but not frozen at all. You’re fortunate that this
night is not the coldest one that we’ve had of late.” She turned and poked the fire and then hastily
stood, looking worried. “Is there anything else that I can do for you, dear? Oh! You will want
some hot tea. I will be back shortly.”
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When she was alone, Anne settled more comfortably into her chair, joyed that when she
would wish for someone to take her in, it would be done. The woman soon returned, placing the
steaming beverage between Anne’s hands.
“There you are, dear. How are you feeling now?”
Anne looked up at her and nodded contentedly. “Much better, ma’am, thank you.”
The woman breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, you can speak now, wonderful. But is there
anything else that I can do for you?” She glanced down at the girl’s feet and gasped. “A tub of
warm water, for your poor feet! Wouldn’t you like that now?”
Anne placed her hand on the lady’s. “No, I really am feeling much, much better now,
ma’am. I thank you very much for your kindness.” True rest and comfort filled every space
within her body now and she gestured to the area beside her. “Please, do be seated now.”
The woman smiled tenderly, then took another chair and set it beside Anne’s
companionably. She leaned forward and clasped Anne’s hands, staring at her in a motherly way,
though Anne could see that they were practically the same age.
“Now, my dear, tell me why on earth you were out in the winter’s cold at this time of
night. Haven’t you any place to live?”
Anne sighed, glancing downward. “Well I did, I mean, I do, of course, but…” The stress
of the last year overpowered her and she burst out, something that she had never done before.
“Oh, I ran away from a ball! I was married to someone whom I didn’t want to be married to any
more and he was going to misuse me in front of all of his friends at the ball, so I turned and ran
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away as fast as I could!”
“Oh, there, there, dear, it’s all right now.” The lady wrapped her arms around the girl,
patting her shoulder soothingly. “I don’t blame you one bit for such trouble. You can stay here as
long as you wish to, and I would never tell anyone about where you are.”
Anne smiled again, thankfulness sweeping her bright eyes. “Thank you.”
“You know, I only just realized that I don’t even know your name, young lady,” the
woman said. “I’m Guinevere Smith, but you can call me Guin. I’ve been living in Bristol my
entire life, but my parents left me this house before they died. Before that, we lived in the
countryside. And what is your name?”
“Anne,” she replied. “Anne…Falkman.”
Guinevere frowned slightly, and then softly smiled. “I suppose that you didn’t want to
keep your husband’s last name in that introduction, did you, Anne?” She opened her mouth to
reply, but Guinevere patted her cheek understandably. “Never mind. I can see why you would
want to make such a choice. He must not have been a very nice man.”
Anne shuddered at the thought of Sebastian, and she hoped that he would never find her
in such a place. Even if he did, however, she felt certain that Guinevere would do everything in
her power to prevent the man from ever hurting her again. The girl had never had a true female
friend, but somehow she knew that Guinevere could be trusted.
That woman now leaned back in her seat, her caring gaze stayed. “It’s a pleasure to meet
you, Anne,” she murmured. “You know, the name Falkman is strangely familiar to me. Anne,
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I’m sorry to have to ask this, but is your mother still living?”
Anne suddenly looked at her, her eyes clouding in old bitterness. When she saw this,
Guinevere groaned.
“I’m so sorry, dear, I shouldn’t have asked that. Please forgive me.”
The girl shook her head, straining a smile at her. “No, it’s perfectly all right, Guin. It’s
just that I seldom talk about my family. I…I grew up as an orphan. Both of my parents died
when I was a child, but my mother died from giving birth to me, at least that is what I’ve been
told.” She thought for a moment. “I believe that her name was Elizabeth McFarkley.”
Guinevere’s hazel eyes widened and she stood up, turning to stare down into the
fireplace. She looked at Anne again, smiling, but she looked shocked. “My mother’s sister’s
surname was McFarkley,” she significantly stated. “She had two daughters, whose names were
Maybelle and Elizabeth. Anne, dear, you are my cousin!”
Anne blinked, her eyebrows twisted in disbelief. She ran her eye over the woman whom
she had so recently met, and she observed how beautiful and loving she was. Of course the girl
had never known her mother, but when she recollected all that Guinevere had done for her as
soon as she had found her she seemed to look into the same heart that her own dear mother had
once possessed, and she was convinced of Guinevere’s relation to her.
“Oh, my, you are my cousin!” Pouncing onto her feet, Anne grabbed her by the shoulders
and the two embraced each other happily. Finally Guinevere pulled away, appearing sad.
“I had heard that poor Elizabeth had perished, but I didn’t know that her death had been
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caused by giving birth. We might have known each other years ago if I would have been aware
that you existed.”
Anne slowly nodded, pulling her eyebrows together in confusion. “Who exactly is
Maybelle McFarkley?”
Guinevere chuckled softly. “Well, I guess that she would be your aunt,” she replied. “I
don’t remember her as well as I do your mother, but the last time I heard she was living
somewhere around London.”
“I grew up in London,” said Anne a bit scornfully, “and I never came upon the lady. She
must not have really cared if I lived or died.”
Guinevere sighed, resting her hand on Anne’s cheek. “You poor dear. I can’t even begin
to imagine all of the terrors that you have known through your life. I only wish that I could have
been with you while you were growing up to take care of you. But I guess it doesn’t make much
sense to dwell on the past now, does it?” She sighed once more. “Well, now, how about
something to eat? I’m afraid that I ate the whole of my dinner a few hours ago, but I’m sure that I
can find something for you, if you would like. It would be no trouble at all.”
Anne smiled. “I would like that very much, Guin, thank you. But you know there is one
matter that I need to discuss with you first.”
Guinevere turned around. “What would that be?”
Anne stood up, placing her tea on the floor and exhaling. It’s for the best that I do this,
she thought resolutely. Madame Button very well might find me if I do not. She raised her eyes to
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her cousin.
“You see, I have had a few difficulties in the past with, well, my own name, and certainly
with my identity…” She trailed off, visualizing with a sick heart Madame Button bursting
through the door with all of her servants to take her away to live again in misery. Swallowing,
she pushed her imaginings aside. “What I’m trying to say is, I really do believe that if I am going
to live here for now I should disguise myself from my enemies, and perhaps change my name as
well, if that’s all right with you.”
Guinevere had listened to the suggestion with increasing alarm as she now stood gazing
down at her new charge, a hand covering her mouth. She hesitated before replying.
“Oh, Anne, I would hate for you to live in fear like that, but if you truly think that it
would ensure your safety, then I approve. What matters most is keeping you alive and well.”
Anne beamed a rare, warm smile at her. “Thank you, Guin. But you mustn’t worry so
about me living in fear. After all, such an arrangement could actually be amusing.”
The older woman smiled back, folding her hands before her. “All right, dear. I think that I
will be able to find a hairpiece for you, and we can alter what you usually wear. But whatever
shall we call you? Hmm…oh, I know! How about Mary? I have always liked that name, but of
course it’s your decision what you want to name yourself.”
Anne chuckled. “Mary is a fine name,” she agreed. “What kind of relation shall I have to
you? That should probably be considered.”
Guinevere grinned broadly before embracing her cousin again. “Well, you shall act as my
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sister, of course,” she muttered. “I already feel so like you are.”
Anne could not recall the last time someone had bestowed such a kind blessing as a
compliment on her head, and she scarcely knew what to do with it. She stood motionless for a
few moments, allowing the warmth of her relative’s embrace to reach deep within the regions of
her heart that still thirsted for love and tender care. At length she said decidedly, “So my second
name-and the name that you will address me as-will be Mary Smith. I am your sister, living with
you in Bristol.”
Guinevere nodded enthusiastically now. “Very well, Mary. I must say, though, that I am
going to miss your original name. It was nice. But anyway, I will purchase a hairpiece for you
and alter your dresses soon enough. Now you must be hungry, so let us go now to the kitchen
and I will prepare you dinner. Come, sister.”
She peacefully took Anne’s hand, and with a quiet conscience the girl willingly followed.
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15 Renewed Life
Days passed from Anne’s newly-found cousin inviting her into her home, and each day
gave the girl a new sense of tranquility and peace. Guinevere purchased for her a hairpiece of a
light brown hue and altered all of her dresses so that when Anne went out in public, her new
character was illustrated as being resourceful and plain. She did not particularly like being shown
as such a regular character, but she knew that she had to look different to keep from being caught
and she could not use Guinevere’s money to buy lavish clothing so as to become a person with
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high social status.
Her new life with Guinevere was a bit hard at first, for there were areas within her that
were still restless and troubled from the terrible year that she had spent with Sebastian, and her
life now was so mild and peaceful. Indeed, it sometimes seemed to the girl to be peaceful almost
to a frightening point. For a long time she constantly expected Madame Button or Sebastian
finding out where she was and taking her back, but it never occurred, and Guinevere, noticing
her anxiety, would persuade her to do something to keep her mind off of such a happening. This
older woman became Anne’s first true female friend. Before she had met her she would have
never thought that she could take to anyone so, but she and Guinevere really did become as close
as sisters. Anne loved her like she had never loved anyone before in her life, and even the
thought of hurting her in any way represented itself to her only to be emotionally pushed aside.
She had never felt that way toward anyone before, and though she would often wish that she and
Guinevere would go out more frequently to social events, living with her was immaculately
quiet, serene, and swell, and Anne loved it more as each day passed. To her, Guinevere was a
living image of her mother, generous and kind, and Anne treated her with nothing less than great
love and respect, reveling in every moment that she spent with her. The pair played cards, sewed
and knitted together, occasionally attended a local dance or party, took walks, and talked to each
other. Guinevere spoke of her life and where she had and had not been but Anne spoke little
about her own life, which Guinevere completely understood. She often told Anne what a blessing
she was to her, coming into her life when she had been somewhat lonely and searching for
something to uplift her life.
“I was seeing my friends at a party now and then, certainly,” she said to her one sultry
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morning in early spring, “but for some reason they did not seem to be filling the hole that I felt
within me. I know that it is shameful.”
“Oh, no, I really don’t think that it’s shameful at all, Guin,” Anne replied. “I think that
young people sometimes have a tendency for feeling that way. It’s simply the way they are, I
believe. My turn hasn’t come yet, but it likely will soon.”
Guinevere smiled, looking down and outlining the rim of her teacup with her finger.
“Yes, thank you, Mary. Anyway, I don’t feel that way anymore.” She reached over and took
Anne’s hand. “I suppose that it was helpful to perform an act of charity and help someone like
you. I want to thank you for giving me yet another reason to live, Mary. It’s strange that I should
be surrounded by my friends often enough and still feel loneliness, though, isn’t it?”
Anne shrugged. “Not any more strange than having people around me while I lived alone
in the streets. You are not alone in how you felt, Guin.”
Guinevere smiled again. “You are a true friend, sister, and you seem to fulfill the role of
the sister that I’ve never had. My mother gave birth to a boy when I was eight years old but he
died shortly after he was born, so I have never had the pleasure of a true sibling, until now, of
course.”
Anne smiled before hesitantly replying. “I don’t mean to offend you, of course, but I was
wondering if you have ever had a beau? Perhaps having one could make you feel even better.”
When she thought about her abhorrence of the opposite gender she grimaced slightly, hoping that
Guinevere would not notice.
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The other woman laughed lightly, waving away Anne’s worries. “You could never offend
me, dear Mary. No, I have never actually had a beau, and rest assured, taking care of you is all I
need to fill any emptiness within me. You must know that I as well do not mean to be rude when
I ask if you have ever had one.”
Anne looked at her hands, recalling both George and Rad reluctantly. She glanced at her
cousin, and for once she chose to tell the truth.
“As a matter of fact, Guin, I was engaged to someone once, but…it was not to be.”
Guinevere raised her eyebrows, interested. “It wasn’t? Whatever went wrong, if you do
not mind me asking?”
Anne let out her breath, stroking her teacup thoughtlessly. She had never felt any remorse
or pain in what she had done to Rad, and she still did not. What she felt was the need to be
honest when she thought about all of the stress that she given herself whilst she had been
engaged to the man.
“I don’t mind you asking,” she answered. “He simply wasn’t a friendly man after
everything had been said and done.”
Guinevere sighed, grasping Anne’s hands sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, dear. I wish
that I could relate, but of course I cannot. It must have been very difficult for you.”
Anne shook her head. “I don’t wish for you to endure such a disappointment, Guin. I
didn’t love him, so it wasn’t that bad for me. But if you fall in love with a man I wish you every
happiness, and I would also advise you to choose the right fellow for you.”
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Guinevere laughed again, tapping her fingers under Anne’s chin. “Thank you, Mary, and
I will be certain to take your advice into consideration when the time comes.”
November 1772
Guinevere and Anne sat companionably by the fireplace one cold night, one reading the
local newspaper while the other knitted. The cold of autumn had come swiftly and angrily that
year and the fire in the hearth had been continuing for almost two months. Anne had come
through the spring, summer, and autumn with Guinevere, her spirits rising and her fears
disappearing further with each new day that she woke in the stately home. She believed that she
adored that home almost more than she did her own life. Placed in the past shadows of her life
were the hundreds of memories that she had created for herself while living as a forgotten
orphan, and no matter how many fresh, pleasant memories she was yet to know she often felt
condemned, for she could never rid herself of what had happened to her before.
Guinevere looked up at Anne. “It seems that we are in for a bad winter, Mary,” she
murmured.
Anne likewise glanced up from her yarns and needles. “Is that so? Do you think that it
will be worse than it was last year?”
The woman folded the newspaper and set it aside before laying her head against the back
of the chair and closing her eyes. “It likely will be. Sometimes I don’t know why I live in this
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part of England; there are such ghastly, unpredictable bouts of weather every season. It’s worse
than any other area that I have heard of.”
A livid recollection of one of London’s winters crawled into Anne’s brain. “When I lived
in London the winters were brutal as well.” The nerves in her hands weakened suddenly and she
dropped her needles, gasping.
Guinevere’s eyes flew open and she leaned forward. “Mary, dear, are you all right?”
Anne sat tensely for a few moments and then picked up her needles, exhaling. She
moistened her lips. “Yes, I’m fine,” she almost whispered. “I was just thinking again of my years
spent in London. The memories are so very horrid, Guin, and ever since I stopped living in the
streets they have been rising endlessly in my mind.”
Guinevere painted a distressed, pitying expression onto her face and sat on the very edge
of the chair, staring at Anne imploringly. “Dear Mary, you know how sorry I am that you have
gone through so many traumas in your life, but I have told you before that you must not allow
such remembrances to take over you. The good Lord carried you through everything so that you
are now sitting contentedly here in this room with me, so please thank Him and move on with
your life, looking forward to the future, enjoying the present, and forgetting about the past. It’s
the only way to live a full, happy life in this world. If you leave the memories be, then you will
be a more content person. I promise you that. All right?”
Anne scowled when she thought about thanking someone like God, whom she still
refused to believe existed, but to Guinevere she nodded and forced a smile. “All right.”
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She smiled back, and then rose. “I’m glad you understand, dear. Now, how about some
tea?”
Anne smiled yet again, sighing drowsily and returning to her knitting. “That sounds fine,
thank you.”
Guinevere nodded, and then turned toward the kitchen. Suddenly, Anne felt the need to
ask something that she had been wondering for a while.
“Wait, Guin. Do you know if anyone has suspected me? I fear that my disguise may not
be hiding myself very well.”
The woman turned again and studied Anne carefully. She broke into a grin. “I don’t see
how anyone could really know who you are underneath, and I haven’t heard of anyone who has
gained this knowledge.”
Anne’s face acquired a peaceful expression, but her fears demanded absolute certainty.
“Are you certain about this?”
Guinevere turned completely in Anne’s direction, linking her hands together in front of
her. She looked solemn. “I would never, ever breathe a single lie to you, Mary,” she said
seriously. “Yes, I am certain. Whenever we go out to a public event, I open my ears to many
conversations around us and ensure for myself that no one is speaking of you in a way that will
endanger you.”
Anne heaved a huge sigh, settling back in her chair and staring at her cousin admirably,
lovingly. “Thank you, Guin. You are the best person that I have ever known.”
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July 1773
Anne tiredly climbed into a city coach with Guinevere one sultry night, fanning herself
continuously. Sitting down immediately, she offered her fan to her cousin, who seated herself
across from her. Guinevere shook her head.
“Thank you just the same, Mary, but I think I’m all right. You, however, look awful. Are
you all right?”
Anne sighed, dropping her fan so as not to increase Guinevere’s worries. She laughed.
“I’m fine, Guin, you don’t have to worry. I think that I have always been like this-diving into
parties and becoming completely involved with all of the dancing. I do believe that the summer
air could have treated us better tonight, though. I’m glad that I brought my fan.”
Guinevere nodded in agreement, and the two sat in friendly silence until they arrived at
Guinevere’s home. Once they were there, Guinevere paid the driver and stepped out, lending her
hand to Anne so that she could do the same. They walked up to the doorway, their arms linked.
“Well, I hope that you had a splendid time at the party, Mary,” Guinevere said as she
opened the door.
“Why, I certainly did, Guin,” the girl replied. “And did you enjoy your time?”
“Yes, thank you. But you see I felt like I had to ask you, for you seem to be acting a bit
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low-spirited recently. Is there anything the matter?”
“Oh,” Anne muttered. “Not exactly. I mean, if I were to say what I felt you might scold
me.”
Guinevere furrowed her brow. She looked at Anne suspiciously, some agony sweeping
her eyes. “Mary, dear, if this is about…”
“No, no, Guin, it is not about my past,” she hurriedly assured her. “You are not to worry
about that. No, I have just been experiencing a queer feeling of late, a feeling that is something
like, well…premonition. It has been alarming me, but I do not wish for you to worry.”
The other woman's face lines sunk in further. “’Premonition’? What makes you know
such a feeling as that?”
Anne shook her head, chuckling. “I’m not sure, but I don’t guess one is meant to be.
What I mean is, I have been looking over my shoulder more frequently and feeling more anxious
when I go outside. Now I am sure that you have noticed that as well. Sister, you are so well at
distracting me and helping me to live better, but I’m afraid that I have had a difficult time
shaking off this dread that I feel. I truly don’t know what to do.”
Guinevere laid her hand on Anne’s shoulder, gazing at her softly, and then logically. “I
shall tell you what you will do, Mary. Like I have constantly told you to do, you will rest all of
your burdens on God and not worry about anything in the slightest. I don’t understand where this
apprehension you are feeling is from, but you must try to overlook it and live the happiest that
you can. Mary, if you concentrate on all of the bad aspects of your life all of the time, when you
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have to leave this world you will find that you spent much time worrying instead of trusting
someone else to take care of you. I would be sorry if you spent the remainder of your life like
you did your homeless years, so please be cheerful.”
Anne paused. She doesn’t quite understand, she thought. I know that what I’m feeling has
substance. Neverthel