Winter was such a dreadful business in Whitby. The town seemed colder, darker, dirtier, its inhabitants more miserable. And as for its surroundings, the gardens of Saltwick View Manor seemed dead, the rest grounds looked bleak and inhospitable, and the countryside beyond had lost its summertime bucolic charm. Mud abounded. Field stood empty. The bracken and heather of the upland had turned depressing shades of brown. And that was if she could see any of it at all. It was not uncommon this time of year for thick fog to obscure the higher grounds around Whitby from view. Only snow could transform the drab landscape, but it was too early for that.
 
Worse than all of this was that there was nobody of consequence in town now that the tourists had gone. God forbid that Miss Catherine Ennington should seek company among Whitby’s own denizens. (Well, she did, but there was company and then there was company. Ellie wasn’t company.) The Carringtons were shunned from polite society. Catherine would rather call on the fishwives of the Crag before she’s call on them. The other girls in her charity society were too vulgar. The McPadraics (who moved in an echelon above her own, but Catherine had managed to befriend one of the daughters) were wintering elsewhere. Unfortunately, their own home in Cannes was being renovated after a storm. Most of her siblings were away at university or school. Mama had gone to stay with her uncle and aunt in Brussels and had taken her older sister, Isabella, with her. Catherine had been dying to go, but the doctor had deemed her unfit for such a long journey and had assured her that even the cold, damp North Yorkshire winter was not so bad for her constitution as the poisonous air of a continental metropolis.
 
The prospect of Christmas next month was now her one reason for existing. Although there were no suitable guests, and certainly no suitable gentlemen, Catherine had decided that she’d host a charitable Christmas ball. By making it a charity event, she could invite the girls from her own charity society and their equals, without admitting them formally to her circle. She even intended to invite Ellie. In fact, having an occasion to dress the girl up like a doll was half her motivation. The other half was that it was a good exercise in hosting – a crucial skill once she’d be married to a lord.
 
It was this occupation that brought Catherine into town today. The brougham waited for her outside the Mrs. Manning’s, the one draper that offered quality anywhere near what she could get in London. Sarah didn’t accompany her today. Mrs. Manning’s was women’s domain and hardly a place where a young lady needed a chaperone to protect her reputation. Catherine let her hand glide over a scarlet silk, wondering how it would look draped on the wall of the great hall.

Her father was taking care if business and told her to get some suitable gowns for Pippa. He was not spending any of Pippa's money until she could decide for herself how much spending was in order. He told her to pick out a few options of practical, mourning dresses, though not just that, some with color too, she was passed the time needed to wear black. It had been a year at least since she boarded ship and ran to England. He told her to accessorize with a straw hat, simply trimmed, and black felt with black ribbon. Pippa could choose when she was ready.

She was admiring a claret colored fabric that would look beautiful on Pippa. Tobi was relieved that her friend was alive but she was not allowed to be alone with her yet... Pippa was in an unfortunate situation and had cleary been badly affected by the murders. People did not understand and it bothered Tobi greatly. She sighed and decided to get a green fabric instead because red would not meet approval from her father only because of the delicate situation.

She sighed and wrote down, a list maker of the ocd veriety. She moved three steps to the left. She, herself, was well put together and could clearly afford better than what she looked at.

She thought better of it. The scarlet was too much. Perhaps if she alternated it with a deep green, it could work. The hall should impress, yes, and evoke the Christmas spirit. But it shouldn't be gaudy or draw attention away from the women's dresses - from her dress anyway.

She lifted her eyes, scanning the shop for the shade of green she was looking for. They had just landed on such a fabric, two stalls away, when a young lady stepped into her view and Catherine's jaw nearly dropped. Was that... could that actually be Miss Tobi Zimmermann? Surely the young American had no reason to be in Whitby of all places. And yet, Catherine certain she recognized her old classmate.

They had never been close, the two of them belonging to different circles of friends. She hadn't disliked Miss Zimmermann, but she and her friend, Miss Danes, and their set, had always seemed a little more unruly than Catherine herself, who had always been eager to excel and impress. All the same, she felt somewhat slighted over the fact that Miss Zimmermann hadn't called on her.

These scruples were put to the side, however. Friendless and sick of boredom, she made her way over to the next aisle. Clutching her purse in front of her with both hands, she took a final good look and then addressed the young lady. "Why, Miss Zimmermann, is that you?"