light Constance had noticed for the first time the stains on her coat and her voice began to falter. ‘As I told you, Mrs Sowerby said I must go and I thought...’
‘My poor Constance. What a thing to happen on your wedding eve. I’m glad that you thought of me and, of course, you must stay here. Come, give me your box. I’ll take you to my sister’s rooms; she will have everything you need.’
Constance followed him across the hall and, at the bottom of the richly carpeted stairs, he paused and touched a switch on the wall. Decorative wall lamps blazed into light; they curved up the length of the staircase, illumining the way ahead. The house was lit by electricity, just as her father’s had been.
At the end of an upper corridor, Matthew paused at an archway. A heavy curtain was looped back to one side to reveal a vestibule with several doors leading from it. They were all closed.
Matthew gestured towards one of them. ‘That is Rosemary’s room. She will be in bed now, but—’
‘Should we wake her?’
‘She would never forgive me if she missed an adventure! But, here,’ he opened another of the doors, ‘this is her bathroom. You are welcome to use it whilst I go and inform her that she has a guest.’
He led the way in. Constance stared at the tiled walls with mirrors and glass shelves holding bottles of bath salts, essences and perfumes. A rich Turkish carpet lay on the marble floor and thick white towels hung on brass rails. The room was warm so she guessed that the rails were heated. There was another door set in the wall opposite the bath, but Matthew crossed to the stained-glass window on the far wall and adjusted the heavy maroon tasselled curtains. Constance went over to the bath; it was encased in panelled mahogany.
‘You fill it like this.’ Matthew came up behind her, leaned over and touched the taps. ‘See, this one draws hot water and this one cold.’
‘I know what taps are.’
‘Oh, of course. I’m sure Dr Sowerby must have an up-to-date bathroom, but...’
‘But not for the use of the servants.’
‘Well, no.’
‘Of course, you are right, Matthew. There is a bathroom in the house at Rye Hill and that is only for the use of the family.’
‘Constance, please ...’
She ignored his conciliatory expression and carried on, ‘I was allowed to carry a tin bath up to my attic once a week and fill it with buckets of hot water - which I also had to carry up all those flights of stairs. My towels were those which were no longer fit for the Sowerbys to use, and the soap I had to buy myself, from my employers.’
‘Don’t be angry with me, Constance. I did not mean to belittle you.’
‘Matthew, I’m tired, and tomorrow ...’
‘Of course. Your wedding day. I’ll leave you now. Help yourself to anything you need. There should be spare robes and nightgowns in that cupboard. That other door leads directly to my sister’s room. When you are ready she will be waiting for you. I’ll see you when it is time to leave for church in the morning.’ He closed the door behind him.
She sighed. Her head was aching and she felt bruised both outside and in. She was tired and she longed for sleep but, even more, she longed to be clean again.
As the bath filled, steam rose and surrounded her. It seemed to carry with it a flowery scent. She found a wide-necked jar of pink crystals on the floor by the side of the bath. The stopper was lying beside it. Rosemary must have forgotten to return it to its shelf. She sniffed it. Attar of Roses; that had been her mother’s favourite.
Constance kneeled and scattered crystals liberally into the deep bath, stirring them round. She watched the colour bleed into the water; ribbons of red swirling round her hand. Abruptly she rose and pulled off her clothes.
‘Why, you have washed your hair. Come, Constance dear, you must sit by the fire and brush it
‘My poor Constance. What a thing to happen on your wedding eve. I’m glad that you thought of me and, of course, you must stay here. Come, give me your box. I’ll take you to my sister’s rooms; she will have everything you need.’
Constance followed him across the hall and, at the bottom of the richly carpeted stairs, he paused and touched a switch on the wall. Decorative wall lamps blazed into light; they curved up the length of the staircase, illumining the way ahead. The house was lit by electricity, just as her father’s had been.
At the end of an upper corridor, Matthew paused at an archway. A heavy curtain was looped back to one side to reveal a vestibule with several doors leading from it. They were all closed.
Matthew gestured towards one of them. ‘That is Rosemary’s room. She will be in bed now, but—’
‘Should we wake her?’
‘She would never forgive me if she missed an adventure! But, here,’ he opened another of the doors, ‘this is her bathroom. You are welcome to use it whilst I go and inform her that she has a guest.’
He led the way in. Constance stared at the tiled walls with mirrors and glass shelves holding bottles of bath salts, essences and perfumes. A rich Turkish carpet lay on the marble floor and thick white towels hung on brass rails. The room was warm so she guessed that the rails were heated. There was another door set in the wall opposite the bath, but Matthew crossed to the stained-glass window on the far wall and adjusted the heavy maroon tasselled curtains. Constance went over to the bath; it was encased in panelled mahogany.
‘You fill it like this.’ Matthew came up behind her, leaned over and touched the taps. ‘See, this one draws hot water and this one cold.’
‘I know what taps are.’
‘Oh, of course. I’m sure Dr Sowerby must have an up-to-date bathroom, but...’
‘But not for the use of the servants.’
‘Well, no.’
‘Of course, you are right, Matthew. There is a bathroom in the house at Rye Hill and that is only for the use of the family.’
‘Constance, please ...’
She ignored his conciliatory expression and carried on, ‘I was allowed to carry a tin bath up to my attic once a week and fill it with buckets of hot water - which I also had to carry up all those flights of stairs. My towels were those which were no longer fit for the Sowerbys to use, and the soap I had to buy myself, from my employers.’
‘Don’t be angry with me, Constance. I did not mean to belittle you.’
‘Matthew, I’m tired, and tomorrow ...’
‘Of course. Your wedding day. I’ll leave you now. Help yourself to anything you need. There should be spare robes and nightgowns in that cupboard. That other door leads directly to my sister’s room. When you are ready she will be waiting for you. I’ll see you when it is time to leave for church in the morning.’ He closed the door behind him.
She sighed. Her head was aching and she felt bruised both outside and in. She was tired and she longed for sleep but, even more, she longed to be clean again.
As the bath filled, steam rose and surrounded her. It seemed to carry with it a flowery scent. She found a wide-necked jar of pink crystals on the floor by the side of the bath. The stopper was lying beside it. Rosemary must have forgotten to return it to its shelf. She sniffed it. Attar of Roses; that had been her mother’s favourite.
Constance kneeled and scattered crystals liberally into the deep bath, stirring them round. She watched the colour bleed into the water; ribbons of red swirling round her hand. Abruptly she rose and pulled off her clothes.
‘Why, you have washed your hair. Come, Constance dear, you must sit by the fire and brush it
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