Chapter 15
Cecilia and Bianca returned to the house, shaking copious amounts of sand out of their damp skirts on the way, and continued their search around the rest of the exterior walls, and then inside, upstairs, in their bedrooms, the passageways, and the many unused chambers.
But by the time Lucy called them for luncheon by vigorously striking an old gong that stood in the hall, they had still found nothing but dust, spiders’ webs, and a sad, desiccated dead bird in the grate of one of the abandoned rooms. They ate cold pork, bread, cheese and apples while they told the story of their little seaside adventure, and Bea and Miss Macintyre shook their heads over men and their folly.
Beatrice had had a more productive morning, without question.
Though she had gained no useful information about the house from Mrs Pritty, two young women from the village had been engaged as permanent maidservants, and a middle-aged gardener and handyman had also been taken on, with more extensive temporary help called upon to do the heavy work of cleaning and clearing, both inside the house and outside.
Decorating, if needed, could also be easily arranged for a slightly later date.
It would be chaos for a few days, starting from tomorrow, but at the end of it, the Hall should be in a better state, both more comfortable for its inhabitants and ready to receive visitors.
They should be thinking, Bea told them, of making a list of required furniture; there was a public auction in the market town in a day or two, the housekeeper had told her, which would be too good an opportunity to miss, as it only happened once a month and always attracted a great crowd of eager bidders.
Cecilia readily volunteered to go, with the old governess’s experience to support her, and they fell to discussing what pieces she should look out for and how much it would be sensible to pay for them.
Sofas, they all agreed, were the first necessity, if comfortable and reasonably attractive ones could be found.
Nobody was terribly concerned what colour they should be, or for following the dictates of fashion, as long as they did not end up with something perfectly hideous.
They could always tie the rooms together, she suggested optimistically, with bright cushions and rugs; after all, they need please only themselves, since they were not expecting Mr Brummell or the Regent to come calling and sneer at their taste, or lack of it.
Bea had engaged herself to continue going over the linen and china lists with Mrs Pritty after nuncheon; she confided that she was quite enjoying it, as it soothed her passion for order and made her feel she was making solid progress.
Bianca, in a rare moment of self-sacrifice, said that she would write Cecilia’s notes up in an orderly and legible manner and create a master list of things that they already knew they needed to purchase, and Cecilia herself proposed that she should continue to explore the garden and outbuildings to see what needed to be done there, so that the gardener and his temporary helpers might set about it tomorrow.
Miss Macintyre exclaimed over their youthful energy, but for herself favoured a nap.
‘But I am nervous,’ Bea cautioned them, ‘at the prospect of more lady visitors later this afternoon. We didn’t expect anyone yesterday, and look what happened.
I think we should all wash and change and meet in the parlour before four, with tea, in case anyone does come.
There’s no point us having bought all those expensive new clothes if everyone who calls on us finds us in dirty old rags with our hair coming down.
Mrs Pritty said that Mrs Bartrum and the vicar’s wife – I think her name was Drinkwater – would be certain to call at some point.
Don’t leave me alone to face them, and Bianca, if she appears to support me, all covered in ink and talking her usual nonsense. Ceci, please, I need you too.’
Cecilia conceded that tea would probably be welcome by then in any case, and they separated, Miss Macintyre cautioning them that she had already seen and spoken to as many people as she could bear today while helping to interview the prospective servants, and anticipated that her nap would be a long one.
She was not needed as a chaperon when no gentlemen were likely to be present; if any ladies did call, they could brave them on their own.
The weather remained pleasant outside, and Cecilia took a moment to gaze on the endlessly fascinating view again.
The breeze was still stiff, and there were several small boats scudding about quite far out in the bay; she knew nothing of sailing, and so could not tell if they were fishing vessels, contained persons engaged in expeditions of pleasure, or something else entirely.
She could not see anyone on the sand now, though, and presumed that Major Bartrum had reached his home, wherever it was, without further mishap.
She was able to get straight in her head the whole extent of the property now; it was not particularly large, and consisted of the overgrown gardens, with various decrepit summerhouses that needed urgent attention if they were not to fall down entirely, the lawns at the rear overlooking the bay, the tangled shrubbery around the drive, and a small, thickly grown wood reaching back from the shoreline and almost encircling the house.
This copse had a little stream running through it down to the sea, and would be a pleasant place to stroll out of the sun or the wind, if the undergrowth could only be tamed a little; there must have been paths through the trees once, and perhaps places to sit overlooking the water.
Mr and Mrs Albery had plainly chosen the Hall, which they had renamed, as a country retreat from the exigences of business, and had had no desire for home farms, great tracts of land or hunting preserves.
There were no tenants; the estate produced no income and incurred no responsibility beyond its maintenance.
It was a home and nothing more. Now it was theirs.
Feeling a little foolish and deciding that it didn’t matter, she picked some flowers, mostly bluebells, and brought them inside to put in water before going up to change her raiment.
So the parlour had a touch of colour to set off the girls’ sombre gowns when Lucy flung open the door and declared impartially, and with conscious drama, ‘Mrs Bartrum and Mrs Drinkwater have come to ask if you are at home, miss!’