by Nina Clare
‘Robin, if you try to chop wood with only your left hand, I swear I will—’
Celia snatched the axe from Robin, and clamped her jaw tightly to keep from swearing something she shouldn’t. Robin’s right hand was splinted and bound in a sling to stop him from using it. The village herbwoman had earned Celia’s unending gratitude by agreeing to set the bone in Robin’s finger without demanding the silver coin the physician would have required.
Robin looked sulky as he had to make do with picking up the cut logs one-handedly and throwing them into the rickety old wheelbarrow ready for Celia to wheel to the kitchen.
‘I hope Robin didn’t chop that lot up,’ said Agnes, as Celia carried the first armful of logs in.
‘As if I would let him use his bad hand. You talk to him. He’s a stubborn mule. It’s all I can do to keep him from doing things he shouldn’t.’ Celia eyed the mixing bowl on the kitchen table. ‘Agnes, is that a cake you’re making?’
‘It is,’ was the matter of fact reply, as though cake was a common occurrence.
‘You made me a birthday cake? It’s a day late, but, even so!’
‘No. Not for you.’
‘Oh. So, who is it for? For the herbwoman? To thank her for setting Robin’s hand?’
‘No.’
‘For Lavinia? Has she badgered you into it? Is that real sugar? Where on earth did you get sugar from?’
Celia reached for a shard of sugar in the mortar and yelped as Agnes rapped her knuckles with her wooden spoon.
‘I’ve barely enough, Miss Celia. You leave that sugar alone.’
‘But where did you get it?’
Agnes pursed her lips and began pounding the sugar, ready to beat into her cake mix.
‘You didn’t steal it, did you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Agnes glowered across the table. ‘Madam brought it. I’m to make a proper tea for them.’
‘For who? Agnes, I’m sure you take pleasure in vexing me. How did my stepmother get the money for sugar, and why does she demand a proper tea? And why are you in such a bad mood about it?’
‘I don’t know how she got the money. And as for feeling cross over it, I’d like to know why there’s no money for Robin to see a physician and no money for you to have winter boots on your feet, but there’s money suddenly for sugar for gentlemen callers.’
‘Gentlemen callers?’
‘The new earl. With his fancy clothes and hat and horse.’
‘You said gentlemen.’
‘He came with a friend. They called while you were out, and they’ll be back tomorrow for tea.’
‘I shall find out what is going on,’ Celia said.
She did not have to go far; her stepmother met her in the hall. ‘Ah, Celia, I was looking for you. Come into the drawing room, I have something important to discuss.’
‘As do I. Where did that sugar and tea come from?’
‘Never mind about tea.’ Lady Asher closed the door.
Celia’s first thought was to check the wall over the mantelpiece; her mother’s portrait still hung there, looking benignly down.
‘Our new neighbour has arrived at Highmott,’ Lady Asher began.
‘I know,’ said Celia darkly.
‘Have you met him?’ Lady Asher looked alarmed.
‘Not yet. Why do you ask?’
‘I have something to ask you, Celia, dear.’
Celia’s eyes narrowed as she studied her stepmother’s face. She never called her dear unless there was something very particular she wanted from her. ‘What do you want?’ she said bluntly.
Lady Asher met her steady gaze. ‘I want you not to meet our new neighbour.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…if a gentleman pays his addresses to a family of daughters,’ said Lady Asher slowly, as though choosing her words carefully, ‘he is obliged by all the usual standards of convention to give preference to the elder daughter of the house.’
Celia frowned as she tried to navigate her stepmother’s thoughts. Her brow cleared again. ‘I see. You have designs on the earl courting Lavinia, and you do not want me getting in the way.’
‘As usual, you have expressed things in your direct and unrefined manner. But, yes. That is very near to the truth.’
‘Well I will not.’
‘Thank you, dear.’
‘I mean, I will not pretend that I do not exist. I will not be part of your connivance and scheming. I do not care if I never meet him, but I am not going to hide away.’
Lady Asher’s face hardened and her words were clipped. ‘I was not asking, Celia. I was informing you of what I want.’ She put a hand up to forestall Celia’s reply. ‘I have had a new offer from Mr Dankworth. A generous offer.’
‘I will never sign away Roseleat,’ said Celia fiercely. ‘You cannot sell it without my consent. Roseleat is mine.’
‘Mr Dankworth informs me there are ways round requiring your signature.’
‘What do you mean? Do you mean forgery? You would not dare! Why, I would—’
‘Would what? Would engage the services of an expensive lawyer to fight your case?’
Celia stared at her. ‘You would not dare,’ she said again, but an icy feeling crept over her. ‘I knew you were selfish, but I never thought you were crooked.’
Lady Asher gave a tight smile. ‘Selfish? If this mouldy, draughty pile had been sold we could live in some modicum of comfort. Clothes and meat are not luxuries, Celia, they are necessities.’
‘It is my home,’ said Celia. ‘My parent’s home, my grandparents, my great-grandparents—’
‘I do not care about your great-grandparents, you proud, sentimental fool. We do not live in the past. These are our lives now, and you are keeping us in poverty.’
Celia could not reply. Doubts assailed her. She wanted to say that she knew that things would be better. That their fortunes would turn around. That the estate would not always be blighted, but would start making profit – it only took hard work, and patience, and faith. But what if she were wrong? What if this feeling of being accursed never went away?
‘My plans,’ said Lady Asher, ‘are to please everyone. Even you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You have no interest in making yourself agreeable to our new neighbour, no thoughts of marriage at this time, am I correct?’
‘Well. Yes.’
‘Lavinia is not like you. She would be glad to marry a man of substance. And if she raises up our fortunes through an advantageous marriage, there would be money to make repairs and investment in Roseleat.’
‘Would there?’ said Celia doubtfully. ‘Why should you invest in a property you despise if your daughter can provide you a comfortable home? You would be glad to wash your hands of me and Roseleat.’
‘How bitter your mind has become, Celia. I am not your enemy. We are family. If Lavinia is raised up, you shall be. And if your status is raised up it reflects well on your family.’
‘And that is why you want me to keep out of the way of the earl?’
‘Yes.’
‘You could not have just asked me? You had to hold threats over me if I do not comply?’
‘I am only looking out for all our interests. Stay out of the earl’s way. Do not introduce yourself. There is no need for him to know that there are two Miss Ashers until Lavinia is safely married. And do all you can to aid Lavinia, she needs to improve her appearance. She must look her best. And not a word of this conversation to her.’
The door opened, and Lavinia’s voice said, ‘There you both are.’
‘Are we agreed?’ said Lady Asher.
‘Agreed on what?’ said Lavinia.
‘Agreed that Celia will do all she can to help you with clothes and hair, my darling. And she does not wish to meet the earl herself. She wants her little sister to have all the attention.’
‘Oh, Celia, you are the absolute best!’ cried Lavinia. ‘You will help me, won’t you? I thought if my lilac silk were turned and t
rimmed, it would make a pretty afternoon gown. What do you think? I only wish I could sew half so neatly as you! Will you help me?’
Celia met her stepmother’s eye. ‘I will get the sewing box,’ she said resignedly, but a fresh ember of anger began to stir within her.
6
Three hours later Lavinia’s bed and scanty furniture were covered in gowns and scarfs and remnants of lace and fabric. Lavinia’s gowns were quite presentable, despite being two or three years old, if a little out of fashion.
‘I think I could make this do as a morning gown, but I have grown two inches since it was made,’ said Celia, lifting a lilac muslin. ‘What can we sew on the hem to make it longer?’
‘You mean what can I sew on the hem to make it longer?’ grumbled Celia, standing up to stretch the stiffness out of her neck and shoulders. She felt as though she had been sewing for ever.
‘You said you would help me,’ pouted Lavinia.
‘I have important things I need to do other than sewing flounces,’ said Celia irritably, thinking of her cabbage charm that she wanted to plant before the ground grew too hard and cold.
‘What could be more important than looking one’s best for an eligible young man?’ said Lavinia. ‘Oh, Mama, what if they come in the morning? What shall I wear as a morning gown if Celia will not trim this one in time?’
‘You can wear my yellow silk. It will suffice for both,’ said Lady Asher, coming into the room. ‘You will wear my lace collar for the morning, and remove the collar for the afternoon. Celia will need to take it in at the waist and raise the hem.’
‘Do you think so, Mama? He won’t think I’m dreadfully provincial to be wearing an afternoon gown in the morning? Oh, I do hope he comes in the afternoon! Oh, Celia, wait till you see him!’ cried Lavinia, dancing around the room. ‘He is the most handsome young man in the world, is he not, Mama?’
‘Did he ride up on a great black horse?’ Celia asked.
‘I did not see his horse,’ said Lavinia. ‘I only saw the back of his head as he walked through the hall. I was at the top of the stairs, out of sight.’
‘Why did you not go down and meet him?’
‘Celia, how can you be so ridiculous? How could I meet him in my old tatty day gown and my hair not done? I would have died to have let the Earl of Marbury see me in such a manner. You must curl my hair tonight. You must sew that lace on, starch my petticoat, polish my shoe buckles, wash my gloves – oh, there is so much to do!’
‘And what shall you be doing while I am sewing, mending, washing and ironing?’ exclaimed Celia.
‘Why, I shall be washing my hair. Then you can put it up in rag curls. I shall need a bath. You must heat the water. Do we have any pomade, Mama?’
‘Lavinia, I cannot sit and sew, and run up and down stairs with water. Make your mind up which one you want me to do.’
‘Oh, Mama!’ wailed Lavinia. ‘I need a bath and I need a new hem, and I need pomade, or my curls won’t hold!’
‘Robin can fetch the water,’ said Lady Asher, emerging from the dressing room with an armful of ribbons and headdresses. ‘There is a jar of pomade in my chamber.’
Celia’s eyes narrowed at the ribbons. She was sure she hadn’t seen them before. ‘Robin can do no such thing,’ she said firmly. ‘His arm is in a sling.’
‘Only one arm,’ said the dowager. ‘He can carry a can of water in the other one.’
‘Oh, if only I had some oil of neroli to put in my bath water!’ wailed Lavinia.
‘Catch the earl, darling, and you will never want for oil of neroli in your bath ever again,’ was her mother’s counsel.
‘I am going to catch an earl!’ sang Lavinia, dancing in giddy circles. ‘I am going to catch an earl! And he is so handsome! And so rich! And so charming! Oh, I shall be the happiest girl in the whole world, when I catch an earl!’
‘Pull harder!’ Lavinia gasped.
‘I can’t!’ said Celia. ‘You won’t be able to breathe if I pull it any tighter. Do you want to be fainting all over him?’
‘If…I…must…’ gasped Lavinia. There was a soft snap and Celia held up the broken corset lace.
‘That is the sixth lace, Lavinia. If I break any more, you won’t have any stays to wear. Now be sensible and make do.’
‘Very…well…’ gasped Lavinia.
Celia reached for the first petticoat.
The bedroom door flew open, and the dowager called out, ‘He is here!’
‘What!’ squeaked Lavinia. ‘But it is only eleven o’clock! Why is he so early? I am not dressed! Oh, Mama!’ and Lavinia began gasping like a fish out of water.
‘Celia, loosen her laces,’ Lady Asher scolded. ‘She cannot breathe. Are you trying to sabotage her first meeting? Hurry up and get her gown on. Lavinia, you will make a better entrance if you come in a little later, but best foot forward, and do not say anything foolish.’
‘Best not speak at all then,’ muttered Celia, her patience had snapped with the last of the laces. She loosened the stays, ignoring Lavinia’s protests. ‘Your mother is right, for once,’ said Celia. ‘And no man is worth fainting over.’
‘But he is,’ moaned Lavinia. ‘All our troubles will be over if I can catch him.’
‘You make him sound like a fish. Or a rat,’ she added, thinking of the man on the black horse.
The gown was on, a ridiculously thin silk for winter, but Lavinia would not wear another petticoat underneath, for it would ruin the line, she said. The cap sleeves were puffed up, the curls arranged, and the ribbons tied up in bows.
‘My fan,’ said Lavinia.
‘You don’t need a fan in winter.’
‘You are right. Oh dear, I am so nervous. I cannot think straight. What do I need?’
‘To stop worrying. He is only a young man. For all we know he could be as nervous in meeting you as you are of him.’
‘Not possible! He is rich and owns a great estate, and doesn’t have to wear his mother’s clothes.’
’I should think not. Wait, you have a curl loose at the back.’ She pinned the stray curl back into place.
‘Thank you, Celia. What would I do without you? When I am Lady Marbury, I won’t forget you. You may visit me as often as you like, and I will send you home in one of my carriages if it is dark or raining, and I will give you my gowns when the season is over.’
‘Why, thank you,’ said Celia, trying not to laugh rudely at the thought of herself in Lavinia’s frothy, fussy hand-me-down gowns two sizes too small. Actually, thought Celia, catching sight of herself and Lavinia in the mirror, she was not much less thin than her stepsister these days. Lavinia might choose to nibble like a bird to be fashionably pale and thin, but Celia felt she could never get enough to eat to sustain all the work she did. She sighed at the gaunt shadow of her own cheeks. Her own loose red hair looked wild next to Lavinia’s careful curls, and her green-grey eyes were reminiscent of a churning sea compared to Lavinia’s brown eyes the colour of tilled, settled earth.
‘I know,’ said Lavinia, patting Celia’s arm. ‘We are quite a contrast. When I am a countess I dare say I can help tidy you up, and introduce you to some eligible men. There must be someone out there with money who would like to marry you.’
‘You had better go,’ was all Celia would say to that. ‘You don’t want Lord Marvellous ride off again before he’s met you.’
Lavinia looked terrified at such an idea and ran to the door. She looked back from the doorway to say, ‘Are you going to come down and meet him?’
‘Looking like this?’ Celia made a mock curtsey, holding out her faded apron. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, my lord,’ she said in a simpering voice. ‘Would you care to kiss my calloused fingers?’
Lavinia wrinkled her nose. ‘You are right. You are not fit to be seen. Wish me luck!’
Celia had no desire to meet the earl, but she was curious as to what he was like; it was not often that a new face came into her life. She tiptoed past the drawing room, pausing
at the door to hear her stepmother’s contrived laugh, the one she used in company. A well-modulated man’s voice said something, and Lady Asher laughed again. There was the clink of a tea cup and saucer and Lady Asher’s voice said, ‘Lavinia, my love, give this cup to Lord Marbury.’
Celia hurried away to the kitchens.
‘Why aren’t you in there?’ Agnes demanded, looking Celia up and down. ‘Go and put on your Sunday gown and pin your hair up. You’re the lady of the manor, it’s you he should be paying his respects to.’
‘I don’t want his respects,’ said Celia. ‘He’s the man who broke Robin’s finger, remember? And he broke my plough. I don’t want him looking down at me and sneering at my old clothes and wooden shoes. If Lavinia wants to bat her eyelashes at him in hopes of catching a husband, let her. I have an estate to run.’
‘An estate with no livestock, no crops, save potatoes and pumpkins, and no money,’ Agnes said. ‘A rich earl is exactly what you need if you’re not going to sell up.’
‘You sound like my stepmother,’ Celia said irritably. ‘Something will come up, I just know it. And besides, there will be new crops of cabbages to sell, just as soon as I can clear the ground and plant them.
‘Cabbages,’ said Agnes, shaking her head. ‘They’re not going to save us. I don’t care about myself, Miss Celia, but I want to see you living the life you were born to. It makes my old heart ache to see you grubbing in the fields in rags.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Celia, in a gentler tone. ‘More importantly,’ she added, ‘where is the cake? Don’t say it all went out on the tea tray?’
‘Sorry, Miss Celia. Madam wanted a good show for the gentlemen.’
‘They had better not eat it all,’ growled Celia, thinking that would be another offence to add to Lord Marbury’s list. ‘I shall finish fetching in the wood I chopped yesterday. Let me know when they have gone. Did his lordship ride a black horse, do you know?’
Agnes shook her head. ‘Could have flown in on a pig for all I know,’ she muttered, which was her way of showing that she was annoyed at Celia having to do heavy work.