Mary shook her head; she felt like she’dbeen jabbed in the stomach with a blunt stick.
‘You probably just need some food insideyou. You’ll be right as rain after you’ve eaten.’
Mary wasn’t so sure. She slumpeddown onto her bed with a sigh and shut her eyes.
LadyRothborne was strutting up and down the length of her bedroom, clutching herblack leather Bible. Just like every day of the week, she was dressedimmaculately. Today, she was wearing a lavender-coloured skirt with asweeping train, recently purchased from her favourite London boutique. Despite her advancing years, her boned bodice gave her the desired impressionof a firm mono-bosom. She paced the room, struggling to shut out thedreadful rumpus coming from the gramophone downstairs.
She would not be beaten. Not by him. She had suffered her late husband, Richard’s younger brother for too manyyears to count. He had made Richard’s life hell, forcing and bribing himto pay out more-than-generous annuities and endowments over the years—all of itsquandered on gambling and foolhardy, reckless investments. And now, herewas history repeating itself in the form of her nephew, Frederick. He washere, turned up in a dreadful automobile that desecrated countryside that hadbeen serene and undisturbed for centuries. He was a mirror-image of hisfrightful father, plaguing Blackfriars with his vile habits. Fromindiscreet lips, Lady Rothborne had heard about his licentious ways, draggingthe Mansfield name down into the sewers. No, he was worse than hisfather had ever been with his distinct lack of morals and indiscretions.
As Lady Rothborne reached the windows, aflicker of colour in the rose garden caught her eye. She ceased pacingand surveyed the estate. It was Philadelphia, her delightfuldaughter-in-law, ambling through the ancient beds. The sight of her, thefuture of Blackfriars, instantly abated the rage that she was feeling. She watched as Philadelphia elegantly stooped to smell an early-floweringrose. Such a sweet, beautiful girl, she thought. I willnot allow this despicable man to jeopardise what we have. She heldPhiladelphia in high regard, knowing that in her and her precious son, Cecil,the future of the Mansfield family at Blackfriars was assured. Thisbranch of the Mansfield family. Frederick Mansfield would notfritter overnight what centuries of prudence, labour and wisdom hadcreated. She had previously failed with poor Florence but she would notfail again. She would not. Thinking of Florence again after all theseyears made her shudder; she needed to change her train of thought back to thepresent problem of Frederick.
Her coffee would be as cold as the insideof the ice-house by now, having been neglected in the library for more thanhalf an hour. But that was the source of the music: whereFrederick was. Her lady’s maid had informed her that he was in there,dancing alone and shamelessly drinking from a wine bottle. Despite hisfather’s selfish and foolish ways, Frederick had enjoyed a respectableupbringing where such degrading behaviour, as was currently being demonstratedin the library, was not tolerated. He flaunted his dishonourable, coarsebehaviour and his vile opinions as to the future of Blackfriars, hoping toprovoke a reaction. Eventually, he would up and leave, returning to theshadows like a rapacious vulture, waiting for Cecil and Philadelphia to fail toproduce an heir. Lady Rothborne had sagely advised Cecil and Philadelphiato do what her dear Richard had always done: do not give him the reaction hecraves and he will go away. Sometimes it took days for Frederick to getbored and leave, other times it took much longer.
The music finally stopped. LadyRothborne closed her eyes and enjoyed the sudden stillness. Standing inthe warmth of the sunlight, she held the Bible tightly in her both hands anduttered a short prayer. She thanked God for her family, then repeated herrequest not to impart to this man what he so badly craved.
Lady Rothborne took deep, long breaths,wilfully absorbing the house’s stillness before setting down her Bible andmaking her way out of her bedroom.
‘Miss Herriot, kindly ascertain if thelibrary has been vacated. If so, have a fresh pot of coffee taken in,’Lady Rothborne called to her lady’s maid.
‘Certainly, my lady.’
Marywas woken by a hand gently stroking the back of her hair.
‘Mary!’ Clara whispered. ‘It’s timefor breakfast. The music’s finished and Mr Mansfield’s finally gone tobed.’
Mary opened her eyes. It took amoment to remember where she was. She felt a little groggy, but thenausea had thankfully abated.
‘I’ve made a bit of a hash of it, but I’vemanaged to do all the girls’ rooms by myself.’
Mary slowly sat up and swung her feet tothe floor. ‘Thanks.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Better,’ Mary answered slowly. ‘Ithink.’
‘I’m sure you’ll feel right as rain withsome breakfast inside you. You need to be well, it’s your afternoon off.’
Mary smiled and stood up. MaybeClara was right, a bit of food and she’d be back to normal for her afternoonoff. The thought of going home brought on a sudden surge of nausea. Maybe it’s the thought of going home that’s making me ill, Marythought. She was dreading it but knew she had to go. Caroline wouldbe expecting her wages. Mary hoped that she could manage to find a fewprecious minutes with Edward today, but it was doubtful. Ever since thatmagical night in the old folly when he had asked her to be his wife, Mary hadseen very little of him other than at the dinner table in the servants’hall. Frederick Mansfield was mainly to blame for their lack of timetogether. All household routines, including time off, were erratic andunpredictable. She desperately missed Edward. Only a handfulof the other servants knew the secret of their engagement. She had toldClara and Eliza last week during an afternoon of needlework, having first swornthem to secrecy.
‘Come on, let’s get downstairs,’ Clarasaid, linking her arm through Mary’s. ‘Your fiancé will be worried!’
‘Sshh! I don’t want people to hear,’ Marymurmured. ‘I still haven’t told my family yet. You’d better nothave written
