Chapter 5
Summer was coming to an end and the light breeze that tugged playfully at the fringe of Catherine’s shawl carried with it more than a hint of the cooler days to come. Welcoming the bracing bite, she climbed steadily higher, making her way across hills that were now awash with mounds of purple and white heather. She paused to pick a spray of the tiny flowers, inhaling the fragrant scent before tucking the sprig into her bodice. The wind, having lost interest in her shawl, now concentrated its efforts on her hair. Pulling loose the blond strands held by a tortoiseshell comb, and blowing them across her face. Catherine looked about her. It was more than the wind that brought tears to her eyes as she realized it was time for her to leave, and she could delay no longer. A buyer had been found, and the only home she had ever known was no longer hers.
Carefully she pulled from the pocket of her dress the letter that had arrived almost two weeks before. Smoothing the pages, Catherine scanned the lawyer’s precise script, but the words he had written remained the same as when she had first read them.
The Hall had been sold. Jacob Whitney was unable to furnish the name of the new owner as the transaction had been conducted through a third party, but it was the letter’s postscript that had incensed her.
“I am discharged on behalf of the new owner’s agent to beg your presence at the time possession is relinquished, so certain changes might be discussed with you.”
Changes? Why on earth would the new owner think she would want to discuss changes? The Hall belonged to someone else. If the new occupants had a fancy to put a Grecian folly in the middle of the gardens, it was within their rights to do so. The request struck Catherine as odd and rude, and one she was unwilling to accommodate. Aware that news of her circumstances was by now common knowledge throughout the county, she would not permit herself to become an object of satisfaction for another’s curiosity.
Angry with Jacob for even considering she might acquiesce, Catherine penned a tersely worded directive stating bluntly that she was not part of the deed. In fact she had no desire to be within the county’s borders when possession of The Hall changed hands, and requested that arrangements for her journey south be made with all haste. Details had arrived this morning.
With a sigh she folded the letter and put it back into her pocket, taking one last look around her at all she had ever known. From this distance she could barely make out The Hall through the forest that acted as a natural windbreak. But in only a few more weeks the trees would begin to shed their foliage and the house would be more visible. It was so much more to her than bricks and mortar, and Catherine wondered if the new owner could possibly understand the loss she would feel, knowing this would be the last time she slept beneath its roof. Pulling the shawl over her head, Catherine made her descent. A slight figure burdened by too much grief for one so young.
Early the next morning, as her one small trunk was loaded onto the carriage sent by Jacob Whitney, she said her goodbyes. She felt strangely numb, as if her senses were no longer capable of registering any feeling. And as the carriage made its way down the driveway it took all her resolve not to turn and stare back at the pale faces that watched her leave. Instead, she looked at the road before her and resigned herself to whatever plan fate had in store for her.
* * * *
Lettie was alone in the house when Catherine arrived and it was with an air of barely disguised disbelief she greeted her. The anticipated arrival, having been delayed numerous times over the course of the summer, had made Phillip furious. Questioning his cousin’s intentions, he issued threats to withdraw his offer of refuge. Lettie suspected the excuses had been of Catherine’s own making, and she did not fault her for them. Even under the best of circumstances it was hard to leave the only home you had ever known to live with strangers.
Now Catherine stood in the hallway, wrapped in a heavy black cloak to ward off the chill, taking in her new surroundings with mild curiosity. Though nowhere near as big as The Hall, her cousin’s home was, nevertheless, spacious and elegant. The sound of heels tapping on the black and white tiled floor made her turn and face the woman coming toward her. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, Catherine saw a flash of dismay cross the other woman’s face, as if she was disappointed by Catherine’s appearance. But then the woman held out her hands, offering a welcome that was warm enough to make Catherine think it was her own anxiety making her see things that were not there.
“Catherine, my dear, dear child,” Lettie said, leaning forward to kiss her cold cheek. “We thought you would never arrive. Welcome to your new home. I am Lettie, your cousin Phillip’s wife.”
The two women looked at each other, assessing both strengths and weaknesses. Catherine sensed at once that the pale, mousy woman before her was hiding something. Lettie’s greeting was sincere enough, and Catherine did not doubt she was genuinely pleased to see her, but her cousin’s wife could not disguise the glimmer of dread in her eyes. She was keeping a secret, one that weighed heavily on the small woman. Was cousin Phillip already regretting the generosity of his offer? Catherine was too exhausted to speculate. All she wanted was to sleep in a warm bed, and put the past few days of uncomfortable coach travel behind her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing Lettie’s hands gently in appreciation.
“Why, you’re simply frozen!” Lettie declared, and before Catherine could protest, she found herself being bundled along as Lettie told a maid to bring coffee.
Ushering her into the library, Lettie seated Catherine in an overstuffed chair in front of a freshly made fire. The heat of the flames penetrated her cold, aching limbs, making them tingle, and Catherine sighed. She had thought she would never feel warm again after spending what seemed to be an eternity riding in a most uncomfortable conveyance. Coffee arrived, and she took the cup Lettie poured for her and drank it down. She knew coffee houses were all the rage in larger cities, having been told this by some of the fashionable ladies who had once thought her suitable company to mix with their daughters. Of course if the aim was to impress, then tea would be served. Harder to obtain, and far more costly, tea was a definite status symbol. Catherine had been fortunate to taste it once, and discovered she liked it very much. But she could hardly expect her cousin to indulge her whim for such a luxury. The coffee was hot and chased away the chill, and she accepted a second cup gratefully as she looked about the room.
“You have books,” Catherine observed, noting the few volumes scattered about the shelves.
“I must confess this is my favorite room, and reading has become something of a passion of mine.” Lettie sounded almost apologetic as she offered Catherine a sandwich.
“I enjoy reading too,” Catherine said. Reading material of any kind was a rare commodity at The Hall, and she might have grown up with a complete lack of appreciation for the printed word if not for Edward. Raiding his family library, he made it his personal mission to single-handedly expand her mind and imagination. At least until he was sent away. After that Catherine could only read the newspapers her father sometimes brought home, but more often than not the news was several months old. Unable to stifle a yawn, she flushed with embarrassment. “Forgive me; the journey must have been more tiring than I thought.”
Lettie got to her feet at once. “Of course, you must be exhausted. Come dear; allow me to show you to your room so you can rest.”
The room that had been put aside for Catherine’s use had been tastefully decorated and furnished by Lettie much as she imagined a daughter of her own might have wanted. She was delighted to see from Catherine’s expression that her efforts had not been in vain.
“It’s a lovely room,” Catherine told her. For all its imposing grandeur The Hall never boasted a bedroom as pretty as this one.
Deep rose-colored silk covered the walls while the large four-poster bed was made up with shades of blush and salmon. A pale pink chaise with cerise-colored cushions had been placed before a fire that cheerfully kept any potential chill at bay. Catherine’s small trunk had already been unpacked, its meager contents now occupying the drawers of a bow fronted oak chest.
Lettie turned to her. “Now rest, dear. I will make sure that you are woken in plenty of time to dress for dinner.”
“I really don’t have very much to change into,” Catherine said, smoothing the folds of her dark dress. “As you can see I am still in mourning.”
Lettie crossed the room to the chest and opened one of the drawers. Lifting out an item, she held it up. Catherine gasped, placing a hand to her face. She had thought the gown her father had bought for Edward’s birthday had been beautiful, but it seemed positively shabby compared to the one Lettie held before her.
Silk, the same shade of pink that covered the walls of her room, flowed from Lettie’s hands like liquid, begging Catherine to step forward for a closer examination. “May I?” she asked, her hand hovering over the rich fabric.
“Of course.”
Everything from the satin bows and seed pearls decorating the bodice, to the elegant lace trim on the sleeves and neckline appealed to Catherine. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes shining brightly.
“Yes, I think it will suit you very well,” Lettie told her.
Catherine’s brows pulled together in puzzlement. “But I couldn’t possibly wear—”
“It is your cousin’s wish,” Lettie interrupted, and something in her tone warned Catherine no further explanation would be given.
“But I am still in mourning,” Catherine repeated as a feeling of disquiet overcame her. “It would not be proper.”
Lettie spoke quietly, but firmly. “If you were a widow then what you say would be true, but as a child suffering the loss of a parent, you have completed a respectable amount of mourning time. You will offer no offense by wearing the gown.”
“Regardless, it would not feel right,” Catherine said, shaking her head.
Lettie laid the gown across the end of the bed. She placed her hand gently on Catherine’s arm. “It is your cousin’s wish,” she repeated, hesitating before adding, “and he does not suffer disappointment well.”
The hand that rested on Catherine’s arm trembled slightly, and despite the calmness of Lettie’s voice, anxiety filled her eyes. Intuitively Catherine realized that if she did not follow her cousin’s wishes, this gentle woman before her would pay the price. Something Catherine did not want on her conscience. “Of course I will wear the dress,” she said, “and please forgive me. I was simply overwhelmed by my cousin’s generosity.”
“Thank you,” Lettie said softly. “Now, I will leave you to rest.”
Once the door had closed, Catherine walked over to the large window and gazed outside. The room she had been given was situated at the front of the house, and from her vantage point she could easily look beyond the square to the broad avenue filled with traffic passing by. She would have been surprised to know that despite the number of coaches and carriages, this was considered a quiet neighborhood.
What she had seen through the grimy carriage window as the coach approached the bustling city both frightened and thrilled her. So many people and so much noise! She stared in wonder at how close the houses were built to each other. It didn’t matter what window she chose to look out of at The Hall; nothing but fields and trees stretched as far as the eye could see. Here it was as if everyone lived on top of each other with no space of their own. How on earth could all these people breathe?
A sudden wave of homesickness threatened, and Catherine felt a tightness in her chest. She told herself in time the feeling would pass, and until then it would serve no purpose to think about what she had left behind. She no longer had any claim on it. Doing her best to brush off her feelings of melancholy, she resumed looking out the window. A carriage turned into the square from the wide thoroughfare, and came to a stop in front of the house. A single occupant alighted, head bent against the rain. A moment later the sound of a man’s voice reached her. Though unable to make out the words, Catherine could tell from the strident tone he was angry. This, she assumed, must be her cousin, Phillip Davenport. Perhaps his anger was because she had not remained downstairs in order to greet him upon his arrival. It was a poor beginning, but Catherine was determined he would not find her ungrateful. Turning from the window, she went to sit before the mirror, and stared at her reflection. A dusty and decidedly unkempt visage stared back at her. Moving to the washstand, she poured water from the ewer into the bowl, and quickly washed her face and hands, before returning to tidy her hair. The result wasn’t perfect, but given the circumstances, perhaps she could be forgiven.
She waited for someone to fetch her. But there was no knock on the bedroom door, and when the clock on the mantel told her that fifteen minutes had passed, Catherine wondered if she had been mistaken. Perhaps the irate gentleman had not been her benefactor after all. The bed, with its soft pillows looked inviting, and fatigue stole over her. A quick rest, she promised herself. It would refresh her, restoring both mind and body and ensure she would greet her cousin with the proper enthusiasm. Stretching out on the bed, Catherine snuggled against the pillows. A quick rest, no more.