Chapter 16
London Sundays were an even bigger chore than Sundays in the countryside had been.
At their local village church, Etta had been able to hide in what was essentially a little wooden cubicle for her family, with only servants, a few local gentry and assorted farmers to stare at her.
It had been nice – peaceful, reflective, even. But in London, church was an Event.
Of course, a church could hardly ever be a loud place, but Etta had felt a new, unnerving level of quiet sweep over the pews as she walked down the aisle with her mother.
Bessie peeled off behind them to sit at the back, leaving Etta facing as many eyes as she’d expect at her own wedding.
The eyes were not admiring, though. She caught looks of wonder, disdain and disapproval from the immaculately dressed ladies and gentlemen in the chapel, whispers spreading like wildfire as they worked out who she was.
News of Mad Hetty Bainbridge coming to town had circulated amongst the neighbours. Everyone probably knew by now, Etta thought. And this was probably representative of the reception she could expect during her morning visits and all the parties her mother had threatened her with.
Well, better to start as she meant to go on. She looked next to her at her sublimely unconscious mother and levelled her voice to be slightly louder than necessary.
‘Mama, why are these people staring at me?’
Her mother looked startled – an increasingly familiar expression. ‘Why on earth would anyone stare, Henrietta? That would be dreadfully rude.’
‘Perhaps,’ Etta declared, staring one particularly impudent-looking woman dead in the eye, ‘they do not like my new bonnet.’
Lady Bainbridge tutted disapprovingly. ‘Oh no, Henrietta. Impossible. That bonnet is delightful. It matches your complexion perfectly.’
Charlie, who had been dragging his heels behind her, caught the tail of the conversation. ‘Smart as anything, that hat, Hetty. The first stare.’
‘You what?’
‘Fashionable. All the ladies will be asking you about it, you wait.’
They reached their pew and Etta slid in next to her mother, settling just in time for the vicar to amble in.
She had taken the precaution of slipping the red notebook Hetty had left her into her reticule and settled in for another attempt at her elegant notes.
Hopefully there’d finally be some useful tips about how to deal with life outside of the Bainbridges’ country estate.
However, she was yet again in for a disappointing read.
She’d just about got to grips with Hetty’s handwriting style now, and the more she read, the more she found there wasn’t really much of use beyond Hetty’s initial letter.
This time she deciphered a list of family members and descriptions of their various personalities.
Nothing new here, really – she’d already got the measure of her mother and brother, and it was somewhat unsurprising to read that Bessie really had been Hetty’s only friend – if you could even call her that.
Suddenly, a voice was in her ear. ‘Hetty, old girl, drop the book. The vicar is watching.’
She looked up to see that Charlie was right and glared at the indignant vicar equally indignantly. Etta hadn’t got a particularly firm stance on Christianity, but she definitely had a view on being judged by men with comb-overs.
‘Rude,’ she muttered.
Charlie’s shoulders began to shake next to her and after one last vicious glare at the vicar, which made him cough and continue his boring sermon, she shot him a glance.
Her brother was creasing up with contained laughter, and Etta couldn’t help but smile at him.
He looked at her, tears welling, and she caught the giggles.
An elderly woman in front of them with a fantastically ugly hat turned and shushed them, which compounded matters. Charlie bit his hand and Etta looked away, trying in vain to Think Serious Thoughts.
Unfortunately, the vicar had taken a detour from his sermon. ‘… And blessed be those who pay attention to the Lord, for only they shall reach heaven …’
Charlie snorted, the situation quickly devolving.
At this point, Etta was fairly sure neither of them had any idea what they were laughing about.
She prodded him, trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be angry with him but failing.
She felt a flash of joy at the absurdity of it all.
Who’d have thought she’d ever enjoy church?
Sunday morning lie-ins might be a thing of the past, but this wasn’t too bad.
Everyone stood up, and she realised it was time for a hymn.
Good stuff. Tucking Hetty’s book away, she joined them.
As one, the congregation sang. ‘We plough the fields and scatter,’ they belted out, but Etta’s mind was more in ‘All Things Bright And Beautiful’ territory.
She couldn’t stretch to the idea of a God joining all things, not quite. But her and Hetty? Perhaps.