fine featured and rather jittery. Hector had introduced her as his nanny, and his affection for the old woman had been clear to see, as had her adoration of him. She had not been a conspicuous guest at the modest gathering, Lady Brightwell had very much played the dominant role, but she had struck me as kind and tolerant, characteristics which I suspected were essential for anyone fashioned as Lady Brightwell’s aide.
‘So how are you finding it here? It must be so different from London.’ I set my tea down on the hearth while I used the poker to stoke some life back into the dwindling fire. The sun that had lent a pleasant air to the day was receding as evening advanced, and a distinct chill bit into the room. Madeleine gazed off into the mid-distance, her brow creased. She rallied as I sat back in my seat.
‘Oh, you know …’ she said, but the insipid smile that flickered on her lips didn’t last long. She sipped her tea, I suspected, to cover a sudden pallor of unhappiness. I felt a twinge of disquiet. ‘I wish I were back in London. With Hector. Being here is so – it’s just not as I imagined.’
‘Oh, Madeleine. Well, I am here now, and I intend to stay for as long as you will let me.’ I was cheered to see her spirits restored by this promise. ‘How have you been, anyway?’
‘Well, the horrid morning sickness has passed,’ she said, an attractive glow finally brightening her cheeks. ‘I’ve been tired, but then I haven’t been sleeping well, I suppose.’ That nagging furrow reappeared between her brows, but she banished it with a shy smile. ‘I think I felt it move, you know, the other day. It was a funny squiggly feeling. Mother said it was a good sign.’
‘I should think it’s a wonderful sign!’
‘And how have you been, Stella?’
She didn’t need to elaborate. We both knew she was prodding at the fresh scab on my tender wound, conscious that over-investigation would split the delicate surface and expose the vulnerable flesh beneath. I didn’t want to disappoint her as she looked for signs of healing.
‘Better. I cry a little less, I manage a little more.’ There was a sober pause. ‘I couldn’t have done without you, Madeleine. I do hope you will let me return the favour now.’
Her eyes glistened. ‘Oh, darling, I will take your help now. I am so glad you have come.’
Both of us laughed at our mawkish sentimentality. I poured some more tea and as we moved onto less emotive topics, our good humour was soon recovered.
I was very keen to see more of my surroundings, but Madeleine seemed strangely averse to leading me on an exploration of the property. After much wheedling and cajoling, however, she finally acquiesced and agreed to give me a complete tour of what she referred to as ‘the dratted house’.
As we moved from one excessive room to the next, I realised that her earlier summation had been most apt. It was impossible to deny Greyswick’s luxurious finish and yet it lacked a quality to its splendour found in more established houses like our own. The calculated effort put into its grandeur had reduced it to a caricature of the very thing it aspired to be. Many of the rooms now lay dormant, particularly those in the ‘new wing’ – a garishly gilded ballroom, the smoking room, the study – none of which had been utilised since Sir Arthur’s death – and a lady’s parlour, neglected by Lady Brightwell in favour of the morning room, which lay at the other end of the house.
Once our tour of the ground floor had been completed, Madeleine led me upstairs. The bedrooms occupied by Lady Brightwell and Miss Scott were located in the new wing, whilst our rooms were to be found in the original part of the house. The upper corridor was only half-panelled, with claret-flocked wallpaper stretching up to the stuccoed ceiling, while a blood-red runner was centred over the treacle-coloured floorboards. Once again, the only natural light came from the arched window in the end wall, and it failed to pierce the blighted dimness of the landing.
‘Our rooms are here. I had Mrs Henge put you in the one next to mine,’ Madeleine announced. ‘I did so want you close by.’
I expressed my pleasure at the arrangement and Madeleine was about to open the bedroom door when I stopped her, my curiosity having been aroused by the straight flight of stairs beside the arched window. As I carried on towards them, I saw they connected to a short galleried landing above.
‘What rooms are up there?’ I asked, turning back to her.
Madeleine clutched the door handle.
‘Just disused rooms,’ she said at last. ‘I have no need to go up there.’ The words tripped over themselves in their haste to be out. She pushed open the door, entreating me to come. ‘It’s getting late, you should dress for dinner. The bell-pull is by the bed, you can ring for Annie. I hope you like the room – it has its own adjoining bathroom, you know. Do try to hurry, Stella – it’s best not to be late down.’
I had to fish behind the swag of frilled curtain that hung from the canopy of my bed to find the bell cord. When Annie appeared a few minutes later I thought her rather subdued, but I dismissed her reserve as nerves.
She remained silent as she helped me into my black evening dress. I hung my locket from the hinge of the dressing table’s triptych mirror for safe keeping while she fastened strings of pearls about my neck. I decided to make an effort and engage her in conversation. We were, after all, to be thrust into each other’s company and I wanted the situation to be as tolerable as possible.
‘Are you settling in all right?’ I winced as she grazed my scalp with one of the pearl-headed pins she was using to dress my hair. She made no apology and I couldn’t tell whether she was unaware of her carelessness or simply choosing ignore it. Her cool gaze met mine in the mirror as she finished and it crossed my mind that it might not have been carelessness at all. I pushed aside my misgivings and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She stepped back as I got to my feet. ‘All of this must seem rather daunting,’ I said.
‘Everyone is being very kind to me, miss.’
‘Good.’ I began to squeeze my fingers into a tight-fitting evening glove, smoothing the satin up the length of my arm. ‘Do lend a hand when you can. I don’t want our visit to be a burden on anyone.’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Is your room comfortable? I presume you’re up in the attic? I hope it’s not too ghastly up there.’
Annie hesitated for a minute, busying herself with hanging up my discarded day clothes for longer than I felt necessary.
‘It’s comfortable enough up there, miss.’
There was something in her tone that piqued my curiosity and I was about to question her further when there was a knock on the door. Madeleine stuck her head around its edge.
‘Are you ready to face them?’
I laughed, pulling my glove up the final inch so that it lay just below the crook of my elbow. ‘You make it sound like we’re going up against a hostile crowd!’
‘Yes, well … dinner here can sometimes feel like that – don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
I found her lack of humour to be rather disconcerting.
Lady Brightwell and her companion, Miss Scott, were awaiting us in the drawing room, both sipping sherry from cut crystal glasses, as they warmed themselves by the roaring fire.
‘Visiting is so exhausting!’
I was unsure whether Lady Brightwell’s exclamation as she rose to greet me was in reference to her busy day, a declaration of sympathy, or a complaint aimed at my very presence. I bent to kiss her creped cheek. She was small in stature, though she gained an extra inch or two from the artistic arrangement of her abundant grey hair, but what she lacked in height she more than made up for with her forceful persona. Large blue eyes ringed with gold inspected me thoroughly from