Chapter Two
When the knock came at the front door, Cynthia was repairing, yet again, the trim of her bed coverlet.
It had belonged to her grandmother, who had tatted it nearly a hundred years before, as part of her dowry.
Cynthia was the third woman in the family it had served, though not, in her case, as a dowry piece, since at thirty-nine, she had grown used to being described by everyone in the village as the spinster Rowley.
As if to confirm this, she had taken to wearing a cap.
It had been something of a relief to do so, since it made dealing with her wayward curls easier.
She braided them into tight bands, wrapped them around her head and popped on the cap.
But an errant curl tended to fall over her cheek as she worked.
It had done so now as she worked on the coverlet.
No, the coverlet did not anticipate a wedding, it was just a much-loved piece of family history.
The trouble was, the new kitten she had found abandoned under the rhubarb and foolishly brought in to the house, was, now that she could walk, constantly trying to climb up onto Cynthia’s bed.
The old tatting just couldn’t take the sharp claws of the determined little thing.
Will had said at the time that she should let him drown it.
As she carefully re-hooked the damaged lace, Cynthia half-wished she had.
Knowing the kitten would make just as determined an attempt to climb into her lap and quickly undo the work she had completed, she had shut her out of the room.
The dratted animal scratched at the door, uttering remarkably strong mews for a creature still not much larger than the teacup in which she had spent her first days.
Blind and hairless as the kitten was when she found her, Cynthia had been sure she would die.
Nevertheless, she had wrapped the tiny creature in a piece of flannel, nestled her in a warmed teacup and fed her with a dropper every two hours.
That’s when the damage had been done, of course, for Cynthia had taken the scrap to bed with her, so she could feed it overnight.
Ruby had told her she was mad. Probably she was, for what could possibly confirm her old maid status more than a cat?
But apparently the kitten was as determined as she.
She didn’t die, and she formed a fierce attachment not only to her savior, but to her bed.
In her half-asleep state those first nights, Cynthia found herself reaching to feed the little creature saying, “Come on then, teacup,” so that when the kitten had opened her eyes and looked as if she would survive, what other name could she possibly have? Ruby had thought that was mad, too.
“Yer can’t ’ave a cat called Teacup!” she protested. “Look, she’s got two black paws. Why don’t yer call ’er Boots?”
“Because her name is Teacup,” answered Cynthia mildly. “She already knows it, and I know it, so that’s that.”
“Be quiet, Teacup,” she had called through the door to the scratching, mewing cat. “You can’t come in, because you’ll just tear my bedcover again. Stay in the hall and reflect on your sins.”
But hearing her voice had made the kitten mew even louder. Cynthia ignored it and finished up her sewing.
She was just folding up the repaired coverlet to take it upstairs and put back on her bed, when the knock came at the front door.
She was startled. It was much too early for afternoon visits.
Besides, she had very few of these. The Vicar’s wife had been in the previous afternoon and Cynthia had made a cherry cake, of which her visitor was inordinately fond.
She knew her friend Harriet wouldn’t be visiting, because the late summer weather had been remarkably fine.
She stayed resolutely indoors while there was any chance of her skin being exposed to the sun.
She was proud of her beautiful white complexion and was careful to do nothing to mar it.
No, Harriet would be at home pleasantly ailing.
She was inclined to think herself invalidish and would take to her bed on the flimsiest of excuses.
When Cynthia had been over to see her the week before, she had said she felt a cold coming, but it was probably just because she wanted to stay in bed all day, with her maid bringing her morsels to tempt her capricious appetite.
It was many years since there’d been someone to open the door.
When her father was alive, he’d insisted on a butler, though it had turned out they couldn’t afford it.
Her mother had made this, and other discouraging discoveries, only after his untimely death, caused by falling off a haycart and breaking his neck.
They’d had so many debts, they’d had to sell the fields that grew the hay, and the cart with them.
The butler had gone too, not that Cynthia missed him.
She’d never liked his supercilious way of looking down his nose at anyone he considered inferior, which was just about everyone, including her.
She knew her mother had missed having a maid much more than having a butler, but they hadn’t been able to afford her either.
They’d only kept Ruby and her husband Will because they’d simply refused to go.
“We’ve been with the family since we was just married and Miss Cynthia was a littl’un, Madam,” Ruby had declared to her mother.
“So we ain’t going nowhere now. Our home is here with you, and if we kin use that butler’s room along of our own, and you kin afford to feed us, you don’t need to give us no more. ”
So it had been settled. Ruby was a magician in the kitchen, able to make a meal out of practically nothing, and Will was her equivalent in the garden.
The abundant produce he coaxed from the soil was a marvel.
He put out traps that caught rabbits or pigeons fairly regularly, and Cynthia kept hens.
They had one old apple tree and one equally ancient cherry that, in spite of their age, produced abundant fruit.
They rejoiced at it every year, enjoying the fruit (and making cherry cake!) but carefully preserving some for the winter.
Sugar and tea were the biggest drain on their purse, but, as Cynthia’s mother had said, one could give up a great deal, but tea and sugar were non-negotiable.
So Cynthia had become accustomed to opening her own door.
But unexpected visitors were rare. Tradesmen soon knew they had come down in the world and ceased stopping by.
She now stuffed the bedcover behind the armchair cushion, and went to see who it was.
To do so, she had to go into the hall, where Teacup gave a mew of relief at the sight of her savior, and followed her to the front door.