Hawton House, in the most fashionable part of the West End, was home to the widowed Lady Gascoine and her two sons, Frederick and Robert. She had generously sent her own carriage to meet her sister Jane and her companions at their last posting inn and, their baggage safely stowed, they made themselves comfortable in the luxurious, beautifully sprung vehicle. It had been a long and tiring journey from Dublin, in spite of the comfortable hotels and Jane Gibson’s meticulous planning, and Elizabeth was pleased to be able to lean back against the luxurious squabs and rest.
During their drive to the London townhouse, Miss Gibson managed to convey in a tactful way that Frederick, the elder of the two, was twenty-seven and spent most of his time gaming and racing. He was betrothed to Isabella Mason, a young lady from Norfolk but seemed in no hurry to set a wedding date. The Masons had a country estate of several thousand acres in Norfolk, but the country bored Sir Frederick and in spite of his engagement to Isabella, he was seldom seen out of London.
Robert, who was the younger brother, had once been betrothed to a young lady, Amanda Andrews, whom he’d met in London, but less than a year later she had died of pneumonia.
‘Poor young man, he was devastated,’ declared Jane Gibson. ‘And after three years, he appears still to be unable to recover from his sad loss. Instead he seems to have busied himself in his studies of antique art and sculpture. My sister informs me that although he does not shun society, he is a very private person and has never looked at another young lady since poor Amanda passed away.’ She sighed. ‘But, as is the way of all mothers, my dear sister favours her first-born and sees no fault in him. She was delighted with his engagement to Miss Mason, but is disappointed that such a handsome and personable fellow is proving so tardy at getting married and providing her with longed-for grandchildren.’ Under her silk bonnet, Jane Gibson’s eyes grew dark and thoughtful. ‘It is so sad for Robert that he lost his only true love so tragically. I am sure they would have been so happy….’ She shook herself and continued briskly, ‘But Frederick is the real charmer of the family. He is a young man still sowing his wild oats, Bradbury, but one of these fine days I am sure he will come about and settle down. It’s not our problem, though, and no doubt he will eventually please his mama by marrying Miss Mason….’
Elizabeth was silent. She had nothing to say. She had no idea what ‘sowing wild oats’ meant. She wasn’t even sure what ‘a real charmer’ was. She didn’t think any of the men who had been invited into George Baines’s kitchen could ever be described as ‘a real charmer’. She thought with revulsion of the rough military officers bawling for more wine, shouting their coarse remarks and attempting to touch her as she scurried round, trying to do whatever Baines and his companions wanted of her. Her mind, which had become almost numbed by what had happened and by the decisive actions of Jane Gibson, returned in devastating flashback to Captain Preston and his sadistic treatment of her. She began to shudder uncontrollably and hugged her thin arms about herself.
Miss Gibson wrapped the rug more closely around her and asked her kindly, ‘What is it, child? What ails you? Are you cold? We shall soon be there and Mary always keeps a warm house. It won’t be long now.’ She lowered her voice a little and said, ‘When you are presented to Lady Gascoine, you must hold out your hand and say, “How do you do, ma’am?” That is all. Do not address any remarks to Lady Gascoine unless she addresses you. Do not stare or fidget. Answer when spoken to, without mumbling, and you will do.’
‘Yes, Miss Gibson,’ Elizabeth whispered and continued to stare out of the carriage window, almost mesmerized by the passing scenery. Events had piled up on top of one another to such a degree that each new experience seemed totally unreal. The cruel James Preston and her journey in the packet from Dublin, the kindness of the two elderly ladies who now sat chatting in their refined London accents … they were part of a kaleidoscope of random impressions which her youthful brain was attempting to assimilate. She was only vaguely aware of the quiet conversation between Miss Gibson and her companion.
‘Of course, since Sir William died, Frederick Gascoine is the nonpareil of the family. You will hear of nothing else, my dear Bradbury, except “Frederick this and Frederick that” during our visit. My sister talks of him with more than the usual mother’s pride in her offspring. Since Sir William died, Frederick has established himself in a very fast set of young London blades with luxurious apartments in West Kensington, although my younger nephew, Robert has remained quietly in his mama’s residence in Hawton Square. But I can tell you that although we may not see Frederick much during our stay with my sister, we shall hear of nothing else. She will talk about him with such pride that there will be room for little else in our conversation. For you must know that according to his mama, he is the best and most fearless rider in London. That he is clever to the point of being a genius, which I know to be false – even by the standards of my own modest governess, he is lamentably stupid. Lady Gascoine will recount to us how much he is admired by the ton for his exceptional good looks and dress, which are so unusual as to make him an icon for other young blades. If anyone has the lack of judgement to praise his brother or any of his circle of friends, Lady Gascoine will top it at once with another anecdote about Frederick’s superior prowess in any activity you care to name….’
Jane Gibson paused to draw breath and Elizabeth heard Miss Bradbury say, ‘And does not his mama hold Robert in any affection or esteem?’
‘Yes, I am sure she has a mother’s love for Robert, but since his father’s death, Frederick has been set so high on the pedestal that my sister seems blind to aught else. And then, of course, there was the disappointment at Miss Andrews’ untimely death. No, Lady Gascoine has set all her hopes of happiness on the marriage of Frederick and Isabella.’
Miss Bradbury glanced at her and said hesitantly, ‘Do I take it then, ma’am, that you are not fond of your eldest nephew?’
‘Oh, no,’ Jane Gibson said quickly. ‘He is as attractive as his mama says and more. I am just so resentful of the way he rules the roost and squanders all the money, now that he has inherited the title. Robert is naturally clever and is interested in how the estate should be managed. His mama finds this tedious and is easily bored by his bookish interests. Consequently, she overlooks his good points and concentrates solely on the flamboyant charm of her eldest.’
‘And does Robert have no skills at manly pursuits?’
‘Most certainly he does. He is an expert huntsman and first-class shot. He is a member of various sporting clubs in London but he says there is no pleasure in killing merely for recreation. While the other members of Lady Gascoine’s house party are playing billiards or gambling over the cards, Robert is to be found solving some tenant farmer’s problem or poring over his collection of antique books and cataloguing the artefacts he brought back with him from his Grand Tour.’
The words ‘Grand Tour’ meant nothing to Elizabeth and she continued to watch the passing scene, too tired to concentrate on what was being said and yet too tense and uneasy for sleep.
‘I look forward to meeting all three of them,’ Bradbury said, smiling at Jane Gibson.
‘All four of them,’ Jane Gibson corrected her. ‘There is also Miss Holmes.’
‘Miss Holmes?’
‘Yes, Lavinia Holmes. Some distant relative of my late brother-in-law. As a young girl in the 1770s she met a most charming and hardened rake at a ball, who thought that she had expectations of a considerable inheritance. He persuaded her to elope with him but when he found out she was just a poor relation, he abandoned her. She was fetched back but her reputation was ruined. My sister took her in out of pity and now she is a sort of unpaid companion.’
‘What is she like?’ Bradbury asked curiously. ‘Is she young? Is she pretty?’
Jane Gibson laughed. ‘Hardly,’ she said. ‘The romance was years ago. She was no oil painting then and now she is a plain, middle-aged woman. It is easy to see that the adventurous rake was only after her because he thought she was an heiress.’
Elizabeth’s eyelids gradually began to droop and she laid her head back against the padded squabs of Lady Gascoine’s carriage and slept.
It seemed like only the next moment that the coach turned into the great wrought-iron gates of Hawton House, and swept round the shingled half-moon drive to pull up at the huge front door.
Staggering dazedly out of the coach, Elizabeth blinked round in bewilderment.
She had never seen a building so large and imposing. Why, it was grander and more magnificent than the parish church at Tollyvara! There were two life-sized stone lions facing a wrought-iron lamp standard, flames protected in a glass orb, and these lights were echoed at the top of wide stone steps, leading up to the huge carved door. In the early dusk, the lions, standing back to back, each with their lifelike tails and fierce teeth, made Elizabeth shudder all over again. They looked so real, especially the male one with the huge flowing mane, that she could easily believe those teeth could tear someone to pieces. She thought of the three ragged stepchildren of Baines and how they had tormented her. They would have given her the final blow if they could…. She shivered at the thought.
The coachman sprang down and helped the ladies out of the carriage and then beat a smart tattoo on the magnificent front door, which was opened immediately by a very portly butler who motioned to the footman to bring in the luggage. If it was noticed that the young girl, who stumbled wearily up the steps, had very little luggage to bring in, it was not remarked upon. They were ushered into the marble hall by the dignified butler and his flunkeys and this time Elizabeth almost lost her breath at the scene before her. If she’d thought the drive and portico magnificent, they were as nothing compared to the marble hall. High Doric pillars, not of actual marble but of Derbyshire alabaster, flanked the hall and staircase. Set very high up in the walls on top of noble columns were busts of Roman gods and goddesses, the whole designed to echo the appearance of a Roman temple. Elizabeth had absolutely no knowledge of the architectural points of Roman temples, she was conscious only of an overwhelming sensation of awe and her own humble station in relation to the grandeur that surrounded her.
The next half an hour passed in a dream as they were escorted to the south drawing-room, a more intimate little sitting-room than the main saloon and much favoured by Lady Gascoine for entertaining. Once again, Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the magnificence of her surroundings. There was a good fire in the marble fireplace and the reflections on the polished brass fire irons flickered in concert with those of the fire.
On the left of the fireplace was a painting of one of the distant ancestors of Sir William Gascoine. He had been a chief justice and was pictured in red robes trimmed with ermine. On the right of the fireplace was quite a different portrait of Sir William, about thirty, surrounded by gun dogs. He was about to load his gun and at his feet was one of the game birds he had already shot. With his light feathery brush strokes, the artist had echoed the faint stripes on the bird’s breast feathers on His Lordship’s fashionable striped waistcoat.
In spite of her exhaustion, Elizabeth couldn’t help but look at it. Her eyes were drawn to the poor dead creature with its lolling, bloodied neck and already fading plumage. Distressed, she looked away, back to the bright fire.
Her Ladyship was waiting to greet them, and kissed both Miss Bradbury and Miss Gibson very graciously as they entered. In the background, rather like a big, lumpy dragonfly, was Miss Holmes, serious and unsmiling and seemingly totally lacking in any grace or charm.
Elizabeth was gently urged forward by Miss Gibson. She extended her hand in greeting and even attempted a little curtsy to the lady of the house. This was greeted with indulgent smiles by the ladies, but glancing sideways, Elizabeth was very conscious of the unhappy glance of the dowager, Lady Gascoine’s companion, and she made an attempt to nod in a friendly manner in her direction. Glasses of cordial and small ratafia were produced as if from nowhere and handed round sombrely by Holmes, but Elizabeth had little appetite and did not attempt to keep up with the conversation of Miss Gibson and her sister.
She merely remained silent and passive until Lady Gascoine said brightly, ‘Well now, my dears, Holmes will show you to your rooms. I arranged a bed for the child in your dressing-room, Jane. I’d as lief not be disturbed if she is a restless sleeper. Remember we keep town hours here and will dine at seven.’
Her Ladyship’s smile was so kind it took the sting out of her words and Elizabeth obediently followed Miss Gibson and Bradbury as they went with Holmes to their rooms.
At precisely seven o’clock, there was a muffled and musical reverberation throughout the house as the gong signalled that it was time for dinner. Elizabeth was standing in the middle of the dressing-room to the main guest bedroom, having been told by Jane Gibson not to move, as Bradbury went to her own bedroom for the curling irons. Both women were changed into elegant frocks for dinner and had put aside their velvet evening reticules while they concentrated on Elizabeth. The previous hour had been spent by the two ladies in transforming their protégé from a gauche wild fawn into a pretty and slender nymph. Bradbury had ironed a simple white gown, with a sash of blue velvet, and cast it over the girl’s head in a trice. The sash was fastened in a bow round her waist and her long, slim feet were thrust into a brand new pair of slippers. Bradbury was back in an instant and the long lustrous locks were soon curled into fashionable guinea-gold, sausage ringlets.
‘There, child, you will do,’ Jane Gibson declared as she stood back to admire Bradbury’s handiwork. ‘One moment, Bradbury. A ribbon,’ she ordered, and the tireless Bradbury reappeared with the daintiest and narrowest length of blue satin ribbon and threaded it through Elizabeth’s hair.
Even Jane Gibson, not the sort of woman to give way to weak feminine sentiment, was overcome with pleasure at the transformation of her gawky little Elizabeth. Her eyes glowed with emotion as she said again, ‘Yes, Bradbury, I think she will do.’
A dainty little beaded reticule was thrust in her hand and Jane Gibson gave Elizabeth a little push and said, ‘There, child, you look a picture.’ And Elizabeth was forced to agree. At first she didn’t recognize the pretty young girl who looked back at her from the cheval mirror and when she did, she gasped and turned and looked wonderingly at Bradbury.
She was forced to walk very carefully, her feet feeling strange in the unaccustomed slippers and her body feeling light and airy in the graceful muslin gown. She had to hold her head up in an entirely new and dignified way now that she had ringlets and ribbons, like a real lady.
They were almost at the bottom of the large staircase when there was a sudden commotion in the marble hall. Footmen appeared from nowhere and the front door burst open to reveal the most handsome man that Elizabeth had ever seen. He brought something of the cold air in with him and his tall figure, dressed in a many caped greatcoat, disturbed the atmosphere so much that she instinctively froze and cowered back against the balusters, never taking her eyes off him.
His hair was reddish gold and he was dressed immaculately in a style much in fashion among the Regency bucks of London and very much favoured by the friends of the Prince Regent. The beautifully shaped locks were slightly longer at the back and, although he was clean shaven, he made a concession to the fashion of the day and sported a pair of side whiskers. She continued to stare at him as he pulled off his driving gloves and tossed the greatcoat to a servant. Then she became aware of his grey eyes gazing curiously into hers and dropped her own, blushing furiously.
‘Aunt Jane. Miss Bradbury. What a pleasure. And…?’ He looked from one to the other, but his eyes returned to Elizabeth.
‘My … ward….’ Jane Gibson said smoothly. ‘Miss Elizabeth Baines. From Ireland.’
Elizabeth had never been called ‘Miss’ before. Having safely negotiated the last step of the stairs, she dropped a modest curtsy, as Miss Gibson had taught her.
‘How do you do, sir?’ she whispered shyly. Her soft Irish brogue was very pronounced, but Elizabeth had absolutely no idea how enchanting it sounded to a sophisticated London ear.
‘I do very well, my dear,’ he murmured and he smiled undisguised pleasure at such an innocent chit. ‘I shall do even better when that confounded manservant of mine has organized my dinner clothes and got me to Mama’s dining-room in time for dinner.’
The mama in question, statuesque in black velvet, appeared at that moment and began to exclaim and scold at him as if he were still a schoolboy. ‘Why, Frederick, whatever are you at to arrive just as dinner is about to be served? My dear boy, you know how miffed Wilkins gets if things have to be kept waiting.’
He kissed her, then shrugged and smiled as he walked in a leisurely fashion up the stairs, accompanied by her gentle chiding.
‘Incorrigible boy,’ she said fondly to her sister. ‘What am I to do with him?’ Then she hurried away to tell Wilkins that dinner must be delayed a little, to give Sir Frederick time to change for dinner.
It was a relatively informal meal to welcome the honoured guests. The second son, Robert, joined them and Elizabeth was almost crippled with embarrassment and nerves when once again she had to offer her hand, as she’d been taught by Jane Gibson. At least her curtsy was a little more practised, she thought, and she didn’t wobble as she looked up into those cool eyes, that sometimes flashed green like his brother Frederick’s and yet were so subtly different. He was just as handsome as his brother, but with a face completely lacking in any signs of dissipation. His hair was more brown than gold, more chestnut colour than auburn. He was tall and slender, but his shoulders were slightly broader than Frederick’s and his evening clothes seemed to accentuate his athletic muscular frame. His smile was sardonic but gentle.
For the first time in her young life, Elizabeth gradually began to feel less threatened when in the presence of a man. The feeling was such a novelty that she took a few minutes to absorb this new situation, and then she dared look at him again.
She was utterly nonplussed to realize that he was looking back at her, studying her with just as much interest as Frederick. She noticed that he had good colour for a man who tended to stay indoors quite a bit. She noticed again his aristocratic features, again so like Frederick’s and yet more defined and, yes, more humorous, as though he could see a joke in most situations. For some reason she felt sure that Frederick would never give way to laughter. She was glad that it was Robert who was opposite her at the dining table and not Sir Frederick Gascoine. All this she absorbed mentally in a second, before she had to look away from Robert Gascoine and fix her eyes on her plate.
She noticed that Robert was quietly spoken and said little that was not to the point, while Frederick, at the head of the table, never stopped talking, his talk being on fast horses and impossible wagers among his set of racing friends.
‘I am persuaded that Richards will have to marry his little heiress forthwith,’ he said, almost licking his lips over his friend’s huge losses at the racecourse. ‘It is the only way he can recover. He is in so deep and his pa has vowed not to honour any more of his debts. He owes over twenty thousand already, but maybe Miss Vance’s fortune will set him on his feet again.’
Frederick’s mama hung on his every word, occasionally glancing round to see who else in the assembled company had noticed his latest bon mot or flash of wit. Elizabeth said nothing. When next she peeped out from under her shyly lowered eyelashes, it was to find out how to use the knife and fork she was holding.
A footman stood behind every chair and the one assigned to Elizabeth was young and graceful. As Elizabeth stared in frozen dismay at the frightening collection of gleaming cutlery, he would lean forward and on the pretext of adjusting a salt cellar, or straightening a spoon, managed to convey in the most tactful way possible the correct pieces for each course. She watched carefully as Lady Gascoine was served first and noted which dishes she chose to eat, how much and how she ate it. Although she was trembling with nerves, she copied Her Ladyship faithfully in what she ate and what she rejected. As each huge serving dish was presented to her, she managed to acquit herself very creditably, whispering an almost inaudible ‘No thank you’ to the dishes she was refusing and inclining her head slightly at what she would accept.
She was so constrained in the formal atmosphere of these strangers that she was almost too afraid to glance about her until after the pudding plates had been removed and the dessert plates had been circulated. Luscious peaches from the hothouses in Norfolk and ripe black grapes with the bloom still on them were on colourful display. Elizabeth once more followed Lady Gascoine’s example and politely refused it. She had no idea how to eat the fruit and was not prepared to show herself up. When she did dare to cast a glance round the table, she caught her guide and mentor, Miss Gibson, looking at her and to Elizabeth’s surprise she was smiling at her, openly approving.
At this moment, Robert, as though he had noticed Miss Gibson’s smile, also looked at her. With a slightly amused expression, he said quietly, ‘I understand that this is your first visit to London, Miss Baines. It must seem very different to you after rural Ireland.’
The ‘Miss Baines’ didn’t sink in at first, and then Elizabeth’s throat constricted at being addressed directly and she only managed ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir’ to every one of Robert’s open-ended questions, her delicate skin blushing rosy pink each time she had to make a response. No one else said a word to her and she was pleased and relieved when Lady Gascoine at last led the ladies to the drawing-room. Under the pretext of showing her the fine piano at the end of the room, Jane Gibson gently squeezed Elizabeth’s elbow and whispered, ‘Well done, my dear. You were a credit to Bradbury and me at dinner. We were so proud of you.’
Elizabeth blushed as usual and looked down, clasping her hands nervously round the borrowed reticule, unable to say a word.
During the manly ritual of port and brandy, in the absence of the ladies, Frederick had continued on the theme of his latest horses. ‘Purchased a pair of greys in Ireland as it happens, bruth,’ he boasted. ‘And invincible, I’d say. My groom Kelly is lyrical about them. Only got ’em back last week. Talking of Ireland,’ he continued, changing the subject completely, ‘what’s with Aunt Jane and the little colleen she’s introduced to Mama? What’s the thinking behind that, I wonder? You don’t think our revered aunt has gone a bit soft in the top storey, do you?’ Without waiting for an answer, he continued, ‘Mama told me before dinner that Aunt Jane seems on a crusade where this chit is concerned. Going to have her educated and launched as a lady’s maid or some such. Seems a smokey thing for the old girl to do at her time of life. Taking little thing, though, ain’t she?’
Robert had no need to reply because Frederick never listened to anyone’s replies anyway. But he had to admit she was a taking little thing and seemed very unsophisticated. Her soft shy brogue completely bowled him over. He had no idea what his aunt’s plans were but he hoped Elizabeth’s particular charm would never leave her.
She was pretty, too, Robert thought as the two brothers eventually joined the ladies in the drawing-room. She was standing by the piano, he noticed, and was blushing at something Aunt Jane had said, her hands clasped tightly round her little evening bag. Unusually, the lashes fringing her blue eyes were dark and contrasted with the fair hair framing her charming face. Although she had spoken so little, the lilting Irish accent was very noticeable. If his aunt were indeed going to send her to school, he hoped she wouldn’t learn to affect the spoiled manners of so many of the educated young ladies he met in London.
At this moment his mama spoke across the room. ‘Why not play for us, Robert? I am sure Miss Holmes will oblige us with a song.’
Elizabeth started away from the piano as though she’d been bitten, while the unsmiling Miss Holmes obediently sorted through the music sheets and chose one for him to play. Robert good-humouredly seated himself at the piano and played the introduction. It was from Act 1 of Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte and the plain, middle-aged woman sang it with a surprising passion. She had an unexpectedly powerful soprano voice, which filled Lady Gascoine’s large drawing-room with its rich sound. Miss Holmes sang in Italian. Elizabeth listened, rooted to the spot. She had no idea what the words meant but she knew that the strong feeling was absolutely heartfelt.
There was respectful applause when the aria ended and Robert immediately walked towards her and said, ‘Miss Holmes has an exceptionable voice, do you not think so, Miss Baines?’
Frederick began impatiently to order one of the footmen to set up a table for cards, and the other ladies settled down to drink cordial and chat, but Elizabeth was trapped where she was. She stared down at her feet and gulped and blushed, managing only a whispered, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Miss Baines, are your feet troubling you?’ He spoke so softly and seriously that her eyes flew to his, startled by this unusual question. He was smiling, the normally cool and grey eyes sparkling and alive with laughter, and she realized he was funning her.
She was forced to smile in return. Her slim shoulders relaxed and she took a deep breath, suddenly feeling happier than she had done in weeks.
‘That is better,’ he said. ‘You look so pretty when you smile.’ He reached across the piano and picked up Miss Holmes’s music. ‘Did you understand any of the words?’ he asked her.
‘N … No,’ she said. ‘But I … I likes the sounds of them, so I do.’ It was her longest speech since she had arrived and she even dared risk another glance at him.
He smiled as though pleased with her reply and stood even closer to her so that he could point to the words ‘come scoglio immoto resta’. ‘She is singing, as the rock remains unmoved against the winds and the storm, so this spirit is still strong in its faith and its love and she will never be unfaithful to her lover.’
He was so close to her now that she could smell the pleasant manly scent of him and feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Apart from violent George Baines and the equally vile Captain Preston, Elizabeth had never been in such close proximity to a man. She was so terrified of this invasion of her private space that she began to tremble uncontrollably and moved away from him at once.
But at that moment, Frederick called across to his brother, ‘Are we playing this hand of cards, Robert, or are you going to study music all night?’
Robert Gascoine smiled and said, ‘Please excuse me, Miss Baines. I am needed elsewhere.’ He put the music back and went to join Frederick at the card table. Miss Holmes seemed about to retire and Jane Gibson whispered that it was time Elizabeth went to bed.
‘You have had a very busy day, my dear,’ she said, smiling. ‘I shall look in on you later,’ she said, ‘and see that you are comfortable. Say good night now, Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth obediently said good night and set off up the grand staircase to her room. She was relieved to be alone at last. It was a strain, trying not to disgrace Miss Gibson, and she wished she were not so awkward. For the first time in her young life, Elizabeth realized how truly ignorant she was, both in her reading and in her manners. She sighed as she threw her nightgown over her head and hastily said her prayers. The bed was a warm cocoon and gradually she began to relax and let her mind roam over all the things that had happened to her in the last few days.
She was in that delicious state between sleeping and waking when the door opened and someone came into the room. Thinking it was Miss Gibson, Elizabeth raised her head to look at the visitor but it was Miss Holmes, carrying a candle, which she shielded with her other hand.
‘Are you awake, Elizabeth?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Miss Gibson has given me some books, but I am too tired to read.’ Elizabeth was surprised by this visitation and said nothing more, as the dour Miss Holmes moved closer and sat on the bed.
‘So you are to be the new charity girl, are you? I also have had that honour once, when I first came here. But there’s nothing so cold as charity. Remember that, child.’
Elizabeth was at a loss and began to flounder. ‘I … I do not know what will happen to me … Miss Gibson has been … has been … so kind. She has helped me and taught me to read … I owe her everything….’
‘And you may be sure, she will exact her payment in full.’
‘Wh— what do you mean?’
‘I mean, child that nothing is ever for nothing. As the Spanish proverb says, “Have what you want. Have it and pay for it”. Jane Gibson is well able to be bountiful. Her father left her well provided for. He bequeathed her a manor house and land in Ireland. She can be charitable to a younger girl. She can afford to do without a husband and remain unmarried. She has no children of her own but she can be kind to other people’s children. When she dies, her fortune will go to her nephews and their heirs.’
‘I do not … do not understand.’
‘You will, child. You will. You will be groomed to be a companion to some old woman. Perhaps to take the place of Miss Bradbury. I expect you already know of my own disgraceful fate. Jilted at the altar because I was not what I seemed. Not an heiress with a handsome fortune like your Miss Gibson. Merely a plain Jane with a loving heart.’
At the words ‘plain Jane’, Elizabeth’s own heart contracted and she saw again, in her mind’s eye, Kate Molloy and the three cruel boys who had tried to kill her spirit with their taunts of ‘plain Jane’ and ‘ugly duckling’. Impulsively, she put out her hand to touch that of the older woman, feeling a deep compassion for her obvious suffering.
‘But … you. But you have such nice things. You live in this big house—’
‘True. But nothing belongs to me and I belong to no one. I am the unpaid servant. The ugly unmarried poor relation. The dogsbody and whipping boy for the whole household. There is only one person who treats me with any humanity and that is Robert Gascoine. But he has got his own life with his books and his collections. If I die tomorrow, not one of them will remember me for very long. Is that what you want your future to be, girl? Your youth dwindling and dribbling away in comfortable penury for the rest of your days?’
Elizabeth looked up at her, appalled by this sudden outburst, not fully understanding the older woman’s emotional outpouring. She saw Miss Holmes’s bitter twisted mouth, working with passion, and she was afraid. She wished that Jane Gibson would come upstairs and wondered how long she would be.
Miss Holmes suddenly seemed to collect herself and perhaps thought she had said too much. She withdrew her hand from beneath Elizabeth’s and stood up abruptly. ‘Well, I will leave you to think on these things.’
Still carrying the candle, she left the room, leaving Elizabeth to the dark and her own thoughts. She lay for some time, unable to sleep, as different emotions whirled around in her brain. The room was warm and she watched the last glowing coals in the grate bringing the brass fire irons to life. She heard Miss Gibson enter on tiptoes and she pretended to be asleep. Jane planted an awkward motherly kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek, then crept out with her candle.
All at once Elizabeth was alone. She lay on her back, solitary in the large bed. The moon appeared from nowhere and threw fitful scudding shadows on the walls. Elizabeth thought of the moon shining through the bare windows of the Baines’ cottage, with its broken panes stuffed with filthy rags. Every last bit of happiness and excitement of the day ebbed away from her. She felt all the kindness and generosity shown her by Jane Gibson could not be real. Whatever happened, she would still be Lizzie Baines, forced to endure the casual sadism of her family in Ireland. That is how it would be for ever and ever. She would always be an ugly duckling just as Miss Gibson would always be a rich lady living in her big house.
She lay for a long time with her eyes wide open till the light from the window seemed to shimmer and blur. Then, on an impulse, she went to the window and drew back the curtains to look out across the cobbled mews towards the stables. Everything was still and deserted. She drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It was colder in the room now, and as she turned to get back in bed, she passed the connecting door leading into Miss Gibson’s bedroom.
Then she heard Jane Gibson say softly, ‘Our darling little Lizzie is fast asleep, Bradbury,’ before the two women went back downstairs to Lady Gascoine. Strangely comforted, Elizabeth gradually drifted off to sleep.