The Frost Fair

from every window of the property and the rear gardens, in particular, were a work of art. Since there was no other building in sight, the occupants had a wonderful sense of isolation, of being untroubled by the presence of neighbours and free to explore the extensive acres that comprised the estate without any danger of meeting strangers. For all its size, Susan Cheever always found the house uncomfortably small but that was less to do with its design than with the necessity of being under the same roof as her sister. However large a house, Brilliana would somehow contrive to shrink it in size. Though she loved her sister dutifully, Susan often had difficulty in actually liking her, especially when she felt, as now, that she was being watched over by Brilliana. She was seated in the parlour that morning when her sister sailed into the room.

    'What are you doing?' asked Brilliana.

    'Reading a book,' replied Susan, looking up from the volume in her hands.

    'I never read anything these days. It's such a pointless exercise, I always think. When we were first married, Lancelot used to read poetry to me but his voice started to irritate me after a time.'

    'You are too easily irritated, Brilliana.'

    'I hate being bored.'

    'Then find something that excites your mind.'

    'I'll not find it on a bookshelf!' said the other with disdain.

    Brilliana Serle was older, taller and more ambitious than her sister. She had the kind of porcelain beauty that defied the passage of time and dressed with such exquisite style that she always stood out in a crowd. When she was younger, Susan had resented her sister's ability to monopolise male attention but she came, in time, to appreciate its advantages. It rescued her from the wooing of a whole gallery of unappealing suitors, who made a fool of themselves over her sister instead. Marriage to Lancelot Serle had shaken off the chasing pack but it had not dulled Brilliana's fondness for dominating a dinner table or for being the cynosure at any gathering. She crossed the room to look over Susan's shoulder.

    'What are you reading?' she demanded.

    'It's a book about Italy, full of the most charming drawings.'

    'Why on earth should you wish to read about Italy?'

    'Because my interest was aroused by Mr Redmayne,' replied Susan. 'He's visited the country to study its architecture. He made me want to know more about Italy.'

    'I think that you should know less about Mr Redmayne.'

    'Brilliana!'

    'It's high time that you removed him from your list of acquaintances.'

    'Christopher is a friend of mine.'

    'He's also the brother of a killer.'

    'That's not true.'

    'Father's letter was very exact on that point. Henry Redmayne is a dangerous criminal who has brought shame and ignominy on his entire family. You are to have nothing to do with them forthwith.'

    'I prefer to make my own decision in that regard.'

    'Not as long as you're in this house.'

    Susan winced. Serle Court was turning out to be a luxurious version of Newgate to her, a place where she was confined against her will and kept deliberately apart from the company of the person she most wanted to see. Every decision that affected her was made by someone else. It was demeaning but Susan knew that she had to endure it. Apart from the fact that she would inevitably lose any argument with her sister, she did not wish to upset Brilliana. In due course, she hoped, she would persuade her sister to take her to London, ostensibly to visit the shops but really to be back in the city where her dearest friend lived, so that she could somehow contrive a meeting with him. If she so much as challenged Brilliana on the, subject of Christopher Redmayne, she would not get within a mile of him. Putting the book in her lap, Susan looked up with a patient smile.

    'What plans have you for today, Brilliana?'

    'My dressmaker is due to call this afternoon.'

    'Good,' said Susan, thinking that she would have at least three hours of escape from sisterly vigilance. 'Has she finished that new dress you told me about?' 'She's not coming for my benefit, but for yours.'

    'Mine?'

    'Yes,' said Brilliana airily. 'Your wardrobe has grown so stale and dowdy. If you want to catch a rich husband, as I did, you must look the part. That's why I intend to take your appearance in hand.'

    'I've no wish to have it changed.'

    'Wait until you've spoken to my dressmaker. She'll transform you.'

    'Brilliana, I have dresses enough of my own.'

    'But none of any real quality.'

    'There's no need to insult me.'

    'It was meant in the kindest possible way, Susan. You choose your apparel for comfort rather than effect. It's a habit that no young woman in your position can afford.'

    'My position?' echoed Susan, trying to maintain her composure.

    'A spinster in search of a husband.'

    'But that's not my position at all.'

    'Of course, it is,' said her sister with a brittle laugh. 'What do you think we were put on this earth for, Susan? It was not to read books about ridiculous countries like Italy, that much is certain. It was to make a good marriage. Yours is already long overdue.'

    'That's a very unkind remark.'

    'Strike now while you still have your beauty. It will not last forever.'

    'Some men prize other qualities above beauty.'

    'Not the ones that you need to attract.'

    'And who might they be?'

    'Men like Lancelot. Wealthy, cultivated and infinitely obliging.'

    'Nothing could be further from my mind at the moment than marriage.'

    'Then you are betraying your womanhood,' said Brilliana, 'and will live to regret it before very long. Since Mother died, I've tried to take her place and offer you the love and advice that I know she would have given you.'

    Susan did not trust herself to reply. There was not even the faintest resemblance between the roles of her mother and that of her sister. Brilliana had shown her precious little love and showered her with the sort of cynical advice that a kind and caring woman like their mother would never dream of foisting on any of her daughters.

    Susan found her sister's comments offensive. She was grateful when Lancelot Serle came into the library to interrupt their conversation. His face was reddened by an hour in the saddle and his eyes glistening. He stood in the doorway and beamed.

    'So, here you are!' he declared, noting the book in Susan's lap. 'Have you found my library to your taste?'

    'Yes, thank you,' said Susan.

    'I think that I may call it a library now that I have over seventy volumes on my shelves. Many were inherited from my father, of course, for he was a learned man but I have bought several on my own account. Brilliana will vouch for that.'

    'Books are so tedious,' said his wife.

    'You did not always think so, my love.' He turned to Susan. 'There was a time when Brilliana liked me to read poetry to her. John Donne was her favourite.'

    'Those days have gone, Lancelot.'

    'You were fond of Shakespeare's sonnets as well.'

    'I slept through most of them.'

    Serle laughed. 'Brilliana will tease,' he said.

    'Did you enjoy your ride?' asked Susan.

    'It was not so much of a ride as an errand. Has your sister not told you?'

    'Told me what?'

    'Brilliana wanted me to invite some friends over to meet you. We could have dispatched a servant,