by Rosie Wynter
Both Mr and Mrs Curtis stood in the far corner, well away from their visiting relation. Mr Curtis stood somewhat awkwardly, his back slightly stooped and his eyes darting here and there as though hoping to make some escape as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Meanwhile, Mrs Curtis stood like a condescending statue, watching with unconcealed irritation as Claire busied herself on the floor opening a brown-wrapped package with utter delight.
“I have been told, dear, that you are very fond of art and reading. It is a noble hobby for any woman of breeding to have and will prove invaluable to you in the years to come. The books you will find in this little offering are some of my personal favourites. I fully expect you to write me after you have read them to tell me your thoughts on each one.” Lady Lynch spoke in a loving tone, her eyes gazing down at her youngest niece with a maternal affection Rosalie had not expected from a woman so long removed from their lives.
Their entrance into the room had not been subtle by any stretch of the imagination, and it showed Lady Lynch’s unflappable nature that she was so easily able to disregard their sudden appearance, in order to put all her attention and care onto her youngest niece. Only once the moment had passed between them both, and a sense of connection made, did the refined lady sit up in her chair and regard the other two girls who had entered the room. She clapped her hands together and gave them both a warm, inviting smile, which Rosalie liked but found a little disconcerting coming from a stranger. She considered that her raised guard might have come from too many years of listening to her mother’s stories about her dreadful aunt. Still, she could not quite warm to the woman sitting in their father’s chair as easily as Claire and now Grace seemed to be doing.
“Well, I do not think we need introductions for either of you.” Lady Lynch put her hands on the chair and eased herself upright. The moment she stood, she spread her arms in expectation of a hug, something with which Grace immediately obliged her. Without a care for decorum or the chance of accidentally falling and injuring herself, Grace leaped over the footstool that was obstructing her way and threw herself into her aunt’s arms, as if greeting some long-forgotten friend. Lady Lynch didn’t seem to mind at all, and the two laughed as they held each other for a rather drawn-out time.
When Lady Lynch did separate herself from Grace, she looked her niece up and down and prompted Grace to stand up a little straighter. There was an analytical, appraising look in the woman’s eyes which caused Grace to stifle an involuntary giggle. Finally, the lady seemed to have seen all she needed and turned to Mrs Curtis with an elegant smile, refined by years of practice among the best and most worthy people in London.
“Well, sister, I have absolutely no need to ask who this beautiful little creature is, who has bounded into my arms. This must, indeed, be Grace.”
Grace nodded dumbly, an enormous grin on her face revealing her perfect white teeth. Rosalie fancied that if her sister had a tail it would be wagging back and forth furiously by now, as her aunt petted her hair.
“Yes, you are a very fine creature indeed. On the few occasions your mother wrote to me with word of you all, she said that you took after me in looks. I, of course, was not willing to believe that anyone could rival me in terms of sheer natural beauty.” Lady Lynch paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment, as though she wished to build up suspense. “However, I see now that I must accept my new title as only the second most beautiful woman in our family.”
Lady Lynch’s honeyed words were designed to pander to Grace’s ego, and they worked magnificently. Grace had already been wearing the most absurd smile on her face at meeting her aunt. Now, though, receiving such thick praise from so grand a woman had caused her smile to stretch to the point that her lips might tear from the strain.
For a brief second, Lady Lynch’s sky-blue eyes alighted on Rosalie, but she did not acknowledge her. Instead, she took Grace by the hand and led her over to her chair. Lady Lynch sat down again, and Grace happily took to the floor by Claire’s side. The two sisters really did look like excitable puppies at their master’s feet.
Rosalie folded her arms and watched as Lady Lynch leaned over the side of her chair and delved into a large open box that had been brought into the room. No doubt she had come with presents for each of them, and it was now Grace’s turn to receive her aunt’s favours.
Lady Lynch seemed to groan as she bent over the side of the chair and showed difficulty in righting herself afterward. Rosalie wondered whether this was because of her age or whether the lady was simply putting on a show of difficulty. To her mind, from this one brief moment of meeting, much of her aunt’s manner seemed to revolve around acting and spectacle.
“Now then, seeing as my advancing years no longer permit me to wear the kind of jewellery and hair pieces that suited me so well when I was your age, my gift to you, dear Grace, is a collection of my favourite pieces, gifted to me when I was courting my dear husband, your uncle.” Lady Lynch reached to her sleeve and pulled out a white handkerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes. Rosalie was not certain if she had seen tears threaten to stain the woman’s cheeks, but she doubted it. The sense of performance from this grand woman was becoming more and more obvious to her by the second, even if her younger siblings were too caught up in inspecting their gifts to notice it.
Grace was certainly too preoccupied with her gift to notice anything her aunt was saying to her now. As she opened the first of three lacquered mahogany boxes she had been given, her mouth opened, and she let out an audible gasp. Her chest heaved, and her face seemed to fluctuate between a delighted smile and a look of sheer surprise. “This… this is…” She could not get her words out and so simply held out the necklace in the box for the rest of them to see.
“That is gold interlaced with a series of tiny diamonds to give it an added sparkle and a single sapphire at its centre.” Lady Lynch seemed to take great pleasure in finishing her niece’s words for her. She looked around the room, seeming to want to take in and savour the looks of the others as they all stared at the necklace. Mr Curtis was open-mouthed and close to drooling. Lady Lynch seemed to quickly guess the thoughts circulating in his head at the sight of such treasure. “I want, on no account, to hear of anyone telling you to sell these on. They will do you far more good accentuating your already radiant beauty than by being sold on for petty cash.” She flashed a warning glare to Mr Curtis as she spoke.
Grace nodded enthusiastically and hugged the necklace close to her as if it were some treasured doll. “Do not worry, Aunt Lynch. I won’t let anyone sell these.”
“Good girl.” Lady Lynch leaned forward and patted Grace’s hair, once again bringing the image of a dog and its master to Rosalie’s mind. For a few minutes, the lady let herself lounge in her chair, watching as her two youngest nieces explored the treasures she had given them and giving long, contented sighs as they gave her adoring looks.
Rosalie turned to look at her mother. It was evident she was by no means pleased with the turn of events. Though silent, her skin had grown pale, and her body seemed to be quivering with something close to a rage. Were it within her power, Rosalie fancied her mother would snatch up all the gifts Claire and Grace had been given and throw them out of the door, along with their unlooked-for guest.
“You, then, are the contemplative, thoughtful one, always thinking through what is best and being a sensible and proper example to your younger sisters.” Rosalie turned her face back to the woman in the chair who claimed to be her aunt.
“I am Rosalie, yes.”
Lady Lynch stood once more and awkwardly moved around the two girls sitting by her ankles. She walked to Rosalie and put out her arms, looking at Rosalie expectantly as she did so. “Come then, I will not bite, at least not my own nieces!”
Rosalie forced a smile to her lips at her aunt’s joke and walked hesitantly toward her. Their embrace was nothing like the one Grace had given. Rosalie barely let her arms touch the strange woman in front of her, and she backed away a
lmost immediately. If Lady Lynch was offended by this, she didn’t let it show. Her well-rehearsed smile remained with her as she came to stand by Rosalie’s side.
“I must say I admire you very much, Rosalie… Well, all of you equally, in fact. I can see you each have your own indomitable traits that set you apart. Little Claire is filled with creativity and wonder, Grace is brimming over with self-confidence, charm, and vivacity.” The lady sighed and tilted her head as she watched Grace take out more of the expensive jewellery from the boxes.
“And what of me, Aunt?” Rosalie found the title difficult to say, but she forced herself to do so.
Lady Lynch gave a breezy laugh. “Why, in you I see prudence and good sense. Why else would you continue to stand so far off from me when entering the house? Your sisters are lovely creatures but both still too eager to trust a perfect stranger in their home.”
Rosalie studied her aunt a little more carefully now, surprised that the woman seemed able to read her own thoughts so well. Did such an ability stem from an acutely sharp ability to read others, or could her aunt have more in common with her than she first assumed? Either way, she put the question to one side and focused on something far more important. “May I ask what brings you all the way down from London to see us? We certainly were not expecting a visit.” Rosalie looked to her mother, who had now sat down in the corner and had taken to fanning herself.
Lady Lynch’s jaw tightened, and she leaned in a little closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think that should have been immediately obvious to someone as astute as you. Please do not disappoint your aunt and prove me wrong in my assessment that you are the smart one among your sisters.”
Rosalie tried not to let her aunt’s words of praise inflate her ego too much. “If I were to guess, I would assume it has to do with a certain letter my father sent.”
Lady Lynch leaned back and laughed heartily, putting a hand on Rosalie’s shoulder as she did so. “Ah, well done, child. For a moment, you had me worried that there might be nothing between those ears at all.” She stepped away then, moving past the footstool and her nieces to indulge in the comfortable chair once more.
Rosalie stood in place. She wanted to go over to her mother and check on her, but she could not. It was not simply the fact that doing so would draw attention to her mother’s unhappiness at seeing her sister again. No, Rosalie couldn’t move because she had fears of her own to attend to. Lady Lynch had confirmed that it was her father’s letter that had inspired her to come down from town, and that meant that Rosalie herself was the principal reason for her visit.
“Aunt, I hope this will not seem like a rude or presumptuous question, but do you not have presents for Rosalie?” Claire had finally looked up from her books, pens and paints and was now staring at her empty-handed elder sister.
Rosalie’s mind came back to the room at the mention of her name, and she waved her hand dismissively. “It is no matter if she has not, Claire. I am a notoriously difficult person to purchase gifts for.”
Lady Lynch let out another short but audible laugh that caught the attention of the entire room. Even Grace looked up from her inspection of a pair of ruby earrings she was holding. “My dear, of course I have not forgotten my eldest niece. I am not the kind of woman to play favourites with my own dear flesh and blood. No, Rosalie has a very special present indeed; it just so happens that her gift is not one that can be presented in a box with a bow affixed to it.”
CHAPTER 5
Despite their modest home already housing five people, not to mention servants, Lady Lynch insisted on staying with her family rather than seeking a room in the town. She claimed, with considerable emotion in her voice, that it would be cruel for her to deny herself even a single second of her nieces’ company while she was in the area and that she would even be prepared to sleep in the barn with the horses if it meant being close by at all hours. Of course, Mr and Mrs Curtis could not permit that, no matter how sorely tempted Mrs Curtis might have been to do so. Instead, they gave the lady Grace’s room and forced Grace and Claire to share the same bed for the duration of their aunt’s stay. That Grace did not utter even one word of protest to this arrangement served as a good indication of how taken she was with this refined new relative who had walked out of a fairy tale and into their lives.
There was much to be taken care of when seeing to their guest’s needs. Though technically family, Lady Lynch was still of a far superior station to any of them, and it was important for her to be treated in the manner to which she was accustomed. Mr Curtis, certainly, seemed to fawn on his sister-in-law to an almost embarrassing degree. He ordered the servants out to get fresh provisions from the village: cuts of meat and bottles of wine worthy of their visitor’s more refined palate. Rosalie guessed that his desire to make her aunt feel welcome stemmed from his own single-minded ambition regarding his precious mills. In her head, she tried to guess how many hours it would take for him to drop a mention of the business into the conversation, angling for the lady to bite at the lure before reeling her in with his suggestions of investment.
Between Mr Curtis’s waiting on Lady Lynch like some overeager butler, and Grace and Claire eagerly vying for her notice at every opportunity, Rosalie was well able to blend into the background and watch her aunt from a distance. She knew the woman had come down to Bradford-on-Avon because of her father’s letter, but she still could not discern just what the woman expected to do for her. Her aunt had spoken no more about the elusive present she intended to bestow upon her.
It was nearing eleven when Rosalie finally found an opportunity to quiz her aunt more fully on the meaning of her visit. Mrs Curtis had gone to bed early after complaining of a convenient headache that had come on suddenly. Mr Curtis had locked himself away in his study, no doubt to prepare some papers for Lady Lynch to peruse, which would prove to her the value of his trade and business. Meanwhile, Claire and Grace, despite complaints, were shooed off to bed by Lady Lynch, who sent them off to their room much like their mother had done when they were but girls. That her aunt had sent those two away and let her stay suggested to Rosalie that the woman also had an interest in orchestrating a more private conversation.
As soon as the girls’ footsteps could be heard trudging up the stairwell, Lady Lynch closed the door to the drawing room and turned to look at her eldest niece. In the half-light of the fire, her smile was difficult to read. She wandered over to the small liquor cabinet in the far corner by the bookshelves and leaned down to inspect the contents.
“I do not know about you, my dear niece, but I make it a point never to go to bed without enjoying a goodly dose of brandy, to help me doze off more easily. On these summer nights, with the temperatures so unbearable, one can be grateful for any aid that might bring on slumber more quickly.”
Rosalie watched her aunt rummage inside the cabinet. “I do believe Father keeps some brandy in there, but I can’t be certain. I do not go in there myself.”
Aunt Lynch straightened up, holding a large, round-bottomed decanter in her hand, which she looked over appraisingly. She didn’t seem too impressed with it as she pulled out the stopper and sniffed the contents. Even so, it did not stop her from pouring some of the contents into two glasses.
Leaving the container open on the counter, she took up the glasses and walked across the room, offering the fuller glass to Rosalie. “Are you going to tell me your father does not allow you to drink, except at Christmas and certain parties?”
Rosalie blushed. She felt certain her aunt was trying to mock her and she defiantly reached out and took the offered glass. “Not at all. I am trusted to drink when and as I like. I just have never had any interest in drinking brandy or other strong beverages.”
Lady Lynch gave a slight laugh and set her own glass to her lips. Rosalie watched as the dark liquid slid effortlessly down her aunt’s throat. The woman took a breath after her first taste and then swilled the glass. “I know people say brandy is a man’s drink, but I acquired
quite the taste for it after my husband passed away. He left a lot of bottles unopened in our houses, both in London and in the country. It seemed a shame to let them all go to waste.”
Rosalie bit her bottom lip and brought her own glass up to her nose. The smell of the substance was enough to warn her that the taste would not be to her liking. Even so, she imitated her aunt and forced herself to drain a quarter of her glass in a single gulp. Though she tried to match her aunt’s elegance, Rosalie knew she had failed. Her face scrunched up as the over-strong taste of peach burned her throat. She tried her best to retain an untroubled expression on her face but was incapable of doing so. Instead, she was forced to put her glass down on the side table and put her hand to her mouth as she fell into a fit of coughing. All the while, Lady Lynch watched her impassively.
“I suppose it is a taste that takes some getting used to.” Her aunt wandered across the room and took her seat in the same chair she had been found in when first Rosalie had first laid eyes on her. “I am glad we have this time to chat and to get to know one another, though. I said before, I seem to recall, that I do not choose favourites from my family. However, when reading your father’s letter to me, I really was most interested in meeting you and seeing what kind of woman you truly were.”
Rosalie’s throat was still not recovered from the taste of the foul brandy she had been given, and she could not help but grimace at her aunt as she listened. She rubbed her throat in an effort to sooth the burning, before trying to answer her. “I do not know what kind of person my father painted me to be in his letter, but I feel you should know he was not thinking altogether clearly when he wrote to you. I understand he had perhaps been drinking a little too much that night.”