are. To take her place. Winnie here din’t have more than ten minutes to rest.”
I sat back, open-mouthed, uncertain what to make of this. It sounded ridiculous. According to this man, this driver, Gaudlin Hall had no master, my position had been advertised by the previous incumbent, who, upon knowing that I had arrived in the county, saw fit to leave it immediately. What sense could such a thing make? I decided the man must be mad or drunk or both and resolved not to discuss this with him any further and simply sit back, keep my own counsel, and wait until I arrived at our destination, at which point matters would surely be explained.
And then I remembered. HB . The woman who had collided with me after I disembarked the London train. It must havebeen her. H. Bennet. She had looked at me and seemed to know me. She must have been watching for a young woman who fitted my description, satisfied herself that I was she, and then made her escape. But why would she do such a thing? It was extraordinary behaviour. Quite incomprehensible.
Chapter Six
I MUST HAVE DOZED off shortly after this for I was soon in a fitful, uncomfortable sleep. I dreamed that I was back in my school, or rather something resembling St. Elizabeth’s but not entirely the same, and Mrs. Farnsworth was there, speaking to my small girls, while Father was seated in the back row engaged in conversation with someone I identified as Miss Bennet, although she did not bear the same physical characteristics as the woman on the platform. Where she had been stocky and red-haired, the woman in my dream was dark and beautiful with Mediterranean features. No one would speak to me—it was as if they did not see me at all—and from there things grew rather more hazy and descended into a blend of strangeness and mystery, in the way that dreams will, but I fancy that I was asleep for some time for when I woke it was even darker than before, night-time now, and we were turning on to a narrow laneway that opened out finally to present a view of two extraordinary iron gates.
“Gaudlin Hall up yonder,” said Heckling, pausing the horse for a moment and indicating some place in the distance, although it was impossible to see it clearly through the darknessof the night. I sat up in my seat, adjusting my skirt beneath the blanket, aware of a stale, dry taste in my mouth and the heaviness of my eyes. My clothes were rather wet now and I regretted the fact that I would be meeting my new employers—whoever they were—for the first time in such a bedraggled state. I had never been an attractive woman but worked on my appearance to present the best possible aspect; such refinements were lost to me now. I hoped that they would excuse me quickly to my room after my arrival so that I could make some basic repairs.
My idea of a long driveway was not inaccurate and it took a few minutes for the house to come fully into sight. It was no Pemberley, that was for sure, but it was a grand country house nevertheless. Tall and imposing, the exterior bore a certain Baroque splendour with two wings jutting out from an impressive front portico, and I suspected that it was seventeenth century in origin, one of those houses whose design was influenced by the European fashions after the Restoration. I wondered how many bedrooms there might be inside—at least a dozen, I imagined—and whether or not the ballroom, for there was sure to be one in a house of this size, was still in use. Of course, I was in no way accustomed to this style of living and it rather excited me to imagine myself residing in such a place. And yet there was something frightening about it too, some darkness that I assumed would be washed away by the coming morning. But as I stared at my new home, I felt a curious urge to ask Heckling to turn the carriage around and drive me back to Norwich, where I might sit on a bench at Thorpe Station until the sun came up and then return to London, a job badly done.
“Now, Winnie,”
I sat back, open-mouthed, uncertain what to make of this. It sounded ridiculous. According to this man, this driver, Gaudlin Hall had no master, my position had been advertised by the previous incumbent, who, upon knowing that I had arrived in the county, saw fit to leave it immediately. What sense could such a thing make? I decided the man must be mad or drunk or both and resolved not to discuss this with him any further and simply sit back, keep my own counsel, and wait until I arrived at our destination, at which point matters would surely be explained.
And then I remembered. HB . The woman who had collided with me after I disembarked the London train. It must havebeen her. H. Bennet. She had looked at me and seemed to know me. She must have been watching for a young woman who fitted my description, satisfied herself that I was she, and then made her escape. But why would she do such a thing? It was extraordinary behaviour. Quite incomprehensible.
Chapter Six
I MUST HAVE DOZED off shortly after this for I was soon in a fitful, uncomfortable sleep. I dreamed that I was back in my school, or rather something resembling St. Elizabeth’s but not entirely the same, and Mrs. Farnsworth was there, speaking to my small girls, while Father was seated in the back row engaged in conversation with someone I identified as Miss Bennet, although she did not bear the same physical characteristics as the woman on the platform. Where she had been stocky and red-haired, the woman in my dream was dark and beautiful with Mediterranean features. No one would speak to me—it was as if they did not see me at all—and from there things grew rather more hazy and descended into a blend of strangeness and mystery, in the way that dreams will, but I fancy that I was asleep for some time for when I woke it was even darker than before, night-time now, and we were turning on to a narrow laneway that opened out finally to present a view of two extraordinary iron gates.
“Gaudlin Hall up yonder,” said Heckling, pausing the horse for a moment and indicating some place in the distance, although it was impossible to see it clearly through the darknessof the night. I sat up in my seat, adjusting my skirt beneath the blanket, aware of a stale, dry taste in my mouth and the heaviness of my eyes. My clothes were rather wet now and I regretted the fact that I would be meeting my new employers—whoever they were—for the first time in such a bedraggled state. I had never been an attractive woman but worked on my appearance to present the best possible aspect; such refinements were lost to me now. I hoped that they would excuse me quickly to my room after my arrival so that I could make some basic repairs.
My idea of a long driveway was not inaccurate and it took a few minutes for the house to come fully into sight. It was no Pemberley, that was for sure, but it was a grand country house nevertheless. Tall and imposing, the exterior bore a certain Baroque splendour with two wings jutting out from an impressive front portico, and I suspected that it was seventeenth century in origin, one of those houses whose design was influenced by the European fashions after the Restoration. I wondered how many bedrooms there might be inside—at least a dozen, I imagined—and whether or not the ballroom, for there was sure to be one in a house of this size, was still in use. Of course, I was in no way accustomed to this style of living and it rather excited me to imagine myself residing in such a place. And yet there was something frightening about it too, some darkness that I assumed would be washed away by the coming morning. But as I stared at my new home, I felt a curious urge to ask Heckling to turn the carriage around and drive me back to Norwich, where I might sit on a bench at Thorpe Station until the sun came up and then return to London, a job badly done.
“Now, Winnie,”
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