cared two hoots about. Everyone called her Henry and it was apt, thought Isabella; even now, her sister’s preoccupations were masculine in nature and she ran the estate – not only in Tobias’s absence, but also when he was in residence – with authority and expertise. She was a brick, Toby had said in the motorcar, a godsend. She could also be rather cool and extremely high-handed, thought Isabella, although she had kept this opinion to herself.
‘How long are you with us?’ Henrietta asked.
‘Ages. Until you all go to Fulton House, then I’m to come with you. Mama and Archie will be late to Park Lane. They’re waiting—’
‘For Perry and Amandine to get home from Marienbad,’ said Tobias, striding through the hall and, with one arm, sweeping Isabella away from Henrietta and towards the stairs. ‘Never mind all that. Let’s go and find Thea. She’ll be ecstatic. She loves a surprise and she loves a guest, and here we are with a surprise guest!’
He laughed, pleased with his wit. He was – and this was, from an objective point of view, remarkable – looking forward to seeing his wife. Time away, perhaps: distance between. But also the four days he had spent with Isabella had done him the power of good. She had, without trying, without knowing, restocked for him some depleted store of self-worth, a corner of his being that had languished since … Here he paused in his thoughts, for he was never entirely sure whether it was his father’s death or his own marriage that had signalled the start of it. Either way, he felt he had not, for some time, been quite the man he once was. Not the man, certainly, who had pursued and won Thea Stirling, the liveliest girl in London in that carefree spring and summer of 1904. If he met such a girl now, he sometimes thought, he would more than likely watch from the sidelines while some other fellow danced her up the aisle. But in the car with Isabella – rescuing her, entertaining her, driving her safely back to Netherwood – he had begun to recognise himself again. Their mother had been livid. Manoeuvred into agreement with a scheme that didn’t please her, her objections batted away easily like drowsy bees, she had watched them go with a face like stone, while beside her Archie had waved his stick merrily and wished them bon voyage. Isabella had said Clarissa was jealous. ‘Pure envy, green with it. She married Archie to become a duchess, you know. To trump Thea.’ This Toby knew. They all did.
‘He’s a nice old cove, though,’ Toby had said.
‘Nice enough, but stubborn as a mule and when we don’t have company he reverts to barrack-room behaviour. Belches, passes wind, shouts “There she blows!” whenever he does.’
‘Poor Mama,’ said Toby, but he was laughing.
‘She’s made her bed, as they say. And, anyway, he’s terribly well connected. There was a Partington in the Tudor court, apparently, or at the Battle of Bosworth Field, or somewhere. I forget.’
‘Oh, well then. Who cares if he farts like a trooper?’
They had looked at each other and howled, and the tone had been set for the entire journey. Now they bounded up the marble stairs together, arm in arm, and Henrietta, trailing slightly, wondered if there was anyone at all to whom she could confess that she didn’t always like Isabella, and who wouldn’t judge her harshly for it.
Chapter 10
M ademoiselle Evangeline’s School of Dance was housed in a former cotton mill, a wide, tall, many-windowed building with four hundred looms still in place, though it was ten years now since any linens or fancy drill had been sent out from there. Eliza thought it was haunted. That is, she hoped it was, although no evidence had yet presented itself. The girls had to pass through the old weaving room on their way to the studio and they all did it at a clip, since Eliza told them that, once, she saw one of the machines moving, as if worked by a ghostly foot. Mademoiselle, hearing the story, had
‘How long are you with us?’ Henrietta asked.
‘Ages. Until you all go to Fulton House, then I’m to come with you. Mama and Archie will be late to Park Lane. They’re waiting—’
‘For Perry and Amandine to get home from Marienbad,’ said Tobias, striding through the hall and, with one arm, sweeping Isabella away from Henrietta and towards the stairs. ‘Never mind all that. Let’s go and find Thea. She’ll be ecstatic. She loves a surprise and she loves a guest, and here we are with a surprise guest!’
He laughed, pleased with his wit. He was – and this was, from an objective point of view, remarkable – looking forward to seeing his wife. Time away, perhaps: distance between. But also the four days he had spent with Isabella had done him the power of good. She had, without trying, without knowing, restocked for him some depleted store of self-worth, a corner of his being that had languished since … Here he paused in his thoughts, for he was never entirely sure whether it was his father’s death or his own marriage that had signalled the start of it. Either way, he felt he had not, for some time, been quite the man he once was. Not the man, certainly, who had pursued and won Thea Stirling, the liveliest girl in London in that carefree spring and summer of 1904. If he met such a girl now, he sometimes thought, he would more than likely watch from the sidelines while some other fellow danced her up the aisle. But in the car with Isabella – rescuing her, entertaining her, driving her safely back to Netherwood – he had begun to recognise himself again. Their mother had been livid. Manoeuvred into agreement with a scheme that didn’t please her, her objections batted away easily like drowsy bees, she had watched them go with a face like stone, while beside her Archie had waved his stick merrily and wished them bon voyage. Isabella had said Clarissa was jealous. ‘Pure envy, green with it. She married Archie to become a duchess, you know. To trump Thea.’ This Toby knew. They all did.
‘He’s a nice old cove, though,’ Toby had said.
‘Nice enough, but stubborn as a mule and when we don’t have company he reverts to barrack-room behaviour. Belches, passes wind, shouts “There she blows!” whenever he does.’
‘Poor Mama,’ said Toby, but he was laughing.
‘She’s made her bed, as they say. And, anyway, he’s terribly well connected. There was a Partington in the Tudor court, apparently, or at the Battle of Bosworth Field, or somewhere. I forget.’
‘Oh, well then. Who cares if he farts like a trooper?’
They had looked at each other and howled, and the tone had been set for the entire journey. Now they bounded up the marble stairs together, arm in arm, and Henrietta, trailing slightly, wondered if there was anyone at all to whom she could confess that she didn’t always like Isabella, and who wouldn’t judge her harshly for it.
Chapter 10
M ademoiselle Evangeline’s School of Dance was housed in a former cotton mill, a wide, tall, many-windowed building with four hundred looms still in place, though it was ten years now since any linens or fancy drill had been sent out from there. Eliza thought it was haunted. That is, she hoped it was, although no evidence had yet presented itself. The girls had to pass through the old weaving room on their way to the studio and they all did it at a clip, since Eliza told them that, once, she saw one of the machines moving, as if worked by a ghostly foot. Mademoiselle, hearing the story, had
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