trees.
Chapter Three
Jenny, seeing her mistress's distress, scrambled down from her place in the following carriage. Emily finished her retching and wiped her mouth on the damp cloth Jenny handed to her. Her head was spinning and her knees weak. “Thank you, Jenny. I am recovered now.”
She stepped away from the bushes and stood whilst her maid attempted to restore order to her appearance. She glanced up to see three anxious faces watching from the carriage. Pinning a smile to her pale face she walked back and climbed slowly up the steps that had been lowered in her absence by one of the postilions.
“I'm so sorry, Mama. I do believe that something I ate at breakfast must have disagreed with me.”
“And I am sorry, my dear. I should have got down to assist you. But I am no use in such circumstances, as you well know.”
“Please do not apologise, Mama. I'm quite old enough to vomit on my own.” She heard a smothered giggle. “It's quite permissible to laugh girls. I'm not so stuffy as to object.”
Amelia grinned. “You were very sick, Em; I'm so relieved that you got out of the carriage in time.”
Emily joined in the laughter. “Amen to that, Millie.” She reached up tapped, gently, on the roof, and the carriage resumed its stately process down the drive.
Whilst the girls exclaimed in wonder at the extent of the rolling parkland and the handsome trees both Emily and Lady Althea sat silently, immersed in their own thoughts. Lady Althea had no reservations about her return to Westerham. It was where she belonged now that her husband was no longer alive. She had accepted her reduced circumstances happily when she was sharing them with her beloved Peter. Without him the misery of her penury had quite overwhelmed her.
She knew that now she had returned she would get well again and be able to take her place in society. Lady Althea glanced down at her new dress and her thin lips curved in appreciation. Soon her father would replenish the whole of her wardrobe and she could start re-establishing herself in the
Emily's thoughts were not so sanguine. Her mother's happiness, maybe her very life, was dependent on her fulfilling her grandfather's wishes. She had no doubt that his benevolence was linked to her marriage to his heir, the Viscount Yardley. If he had truly wished to restore their fortunes he could have done so two years since, when he received the first letter asking for help.
She looked across at her mother, so thin and frail, but at least she was smiling. Edwards had assured her Lady Althea was no longer taking laudanum every night to help her sleep. Everything rested on Emily's shoulders. Well, they were strong enough; she had been running Glebe House, and educating her sisters, for the past two years. She doubted that many 19-year-olds could do as she had done. Compared to that, persuading her cousin Sebastian to make an offer should present no difficulty .
“Em, Emily, look, look at the house! It looks just like a castle.” Serena tugged at her sister's sleeve to gain her attention.
Sorry, Serena, I was wool-gathering. Are we there?” Emily leaned forward and peered out of the window. “Good heavens, it's huge! And you never said it was half castle, Mama.”
“Did I not, my dear, I must have forgot.” Her mother joined them at the open window. “It is exactly as I remember it. I am so glad that I am back here at last. I have missed Westerham every day I have been away.”
Emily's brow creased a little. Was her mother's enthusiasm unnatural? Surely all young woman understood they had to leave the familial home when they embarked on matrimony? Was this obsession with Westerham a sign that she was still unwell after her prolonged period of mental instability?
“Well, you're home now, Mama. I cannot wait for you to show us all the places that you have talked about so much.”
Her mother finally focused on her eldest daughter. “You still look a trifle hagged, my dear. Pinch your cheeks and press your lips together; try and restore some colour to your face. You want to make a good impression, do you not?” Lady Althea smiled and for the first time in two years humour was reflected in her eyes. “I believe that one pallid individual is quite enough for this family, do not you?”
Emily laughed out loud; the relief at her mother's return to normality replacing her anxiety about making a favourable impression. “We do look like a pair of underfed sparrows, don't we? But I'm certain will both be robust again now that we're here.”
“There're dozens of footmen waiting outside to greet us, Em. They look like soldiers on parade with all that green and gold frogging,” Amelia commented in awe.
“Do I have to speak to them?” Serena sounded anxious, as the horses dropped to a sedate walk.
“No, darling; you merely nod and smile at servants. Never offer your hand, curtsy or say thank you. It is not done, you know.”
“Not say thank you, Mama? That's so impolite. Emily has always told us we have to treat our staff with respect.”
“That was all very well, Serena, at Glebe House. But here, at Westerham, things are done differently. You do not want the staff to consider you ignorant, do you?” Serena shook her head, all her pleasure squashed by her mother's words. She shrunk up against Emily's side and pushed her cold hand into her sister's. Emily squeezed it and tried to smile. It was not a very convincing effort.
The coach shuddered to a halt and there was instant activity. Two footmen jumped forward, one opened the door whilst the other pulled the steps into position. The three girls sat immobile, but Lady Althea surged forward. Regally she held out her hand and a footman took it and guided her to the ground. He bowed again, she nodded. Without waiting to see if her daughters followed she walked forward, nodding from time to time, her head high, the ostrich plumes on her bonnet bobbing as she went.
Emily realized they had to move. “Come along, girls, we're getting left behind.” She stood up and, still clasping Serena's hand stepped out, ignoring the bowing footman. She waited, back straight, for Amelia to jump down after her, and set off, not wishing her mother to vanish and leave them alone, surrounded by a sea of unfriendly, supercilious servants.
Millie had taken her other hand and now she was obliged to negotiate a flight of intimidating marble steps, flanked by Doric pillars, with no hand available to hold up her skirts. She attempted to extract one hand from Millie's but her sisters fingers tightened.
Drawing a steadying breath Emily prepared to negotiate the front steps without treading on her hem. Somehow she managed to lift her dress a little with her finger tips, in spite of her sisters, and she prayed that she would not fall flat on her face. All was well until the last two steps when a formidable, grey-haired figure, stepped out and bowed deeply.
His sudden appearance startled the already nervous girls and they both stepped backwards, attempting to hide themselves behind Emily's slender frame, jerking her arms and dislodging her tenuous grip on her skirt. The flimsy stuff of her dress swayed freely and with her next step she trapped it under her boot. Unable to free her hands to balance, Emily fell forward, taking both girls with her, to land in an ignominious heap at the feet of the autocratic butler, Penfold.
Unaware that her humiliation was being observed from the gallery that overlooked the enormous marble floored Grand Hall, Emily disentangled herself from her sisters and staggered to her feet. Not one of the watching servants had stepped forward to assist them and of her mother was no sign. She had vanished into the interior intent on re-establishing herself as her father's “darling girl”.
The row of footman remained as statues, faces expressionless, watching her smooth down her dress. “Are you hurt, Serena, sweetheart? Did I tread on your hand?”
“No, I “m fine, thank you, Emily,” Serena whispered.
“I'm unhurt as well, thank you,” Amelia's voice was thread-thin in the silence. Emily's embarrassment vanished. What sort of an establishment was this, which treated guests so insolently?
