Chapter Eleven
The day before Lydia’s letter arrived at Pemberley, Bella woke with no idea where she was.
For several long moments she lay still beneath unfamiliar bedclothes, staring at a strip of wallpaper where tiny sparrows flew across an endless blue sky.
One bird appeared to be flying directly into the bedpost. She frowned at it sleepily until memories of the last few days began to return.
Drab coaching inns and smoky parlours. And now, Falmouth.
Even now she could hear the rumble of the sea beyond the window and the wheeling cries of gulls above.
She let out a long breath and sank back against the pillows.
The room was small but pleasantly appointed with white-painted furniture and a long horizontal window which, from her prone position, showed a strip of sky punctuated with wisps of cloud.
The window was ajar and the buttercup-yellow curtains stirred gently in the breeze, carrying with them the faint smell of salt.
For the first time since leaving Pemberley, there was nowhere she needed to reach before nightfall, no onward journey to anticipate or fear.
She had arrived at the place she had spent many days imagining, and the thought ought to have filled her with triumph.
This morning, however, she found herself thinking of home.
She wondered whether it was Mama who had first gone into her room after she disappeared or whether Papa had been the one to find her miserable little note.
She could picture Mina crying and Kate trying to reason everyone into calm, and the ache in her chest was so sharp that she nearly pulled the covers back over her head.
Her family knew—or soon would know—where she was, she reminded herself.
Aunt Lydia had written immediately. But the last few days must have been filled with heartache and worry.
She was ashamed by how little time she had thought of her family as she had travelled over the miles that brought her to Falmouth.
A knock sounded at the door and Clara entered carrying a basin of hot water.
"Mornin', miss. I thought you might be awake by now. Cook says breakfast's nearly ready and I thought you would be hankerin’ for a good meal. We can hardly claim to ‘ave been well fed these past days. I’ve already had coddled eggs and a cup o’ warm milk. What a treat."
Bella pushed herself upright and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "You have already been downstairs?"
"I ‘ave, miss." Clara set the basin on a dainty dressing table which was white and decorated with small blue roses and twisting vines.
"Your aunt's down there with the other ladies from yesterday and enough paper to cover the road back to Derbyshire.
They're all talkin’ over one another, your aunt says Parliament's happy enough to take a woman's coin but not so keen on hearin’ what she thinks, and one of the ladies is wearing trousers. "
Bella had been reaching for her wrapper, but stopped with one arm halfway into the sleeve. "I beg your pardon?"
"Trousers," Clara repeated, evidently enjoying herself. "Green ones, very fine material too, if you're askin’ me. She's got some sort of long gown over the top, but they're trousers all right. I ‘ad a proper good look."
"Of course you did." Bella finished pulling on the wrapper and got out of bed. "Why is there a woman wearing green trousers in my aunt's dining room?"
Clara gave her an innocent look as she began sorting through the gowns in the small chest her aunt had provided. "Couldn't tell you, miss. I thought you'd be wanting to see it for yourself."
Bella dressed quickly in a borrowed gown that was a little over-embellished for her liking but fit well enough, and followed Clara downstairs some twenty minutes later with her hair simply dressed.
Clara had no patience for "them fussy French styles" but apparently a great eye for what suited and had dressed Bella’s hair simply but most becomingly.
She could hear Aunt Lydia before they reached the dining room, her unmistakable laugh rising above the murmur of female voices and the rustle of paper.
By the time Bella reached the doorway, curiosity had almost displaced her worries about her family.
The dining table was concealed beneath a large quantity of paper.
Plates of toast, eggs and ham were squeezed between stacks of pamphlets, folded newspapers and loose sheets covered in handwriting.
Pots of preserves were crowded amongst inkpots.
Aunt Lydia sat at the head of the table in a peach-coloured morning gown, her eyes bright, one hand gesturing wildly in the air and a cup of chocolate in the other.
She appeared to be directing Hattie Blaine who was folding sheets into neat piles beside her breakfast plate.
Amelia Gossling sat opposite, writing hurried notes in an extraordinary green garment, the likes of which Bella had never seen before.
Now that Bella could see her properly, Clara had been quite correct.
Beneath a long embroidered tunic of some sort were unmistakably a pair of loose silk trousers gathered at the ankle.
They were embroidered in an intricate design of mustard thread and set off by silk slippers in the same shade.
She noticed the lady had one long leg tucked under the other, a slipper hanging loosely from her heel.
Bella had never seen a breakfast scene like it and she wasn’t sure how to proceed.
Aunt Lydia noticed her lingering in the doorway and immediately brightened. "My beautiful Bella, there you are. Come and sit down before we manage to bury the breakfast completely. There are some very good eggs amongst this chaos."
Bella came further into the room, looking from one woman to another. "What exactly are you all doing, Aunt Lydia?"
Her aunt glanced at her as though the answer ought to be obvious. "It is Monday, my dear. On Monday we attend to our pamphlets."
Bella waited, but Aunt Lydia had already returned her attention to the page in front of her.
When she noticed that her niece had not moved, she went on.
Lydia waved vaguely at the papers. "Monday is generally for pamphlets and petitions.
Tuesday is abolition, Wednesday we assist at the Cornwall Society for the Education of Young Women, Thursday is devoted to women requiring assistance out of unfortunate circumstances, and Friday is flexible.
We go where we are needed. It is my great passion alongside my artistic endeavours.
She gave Bella a wide grin. "You did not think I spent my time by the sea embroidering and attending to my correspondence did you?
Your mother and aunts could attest to my failure to keep up with my letters. "
Amelia looked up from the page she was reading.
"We do our best to be useful. Although the Reform act has extended the vote to more men, women are still largely a decorative adornment in our society.
In our own small way, and in our own small corner of the land, we try to be useful and to take a stand for those with even less of a voice than we enjoy. "
"What are you wearing?" said Bella, before abruptly covering her mouth with her hand. The thought had tripped out before she had a chance to soften or delay it.
Mrs Gossling let out a high, reedy laugh, and her aunt Lydia and Miss Blaine quickly joined in the gaiety. Bella looked from one face to the other, feeling for the moment that she had not arrived in Cornwall so much as on another planet entirely.
"Sit, child, sit," said Mrs Gossling. "We are an unconventional society, and I suppose, on the surface at least, I am more unconventional than the rest. I spent a great deal of time in India with my dear, late Archibald and picked up some of the customs and dress.
You would be surprised how much easier it is to move about the world without all the restrictive clothing the English insist upon.
The good people of Falmouth are rather used to my eccentricities, and so shall you become. "
"I always think you look very becoming," said her aunt Lydia loyally.
"Indeed," added Miss Blaine. "Now do sit down and eat. Nothing good ever came of standing about with your mouth agape, unless you have some great desire to catch flies."
Merry laughter rang out again, and Bella was soon absorbed into a comfortable chaos the likes of which she had never experienced before.
Breakfasts with her family could hardly be called formal, but there was a clear order to them.
Everyone knew her role. Her father read from the paper while receiving her mother's gentle barbs with fond affection, Kate buried herself in some large and likely very dull tome and Mina sketched or chattered, usually both at once.
It was the comfortable hum of a family breakfast, familiar enough that Bella could have predicted almost every moment.
This was something else entirely, all overlapping chatter and good-hearted disagreement, interspersed with grand plans and furious note-taking. She enjoyed it enormously.
After breakfast, Lydia announced that she had several errands to complete in town and asked Bella if she would like to accompany her.
Bella agreed at once. Clara had already made herself at home below stairs and, when Bella went in search of her, she found her sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, listening with great interest as the cook related some local scandal.
She left them to their gossip and collected her own bonnet before heading out in the fresh morning air.