The Homecoming

by M C Beaton

“I think Aunt Letitia is behaving disgracefully. I thought by now she might have come to her senses, going off abroad with an odd man as companion!”

  “Barry is a very fine man, as I keep telling you. You are still awfully proud, Gervase.”

  “I cannot match your mother’s grandeur.”

  “No, nobody can. May I have a kiss before we leave?”

  He drew her into his arms and began to kiss her. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “We cannot, Gervase. The carriage will be waiting.”

  “Let it wait!”

  The children waited outside with nurse, governess and tutor for their parents. The carriages which were to bear them all home stood ready, the horses shifting restlessly.

  “I have left something,” said Isabella, and before her governess could protest, she turned and ran back into the house.

  Isabella had come to love Mannerling. She ran up the stairs and then into the chain of saloons on the first floor. As she wandered around, she heard her mother and father descending the stairs. Then Lady Beverley’s high complaining voice and the lower voice of Mary Judd.

  “Goodbye,” whispered Isabella to the empty rooms.

  “Isabella! Where are you?”

  Her mother’s voice came from outside the house.

  Isabella gave a little sigh and ran out onto the landing. She stopped and stared at the chandelier.

  It was moving, first one way and then the other. All the little tinkling voices from the crystals seemed to be crying, “Come home, Isabella. Come home to us.”

  She stood there, fascinated, and then below her in the hall she saw her mother staring up at her.

  “Come away,” called Lizzie, her voice sharp with fear.

  Isabella ran lightly down the stairs. Lizzie seized her and drew her to the door.

  “Did you hear the chandelier?” cried Isabella. “Such a pretty sound, like voices calling to me.”

  “Get in the carriage,” ordered Lizzie.

  Isabella climbed reluctantly into the carriage.

  On impulse Lizzie marched back into the Great Hall and said fiercely, “Leave her alone.”

  The chandelier sent down a tinkle of crystals which sounded in Lizzie’s ears like mocking laughter.

  “You are quite white, my dear,” said the duke when the carriage moved off.

  Lizzie looked at her husband across her daughter’s head. “I will tell you about it later, Gervase.”

  “We must go back to Mannerling soon,” pleaded Isabella. “When may we return?”

  The duke’s eyes met Lizzie’s in sudden sharp understanding.

  The coach rolled out through the gates.

  “When?” persisted Isabella, twisting her head to try to get a look back at Mannerling.

  But Lizzie hugged her close and would not reply.