Chapter 6 The Orangery #2
Mr Payne led them out of their satellite wing and into the main body of the house, and thence through a bewildering array of apartments, all decorated in a different style, muttering, ‘Rococo… Jacobean… ah, Palladian!’ as they walked.
Then there was a short, narrow passage before a footman guarding an arched door threw it open to allow them to pass.
It was like being in a strange sort of indoor forest. All around were the orange and lemon trees, set in giant pots on wheeled platforms. There were pineapple plants, too — she recognised them from an engraving she had once seen in a book — but many of the plants were unrecognisable to her.
The air was warm, and musty with the aroma of soil and a multitude of plants.
The floor was tiled, and the high roof gave the room an echoey feel, like a cathedral.
To one side was a solid wall, but the opposite side of the room was dark — glass, she saw, like a giant window looking out into the night.
“Oh!” she breathed, thrilled. “It is snowing.”
“So it is,” Mr Payne murmured beside her. “She will want to sit and watch the snow.”
“Who will?” Sophia said, but he had walked straight over to the window, there to gaze out, mesmerised, at the steady snowfall.
Sophia and her mama followed, albeit rather nervously, for there was the sound of a harp playing somewhere in the orangery.
They were not alone! The music stopped, and a lady rose from behind a bank of greenery, a vision of loveliness such as Sophia had seldom seen.
She had grown used to Rowena’s beauty, but here was another one to make her wish that she had been born with smooth skin, rosy lips and enviable symmetry of feature.
“Good evening!” said the vision. “Ah, you are with Mr Payne. Pray allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Grace Skelton, daughter of the duke. You must be the Merrington ladies.”
“Indeed, I am Mrs Roland Merrington, mother of Mr Richard Merrington, heir to the Duke of Brinshire,” said Mama, instantly taking charge of the situation.
“This is my youngest daughter, Sophia. I beg your pardon for intruding. We had no idea anyone would be here, and we so wanted to see the orangery that has been so much spoken of. The duke wishes to commission one of his own for his seat at Staineybank, in honour of my daughter-in-law.”
“So we understand,” Lady Grace said. “Do come in and meet my father. He does not cope well with crowds just now, but he will wish to welcome you to Marshfields personally.”
In the far corner of the room, hidden by a range of bushes that rustled gentled as they passed by, they found the duke huddled over a card table, deep in a game of piquet with a well-favoured young man, who was introduced as Lady Grace’s husband, Mr George Skelton.
The duke himself was rail-thin, with the sort of grey tone to his skin often seen in those suffering a prolonged illness.
He rose courteously to his feet, however, without any sign of unsteadiness.
“Mrs Merrington, and Miss Merrington, I am delighted to welcome you to my home, and to thank you for helping us to celebrate this milestone in my son’s life.
But your own son is to encounter a milestone of his own very soon, I understand — the birth of his first child, and the first of many, we must all hope. ”
“Indeed, and if it should be a son—”
“That would be a blessing indeed,” the duke said gently, “but a daughter is a blessing of a different kind, is it not so? I have certainly been blessed in my own daughters, who are a great comfort to me in my old age.”
“That is not what you said to us when we were younger, Papa,” Lady Grace said, with a smile. “You called us troublesome creatures, if I recall.”
“And so you were, when you were off in town spending my fortune on fripperies and doing nothing but enjoy yourselves at my expense. But then you all married and brought amiable young men into my life, and filled my house with delightful grandchildren, and so I forgive you. Will your son’s firstborn be your first grandchild, Mrs Merrington? ”
“It will, your grace.”
“Then you have all the joys of that exalted state to come. Let me tell you, madam, there is only one felicity greater than the arrival of small children for a visit, except for their departure, when the house descends once more into blissful calm. Pray sit, and tell me of your son and his wife. Skelton, be so good as to pour some wine for Mrs Merrington and Miss Merrington.”
Sophia declined the offered wine, and, leaving Mama to attend to the duke, she wandered towards the high windows to watch the snow falling outside.
It fell straight down, like a white waterfall, the many candles burning inside illuminating those flakes nearest the window. Beyond, the garden lay in darkness.
“It is fascinating, is it not?” said Mr Payne, materialising at her elbow. “I could watch it all night, but should you care to look around? There are some interesting plants in here.”
“I know nothing of plants,” she said. “Tell me instead what you think of the room. It seems very elegant, to me.”
“Yes, but a little plain,” he said. “If it were me, I would add more statuary, and murals on the walls.”
“What sort of murals?”
“Oh, plants… greenery, to make the place look bigger. One would feel as if one were in a tropical garden, stretching to the horizon. And there need to be more seats… a hammock, perhaps.”
“A hammock! How lovely! One could sit here in the warmth with a book, and swing gently under the trees. Even if it were raining outside—”
“Or snowing!”
“Yes, or snowing, it would be cosy. But there should be birds singing, and perhaps a fountain plashing gently.”
“A fountain! What an excellent idea. Yes, yes, that is just what she would like, I am sure. And canaries… a line of cages, perhaps along the back wall. Yes, I can see it now.”
“Who would like it?”
“Mrs Merrington, of course.”
“Mama? But—?”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I beg your pardon — no. Mrs Richard Merrington. The orangery at Staineybank is for her, is it not? And she wants to use it, which means she wants to sit in it, or play cards in it, like the duke, or… or…”
“Or entertain in it,” Sophia said. “I like the way this one is connected to the house, so one may walk here at any time.”
“Yes! Connected… so one might entertain in it. An additional drawing room, perhaps. A place to gather before dinner. You are a fount of good ideas, Miss Merrington.”
They walked about the room together, as he described just what features might be needed, adding more and more decoration until she was moved to remonstrate with him.
“There will be no room for the plants at this rate, Mr Payne.”
“By Jove, I believe you are right. I was a little carried away there, for a moment. Very well, no Gothick arch draped with vines, but I must have my statues of the Roman gods, and the bird cages and the fountain. Definitely a fountain.”
“And a hammock,” Sophia said, with a sigh of contentment. “There must be a hammock.”
The duke overhearing these words, they were summoned back to his side again, and Mr Payne was called upon to describe once again all the delights he envisaged for the Staineybank orangery.
The duke added his own embellishments to the scheme, so that it became both a peaceful retreat from the world and yet the hub of the entire house, a room for the display of great art and yet displaying elegant simplicity, a place of solitude and contemplation, but also capable of entertaining great crowds.
Sophia shook her head at the impossibility of it all, and was rather relieved when the duke’s valet arrived to point out that his physician had ordered the duke to be in his bed an hour ago, which broke up the party instantly.
As they left the orangery, two footmen were already lurking outside to douse the candles.
The duke’s party disappeared down a wide corridor, leaving Sophia and her mama to follow Mr Payne back to the main part of the house.
Much of the house was already darkened ready for the occupants to retire, just an occasional beam of light spilling from an open door, with voices and laughter emanating that suggested that not everyone was ready for bed.
Mama was not minded for a late night, however.
“You must get as much rest as you can tonight, Sophia, to recruit your strength for tomorrow’s ball,” she said firmly, leading Sophia past the interesting open doors.
Reluctantly, Sophia went to her room, although the prospect of the ball compensated to some degree for missing the excitements of the present evening. A ball! Dancing! Oh, the delight of it, and the anticipation was almost as good as the event itself.
Her two noble friends were already abed and fast asleep, so she undressed and climbed into bed as carefully as she could.
Then she curled up and closed her eyes, ready for dreams to overtake her.
But curiously, her last waking thoughts were not of cotillions or energetic country dances.
Instead, she imagined herself lazing in a hammock reading the fashion journals to the delicate sound of canaries warbling and a fountain playing.