CHAPTER FIVE
Laura was never afterwards able to resurrect her first impressions of the Mount Street house in any detail.
Trailing behind her relatives, mindful of the scurrying servants being directed as to the disposal of the baggage, she viewed her surroundings through the filter of her turbulent emotions that day.
Though in fact of a gracious size, the entrance hall had struck her as confining and crowded.
She experienced an urgent desire to plunge back through the open door and walk anywhere — the direction did not signify — until she dropped from exhaustion.
Perhaps then her uncle’s house would seem more haven than prison.
Sanity returned in the next moment, however, along with a soundless sigh, and she remained standing quietly near the staircase awaiting her uncle’s pleasure.
“There, that’s the last of it,” Sir Oswald declared when the footman closed the door behind him and headed for the stairs with two small bags.
“Oh, wait, please,” said Mrs. Marsh, coming forward with a smile to relieve him of one of the bags. “This contains some preserves and honey from the farm,” she explained to her brother. “Someone can take it to your housekeeper presently.”
“There is no housekeeper any longer, Aunt Annabelle. She and Papa had one row too many and she departed in a huff last week. Papa insists we can do without a housekeeper now that I am older, but I fear you will find the household at sixes and sevens at the moment.”
Understandably, neither Mrs. Marsh nor her daughter had a ready response to this breezy announcement from Miss Albright.
“That will do, Sophia,” Sir Oswald said, a hint of irritation in his rather sharp voice. “Take your aunt and cousin up to their rooms so they may put off their wraps. We’ll meet in the saloon in a half-hour.”
“Should we perhaps pay our respects to Lady Grantly first, Oswald?” Mrs. Marsh suggested when her niece made a move toward the stairs in obedience to her father’s command. “I should not like to appear backward in those little attentions due to our hostess.”
Miss Albright’s head whipped around and her lips parted, then closed at a quelling look from her parent, who said with a surprised inflection, “I thought I mentioned in my last letter, Annabelle, that my aunt has decided to take up residence with her sister-in-law in Somerset. You and Laura must be anxious to remove the travel dust from your persons and settle into your new quarters. We will talk later.”
Sir Oswald sketched a bow to the women and headed toward the back of the house, leaving his flustered sister no choice but to follow her niece upstairs.
“The dining room and morning room are on the street level, as is Papa’s study,” Sophia explained as the ladies reached the first floor.
“The saloon and Papa’s bedchamber are there at the front of the house,” gesturing to the right as she turned left, “and you are to have the room my Aunt Grantly had at the back, overlooking a little garden area, Aunt Annabelle. I am right across the hall.” She opened the door and led them inside a good-sized chamber furnished with a charmingly painted escritoire and an inviting wing chair in addition to the usual amenities.
When Mrs. Marsh had indicated her approval of the comfortable-looking apartment, Sophia turned quickly to Laura. “The second storey houses the nurseries, of course, but I thought you’d prefer the privacy of having your own room up there to sharing with me, Cousin Laura.”
Laura endeavoured to keep her wholehearted agreement with this arrangement from sounding insultingly fervid.
Sophia smiled and nodded, then, her glance falling on Sukie standing just inside the door, she said, “It is fortunate that you brought your own maid. When Mama died I wanted to keep Tompkins with me, but Papa said I was too young to have an abigail, so one of the housemaids, Rosie, takes care of my clothes and helps me dress. If you’d like your maid to unpack for you now, Aunt Annabelle, I’ll send Rosie here to take care of her later.
The maids sleep in the attics, and Jimson, Papa’s man Murdock, the chef and the footman are quartered in the basement.
Shall I show you to your room now, cousin? ”
“Yes, thank you, cousin Sophia.”
“You might as well call me Sophie,” her cousin replied, wrinkling her pretty nose as the girls left the room to ascend to the next floor.
“I thought when I grew up I’d prefer Sophia, but somehow it doesn’t sound right, and anyway no one ever remembers to call me that — except Papa when he is correcting me for some breach of decorum. ”
Sun was streaming in through the windows on the street.
Her first impression — that everything in the room was made of, or painted, gold — faded with examination, but it was certainly true that the room as a whole possessed a lightness of both colour and substance that she had not encountered before.
She thought the central rug, an Aubusson with a creamy background, really lovely, but was a bit doubtful of the profusion of spindly-looking white and gilded chairs scattered about the room in small groupings supported by side tables.
Additional chairs lined the walls between console tables.
If the sheer number of seats was any indication, the Albrights must be expecting to entertain a horde of guests during the upcoming season.
Obeying a vague wave of Sophia’s hand, Laura sat down gingerly, relieved after a moment when the chair offered more comfort than its delicate scale promised.
Her eyes continued to travel around the room, noting three mirrors in gilded frames of varying widths and complexity placed above the console tables, lingering on a glass-fronted gilt cabinet displaying a collection of jade and rose quartz ornaments that she intended to study at length when the occasion presented itself.
Her eyes returned to the others when her mother, seated with her niece on a gold-and-white striped sofa with a curving back, made an admiring comment on the room’s appointments.
“Thank you,” Sophia replied. “Mama redid this room in anticipation of my come-out the year before she became ill. She finally talked Papa into getting rid of all the heavy dark wood pieces that were here in Grandfather’s day.
I daresay some of them were well over a hundred years old.
” She made a little moue of disgust and launched into a lively account of visiting a furniture warehouse with her mother, that was curtailed when Sir Oswald entered the room,
“Ah, this is more like it,” he said, commenting on the absence of black in his sister’s and niece’s traveling dresses as he seated himself in another of the small chairs placed near the sofa.
“You will discover that these gowns are not entirely in the current mode, but they will do well enough when you are driving but not actually paying calls. I have no doubt that you will be able to outfit yourself and Laura most appropriately in short order. Sophie has all the latest fashion periodicals for your perusal, and I have taken the liberty of making an appointment for you both with a modiste who was recommended to me recently. Sophie still requires some additions to her wardrobe, so I shall entrust that chore to your supervision also.”
“That will be a pleasure, not a chore,” Mrs. Marsh declared with a warm smile for her niece. “Are you pleased with the modiste, Sophie?”
“I have yet to meet Mrs. Reyburn. Madame Bennard made my ballgowns, but Papa said that her prices were extortionate.” Sophia looked ready to say more, but dropped her eyes and closed her mouth when she caught the frown on her father’s face.
Mrs. Marsh rushed into the breach, saying cheerfully, “Well, I am persuaded Mrs. Reyburn will prove quite satisfactory if she was recommended to you, Oswald. We shall contrive to turn the girls out appropriately dressed for all occasions.”
“I have every confidence in you, Annabelle. It was frequently said of you that you had an excellent eye for what is most becoming to a woman, unlike my poor Marietta. There were occasions when I was actually compelled to return garments that she had ordered that were either unsuitable or not in the fashion of the day.”
“But then, Marietta was so lovely that she could make sack-cloth appear fashionable,” his sister riposted lightly. “And what real woman wishes to have She was a slave to fashion engraved on her tomb?”
“Quite so,” Sir Oswald conceded with a wintry smile while Laura cheered silently, aware of the grateful look Sophie sent her aunt. “I presume you have ordered tea, Sophie? Your aunt and cousin will need something to hold them until dinner.”
“Yes, Papa. The chef promised to send up some of his pound cake also, but the kitchen area seemed to be in a turmoil, what with his shouting at the scullery maid to clean up some broken crockery and spilled food, and the girl wailing and sniffling —”
“Enough, my dear girl. You aunt does not wish to hear of kitchen accidents on the heels of her arrival,” Sir Oswald said.
“Though it is certainly true,” turning to his sister, “that the household routine has deteriorated badly since my aunt left us. Sophie is inexperienced at ordering the meals and suchlike, but I am persuaded that with you to guide her efforts the domestic machinery will soon be in good train once more.”
“Why, I … I shall be happy to render Sophie any assistance within my power, of course. One does not learn to run a house and manage a staff overnight.” Mrs. Marsh sent an encouraging smile to her niece. “Certainly our rooms were clean and inviting, isn’t that so, Laura?”
“Jimson keeps the maids in good order,” Sir Oswald said, overriding Laura’s soft agreement.