Thread by @Joannechocolat

Cup of tea; time to kill. You know what that means; #Storytime.

There is a story the bees used to tell, which makes it hard to disbelieve. #Storytime

A woman was going to market. As always, she took her own carriage, adorned with her ancient family crest, and lined with scarlet cushions and curtains of matching velvet. #Storytime

As always, she greeted the people she met with a condescending nod, or sometimes even a word or two. #Storytime

These people travelled mostly on foot: some riding on mules or in pony-carts. Some were beggars, walking on crutches, or dragging themselves on makeshift trolleys. #Storytime

They answered her greeting with nods of their own, but did not speak to the woman, who was noble, and not of their kind. #Storytime

That market-day, it was raining. The roadside was awash with mud. #Storytime

The woman did not notice as her carriage wheels splashed mud over those who stood at the roadside to let her team of horses pass. They simply continued on their way, and the woman, who was watching the countryside, did not hear their muttered protests. #Storytime

The rain redoubled. The riders of mules and pony-traps were liberally splashed with mud. #Storytime

The pedestrians, too, were muddied and splashed; but the beggars fared even worse. Dragging themselves along the road, feet heavy and caked with mud, faces turned towards the ground, they seemed almost part of the land itself, creatures of the underworld. #Storytime

The woman, in her carriage, hardly saw their misery as she raced along. Until the moment at which, passing through a deep puddle, the carriage threw up a curtain of mud into the face of an old crone, hobbling to market. #Storytime

The woman, on her velvet cushions, did not notice the incident, but the old crone was furious. #Storytime

Calling out in her cracked old voice, she scooped up mud between her hands. Then, as the woman peered out to see what was causing the commotion, she flung two handfuls of mud at the carriage window. #Storytime

The woman was astonished and angry. Her beautiful carriage was spattered with mud. There was mud on her curtains; her gown. There was even a splash of mud on her face. #Storytime

Looking down at the ancient crone, she said: "Why do you attack me, ma’am? Are we not fellow-travellers?" #Storytime

And then she nodded to her groom, and drove on at a brisk speed through the crowd of mud-spattered folk walking to the market. #Storytime
the end