dry.’
Rosemary Elliot had no sooner opened the door to Constance’s timid knock, than she took her by the hand and led her across to the hearth. Matthew’s sister was fifteen years old and, probably because of her sheltered upbringing, she was neither child nor woman. Constance, at eighteen, felt that she was much older, despite the mere three years that separated them.
Rosemary was almost as tall as her brother, and very slim. She had the same dark hair as Matthew - at the moment it hung almost to her waist in two long plaits - and the same dark colouring, but she had none of his dramatic good looks. A nose and chin that were too thin and pointed marred her oval face. And yet her eyes were like her brother’s, large and brown and deeply expressive.
She wore a soft pink flannel robe over a long nightdress with pretty broderie anglaise flounces, but her body looked like that of a lanky boy. However, she spoke with all the authority of a young woman of her class and upbringing.
‘Look, I have built up the fire. Sit on this ottoman and towel your hair for a moment. I will fetch you a brush and then I will go and pick up your clothes.’
Constance flushed. ‘Forgive me, I should not have left them lying there ... I’m tired - and a little confused ...’
‘Sit down, Constance. Matthew told me all about you and what has happened; no wonder you are confused!’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘My dear, don’t look so alarmed. There is no shame attached. Your employer threw you out of her house the night before your wedding, with no thought of what might happen to you. It is she who ought to be ashamed. Now, here is my hairbrush.’
No shame, Constance thought. What if I were to tell this confident girl what has really happened to me? Would she understand? Would she be horrified? Would she still want to help me or would she believe, as most of her class would, that I must be to blame?
‘Would you like a hot drink?’ Rosemary had come back into the room. ‘Warm milk and honey perhaps? I always find that soothing.’
‘Please don’t bother. It’s late, your - your household must be sleeping ...’
‘But it’s no bother. Beattie has been hovering like a mother hen ever since Matthew woke me. She has her own little kitchen in what used to be the nursery and she will be only too pleased to make the drinks herself.’
‘Beattie?’
‘Miss Hannah Beattie, former nanny, kept on after I started school, out of sheer sentiment and now employed as my companion and to keep an eye on Matthew whilst our parents travel in foreign parts.’
Rosemary paused at the bedroom door, ‘I’ll give her your clothes, if you don’t mind. Some of them appear to be torn. She’ll sort through and see what can be done.’
She closed the door behind her. Rosemary was enjoying this ‘adventure’, Constance thought, and immediately she felt ashamed; the girl was good-hearted and generous. Constance could not imagine Annabel Sowerby putting herself out for someone she would consider to be one of the lower orders.
Constance stared into the flames. The nightdress she was wearing smelled of lavender and the flannel robe was soft and comforting. She had had one like this when she was a child, and there had been times when she had sat looking for pictures in the nursery fire and brushing her hair dry just as she was doing now.
‘Please, don’t look so sad.’ Rosemary had come back to kneel beside her. Constance was embarrassed to find the girl’s face within inches of her own and she looked down.
Rosemary took hold of her arm. ‘Whatever happened earlier, you are safe now and, just think, tomorrow you are going to be married. A whole new life, a better life, will begin for you. Look at me, Constance, you know that what I say is true, don’t you?’
Constance looked up. Rosemary’s eyes were shining. She is taken up with the romance of the idea,
Rosemary Elliot had no sooner opened the door to Constance’s timid knock, than she took her by the hand and led her across to the hearth. Matthew’s sister was fifteen years old and, probably because of her sheltered upbringing, she was neither child nor woman. Constance, at eighteen, felt that she was much older, despite the mere three years that separated them.
Rosemary was almost as tall as her brother, and very slim. She had the same dark hair as Matthew - at the moment it hung almost to her waist in two long plaits - and the same dark colouring, but she had none of his dramatic good looks. A nose and chin that were too thin and pointed marred her oval face. And yet her eyes were like her brother’s, large and brown and deeply expressive.
She wore a soft pink flannel robe over a long nightdress with pretty broderie anglaise flounces, but her body looked like that of a lanky boy. However, she spoke with all the authority of a young woman of her class and upbringing.
‘Look, I have built up the fire. Sit on this ottoman and towel your hair for a moment. I will fetch you a brush and then I will go and pick up your clothes.’
Constance flushed. ‘Forgive me, I should not have left them lying there ... I’m tired - and a little confused ...’
‘Sit down, Constance. Matthew told me all about you and what has happened; no wonder you are confused!’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘My dear, don’t look so alarmed. There is no shame attached. Your employer threw you out of her house the night before your wedding, with no thought of what might happen to you. It is she who ought to be ashamed. Now, here is my hairbrush.’
No shame, Constance thought. What if I were to tell this confident girl what has really happened to me? Would she understand? Would she be horrified? Would she still want to help me or would she believe, as most of her class would, that I must be to blame?
‘Would you like a hot drink?’ Rosemary had come back into the room. ‘Warm milk and honey perhaps? I always find that soothing.’
‘Please don’t bother. It’s late, your - your household must be sleeping ...’
‘But it’s no bother. Beattie has been hovering like a mother hen ever since Matthew woke me. She has her own little kitchen in what used to be the nursery and she will be only too pleased to make the drinks herself.’
‘Beattie?’
‘Miss Hannah Beattie, former nanny, kept on after I started school, out of sheer sentiment and now employed as my companion and to keep an eye on Matthew whilst our parents travel in foreign parts.’
Rosemary paused at the bedroom door, ‘I’ll give her your clothes, if you don’t mind. Some of them appear to be torn. She’ll sort through and see what can be done.’
She closed the door behind her. Rosemary was enjoying this ‘adventure’, Constance thought, and immediately she felt ashamed; the girl was good-hearted and generous. Constance could not imagine Annabel Sowerby putting herself out for someone she would consider to be one of the lower orders.
Constance stared into the flames. The nightdress she was wearing smelled of lavender and the flannel robe was soft and comforting. She had had one like this when she was a child, and there had been times when she had sat looking for pictures in the nursery fire and brushing her hair dry just as she was doing now.
‘Please, don’t look so sad.’ Rosemary had come back to kneel beside her. Constance was embarrassed to find the girl’s face within inches of her own and she looked down.
Rosemary took hold of her arm. ‘Whatever happened earlier, you are safe now and, just think, tomorrow you are going to be married. A whole new life, a better life, will begin for you. Look at me, Constance, you know that what I say is true, don’t you?’
Constance looked up. Rosemary’s eyes were shining. She is taken up with the romance of the idea,
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