Kinneil House
Sanctuary
Sara SheridanThe fog clung to the grass. ‘It should roll,’ Linda thought, but it didn’t. It just hung there, as if the world had stopped.
‘The weather’s a great bluffer,’ Mrs Pleitch said as she tied a scarf round her hair and slowly did up her coat before making for the door. Mrs Pleitch’s hair didn’t look as if it needed protection. It looked as if it was set in stone.
‘I’ve put the dustsheets on the clothes-horse,’ she told Linda, pointing in the direction of the makeshift pantry. ‘For the conservator,’ she added, as if an explanation was needed. Linda nodded, her eyes drawn again through the window to the thick white view that now obscured even the lights from the cottages further down the track. Mrs Pleitch paused as if she had something to add. She looked
