Chapter 8
The sisters and Miss Macintyre finished their unpacking and descended together, desperate for tea; Beatrice left them in the parlour and went off to find the kitchen, appearing a few minutes later with Lucy, who bore a tray of mismatched china cups and saucers, small plates, and a promisingly large teapot.
There was also a bigger plate, which Bea carried with care, holding what Lucy told them was Mrs Pritty’s famous honey cake.
Miss Macintyre poured the tea, Beatrice sliced the cake with a generous hand, and silence fell. It was a very good cake, and they did it justice; they all felt that they deserved it after their exertions.
‘What’s the kitchen like?’ Cecilia asked after a little while, when there were only crumbs left on her plate and she felt more human again.
‘Not as bad as I thought. It’s only about thirty years out of date, rather than the three hundred I feared.
Apparently, Mr Albery was very fond of modern contrivances, but he’s been dead for quite a while.
It would be far more convenient with a new range in the latest style, but – of course – Mrs Albery wouldn’t countenance it.
Mrs Pritty says that Mrs Bartrum has one, which she recommends in glowing terms, and can let us know how we can set about obtaining our own and having it installed.
She was talking about water closets when I left her.
There really is a great deal to do here.
But she seems disposed to be friendly, and that counts for a lot, I think.
She could so easily have been resentful of our arrival and made life most unpleasant for us rather than feeding us delicious baked goods. ’
Her sisters agreed with enthusiasm. The parlour, which they understood had not been used for several years since their great-aunt had become frailer, had a substantial stone fireplace – currently empty – supported by mythical creatures, and elaborately carved panelling around the walls.
It was another finely proportioned room, and felt cosy enough, but the sofas and chairs were upholstered in fabric so worn that it was fraying right through in places, and they could not be described as comfortable.
‘We’re going to need furniture,’ Bianca said.
‘More than we yet know, I daresay. Of course, we can move things about from rooms we don’t plan to use, but I didn’t see proper big sofas anywhere when we looked around, did you?
I wonder if there is a warehouse in one of the nearby towns?
If we have to choose and order things by correspondence and have them delivered from London, it will take an age. ’
‘Maybe there’s an auction house,’ Cecilia said. ‘I’ve heard that bargains can be obtained there, if one keeps one’s head.’
Her sisters were laughing, probably at the idea of her keeping her head in the excitement of bidding, and she grinned, accepting the implied criticism as just.
‘I wouldn’t go alone. I’d take Miss Macintyre or even Bea with me. Someone sensible. I’m well aware I would likely get carried away and need restraining. Do ladies bid at auctions, or is that one more point on the endless list of things we aren’t allowed to do?’
‘They do in Scotland,’ the former governess told her firmly, and that seemed to settle matters.
The Constantines had all of them travelled in respectable dark gowns, ones that had been purchased a few years ago when their father died, but not their best. Their newest and finest mourning raiment had been saved for more suitable occasions, and the appearance of their rather tired and drab old muslins had not been improved by hours of travel, unpacking, and heaving trunks and boxes about.
They’d all agreed it could not possibly matter if they were a little dishevelled and dusty this afternoon, since nobody was at all likely to call on them on the day of their arrival.
They were astonished, then, and not particularly pleased, to hear a clanging in the hall that must be the doorbell, followed by a confusion of voices.
They looked at each other in astonishment, and had little warning to compose themselves before Lucy opened the door and announced, in a tone that barely concealed her own annoyance, ‘The Honourable Miss Pallant!’
Their unexpected caller was right on her heels, in defiance of all the conventions that controlled the paying of visits on strangers, and stood regarding the company, smiling on them all with impartial benevolence.
She was tall, blonde, elegantly dressed, in her early twenties, and possibly the loveliest woman Cecilia – with four London Seasons under her belt – had ever laid eyes on in her life.
Bea set her cup down with a clink and choked a little over the last of her tea. They all rose hastily to greet her.
Miss Macintyre was the first to recover her composure, probably because she had lived longest in the world and had consequently had more time to experience the full range of human strangeness.
That didn’t mean she had to like it, or even – at her age – pretend she liked it.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Pallant,’ she said collectedly.
‘Since there is nobody to introduce us, nor to decree who should be presented first to whom, I shall take on the task. This is Miss Constantine…’ She indicated a silent Beatrice.
‘And these ladies are Miss Cecilia and Miss Bianca Constantine.’
They all smiled weakly, and dropped small, ambiguous curtsies.
‘I am their companion, Miss Macintyre.’ The former governess plainly had no intention of curtsying on this occasion, to a person so lacking in manners that she had burst in upon them uninvited and not paid them that courtesy herself.
‘I am sure my charges are delighted – if a little surprised – to make your acquaintance.’
The vision moved forward with feline grace and said in a low, musical voice, ‘Oh, ma’am, you disapprove of my rash behaviour, and no wonder!
I must beg your pardon, I think. But you know, or perhaps you don’t, that there are almost no young women of standing in the area, and I have been so starved of congenial company that I simply could not resist coming straight to meet you all as soon as I realised you had arrived.
I have no mama or chaperon to tell me what to do, merely a pair of graceless brothers, so that must be my excuse.
Welcome to Suffolk, ladies! It is very dull here, but perhaps I should not say that or you will go away again and leave me quite bereft before we have even had a chance to get to know each other. ’
Beatrice came out of her trance and shook Miss Pallant’s hand. ‘We are indeed very glad to meet you,’ she said warmly. ‘Of course we have no acquaintance in the area, so formality can be set aside in the pleasure of being welcomed, I am sure.’
‘Am I to bring more tea, miss?’ Lucy put in.
‘Thank you, Lucy, yes,’ Cecilia told her.
The maid seized the teapot as if she wanted to strangle it, and retreated.
After the door closed behind her, an awkward little silence threatened to assert itself. ‘Won’t you sit down, Miss Pallant?’ Cecilia said hastily. ‘Is your home far away? I didn’t hear a carriage arrive, but perhaps I wasn’t attending.’
Their unexpected visitor sank into a chair in a manner that might have been used to teach deportment.
If she saw and judged the rips and stains on the upholstery, she gave no sign of it.
‘Not terribly far – a couple of miles or so. I walked – does that shock you? It’s quicker if one crosses the sand rather than going inland through the lanes, although the tides can be dangerous and come in fast, so I wouldn’t recommend it until you have grown more accustomed to the rhythms of life here.
’ Miss Pallant, they now observed, was wearing stout leather boots under her stylish sky-blue military-style pelisse, the hem of which was indeed a little sandy.
She might look like a fairy princess who had floated here on a cloud, but she was clearly robust enough for a four-mile walk.
‘Oh, I saw someone making their way across the strand from my window a while ago,’ Cecilia said.
‘Too far away to be able to distinguish them particularly. I wonder if it was you?’ It was a fatuous sort of a thing to say, she was painfully aware, but conversation didn’t seem to be exactly flowing, and it was the only innocuous comment she could think of in the moment.
The angel smiled. ‘It might have been, but more likely it was Major Bartrum. He is our local military hero, but he was wounded at Saint-Dizier last year and then was dreadfully ill with a fever for a long time afterwards. He has been observed by several people stomping across the beach at all hours, for the healthful exercise, one must suppose. He isn’t very friendly or agreeable, so I do not go out of my way to encounter him.
I don’t know if it’s me he dislikes, or women in general.
He is not married, of course, at nearly thirty, which argues for the latter.
I have heard whispers that there is a broken engagement in his past. If so, one can only sympathise with the lady on her lucky escape. ’
It seemed imprudent to respond to these apparently artless confidences; the newcomers should hardly be drawn into engaging in gossip about a gentleman they’d never heard of before that moment.
‘I did not know that the British were engaged at Saint-Dizier,’ Bianca said, and Cecilia sighed in inward relief at the innocuous response.
Allegra was generally acknowledged to be Mrs Constantine’s favourite child, since everyone else had the vague impression that they swapped confidences from which the other sisters were somehow excluded, but Bianca and her mother shared a mutual fascination with the minutiae of the progress of the war, even its obscurest battles, and pored over the latest newspapers for hours together.
Cecilia, for her part, had never even heard of this one.