CHAPTER FOUR #2
54Tea arrived, and it really did reinvigorate her, so much so that she was able to go round not just the house but, on this one occasion, the servants’ quarters also, so that she knew what the house possessed and where.
She was delighted with the rooms, although the paint was rather faded and cracking in places, and the papers lifeless, and some of the furniture too heavy for her taste and too reminiscent of Dembleby’s, which she had not been allowed to so much as have moved from one room to another without great complaint from his mother.
Louisa could already envisage the east parlour as a very happy, informal room, and could quite see why her godmother had favoured it so much.
She spent a happy hour or so before dinner formulating vague plans for making the house her own, and with what she admitted to herself were foolish daydreams of idyllic, flower-scented summers and cosy winters.
What filled her most was the sense of liberation.
There was nobody to whom she had to defer, none to countermand what she wanted to have done.
She also went to see how Betty was settling Emily in the chamber that would be the nursery, but at present held no greater indication of its new use than the cot.
This, Louisa decided, had to be the priority, because even decorating the room would mean upheaval for the toddler.
After dinner she went out into the garden, where the evening scents of the flowers and drowsy buzzing of bees proved very calming after a long and exciting day.
She was still there, surveying the borders, when Leece emerged from the house and announced that Mrs Goodworth had arrived, and was awaiting her in the drawing room.
55‘I will come in immediately, of course. Would you bring fresh tea, please, Leece.’
The lady who was sitting upon the edge of a sofa in the drawing room, clutching her reticule, stood swiftly, as if she had been discovered sitting illicitly.
She presented a short, slightly dumpy figure, with a round face framed by a bonnet that had undergone several transformations with new ribbons and braiding, none of which could disguise the age of the straw.
She looked, thought Louisa, a naturally happy person, although at present an anxious one.
‘Lady Dembleby, I must apologise. The coach from Bath was a little late reaching Frome.’
‘Well, since I am sure you were not driving the coach I hardly feel it is your fault.’ Louisa stepped forward, her hands extended, and a smile on her lips.
‘Cousin Hetty, it is lovely to meet you at last. I do so hope you will be happy here. I myself only arrived at two o’clock, so everything is new to me also.
Thankfully, it is not a large house, so one cannot get lost. I will show you to your bedchamber immediately.
You have been travelling all day and must be perfectly exhausted.
I will have your supper sent up. I myself never feel as hungry as one should after travelling, but Cook has a thick broth and fresh rolls waiting for you, and some cold veal pie.
I do hope you like the room I selected for you.
The furnishings are as I have found them, but we will have a wonderful time deciding upon new curtains and—’
‘Oh, please, do not trouble yourself. I am sure everything will be perfect as it is.’ Mrs Goodworth looked rather flustered.
56‘You have not seen the room. It is somewhat outdated, and I do not wish you to think you are living in a museum.’
‘Dear Lady Dembleby, I assure you I am just delighted at your kindness. Anything …’
‘No, no.’ Louisa halted and looked at her. ‘We are related. Please, call me Louisa.’
Hetty Goodworth promised to try.
Local society gave the new resident of Elliston Court a week before leaving cards of introduction.
Whilst she would not be entertaining, she could receive introductory visits and the initial response was one of sympathy, which Louisa found awkward, since she had no intention of feigning the broken-hearted widow.
This was not quite what was expected, since several ladies visited to gush with consolatory phrases and see much dabbing of eyes.
The young woman they met was sombrely dressed, composed, calm and evidently had no need of any shoulder upon which to cry.
Lady Simmondley told Mrs Cheddleton she had not known what to say, since Lady Dembleby had been keen to talk about how she was going to have some of the tired furnishings replaced.
‘She never mentioned her poor husband, or gave any details of how he died.’ This was of great interest to the neighbourhood.
Lady Barkby, who was also taking tea with Mrs Cheddleton, paled a little, and a drop of pekoe dripped onto her skirts.
‘Oh, I am so sorry, my dear. Such things must be … 57really I am profoundly sorry. No further news, I take it?’ Lady Simmondley sighed.
‘No, none. Of course one hopes that no news means he is recovering, but …’
Major the Honourable Benfield Barkby had, as his parents had found out only a week past, been severely injured in the engagement at Salamanca in July.
‘And they say the hospitals are terrible, full of fevers and infection,’ murmured Mrs Cheddleton, and then reddened as both the other ladies glared at her reproachfully.
Lady Barkby took out her lace-edged handkerchief, and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
If only Lady Dembleby had done as much, thought Lady Simmondley.
Mind you, Lady Barkby had much to upset her.
It was common knowledge that her husband was failing, and it was whispered he might not even last the winter, and now her only son might be at death’s door, or worse, have passed through it.
When Lady Barkby made her social call to Elliston Court, it was her own expression that looked the more suited to blacks.
She went with a degree of trepidation, but in fact did not find the young widow cold and interested only in house renovation.
This was because she arrived when Lady Dembleby was sitting with her daughter upon her lap, where she had been playing pat-a-cake, and the drawing room was filled with infant merriment.
The nursery was being painted, and so this day it was out of bounds, and there was a lovely excuse to have Emily about her skirts.
Hetty Goodworth was sitting with some tatting 58and smiling indulgently.
Louisa knew she ought really to ring for Betty to take Emily away when she received her visitor but she was enjoying herself too much, and the visits had been uniformly dull and predictable.
Thus Lady Barkby entered the drawing room to find herself greeted by a self-possessed young matron with a child in her arms, a small child with angelic curls and extremely blue eyes.
From the security of those arms, baby Emily felt confident enough to wave a hand, and any objection to the irregularity was forgotten.
Lady Barkby, proud mother of a son but never of a daughter who survived the cradle, was reduced to cooing admiration.
At the back of her mind was the thought that she might never have the chance to be a grandmother, and at one point her eyes misted over.
‘Children are a blessing, such a blessing, though one always worries about them, even when grown.’ She sighed. ‘My son is’ – and Louisa felt the last word was stressed – ‘three and thirty, and … he is a soldier, you see. We know he was wounded in the late battle but news does not reach us swiftly.’
‘Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. It must be terribly distressing.’ Louisa's thoughts turned to General Cowley, and she wondered if he, who had direct knowledge of war, worried about his only son when reports of engagements reached the periodicals. ‘Hopefully his wound was but slight.’
‘Alas …’ Lady Barkby shook her head. ‘We have been told “seriously” but know no more. My husband says we must remain confident, but, as a mother … I must 59apologise, Lady Dembleby; it is not a topic for a first meeting, but it preys upon me so.’
‘And perfectly understandably, I assure you. However, as time passes, you must surely become more, rather than less, hopeful of the situation. Why, any day might bring a letter in his own hand that sets all your very natural fears to rest. I wish I could say more to relieve you, but all I can do is offer you another cup of tea.’ Louisa suited action to word.
When she later wrote to Caroline Brailes, Louisa was able to say that she had found at least one pleasant neighbour, and Lady Barkby returned home to inform her lord that Lady Dembleby was not the hard-hearted woman who had been described to her.