'You there,' she demanded of Cooper's man. 'What are you doing?'
I was inside a second later with Grenville behind me. Cooper's man lowered his sledgehammer and regarded Lady Breckenridge uncertainly.
I answered for him. 'They're tearing everything out. The wood is worm eaten anyway.'
'I can see that, but if you go at it like a madman, you'll ruin the wall behind it.' Lady Breckenridge pointed upward, and spoke to the man with the sledgehammer. 'Break the panels at the joints and keep the beams intact. If they prove faulty we'll replace them, one at a time. That's good stone behind it.' Lady Breckenridge slapped her palm against the wall, as though she patted horseflesh. 'If you destroy all the beams at the same time, my good man, you'll bring the entire house down on top of us.'
She turned away without waiting for his response. Denis's man stared at her a moment, then returned to his task, breaking away the paneling as she'd instructed.
'Mr. Grenville, it might be time for those chairs,' she said. 'Gabriel, since you have absolutely nowhere to sit in this house, I had Grenville bring some camp furniture. It's dreadfully damp in here, but I assume we'll conclude our business shortly. Now, what did you wish to show me?'
Grenville departed out the door to whistle at Matthias and Bartholomew, who were waiting at the coach. As they started unloading, I beckoned to Donata.
'This way,' I said, and led her up the stairs to my mother's sitting room. Cooper's men had not worked their way this far yet, and I did not intend to let them in there.
'I wanted to show you this,' I said. I pointed at the pale dress lying across the chaise where I'd found it. 'And ask you what you made of it.'
Chapter Four
Lady Breckenridge reached a gloved finger to the gown's fine netting, but I stilled her hand.
'When I touched it, it crumbled to dust,' I said. 'I hoped you could tell me a bit about the style, when it might have been made, what sort of woman would have worn it…'
The two of us stood in a bubble of quietude as she leaned to study the gown. I heard Grenville giving orders to his footmen outside and the men continuing to break the paneling downstairs, but in the hushed peace of my mother's sitting room, even those noises were muted.
'I haven't seen a gown like this in years,' Donata said after a time. 'See how very simple it is. No adornments, just the little bow on the bodice. Silk netting on the sleeves, yes, but only there, and the sleeves are so very short. I had a dress like this, but the whole thing was covered with silver netting. It shimmered when I moved.' She smiled in memory. 'That was nearly ten years ago. I loved that gown.'
She'd been a young bride ten years ago, alone in London while Lord Breckenridge was far away on the Peninsula.
The simplicity she described was a far cry from what Donata wore now-a dress of black-and-white striped broadcloth under a military-looking black spencer. Her skirt's hem was decorated with wide black braid embroidered with silver flowers, and her white straw bonnet had a turned-up brim with a black lining. She wore gloves of black leather that fitted her hands like a second skin. I, in my shirtsleeves and dusty breeches and boots, was a sharp contrast to this painfully fashionable lady.
'Am I correct that this was a debutante's gown?' I asked. Ten years ago, I'd been up to my neck in mud in Portugal and rarely saw a debutante. The colonels or generals in my regiment who had daughters to bring out took them back to London.
'At the time, white was in fashion for everyone,' Donata said. 'Pure Greek, you know. But this gown is certainly virginal. Made for a debutante, yes; say a girl between the ages of fifteen and twenty. After twenty, a woman gives up trying to be the youthful belle of the ball looks to take her place on the shelf. Or else, she is married.'
Donata had married at eighteen. Her young innocence had come up against the brutality of Breckenridge straightaway.
'Ten years is a long time,' I said. 'Could the dress have been made at a later date? Or perhaps the girl wore it for several years? You change your entire wardrobe every season, but a girl from a poor gentleman's family would not have that luxury.'
'That is true,' Lady Breckenridge said without taking offense. 'She could have been wearing this seven or eight years ago. But after the year 1810, it would have been difficult to convince a seamstress to make it. Once gauze-thin muslin went out and satin and velvets came in again, we never looked back. Dresses had more ornamentation, though they were certainly not as decorated as they are now. And this gown was not cheap, Gabriel, despite there being so little of it. The young woman for whom this dress was made came from a reasonably well-off family, or at least had a wealthy benefactor. It would have been the first stare of fashion in about 1807-or, in the country, 1808. 1809 at the very latest.'
'My father was still alive then,' I said.
Lady Breckenridge gave me a sharp look. 'Are you contemplating the idea that your father enticed a debutante here, got her out of the gown, and persuaded her to leave it behind when she left?'
'I am not certain what to think. There are many possibilities.'
'Do be logical, Gabriel. If such a thing had happened, the event would become known. Even if this debutante said nothing, someone would have noticed-a servant, someone from the village. You know what country gossip is like.'
I did know. Her words made me feel better, but I remained a bit uneasy.
Lady Breckenridge went on, 'Gowns are passed on as well-given to lady's maids, sold secondhand. This one looks in fine condition, except for its stint lying here gathering dust, of course, but it could have had a second or third owner. Perhaps a maid and her young man came here for a tryst, or perhaps the maid hid here, changed her clothes, eloped with said young man, and didn't bother to pack the gown. She had limited space and would not need it.'
'That is possible,' I conceded. Farfetched, but possible. 'Though a maid and her young man might take it with them to sell it. I would think that the gown would fold up to nothing.'
'Perhaps she feared someone would trace her through its sale. I have no idea, Gabriel. I am speculating.'
'I understand. Thank you for your insight.'
'May I take it?' Lady Breckenridge asked. 'If it does not fall apart. Perhaps one of Lady Southwick's maids will recognize it.'
I saw no reason not to let her. Bartholomew entered at the moment, bearing camp chairs. I heard Grenville below, talking in his easy way with Denis's men.
'Bartholomew,' Lady Breckenridge said. 'Bring me a blanket from the carriage, will you please? And open the windows before you go. The rain's gone, and it's a bit close in here.'
Bartholomew said, 'Yes, m'lady,' set two camp chairs in the most solid part of the rug, wrestled with the two windows until they opened, and departed.
Lady Breckenridge went to a window and looked out, careful not to touch the filthy sill, then turned away and sat in one of the camp chairs. Because the chairs were Grenville's, they had cushions and rugs to ensure comfort.
'A lovely room,' Donata said. 'I can see why your mother liked it. The view is splendid. Tell me about her.'
Lady Breckenridge, sitting with legs crossed, black-gloved hands relaxed on the arms of the camp chair, looked thoroughly at home in my mother's room. Her elegance befitted the feminine sanctuary this had once been.
'She passed away when I was nine,' I said. 'My memories are those of a child.'
'You were not much older than Peter is now,' she said.
'I had my father,' I said. 'Not that this was compensation. I was at school already, called in to see the headmaster when she died. The headmaster was sympathetic-I see that now-but at the time he told me to bear up
