02 | Fare Thee Well
Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.
(Rabindranath Tagore)
Three months later...
Margret looked up from her hands, and from the ring thereon, to glance at the fleeting landscape outside her compartment window. There wasn't much to be discerned because the windowpane was streaked with rain as the train took them north at speed. This was the first leg of their journey and the longest one. They would have to change trains a couple of times closer to their destination, before they were eventually to arrive at the small coastal town of Frizinghall, in Yorkshire.
Mrs Clack, her companion, was putting the lengthy ride to good use, and was dozing in her seat. Her knitting lay abandoned in her lap and her head, in its prim little bonnet, was tilted towards the side at an awkward angle. Margaret wondered if it might be better to wake her, lest she should have a crick in her neck later, but then decided against it—for not entirely unselfish reasons.
She would be seeing John again in a few days, and she cherished those moments alone with her thoughts and dreams, while the train took her steadily closer to him. Much had happened since the time John Thornton had come after her to London...
After seeing Mrs Shaw, and having received a rather grudging blessing to his proposal, Mr Thornton had announced that he would be returning to Milton by the evening train. He was reluctant to leave Margaret behind so soon—and who could blame him after having found her only so very recently—but mill business was rather pressing. However much he was tempted to stay in the south for another few days, he couldn't keep courting Miss Hale in London when back north a substantial bank loan he had taken out in his own name the year before was about to default. Besides, as he pointed out, he owed his new landlord a speedy return on her substantial investment.
Though wrapped up in a jest, there had been a strangely serious undertone in his voice; and in the days to come Margaret would wonder if, in his heart-of-hearts, he struggled with her hasty—and rather one-sided—decision to bail him out. She assumed that he had been forced to eat his pride on more than one occasion during his chequered professional life. Alas, it never ought to be her who made him do so.
So, had she?—hurt his pride?
How little they actually knew about each other! Perhaps, there was some common sense in a lengthy engagement—other than waiting for spring and dilly-dallying over wedding preparations.
However, for the present Margaret was intent on making the best of it; and the best thing on offer at the end of the day—their first day of being officially engaged—was to accompany Mr Thornton to Euston station. This time there was, of course, no such thing as kissing and embracing in public, but even so it was a special delight for both of them to walk the city arm-in-arm. With the glorious sunshine of early autumn bathing them in its warm glow, they decided on an impromptu detour through Regent's Park to prolong the excitement of being seen together in the streets, and they laughingly agreed that they should repeat the experience in Milton.
Both were determined that this opportunity should arise as soon as may be, although Margaret was as yet a little unsure about the actual logistics. It was unlikely that Aunt Shaw would offer to be her companion on such a trip. But where there was a will there was a way...
Margaret glanced at her fellow traveller. Mrs Clack did indeed look most uncomfortable sleeping in such a position, she realised with pangs of guilt for valuing her own indulgence above the elder woman's wellbeing.
She leant forward to touch a limp hand. "Mrs Clack," she whispered. "You might want to wake up."
Without opening her eyes Mrs Clack mumbled something unintelligible and shifted into a position that appeared slightly less awkward. Shortly afterwards a genteel snore attested her return into Morpheus's arms.
Margaret smiled, satisfied with the result. Her conscience was at rest, and yet she still had her peace and quiet for some time. Time to lose herself in her thoughts again...
The sun was down and the neighbourhood streets with their multi-storied residential buildings were quite gloomy by the time Margaret returned to Harley Street in the evening. With Mr Thornton gone, the day had lost its shine in more ways than one.
She had her own latch key and therefore didn't bother to ring; yet Dixon must have waited in the entrance hall because the maid approached her the moment she opened the door.
"Miss Margaret, the missus asks to see you in the drawing room, soon as you return," Dixon informed her. "Mrs Lennox and the captain are with her."
"Tell them I'll be downstairs again in a moment," Margaret said, handing over her coat, scarf, and hat. In short, all her outdoor attire bar her gloves. She had left them at home because she hadn't wished for anything to come between her hands and the very texture of him; the roughness of John's coat sleeve as she linked arms with him; his smooth callused palms as they held hands bidding each other adieu at the station, the warmth of his lips as he fleetingly kissed her fingertips—she wanted to commit it all to memory.
With her head held high Margaret headed for the stairs. Whatever it was her relatives wanted to tell her, it had to wait a little longer. She wouldn't appear in front of them in her walking shoes and with windswept hair.
This time it was a tribunal, Margaret realised as soon as she entered the drawing room; and telling by their grave expressions the judge and jury had already reached a verdict. Apparently, a proper hearing had not been considered necessary.
"Well?" Margaret said with a hint of defiance.
"Sit, dear." Mrs Shaw indicated a straight-backed chair opposite the sofa on which mother and daughter were seated. Captain Lennox occupied the easy chair by the window.
Sighing inwardly Margaret took the place assigned to her. For a moment no-one spoke.
Captain Lennox was staring into thin air, Edith pouted and fidgeted, and Mrs Shaw looked uneasily from one to the other, willing one of them to take the lead.
At other times Margaret would have been diverted by the absurdity of the situation, but after the tangle of emotions she had experienced during the day, she just wanted to go to her room for a time of quiet reflection.
Eventually, Mrs Shaw cleared her throat. "Well, Margaret, as you know, Mr Thornton came to see me today, asking me—as the closest and most senior of your relatives here in England—for your hand in marriage. Let me say that it speaks in his favour to adhere to tradition, even though I'm not your legal guardian, and although you are of age... And, as you know, I have given my consent."
Margaret nodded, but otherwise remained silent. Mrs Shaw had barely been civil to John earlier in the day. So, Margaret was not inclined to make this any easier for her aunt.
"However," Mrs Shaw continued, "for you to get intimately involved with a man in trade—moreover, a man who has recently proved to be unsuccessful in his profession—reflects badly on your judgment, and therefore on us as a family... We cannot appear to condone with your peculiar decision—" She gave a nervous little cough. "—and besides, there is dear Henry to consider... As my son-in-law's brother he is a frequent and welcome visitor in this house—an honoured guest—and we'd all be mortified to see him made uncomfortable by recent developments..."
"So, what is it you have decided, aunt?" Margaret asked, cutting her short.
"My dear, having discussed this at length we think it best for you to form your own establishment for the remainder of your time in London."
Margaret stared, doubting her hearing. How would living in a place by herself possibly not reflect badly on the family?
"Well, yes," Mrs Shaw continued, "establishing your own situation will be the best solution all round... and, as it happens, I know just the gentlewoman—a person of impeccable reputation albeit a little reduced in circumstances—who would be the perfect choice as your companion and to preside over your household—"
"So, it is all decided... and apparently it deemed you irrelevant for me to have a say in any of this!" Margaret exclaimed, her voice indignant.
"You see, Margaret, the way we're looking at it, you have said—and done—quite enough lately," Edith interjected, her voice sharp. It was only a moment before she looked away again and, turning up her nose, put on an affronted air.
Yes, it would be a while—if ever—before Edith Lennox was willing to forgive her for sinking her most cherished plans; plans of comfort and ease, in no small part depending upon a cousin close at hand to calm and instruct Sholto whenever the little fellow was throwing one of his increasingly frequent tantrums—not to mention looking after the new baby, expected to arrive in early spring...
"So, how much time will you allow me for packing?" Margaret asked, rising from her seat. She gave them the most aloof look she could manage. Anything rather than make them aware how offended and hurt she was by the way they quickly washed their hands off her.
"There's no rush, dear," Mrs Shaw said in a reconciliatory manner. Now that she had had her say—and Margaret hadn't caused an obvious scene—she felt that they might as well resume amicable relations. "I have taken the liberty to send word to Mrs Clack, and she has kindly replied that she will call on us tomorrow morning."
"Who is Mrs Clack?" Margaret frowned. With this sudden turn of events she must have missed a part in her aunt's chain of reasoning.
"Why, the lady who will provide you with a new place of residence, of course," Mrs Shaw gently admonished her, as if Margaret hadn't been paying attention.
A fait accompli!
"I see," Margaret said quietly, and without giving any of them another look she headed for the door, and out...
With a startled snort Mrs Clack opened her eyes and then gazed out of the window for a moment. The rain had abated, but the bleak hills outside gave her no clues as to the progress of their journey. She fumbled for her reading glasses and blinked owlishly at the small watch attached to her chatelaine.
"Almost another hour to Selby," she remarked at last, looking up at Margaret. "I wonder if we are still on time."
"We were a little late at our last stop," Margaret informed her, "but the conductor told me not to worry and that we would make up for lost time in the final section. We are supposed to arrive with time to spare... He promised that we shall make our connection with the eastbound train."
"What a hassle it is, travelling to Frizinghall, and in winter, too," Mrs Clack sighed. "If Lady Verinder wasn't such a particular friend, I shouldn't have bothered to ask you the favour... It is awfully good of you, dear, to go through so much trouble on my behalf."
"You mustn't worry on my account, Mrs Clack. I don't mind the journey, even in winter, and I appreciate the invitation to spend the holidays with your friends. Besides, this gives me a chance to see my fiancé... A chance I wouldn't otherwise have had, not with my future sister-in-law so near her confinement—"
Fanny Watson was expected to give birth at the end of January and had announced to feel unequal to having house guests so near her time. So, rather than have Margaret and her companion stay at the Crown in Milton over the holidays, John Thornton would come to Frizinghall for a few days after Christmas Day. Alas, not being invited as the Verinders' house guest, it would be Mr Thornton's turn to stay at an hotel on the occasion.
Mrs Clack wrinkled her nose; she did not approve of Mrs Watson. There had only been one lengthy visit to Milton—in October—for Margaret since her engagement, and at the time she and Mrs Clack had stayed with the Watsons for two weeks. So, Mrs Clack was well aware of Fanny's perpetual moaning about her 'delicate constitution'.
"We shall be very comfortable at the Verinders' place," Mrs Clack said. "Lady Verinder is a perfect dear. Then there will be her daughter Rachel—did I mention that it will be her birthday on Boxing Day?—and some of her cousins are expected to arrive for the holidays... I daresay, there will be lots of young people to keep you company."
"I'm afraid they might consider me dull," Margaret cautioned. "People of fashion tend to be disappointed when they realise just how little I'm involved with London society."
Ever since returning to London after her father's death, Margaret had kept herself as much as possible apart from the social engagements of her Harley Street relatives, at first from being in mourning, but then because she had come to the conclusion that she wanted to make her own choices regarding the company she kept—and the fashionable crowd that gathered around the Lennox's dinner table was simply not the kind of company she sought. Instead, she had taken up her charitable endeavours again, visiting the poor with baskets and advice. The only concession to her aunt's concerns had been the footman who accompanied her on such expeditions—
"You may not be aware that Mr Godfrey Ablewhite is one of Miss Rachel's cousins," Mrs Clack said. "You do remember Mr Ablewhite, don't you?—the philanthropist? We made his acquaintance after his speech at the Kensington Ladies' Committee meeting in November."
Well, yes, that Mr Ablewhite...
Margaret offered a bland smile which her companion nevertheless took in the affirmative because she continued, "So you will share a common interest with at least one of the other house guests... I believe his two sisters will be there as well—you may recognise them by sight—they are sweet girls if a little... well... bouncy."
"Bouncy?"
"You'll see what I mean when you'll make their acquaintance—"
Margaret fiddled with her ring again. Over the last couple of months it had become a habit with her whenever she needed reassurance, and Mrs Clack's words suddenly made her apprehensive that she might derive little enjoyment from her sojourn into Yorkshire—other than seeing John, of course. She wasn't without a sense of humour, but the gushing exuberance she occasionally encountered in young society girls always left her at a loss. And to be confined in the same home with two such specimens over the holidays seemed a daunting prospect.
"What about Miss Verinder?" Margaret asked. "Is she much like her two cousins?" Better to know the worst in advance.
"Actually, she quite reminds me of you, Miss Hale," Mrs Clack said, "both in appearance—she's darker than is the current fashion and slender, but not delicate—but also in character... Outspoken and headstrong. Loyal... though, perhaps, sometimes not showing the best judgment—" She answered her companion's frown with a calculating look. "—but then, she is only going to be eighteen years old this Christmas."
"So young!" Margaret exclaimed. "To think of all the things I didn't know—and that hadn't happened to me yet—when I was eighteen!"
At just one-and-twenty she had already lost both her parents, along with her good friend Bessie and her godfather. She had seen her brother after a lapse of five years only to say goodbye to him again shortly afterwards, and perhaps forever... But she had also gained new insights and, most importantly, the love of a good man—
She looked at her engagement ring again. It was a fair-sized faceted aquamarine, pale blue with a hint of green, framed by two small diamonds in a plain gold setting. As engagement rings went it was quite noticeable, although not to the point of being ostentatious, and it was of a simpler style than was the current fashion...
"I was hoping that it might match the colour of your eyes," John said as he put the ring on her finger. It was the second day of her visit in Milton in October, and finally they had found a moment in private. The ring was a perfect fit, and Margaret wondered how he had managed this. He gazed into her eyes and smiled. "I believe I remembered their colour quite admirably—"
"It is beautiful," she whispered, looking at her hand and smiling away the happy tears that were welling up in her eyes. She was quite stunned that this outward symbol of their bond touched her so deeply. "Is it a family heirloom?"
"Yes, and no," he answered enigmatically.
She looked at him quizzically, suddenly wondering where the ring had, in fact, come from. She doubted that he would have purchased it with the money from her loan, but she couldn't imagine that—after all the time he had been struggling to keep mill business afloat—he still had the private funds to afford such an expensive piece of jewellery.
Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face because he gave her a sweet lopsided smile. "Let me say as much; it was never worn by another woman before."
Margaret smiled back at him. "Even if it was, I wouldn't mind... I don't believe that gemstones carry any emotional baggage—not unless we let them." She saw him start for a moment. "With God's help we shall make our own destiny," she said with conviction, laying her hand upon his chest.
He covered her hand with his for a moment, then brought it to his lips and kissed her palm. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and brought on a perfect storm of sensations; the softness of his lips, the slight scraping of his stubble this late in the day, the brush of his breath against her inner wrist as he drew away, the weight of the ring on her finger... She sighed, blushing deeply.
"How lovely you are," John murmured, raising her chin with the tip of his finger—and then he kissed her.
Later—a long time later—he said, "Wouldn't this be the right time to admit it to the world?—at least to the part of the world that is Milton?" He grinned rakishly, holding out his hand. "Let's go into town and give them something to tattle about!"
As the conductor had promised they indeed arrived at Selby in good time to catch their connecting train to the coast. Standing in the doorway of their compartment, Margaret saw Dixon, who had travelled third class and thereby closer to the baggage wagon, approach them along the platform. The portly lady's maid all but obscured Millie, Mrs Clack's tiny maid-in-training, who followed in her wake and who was all the personal servant the elder lady could afford. Two porters with handcarts were carrying the large trunks that held the many changes of clothes necessary for the numerous festivities that came with the season.
Taking up her carpet bag and gathering her coat and shawls closer around her against the gusty winds, Margaret alighted the train, closely followed by Mrs Clack. They had hardly reached the platform and the servants, when the conductor, always on the lookout to further the comfort of their first class travellers, approached them.
"I took the liberty to check your reservations with the conductor of the eastbound train—it's the one right here—" He pointed at the train waiting on the other side of the platform. "—so, if you be so kind as to follow me, I'll show you to your compartment."
Remembering quite well a time when she had been travelling third class herself, Margaret was half amused, half contemptuous about the deference by which the wealthier kind of travellers were treated. But even she had to admit that it made life a lot easier—and she quietly enjoyed Mrs Clack's unreserved delight in such comforts. And rare comforts they were indeed for a lady in Mrs Clack's situation.
Compared to Margaret's strained interactions with her relatives at Harley Street in the aftermath of her return from Milton and subsequent engagement, Mrs Clack—and the new abode she provided—had proved an actual godsend.
Mrs Clack née Berkeley was the widow of a major of infantry who had been honourably discharged after serving in East India. As a man in his late thirties, he had come back to England with his health in tatters, had married the then not-quite-young-but-reasonably-well-off Miss Berkeley, only to die of malaria three years later, leaving his wife nothing but his medals and his debts at the card table. Once the latter—substantially helped by the disposal of the former—had been dealt with, all Mrs Clack had to herself was the house in Bayswater that had been the main part of her marriage settlement, but there had been next to nothing for her to live upon. What she did have, however, was impeccable—though mostly not rich—family connections on her side, and a hopeful disposition, confident that some solution would crop up eventually.
And turn up it did... in the form of a gentle deception. While Mrs Clack became in fact a companion, no-one in all of London would have dreamt of describing her as such. Quite on the contrary!—to her friends and acquaintances she was the generous hostess who took in young ladies of good repute who, for one reason or another, couldn't be accommodated with their families or relations in town, and therefore—if it wasn't for Mrs Clack's generosity—would have had to go to great lengths to form their own establishments. And who was to raise an eyebrow at the fact that the young ladies' families parted with a goodly sum to keep the young ladies—and their hostess—in comfort?
So, Margaret paid an annual one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of rent in addition to a slightly larger sum as her board for the privilege of being called a 'guest' at Mrs Clack's comfortable albeit not large Bayswater home.
However, Margaret didn't mind—and although all of London was united in the effort to spare Mrs Clacks feelings, it soon became quite obvious to her that the lady in question was perfectly aware of the ruse and was playing along with it only to spare her dear friends and well-wishers the disappointment of having their benevolent scheme thwarted.
All-in-all Mrs Clack was a down-to-earth person who only gave advice when asked for, was a good walker and enthusiastic traveller—and a romantic at heart.
Whenever John Thornton came to London to see his fiancée, he generally took the evening train to London on a Friday and returned to Milton late on Sunday, staying for two nights at a nearby modern hotel off Cleveland Square. On these occasions Mrs Clack made sure that the young couple had a modicum of privacy. Strictly within the confines of decency, of course... but she would find herself suddenly in need of a lengthy discussion with Cook in the basement kitchen, or she would see her own visitors in the front parlour while Margaret and John had the morning room to themselves. Moreover, she was not prejudiced against 'people in trade'—unlike much of the rest of London society—for which Margaret, guiltily remembering her own snobbish attitude not so long before, felt very grateful to her.
In some respects Mrs Clack was a gentler female equivalent to Margaret's good Milton friend Nicholas Higgins. If nothing else, the twinkle in the eye was just the same.
For the next part of their journey Mrs Clack was staying awake, giving Margaret no chance to let her thoughts stray away from the matter at hand—said matter being a comprehensive account of their hostess's family background.
"Lady Verinder, or Julia Herncastle as I first knew her, was married to my second cousin once removed, Sir John, so she is in fact my aunt even though we are much the same age." Mrs Clack settled back comfortably into her seat, ready to embark on a lengthy tale. "I saw quite a lot of her in our youth, although I didn't move in the same circles as Julia and her sisters. They were quite the belles of the county..."
This was an expression Margaret could never let pass without thinking wistfully about her own mother who—as the young Miss Beresford—had also been called one of the belles of their county, along with her sister Anne. Unfortunately, their wealth hadn't quite matched their other charms, and so they had had to choose between marrying for love, but with little prospects of leading a fashionable life, or a marriage of convenience. Each sister had chosen a different path in the end, and either of them had spent the rest of their marriage secretly envying the other.
"... and then there's Colonel Herncastle, Julia's brother. Twenty years her senior and, despite his military distinction, quite the rogue!" Mrs Clacks eyes sparked gleefully. She enjoyed a good scandal quite as much as the next woman—as long as it didn't hit too close to home, and only if it concerned the high and mighty who could afford to shrug it off. "They say that, at the turn of the century, he looted some fabled Indian cities and acquired a hoard of gold and diamonds. Apparently, he owned a precious stone the size of a pigeon's egg, with a curse on it. People say he became possessed by it; he was suspicious of everyone—he thought that everyone was out to murder him and take it from him—which is why he became quite the recluse in his later life. Last thing I heard, however, was that he died in his bed just recently. He was in his seventies, and unrepentant until the very end—or so they say." She added pensively, "I wonder what has become of the gemstone—"
"Oh, I mustn't forget about the Blakes!" Mrs Clack continued excitedly after a moment. "The elder Blake—he's married to Julia's eldest sister, Adelaide—fancied himself a duke for some time, and when his case at court didn't come through he decided that England would have no place in his only son's upbringing. The lad—Franklin by name—received his education in Germany, France, and Italy, and some say it has had a curious effect on the workings of his brain. He's in his mid-twenties now, and said to be back in the country... The young Ablewhites, of course, are the children of Julia's second sister, Caroline, and her marriage with plain Mr Ablewhite, the local banker, was considered quite a misalliance at the time..."
Margaret sighed inwardly. It wasn't that she didn't want to indulge her companion by listing to the convoluted family history she was recounting, but she was quickly getting lost trying to keep track of all those first and second cousins Mrs Clack referred to, regardless of whether once removed or not. Compared with theirs her own family tree was appallingly sparse; she only had the one cousin—Edith—and for the present they were still not on speaking terms...
One more change of trains, about an hour-and-a-half later, saw them on the local service heading north again along the Yorkshire coast. It was a short train with little distinction between classes, and the maids were travelling with their mistresses this time. Bearing in mind that maids came with an assortment of bags and bandboxes (the least of them their own, of course), the compartment felt quite crowded with the four of them.
There were plenty of stops along the route, and occasionally there was a glimpse of the sea. But without a ray of sunshine to brighten the prospect, the water was a leaden grey, with just the odd fleck of white foam on top of a wave.
Regardless of the bleak prospect the proximity of the sea made Margaret quite giddy. Although people said that no place in England was further than seventy miles away from the coast, and despite the fact that she grew up in the New Forest and thereby close to the southern one, she had rarely spent any length of time by the sea. Thus she was looking forward to long bracing walks along the shore, and not even the thought of high winter winds would dim her anticipation.
At last the train pulled into Frizinghall station. After a few moments of bustle and chaos, while they all picked up their belongings and headed for the compartment door, they found themselves on the platform.
A liveried footman, followed by a porter with a handcart, approached them. "Mrs Clack and Miss Hale?" he asked in polite tones. "Please to follow me. Lady Verinder's coach is waiting for you outside the station—"
Outside the station building Margaret declined to enter the coach while waiting for their baggage to be loaded into it, declaring a need to move about for a bit after so much sitting in cramped quarters.
She walked a few paces away from the coach until she had a clear view of the town. A pleasant street lined with shops on either side ran all the way down towards the small port where a few boats were bobbing up and down in the swell. Half way down there seemed to be an hotel on the left side. This near closing time the street was busy with townsfolk and servants on their last-minute errands. The place looked pleasantly well-scrubbed and tidy even at this time of year, although the overall aspect was distinctly northern with a marked absence of stuccoed extravaganzas.
John would stay here in this town in a few days' time.
She turned towards the footman who, at this moment was strapping the last bulky piece of luggage onto the back of the coach. "How far is it from here to Lady Verinder's home?" she asked.
"Five miles, give or take, ma'am."
Five miles! This was much farther than she had anticipated. There would be no easy strolls for her into town to meet up with John. This was a disappointment... but they would find a way! They always did, after all. She simply would have to beg the use of a carriage from her hostess a few times—or John might ride. She suddenly wondered how good a horseman he was. Truth was, she didn't have a clue.
Eventually they were on their way... As they drew closer to their destination, Margaret discovered many pleasant aspects in the surrounding scenery; aspects she intended to explore at her leisure after Christmas, together with John.
The house itself, when they finally approached it after passing a lodge where they were jauntily greeted by the gatekeeper, was situated high above the coast, in a small park. It was modern and well-proportioned, yet so unpretentious that it took Margaret some time to realise just how big it actually was. Its light-coloured masonry was set off nicely against a dark fir plantation in the far background, sheltering the estate from any fierce winds blowing in from the east.
They were no guests of distinction, so there was, of course, no line-up of servants outside the front entrance when they arrived. But even before they pulled to a halt, the front door was opened and out stepped a middle-aged lady. It obviously was their hostess herself, Lady Verinder. She was closely followed by an elderly, distinguished-looking house-steward.
"Cousin," Lady Verinder stepped forward to embrace Mrs Clack as she alighted from the coach. "So good of you to come at this time of the year."
"Thank you for inviting me," Mrs Clack replied. "What could be more charming than spending the Christmas season in the country!" She turned towards Margaret who, at this moment, was stepping down from the coach aided by the footman. "May I introduce Miss Margaret Hale to you, cousin."
"We are delighted to have you with us, Miss Hale," Lady Verinder smiled politely. "Is this your first time in Yorkshire?"
Margaret nodded in the affirmative and voiced her thanks for the invitation. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Dixon stop little Millie from leaving the coach to join the ladies by the front door. Then the door was shut and the coach pulled away to take both maids and the baggage to the back door.
"Now come inside," Lady Verinder said, indicating the welcoming, brightly lit hall. "After you have been shown to your rooms and are rested, you may wish to come and join me in the library for tea." She smiled at her cousin. "There is so much for us to catch up on, Drusilla."
Drusilla?
A/N:
Thank you, everyone, for your lovely reviews and the warm welcome you gave me here at Fanfiction . net ! I'm currently still sussing out how this site works and hope that I won't make a hash of things re settings, formatting, etc.
You may have noticed that there's been a certain lack of 'tall, dark, and handsome' in this chapter. The bad news is that this state of affairs is to continue in the following one—but I promise to make up for it in the future! So, please, bear with me and my story.
I should also warn you that there are definitely much better romantic writers 'out there' than me. You may not get the most compelling romantic scenes in my stories; what you will get, however, is a nice plot—and, with any luck, one where you will say, 'I did not see that one coming'.
Very much looking forward to your comments!
ETA: Re 'Drusilla'... This would have been the first time Margaret had actually heard Mrs Clack's first name. The meaning of the name is (according to Wiki) 'dewy-eyed'!
