accommodate the three of us and a handful of servants, couldn’t possibly live up to such splendor. Besides, unless Rosa had changed completely, she would want to explore every inch of the house from attic to cellar and expect me to know the history of each item of furniture.
Ruth, though inclined to drift about and break things, was useful if given clear instructions. She and I took up the carpets so that the scullery maid could beat them while we cleaned and polished the boards; we lifted down the books in the drawing room, wiped the leaves and spine of each volume, and dusted the shelves; we used stepladders to reach the pictures so we could clean the frames and wash the picture rails. We sent the table-covers, antimacassars, doilies, and runners down to be washed; we had vinegar and water brought up for the windows, which we cleaned in every room on all floors despite the sun blasting through and half blinding us; we swept under beds and aired the eiderdowns and we polished the cabinets and plumped the cushions. Then I rushed out to the garden and cut armfuls of white roses, columbines, and forget-me-nots, because unlike at Stukeley, we had neither hot-house nor conservatory and must therefore put up with seasonal flowers. I thought even Rosa and Aunt Isabella would be impressed by the perfume of beeswax and petals and by the new braiding on the cushions. But in the event, nobody noticed. In the event, the state of the house was the last thing on anybody’s mind.
Early on Friday evening Mother and I sat nervously in the drawing room waiting for Father to bring our visitors from the station. Despite our nerves we managed to discuss quite calmly, for perhaps the tenth time, how much mourning was appropriate for a brother-in-law and uncle-by-marriage visited only once a decade ago. As I didn’t have any black, I was wearing my midnight-blue taffeta but Mother had shaken her black satin out of mothballs. However, as a compromise, after consultation with Mrs. Hardcastle, she wore a white collar and a gray velvet ribbon threaded through the lace of her cap. “The last thing I want is to be too ostentatious. After all, I scarcely knew Sir Matthew and didn’t take to him that time we were there.” She paused: “Of course, he was fond of you, I always thought.”
I was embroidering a quilt with tendrils of ivy: the design, pricked out with a pin, required five different shades of green. “I don’t think he paid much attention to me.”
“Oh, but he did, surely you remember.” She watched me for a moment. “But he struck me as a very difficult man, I’m afraid. I hope he mellowed in later years and had been kind to Rosa.”
There was the sound of carriage wheels on gravel, the bell rang, then there were voices in the hall. We sprang to our feet and tucked our work out of sight, glancing at each other in a moment of rueful admission that everything was about to change. First to appear was Ruth, very self-important, then Aunt Isabella, bedecked from top to toe in black crepe, her eyes brimming and her face plumper than ever. Rosa stood on tiptoe, craning for a sight of me over her mother’s shoulder. She too wore black and the tucks in her bonnet framed a face grown even more beautiful than when she was a young girl. Her features were finely drawn, her dark blue eyes ardent, and her moist lips trembling.
She dodged round her mother, rushed to my side, fell to her knees, and flung her arms round my waist. From deep in my skirts I heard her muffled voice: “Now, I think, I shall begin to be happy again.”
For a moment I was bewildered by this sudden onslaught, then I bent down, took her by the elbows, and raised her up. We stared into each other’s faces, laughing and tearful, until she pulled me towards her and kissed me.
Meanwhile Father was in the doorway, shifting his gloves from one hand to another. “The traffic was atrocious. An hour and a half, it took us. Still, if you’re all settled I’ll get back
Ruth, though inclined to drift about and break things, was useful if given clear instructions. She and I took up the carpets so that the scullery maid could beat them while we cleaned and polished the boards; we lifted down the books in the drawing room, wiped the leaves and spine of each volume, and dusted the shelves; we used stepladders to reach the pictures so we could clean the frames and wash the picture rails. We sent the table-covers, antimacassars, doilies, and runners down to be washed; we had vinegar and water brought up for the windows, which we cleaned in every room on all floors despite the sun blasting through and half blinding us; we swept under beds and aired the eiderdowns and we polished the cabinets and plumped the cushions. Then I rushed out to the garden and cut armfuls of white roses, columbines, and forget-me-nots, because unlike at Stukeley, we had neither hot-house nor conservatory and must therefore put up with seasonal flowers. I thought even Rosa and Aunt Isabella would be impressed by the perfume of beeswax and petals and by the new braiding on the cushions. But in the event, nobody noticed. In the event, the state of the house was the last thing on anybody’s mind.
Early on Friday evening Mother and I sat nervously in the drawing room waiting for Father to bring our visitors from the station. Despite our nerves we managed to discuss quite calmly, for perhaps the tenth time, how much mourning was appropriate for a brother-in-law and uncle-by-marriage visited only once a decade ago. As I didn’t have any black, I was wearing my midnight-blue taffeta but Mother had shaken her black satin out of mothballs. However, as a compromise, after consultation with Mrs. Hardcastle, she wore a white collar and a gray velvet ribbon threaded through the lace of her cap. “The last thing I want is to be too ostentatious. After all, I scarcely knew Sir Matthew and didn’t take to him that time we were there.” She paused: “Of course, he was fond of you, I always thought.”
I was embroidering a quilt with tendrils of ivy: the design, pricked out with a pin, required five different shades of green. “I don’t think he paid much attention to me.”
“Oh, but he did, surely you remember.” She watched me for a moment. “But he struck me as a very difficult man, I’m afraid. I hope he mellowed in later years and had been kind to Rosa.”
There was the sound of carriage wheels on gravel, the bell rang, then there were voices in the hall. We sprang to our feet and tucked our work out of sight, glancing at each other in a moment of rueful admission that everything was about to change. First to appear was Ruth, very self-important, then Aunt Isabella, bedecked from top to toe in black crepe, her eyes brimming and her face plumper than ever. Rosa stood on tiptoe, craning for a sight of me over her mother’s shoulder. She too wore black and the tucks in her bonnet framed a face grown even more beautiful than when she was a young girl. Her features were finely drawn, her dark blue eyes ardent, and her moist lips trembling.
She dodged round her mother, rushed to my side, fell to her knees, and flung her arms round my waist. From deep in my skirts I heard her muffled voice: “Now, I think, I shall begin to be happy again.”
For a moment I was bewildered by this sudden onslaught, then I bent down, took her by the elbows, and raised her up. We stared into each other’s faces, laughing and tearful, until she pulled me towards her and kissed me.
Meanwhile Father was in the doorway, shifting his gloves from one hand to another. “The traffic was atrocious. An hour and a half, it took us. Still, if you’re all settled I’ll get back
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