by Sarah’s standards.
It was like a little house. She sat down suddenly in one of the chairs as her legs gave way and emotion flooded her chest. Her first real home. And she was glad, oh she was, she was glad but . . . she was nervous too, nervous that all this would be snatched away and she would return to being Sarah Brown again, instead of Miss Brown, housekeeper to the illustrious Lady Harris.
She shut her eyes tight, pressing one fist on top of the other into the hollow between her breasts as she swayed back and forth with a mixture of excitement and apprehension before the realization of what she was doing brought her upright, the voice in her mind saying, Stop it, that’s enough of that, you’re as good as anyone else and don’t you forget it.
It was something she had told herself every day of her life since the time she had run away from Hatfield, only to be ignominiously returned the same night, and it had only recently occurred to her to question why she still had to say it ten years on.
Not that things hadn’t been better under the new matron for her remaining years at Hatfield; they had, much better, and she had sensed most of the Mothers were secretly relieved that Matron Cox was safely locked away in the lunatic asylum where she could no longer terrorize children and staff alike. Her worry of being supplanted in Rebecca’s affections, brought about by her low physical and mental state after Matron’s attack, had been groundless too; from the day she had returned to Hatfield Home after her stay in the Sunderland infirmary, she and Rebecca had been as close as ever. So why did she feel so adrift, alone, at times?
She rose now, walking to the end of the room where a tall thin rectangular mirror had been fixed to the wall one side of the bed, and stood quietly gazing at her reflection before moving closer, her eyes searching the delicate features for long moments. There was no vanity in her inspection, and she couldn’t have explained to anyone why this scrutiny was a regular practice, but she just felt she needed to know each contour, each eyelash.
When she turned away from the mirror and faced the far door again her head was drooping, but within seconds her shoulders were back, her posture straight, and her chin uplifted, as she prepared to face the world outside this little oasis.
Chapter Six
There is always a serpent in Eden, and when Sarah came face to face with Sir Geoffrey Harris, a few weeks after she had taken up the position as housekeeper to his mother, she recognized the tall broad man in front of her as such.
She had acquired the habit of an afternoon sojourn in the small but pleasant wooded park across the street to Emery Place, often taking the opportunity to sit down and read the latest letter from Maggie and Florrie or Rebecca in the peace and quiet of the fresh air. On this particular day she had almost fallen into the hall on her return to the house, a gust of wind from the tempestuous November day helping her through the doorway and whipping the envelope containing the letter she had received that morning from Rebecca out of her hands.
‘Dear me, dear me.’ Sir Geoffrey had been about to enter the drawing room but swung round at her boisterous entry, and as Sarah quickly smoothed a few tendrils of hair into place which the wind had teased from the confining chignon at the nape of her neck, he bent down and retrieved the envelope. ‘Here.’ His speckled eyes slid over her flushed face as he handed her the letter. ‘You must be the reputable Miss Brown I’ve been hearing about. You came highly recommended. I am Sir Geoffrey Harris.’
‘How do you do, Sir Geoffrey.’ She had expected Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margaret to arrive the following day - the family had seats in Westminster Abbey for Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh’s wedding three days hence on the twentieth of November - but they had obviously decided to
It was like a little house. She sat down suddenly in one of the chairs as her legs gave way and emotion flooded her chest. Her first real home. And she was glad, oh she was, she was glad but . . . she was nervous too, nervous that all this would be snatched away and she would return to being Sarah Brown again, instead of Miss Brown, housekeeper to the illustrious Lady Harris.
She shut her eyes tight, pressing one fist on top of the other into the hollow between her breasts as she swayed back and forth with a mixture of excitement and apprehension before the realization of what she was doing brought her upright, the voice in her mind saying, Stop it, that’s enough of that, you’re as good as anyone else and don’t you forget it.
It was something she had told herself every day of her life since the time she had run away from Hatfield, only to be ignominiously returned the same night, and it had only recently occurred to her to question why she still had to say it ten years on.
Not that things hadn’t been better under the new matron for her remaining years at Hatfield; they had, much better, and she had sensed most of the Mothers were secretly relieved that Matron Cox was safely locked away in the lunatic asylum where she could no longer terrorize children and staff alike. Her worry of being supplanted in Rebecca’s affections, brought about by her low physical and mental state after Matron’s attack, had been groundless too; from the day she had returned to Hatfield Home after her stay in the Sunderland infirmary, she and Rebecca had been as close as ever. So why did she feel so adrift, alone, at times?
She rose now, walking to the end of the room where a tall thin rectangular mirror had been fixed to the wall one side of the bed, and stood quietly gazing at her reflection before moving closer, her eyes searching the delicate features for long moments. There was no vanity in her inspection, and she couldn’t have explained to anyone why this scrutiny was a regular practice, but she just felt she needed to know each contour, each eyelash.
When she turned away from the mirror and faced the far door again her head was drooping, but within seconds her shoulders were back, her posture straight, and her chin uplifted, as she prepared to face the world outside this little oasis.
Chapter Six
There is always a serpent in Eden, and when Sarah came face to face with Sir Geoffrey Harris, a few weeks after she had taken up the position as housekeeper to his mother, she recognized the tall broad man in front of her as such.
She had acquired the habit of an afternoon sojourn in the small but pleasant wooded park across the street to Emery Place, often taking the opportunity to sit down and read the latest letter from Maggie and Florrie or Rebecca in the peace and quiet of the fresh air. On this particular day she had almost fallen into the hall on her return to the house, a gust of wind from the tempestuous November day helping her through the doorway and whipping the envelope containing the letter she had received that morning from Rebecca out of her hands.
‘Dear me, dear me.’ Sir Geoffrey had been about to enter the drawing room but swung round at her boisterous entry, and as Sarah quickly smoothed a few tendrils of hair into place which the wind had teased from the confining chignon at the nape of her neck, he bent down and retrieved the envelope. ‘Here.’ His speckled eyes slid over her flushed face as he handed her the letter. ‘You must be the reputable Miss Brown I’ve been hearing about. You came highly recommended. I am Sir Geoffrey Harris.’
‘How do you do, Sir Geoffrey.’ She had expected Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margaret to arrive the following day - the family had seats in Westminster Abbey for Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh’s wedding three days hence on the twentieth of November - but they had obviously decided to
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