Hmmm. Perhaps she had been a little too quick in her optimism. Norman was still Norman. She was about to chide her little brother, when her disapproval was drawn by a far more appalling scene. She scrunched her nose. Whitby really attracted the mad and vulgar! It wasn’t even summer! And in this quiet residential area?! What was this nonsense all about? She hoped they’d clear off before poor Miss MacKenzie arrived. Oh what would the poor young lady think!

But they didn’t clear off. Instead – Winnifred’s innards turned to ice – the men put the palanquin down and its occupant, a curious sight in her own right, stepped out – oh, it was too much, indeed! – barefoot.

The realization was there, but Winnifred’s mind could not process it, until the lady was right in front of her and confirmed by her own words that she was indeed Miss MacKenzie.

And what had she just called her?

As the ‘lady’ turned to the bearers, Winnifred quickly glanced at her brother, her eyes expressing sheer horror at his choice of fiancée. Oh, and the neighbours! The neighbours! She thought she saw Mrs. Powell’s face swiftly disappear behind a curtain! The shame! This was a respectable neighbourhood!

Whether it was shock or her deeply ingrained belief in politeness, Winnifred found herself unable to actually verbalize her horror and so she turned to one of her most refined skills: passive aggression. She put her hand on Miss MacKenzie’s arm (so she didn’t have to shake hands) and gently guided her to the door, while she said. “How very kind, Miss MacKenzie. But pray, come in quickly, now. Your feet must be absolutely freezing. I shall have the maids bring up some warm water, so you can wash them. These streets can be so very dirty, you know? Linda!” she called out when she was inside. “Bring up a bowl of hot water and a towel! Miss MacKenzie has lost her shoes!” She smiled at her guest and gestured at a chair in the hallway. “Please have a seat, Miss MacKenzie. She’ll be up any minute. Norman, can I take your coat?”