some suggestions about new colours and designs.’
Had he found out about Cousin Laura at Balmoral with the Queen? Sarah had her second flash of alarm, realising that just as she might succeed in unmasking him, so might he her.
But if he noticed her involuntary look of guilt there was no time to comment on it, for Amalie had come up to say, ‘Let’s go over the house room by room, my love. I long for you to show it to me.’
‘Certainly. Perhaps we could take Titus and Miss Mildmay to the nursery first. On the second floor. That’s one direction I couldn’t forget. I don’t suppose a single thing has been changed in the nursery. Has it, Mamma? Although I remember being rather destructive.’
Lady Malvina came bustling up beaming with happiness. She was letting no private doubts mar her pleasure in coming home to a house which she must have thought she had lost.
‘You were very destructive, indeed. We had to have new wallpapers after you went to school. Don’t you remember? We put up the new varnished ones.’
‘I remember. A beautiful glossy brown. A hotel I stayed at in San Francisco reminded me of my old nursery. I wondered why I felt so depressed!’ He laughed and took his mother’s arm. ‘Don’t be hurt, Mamma. I can’t pretend I was particularly happy with my father hating me most of the time.’
‘Don’t be foolish, Blane. He didn’t hate you. He only found you disobedient and wilful.’
‘We were too much alike. He probably saw all his own faults in me. Of course he hated me. But let’s go and look at the brown nursery, and decide what colour Titus shall have instead. It’s most important, after all. One day he may have to tell a jury what colour his nursery was.’
‘Don’t be absurd!’ Amalie said sharply.
‘Life is full of uncertainties and surprises,’ her husband returned airily.
But he had forgotten the new paper in the nursery until Lady Malvina had prompted him. And then common sense had told him that the fashionable and practical colour was brown. It was another lucky guess, as so many of his answers had been.
Amalie insisted on going over the entire house with Blane. Getting Titus settled and settling herself in her own room next door to the nursery, Sarah heard their footsteps and occasionally the loud voice of Lady Malvina as she threw out apparently casual remarks that Blane’s crafty brain would seize on as vital information. Amalie had not cared for Blane’s suggestion that Sarah might be useful with ideas for redecoration. If anything was done during the duration of their stay at Mallow, it would be done under Amalie’s instructions. That was evident at once.
‘Ambrose and I can re-do it,’ Sarah said aloud, to comfort herself.
Her room looked out over the garden towards the lake. Early in November this view was melancholy, and the sea-wind pressed against the window. Halfway through her unpacking she felt intensely lonely and homesick. Her sisters, Amelia and Charlotte, envied her, thinking she would have some drama with this queer family resurrected from the past. They didn’t know she was grieving for Ambrose, already separated by three days’ sailing, and wondering how she could endure months of meekness and self-effacement in a house that should be her own.
Ambrose, with his elegant pale good looks, would look so right in this house. She, too, she thought, glimpsing her face in the oval age-dimmed mirror, would not look amiss. Better than Amalie, at least, with her over-dressing and her sulks. What was wrong between Amalie and Blane? Who had started the quarrel and who was continuing it? Though Amalie had too much sense to let the servants notice anything. She was the devoted wife, clinging to her husband’s arm, making herself familiar with her new domain. But one would see at dinner that night who was winning the argument.
Thinking of dinner, her first meal to be shared with her employers, Sarah half-heartedly shook out her modest dinner dress, a
Had he found out about Cousin Laura at Balmoral with the Queen? Sarah had her second flash of alarm, realising that just as she might succeed in unmasking him, so might he her.
But if he noticed her involuntary look of guilt there was no time to comment on it, for Amalie had come up to say, ‘Let’s go over the house room by room, my love. I long for you to show it to me.’
‘Certainly. Perhaps we could take Titus and Miss Mildmay to the nursery first. On the second floor. That’s one direction I couldn’t forget. I don’t suppose a single thing has been changed in the nursery. Has it, Mamma? Although I remember being rather destructive.’
Lady Malvina came bustling up beaming with happiness. She was letting no private doubts mar her pleasure in coming home to a house which she must have thought she had lost.
‘You were very destructive, indeed. We had to have new wallpapers after you went to school. Don’t you remember? We put up the new varnished ones.’
‘I remember. A beautiful glossy brown. A hotel I stayed at in San Francisco reminded me of my old nursery. I wondered why I felt so depressed!’ He laughed and took his mother’s arm. ‘Don’t be hurt, Mamma. I can’t pretend I was particularly happy with my father hating me most of the time.’
‘Don’t be foolish, Blane. He didn’t hate you. He only found you disobedient and wilful.’
‘We were too much alike. He probably saw all his own faults in me. Of course he hated me. But let’s go and look at the brown nursery, and decide what colour Titus shall have instead. It’s most important, after all. One day he may have to tell a jury what colour his nursery was.’
‘Don’t be absurd!’ Amalie said sharply.
‘Life is full of uncertainties and surprises,’ her husband returned airily.
But he had forgotten the new paper in the nursery until Lady Malvina had prompted him. And then common sense had told him that the fashionable and practical colour was brown. It was another lucky guess, as so many of his answers had been.
Amalie insisted on going over the entire house with Blane. Getting Titus settled and settling herself in her own room next door to the nursery, Sarah heard their footsteps and occasionally the loud voice of Lady Malvina as she threw out apparently casual remarks that Blane’s crafty brain would seize on as vital information. Amalie had not cared for Blane’s suggestion that Sarah might be useful with ideas for redecoration. If anything was done during the duration of their stay at Mallow, it would be done under Amalie’s instructions. That was evident at once.
‘Ambrose and I can re-do it,’ Sarah said aloud, to comfort herself.
Her room looked out over the garden towards the lake. Early in November this view was melancholy, and the sea-wind pressed against the window. Halfway through her unpacking she felt intensely lonely and homesick. Her sisters, Amelia and Charlotte, envied her, thinking she would have some drama with this queer family resurrected from the past. They didn’t know she was grieving for Ambrose, already separated by three days’ sailing, and wondering how she could endure months of meekness and self-effacement in a house that should be her own.
Ambrose, with his elegant pale good looks, would look so right in this house. She, too, she thought, glimpsing her face in the oval age-dimmed mirror, would not look amiss. Better than Amalie, at least, with her over-dressing and her sulks. What was wrong between Amalie and Blane? Who had started the quarrel and who was continuing it? Though Amalie had too much sense to let the servants notice anything. She was the devoted wife, clinging to her husband’s arm, making herself familiar with her new domain. But one would see at dinner that night who was winning the argument.
Thinking of dinner, her first meal to be shared with her employers, Sarah half-heartedly shook out her modest dinner dress, a
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