Abruptly, they emerged from the trees into brilliant light, and there below them was a sunny green valley with a shimmering stream winding its sinuous way through it. On a small hill opposite sprawled the house — or rather, the mansion. Its soft red stone glowed in the sunshine, and uncountable windows gleamed. On the roof, scores of tall chimneys stood in lines, like soldiers on parade.
“Ohhh…” Caroline breathed, awed. “What a beautiful house!”
Martin rumbled with laughter beside her. “Aye, it looks well enough from ’ere, but it’s a rattly old place, not like Lord Elland’s fine modern ’ouse.”
They descended into shrubberies that hid the house from view, crossing the stream by way of a neat arched bridge, and then began to rise again. Only when they were almost upon the house did it emerge from its concealment. Close to, the building exuded warmth from its red bricks. Creepers softened the walls, and cheerful spring flowers framed the windows. The front door opened before the gig had stopped moving, and two servants, perhaps the butler and housekeeper, emerged to greet them.
“What will you do while we’re inside?” Caroline said in an undertone to Martin.
“I’ll wait ’ere, miss, just walkin’ the ’orse now and then. You’ll not be more’n fifteen minutes. ’alf an ’our at most.”
“Fifteen minutes,” she repeated uncertainly.
“Aye, for a first visit. No more’n ’alf an ’our. ’orse don’t like waitin’ longer. You never done this before?”
“With Mama once or twice. Condolences, bridal visits, that sort of thing, but not… not like this.” Not as if we were gentry, she wanted to add. Not as if we were quality. Never had she felt so out of her depth.
The butler, or perhaps he was merely a footman, offered his hand to assist her to alight, which she felt obliged to accept. Then she was so unbalanced that she almost fell, and landed in a most ungainly fashion. Meanwhile, Lin had hopped down agilely from the far side of the gig, and smothered a laugh at her sister’s inelegant descent.
“Your cards, madam?” the footman said.
“Oh… we don’t have cards.” She remembered then that Mrs Leatham had stayed in her carriage while the footman conveyed her card into the house. Should they then have waited in the carriage, and sent Martin in to… to what, if there were no cards? To find out if Mrs Leatham were at home. But she was, of course, since she had asked them to call today, and how would they manage the horse if Martin were not there? It was very confusing.
The housekeeper came forward to help out. “Would you care to step inside, madam?”
Caroline nodded, and the housekeeper and footman stood aside to allow the sisters to walk up the shallow steps and through the front door into the hall. It was like no hall Caroline had ever seen, for it was as large as the assembly room at Romsey. High above, wooden beams supported the arched ceiling. Painted wood panels covered the lower half of the walls, while the upper half was all windows, so that light poured in. The stone flagged floor was covered with colourful rugs, while a log burned merrily in a vast hearth.
“Oh, how lovely!” Caroline cried.
The housekeeper smiled. “The great hall is the oldest part of the house,” she said proudly. “It’s more than three hundred years old. The rest of it is not much more than two hundred or so. What name shall I give, madam?”
“Miss Milburn and Miss Elinor Milburn,” Caroline said absently, her head bent back, the better to admire the painted ceiling. The housekeeper and footman disappeared through a door partially concealed by velvet drapery.
Beside her, Lin muttered, “Such an uncomfortable place! Not at all cosy.”
“No, but… three hundred years old!” Caroline said. “What were people like, then? Did they have the same concerns that we do, or was life so different that we wouldn’t recognise them?”
Lin shrugged. “There’s enough for us to worry about today, without wondering about people dead for hundreds of years.”
The footman returned. “The mistress is in the small parlour, if you would care to follow me.”
They were led through the half-hidden door, down panelled corridors and through echoing apartments, before the footman threw open another door. “Miss Milburn and Miss Elinor Milburn, madam,” he intoned.
The small parlour might have been small by Starlingford standards, but it was perhaps five or six times the size of the parlour at Bursham Cottage. The ubiquitous wood panels were here painted a pale shade of lemon, with gold-patterned wallpaper above them, so that the room seemed to be filled with sunshine. Like everything else in the house, it exuded wealth and an elegant manner of living which was quite foreign to Caroline. What on earth was she doing in this place, visiting these people as if she were their equal?
Mrs Leatham came towards them, smiling warmly. “My dear Miss Milburn! And Miss Elinor! How delightful! Do come in.”
In the far corner, lurking uncomfortably, was Mr Leatham, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. On a striped silk chaise longue near the fire sat a person Caroline had not met before, although she thought she might have seen her at church. She was close to thirty, with the sort of long, joyless face that would make her formidably imposing in middle age, but looked incongruous in one relatively young. She wore a severe spinster’s cap which did nothing to enhance her looks, and neither her dress nor her person bore the slightest ornamentation.
“Let me present to you both my young friend Miss Beacher, who has been betrothed to both of my older sons before their most untimely demises, and is now so kind as to bear me company. Mildred, here are Miss Milburn and Miss Elinor Milburn, of Bursham Cottage.”
Miss Beacher rose, and made the smallest possible curtsy for politeness, before seating herself again, her lips pursed in seeming disapproval, although whether she disapproved of some element of their attire or the very fact of their existence could not be determined. She seemed inclined to ignore them, however, a state which Caroline had no desire to change. But here, at least, was the answer to a mystery. Mrs Leatham had hinted that Mr Charles Leatham would soon be engaged to be married, and who was better suited as his bride than the woman who had almost become Mrs Leatham twice before? Yes, it was very fitting, although it was to be hoped that the run of bad luck which had caused her to lose two potential husbands to untimely deaths would not continue for a third. Poor Mr Leatham! His bride looked sour-faced enough to plague him most satisfactorily. It was almost enough to make Caroline feel sorry for him.
Mrs Leatham directed Caroline to sit beside her, and called to her son, “Charles! Bring a chair for Miss Elinor, and come and make yourself agreeable to our visitors.”
He brought the chair, and another for himself, but the making himself agreeable was not very noticeable. He sat in silence, his expression that of a long-suffering man who was doing his duty but without the least pleasure in it. He tapped one foot repeatedly, his lips twisting awkwardly, and said not a word unless prodded by his mother. Miss Beacher, meanwhile, sat rigidly on the chaise longue opposite them, not moving in the slightest, but just as silent.
Mrs Leatham chattered on in her artless way, and when Caroline, feeling obliged to say something, anything at all, to maintain her side of the conversation, made some remark on the house and how beautiful she thought it, its mistress clapped her hands delightedly.
“Oh yes, it is delightful, is it not? Very old and draughty, and mightily inconvenient, of course, but such a charming home. When I first saw it, I was so pleased that I had accepted my dear husband’s offer of marriage, for I knew I should be perfectly happy here. And so I have been, and I know that my successor will be just as happy. Should you like to see some of the principal rooms?”
“I should like that very much,” Caroline said.
“I do not ask you, Miss Elinor, for I know you to be more interested in gardens,” Mrs Leatham trilled, “and perhaps on another day we shall venture out there, but there is such a sharp wind from the east today that it would be most unwise. Charles, you ma
y stay here and entertain Miss Elinor. You might show her Mr Alman’s landscaping drawings, which must be of great interest to such a keen gardener. Mr Alman redesigned the pleasure grounds in Mr Leatham’s father’s day, Miss Elinor, modelling his ideas on those of Mr Brown, for of course we could not afford the great man himself. Come along, Miss Milburn.”
Rather bemused by these arrangements, which in a less gracious hostess might be deemed rude, Caroline followed Mrs Leatham through the succession of lovely apartments, the wainscoting gleaming, the colours warm and vibrant. Mrs Leatham never stopped talking, until Caroline’s mind reeled from the battery of facts and dates and anecdotes of which her guide had a seemingly limitless supply.
“Is it not beautiful?” Mrs Leatham said several times. Then, without waiting for Caroline to compose her compliments, she rushed on, “It is a great privilege to live in such a wonderful old house, do you not agree? Now then, this is my husband’s sanctuary — his book room. Let us just tiptoe into his domain and bid him a good day as we pass by.” She rapped briskly on the door, and at once marched in. “Here we are, my dear,” she said loudly. “Here is Miss Milburn for you to meet. Come, now, Miss Milburn, you must not be shy, you know.”
Mr Leatham was much older than his wife, a white-haired gentleman with a rounded face, smiling gently on the world. “Ah, my dear! Delightful, quite delightful.” He was sitting in a wing chair beside the fire, book in hand, although he seemed half asleep. He rose to greet them, however, bowing and speaking kindly to Caroline. She curtsied, feeling once again like an impostor in this luxurious place.
What would Mama have made of it, she wondered, their practical, down-to-earth mother who had liked to poke a little gentle fun at those of Papa’s customers she called ‘the carriage trade’. What would she have said were she alive now, at finding herself mistress of a house in her own right, with an independence and a carriage of her own? How would she have coped with making morning calls as if she were gentry herself? She would have smiled and been civil and then laughed about these people later, most likely. And so Caroline smiled and was civil, but she was not sure there was anything to laugh at. She was too uneasy for humour.
When they returned to the small parlour, she was amused to see that refreshments had been laid out and Lin was tucking in as if she had not seen food for a month. Probably she had never seen food like this before — tiny cakes and pastries, bowls heaped with bon-bons and sweetmeats, strange dried fruits that she could not even identify. As she ate, she was talking rapidly, arms waving for emphasis, caught up in some detailed description of her plans for a medicinal herb garden.
Mr Charles Leatham sat on a chair nearby, nodding occasionally, stupefied by the outpouring of words. He looked up at his step-mother as she entered the room with clear relief on his face. Jumping to his feet, he said, “Ah, there you are! You will forgive me, I am sure, Miss Milburn, Miss Elinor, but… stables, you know… horse… overdue… must check…”
Mrs Leatham laughed. “Yes, yes, run away, Charles. Miss Milburn, do sit here. Some tea? And you must have one of Mrs Bendish’s apricot fancies. Such a light hand with pastry.”
Caroline sat and drank tea, although it had a queer taste she disliked, and ate an apricot fancy, which was delicious, and then a second one, while Mrs Leatham chattered away to Lin about the difficulty in obtaining reliable gardeners.
Miss Beacher, meanwhile, seemed not to have moved an inch since Caroline had left the room. Her sour expression remained unchanged, and the table at her side bore no tea cup or plate. She was not tempted, it seemed, by Mrs Bendish’s fancies. Caroline had an image of Miss Beacher standing before the vicar for her marriage to Mr Charles Leatham with just such a discontented face, and there at last she found something in the day’s visit to make her smile. Yes, she would make him a most fitting wife.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour, and Caroline realised they had far exceeded the allotted fifteen or thirty minutes for a first visit. She rose to leave, mumbling something inane about not keeping the horse waiting. Mrs Leatham smiled and accompanied them to the entrance hall, but there she stopped, the door firmly closed.
“Now, my dears, I shall be sending you an invitation to dinner in a week or two—”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly!” Caroline said at once.
“Nonsense!” Mrs Leatham said briskly. “Just a family dinner, nothing too formal so no need to be shy about it. I tell you in advance so that you will have time to consider your gowns, you see. Your youngest sister is not out yet, I daresay, so it will just be the two of you, and—”
“We can’t,” Caroline said firmly.
“Nonsense,” Mrs Leatham said again. “I shall not entertain any excuse, Miss Milburn, for you are part of the county’s society now. You must accept invitations, for it would certainly give offence to refuse. You are not expected to reciprocate, so you need not concern yourselves with that, and I shall send the carriage for you. A pleasant evening amongst friends — why, what is so terrifying about that? Unattached young ladies are always acceptable dinner guests, you know, and we all want to get to know you better.” She nodded to the butler, and the door was opened. “Ah, there is your driver waiting. Splendid. You will go on to Corranwater next, no doubt.”
“I don’t think so,” Caroline said. “Lady Elland is not so friendly as you.”
She laughed at that. “Nevertheless, you had better go. She will be very put out if she hears you have called on me, but not on her. One would not wish to offend such an important lady in the neighbourhood, would one?”
Caroline nodded, not wanting to go anywhere near the formidable Lady Elland, but also not liking to argue publicly with Mrs Leatham. She seemed like a pleasant, motherly sort of woman, but she was just as formidable as Lady Elland, in her way. She and Lin made their farewell curtsies to Mrs Leatham, and climbed into the gig, unassisted by the butler.
“Corranwater, Martin,” she said, loud enough for Mrs Leatham to hear.
Martin rumbled with laughter and flicked the whip to stir the horse into motion. He was still laughing as they rolled slowly down the drive.
“Corranwater,” he said, with another chuckle. “Lord, but you’s gettin’ grand.”
“Just drive, Martin,” Caroline said crisply, arranging her skirts more smoothly. “Please confine your remarks to the horse.”
That just made him laugh all the harder.
9: An Invitation To Dinner (May)
Corranwater was the very opposite of Starlingford. Instead of a gently curving drive through rolling greensward, they passed along a road that deviated neither to right nor to left. Instead of the dappled sunshine through high leaves, they were shrouded in the gloom of closely-packed evergreen trees. And when they eventually emerged into the parkland itself, there was no vista across a stream-laced valley, just the house rising before them, grey and solid and monstrous, like the etching Caroline had once seen of a great castle somewhere, looming threateningly. Massive pillars reached from the top of the entrance steps all the way to the roof, which was lined with statues. Beneath it, huge doors opened as they approached and several men in livery rushed out to receive them.
They drew up at the foot of the steps, and one of the many manservants approached Caroline. This time, she remembered to stay in the gig, just in case Lady Elland was not at home. The servant held out a gloved hand for her card, but Caroline had had time to consider the problem.
“Miss Milburn and Miss Elinor Milburn to see Lady Elland,” she said in a clear voice.
The footman betrayed no surprise, turning away at once and returning to the house. The others remained at their stations on the steps, ready to help them down from the gig or slam the door in their faces, as appropriate, and of the two options, Caroline rather hoped for the second. If her ladyship refused to see them, they could leave and need never return. But just a few minutes later, the manservant returned with the news that Lady Elland would receive them.
Caroline managed t
o descend a little more elegantly this time, even with the footman’s aid. Lin had her own footman to assist her. The two sisters smoothed out their skirts and ascended the steps side by side beneath the towering columns. The entrance hall was another difference from Starlingford, for instead of warmly glowing wood, they were surrounded by cold, echoing marble and pale statuary of men in classically draped robes with stern faces and blank eyes.
Several footmen stood around the perimeter, but one wore a different livery. He had a dark face with eyes the colour of coal, and his black hair was worn long and tied into a queue, in the old style. Unlike the others, who stared impassively at the opposite wall, immobile as statues as they waited to be called into action, this fellow stood, arms folded, and stared openly at Caroline and Lin as they entered. It was not a comfortable stare, of admiration or interest. For some reason, she felt there was some hostility in his manner. He made her shiver.
A stately butler bowed and led them at a funereal pace across the hall. He showed them into a vast room filled with an assortment of furniture — small tables with curved legs, silk-covered sofas and chairs with gilt arms, stools and consoles and display cabinets all dotted about in small groups. The walls were covered with paintings in heavy gold frames of people in high wigs and colourful brocades. Caroline’s feet sank into a deep-pile rug that was so luxurious she wanted to lie down and stroke its soft surface.
“Ah, how kind in you to call,” Lady Elland said after the butler had announced them. She was smiling, so they were to see her friendly face today. “Do come in, and let me make you known to Lord Elland.”
The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2) Page 9