Chapter One
London, 10th March 1840
The Marborough Academy for Young Ladies was an affluent building in Kensington facing onto Hyde Park. Built in 1742 by a celebrated architect with a penchant for Gothic architecture, the building was originally a museum displaying the findings of a certain gentleman explorer from his escapades in the Orient. The museum got into financial difficulty, however, after the death of said explorer's great-grandson who died childless, leaving no one left to take over the management of the museum, and so the collection was donated to the British Museum and the building itself was auctioned.
The museum was bought by a successful businessman named Geoffrey Marborough who had become suddenly very rich through some clever investment in the railways; he bought the building for a knock-down price and immediately set about having the interior renovated ready for the summer when he would move in his young wife who was expecting their first child. For over thirty years the family lived there until Marborough and his wife died in an accident when the steamship they were travelling to America on tragically sunk in the Atlantic, leaving their fortune and the house to their only child.
Hestia Marborough was fifty-six and a spinster. It was she who decided to turn the great house into a finishing school for young ladies and so, for almost fifteen years her establishment had groomed girls from wealthy families to become respectable, accomplished young women, ready to grace society with their pleasant conversation and their charming smiles.
It was here that Catherine had spent the past ten years of her life.
Phillip Hadaway climbed out of the carriage in the courtyard of Marborough Academy. He was a man of about sixty with very small round spectacles and a floppy moustache not unlike a walrus, anyone who knew Philip Hadaway knew that he never wore anything but neat black suits and a black bowler hat.
He looked up at the imposing building with its grotesque carvings of demons and gargoyles, blew his nose loudly into a handkerchief and rubbed his aching bones - his rheumatism was beginning to twinge after the long and bumpy carriage ride.
Picking up his briefcase from inside the carriage, Hadaway walked up the five steps to the great front doors and pulled the bell he found there. After a significant wait the door was opened by a red faced scullery maid who appeared to have ran from somewhere within the bowels of the vast house to answer the door.
"Good mornin' sir," she huffed, tucking a stray piece of ash blonde hair under her cap, "'Ow can I be of assistance?"
"I am here to speak with Ms. Marborough." Hadaway said, watching the maid fuss over her hair caused him to subconsciously lift his hat and run a hand over his own thinning hair to flatten it down.
"Ms. Marborough's in 'er office upstairs, please come in." the girl stepped back and held the door open wider.
Hadaway stepped across the threshold into a gloomy entrance hall: the floor was tiled with black and white diamond shaped tiles and the walls were panelled with dark mahogany wood, a mahogany staircase to the right of the front door wound gradually upwards to a mezzanine which stretched off left and right into a long corridor of doors. In one corner a grandfather clock ticked quietly, in another a stuffed polar bear reared up, his glassy stare fixed upon the door and in the centre of the hall stood a round table covered in a lace cloth topped with a potted Aspidistra. The little maid led him upstairs and stopped before the first door they came to.
"Oh!" she exclaimed in remembrance, "Who shall I say's callin'?"
"Phillip Hadaway."
The girl knocked twice upon the door then slipped inside, "'Scuse me ma'm," he heard her saying, "There's a Mister 'adaway 'ere to see you." Hadaway stepped into the office and the maid closed the door behind her as she left.
Hestia Marborough was a short plump woman. Her features were sharp like that of a bird and her hair iron grey, which she always wore pulled back into a tight bun. As a little girl, Ms. Marborough had been brought up by a strict governess and had grown up to be and expert in etiquette and formalities, thus she opened the Marborough Academy for Young Ladies so as to train future generations of debutants. She was a stern woman but also passionate about her school. She rose from her chair and walked around her desk to greet the visitor.
"Good morning, Ms. Marborough. My name is Phillip Hadaway, I am the solicitor to the Merryweather family." Hadaway said, shaking her hand.
"How do you do. Merryweather you say?" the headmistress considered the name for a moment, "Ah! You'll be here in regards to Catherine I assume?"
"Yes I am."
"Delightful girl. She is in her last year if I remember correctly. Do sit down." Hadaway did in the chair before the headmistress' desk.
"Yes," Ms. Marborough continued, settling herself in her own padded leather chair which seemed all too big for her, "A lovely girl, very gifted but one does get the impression that she does not take her lessons all that seriously. Please don't misunderstand me and think that Catherine is an idle girl! Oh not at all! On the contrary, she is at the top of the class for most of her subjects, but she seems to believe that she will never use the lessons we teach."
This was true, Catherine excelled at the academic side of her education and her teachers found her to be a highly talented pupil, though they often lamented upon the fact that she was without a serious attitude when it came to trying to teach her the lessons that a young debutant needs to know. For whenever they tried to give her such instructions she would simply laugh it off, explaining that her family weren't the kind to make a big fuss about introducing her to society through a debutant ball. That was the problem with these country girls, the teachers tutted as they conversed in the staffroom, they were brought up to be too free-spirited. And Catherine Merryweather was a perfect example of such a girl: confident without being precocious, sweet natured and yet, at the same time, fiery and independent.
"I am afraid Catherine is probably right, Ms. Marborough, it isn't likely that she will be formally presented to society." Hadaway said.
"Why ever not?" Ms. Marborough said with a hint of outrage.
"This is the reason of my coming here today. I'm sorry to say that Catherine's mother died yesterday. Lady Merryweather would of course have been responsible for arranging her daughter's debutant season, but now her sole guardian is her elder brother Sir Benjamin and so it is unlikely that Catherine will enter London society."
This made sense to Ms. Marborough; the Merryweathers, despite being considered rather reclusive by staying in their manor in the countryside rather than keeping a London townhouse where they would spend the season, were well known in society through the singular actions of Lady Elizabeth Merryweather who had garnered a reputation as a glamorous socialite. The gentlemen of the family were rather different though: she recalled encountering the family at a party at someone or other's townhouse before Catherine had even started the school - in fact, it was at this evening that Lady Elizabeth discovered to her great interest that Ms. Marborough ran a girls boarding school - Lady Merryweather was surrounded by people, it was almost as if she was holding court despite the fact that she was a guest herself at this party (Hestia was sure that she had even seen the hosts themselves fawning over her) while her husband and younger son stood awkwardly at the fireplace, smiling weakly but politely. The eldest son, a redhead like his mother, was something different altogether, he swaggered about the room with a confidence which was not in the slightest bit becoming while he appraised all the young ladies with a feral look in his eye - rather like a wolf - Hestia herself found herself feeling oddly disturbed by that look. The other boy was dark and favoured his father in looks and disposition, he was quiet - on first impressions one was likely to think him rather dour - and yet there seemed to be something gentle about him, a kind of tentativeness or innocence.
"Oh goodness! How awful!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. The solicitor couldn't tell whether she was unhappy for Catherine or just sorry to lose a talented potential protégé.
"I have here a letter from Sir Benjamin Merryweather." Hadaway said, passing the envelope across the desk. The headmistress read the letter carefully then folded it back into the envelope.
"Well, let me see, it is ten o'clock so the senior girls will probably just be returning from their morning walk." she said, rising from her chair and walking to the door. When she opened the door the sound of the chattering of numerous young girls floated up from the entrance hall. Hadaway followed her out into the corridor and stood watching from the mezzanine as Ms. Marborough descended the stairs.
A group of about thirty girls ranging from about sixteen to nineteen were filing through the front doors led by a teacher. They all wore bottle green dresses and coats with black stockings and black shoes, such was the school uniform. They clustered in the entrance hall chatting animatedly and giggling.
"Catherine Merryweather?" the headmistress said, raising her voice to be heard over the hubbub. A girl taller than all the others with a thick sheet of black curls tumbling down her back, turned around with her head thrown back, still laughing, but she immediately quietened and stood a little straighter when she realised it was the headmistress addressing her from upon the stairs.
"Please go up to my office." Ms. Marborough said, "And kindly be quiet in the corridors, girls." she shot over her shoulder to the remaining girls in the hall below as she followed Catherine upstairs.
Without a word, Catherine ascended the stairs and entered the office, giving Hadaway a curious glance as the passed him in the corridor. When they were all back inside the room, Ms. Marborough shut the door and gestured for Catherine to sit down in the seat which Hadaway had recently vacated.
"Now, my dear," the headmistress said, returning to her own chair, "This is Mister Hadaway and he is your family's solicitor, did you know that?"
"I did not. How do you do sir?" Catherine said, turning to look at said solicitor.
Phillip Hadaway was startled into silence, the face of the girl who addressed him was the absolute double of her recently deceased mother; the same almond shaped cat-like eyes with delicately arched brows, the same high cheekbones and elegantly sloping nose and full pointed lips.
"I am afraid I bring bad news, my lady." he said, finally finding his voice, "It gives me great sorrow to have to tell you that your dear mother passed away yesterday." The girl before him blinked disbelievingly for a while, then bit her lip and pressed her hands to her face. There was about a minute or so of uncomfortable silence in the room as Hadaway and Ms. Marborough glanced about awkwardly while Catherine sat in the chair, her body racked with silent sobs.
"How?" she finally croaked, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and scrubbing at her eyes vigorously.
"I believe it was Consumption. She was taken to her bed on Saturday and passed away in the early hours of yesterday morning. I have here a letter which your brother sent." Hadaway picked up the letter from Ms. Marborough's desk and handed it to her.
With trembling fingers Catherine struggled to take the letter from the envelope and unfold it; she recognised Benjamin's sharp, slanting script immediately as she read:
Ms. H. Marborough,
Marborough Academy for Young Ladies,
London.
Ms. Marborough,
My sister, Catherine Merryweather, is educated at your institution. I am writing to inform you that yesterday, 9th March, 1840, my mother, Lady Elizabeth Merryweather, died after a sudden bout of illness. It has been decided that it would be in Catherine's best interests to return to our home, Moonacre Manor, indefinitely. On 10th of March our family solicitor, Mister Phillip Hadaway will escort Catherine back to Moonacre. I thank you and your academy for the years Catherine has spent in your care, and will send the monthly payment for her education/living fees up to the date of the 10th.
Respectfully,
Sir Benjamin Merryweather
Catherine didn't know what to say so she folded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope and handed it back to Hadaway, who in turn handed it to Ms. Marborough.
"I am to leave today?" she murmured numbly.
"I am afraid so, my lady." Hadaway said.
"I suppose I should go to my room and pack my things."
"Oh, yes, of course dear. You are excused." Ms. Marborough said gently.
"I shall wait here. Take your time, my lady." Hadaway called after her as she walked to the door.
Catherine sat down heavily upon her bed and looked around her. The room was long with a large bay window with a window seat at one end. She shared the room with three other girls and each girl had their own space in the room with her own bed, wardrobe, bookcase and bedside cabinet.
At that moment, her roommates returned from their lessons. They came bounding in, laughing and chattering but stopped abruptly when they saw Catherine sitting alone on her bed.
"Cat? What's happened?" Lucy Porter said. Lucy was a thin, pale girl with the reddest hair anyone had ever seen.
"My family's solicitor came here today to see me. My mother died yesterday." Catherine said, wiping away tears she didn't know she had been crying.
"Oh Cat, I'm ever so sorry!" Elizabeth Evans said, sitting next to Catherine and wrapping her arms around her. Elizabeth was a pretty girl with long brown hair and green eyes. It was a well known fact that once she graduated from Marborough, Elizabeth would marry a boy from St. Adrian's School for Boys across the road. Her husband-to-be was an intelligent boy named Crispin Richards, though not the most handsome of boys, Crispin was a sweet, gentle boy whom Elizabeth had liked immediately after meeting him at one of the dances the two schools often held.
"I am to leave today with Mister Hadaway. I shan't be coming back to Marborough." Catherine sniffed.
"What, never ever?" Mary Waters exclaimed. Mary was the youngest of the girls and thus shorter and a little chubbier than the others.
"I don't think so. My brother wrote in his letter that I am to return home indefinitely."
"Oh, Cat! We'll miss you so much!" Lucy exclaimed, taking Catherine's hands.
Catherine wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, "I should start packing." she said, standing up.
"Would you like us to help you?" Elizabeth asked. Catherine nodded.
The girls set about pulling Catherine's travelling trunk out from under her bed and packing it. Mary Waters lined Catherine's books in the bottom of the trunk, leather bound novels of Shakespeare, Chaucer, Austen, Dickens, Shelly, Byron, Wordsworth and Tennyson. Lucy and Elizabeth took Catherine's clothes from her wardrobe, folding them and packing them on top of the books. Catherine herself gathered together her mementos and knick-knacks she had scattered here and there; the moth-eaten teddy bear sitting on her pillow, brought with her when she arrived at Marborough ten years ago; the bunch of irises, now wilting, given to her by Richard McCray from St. Adrian's before he left for India last week; a drawing of an organ grinder's monkey she had once seen in Piccadilly Circus, sketched herself and pinned above her bed; a small ceramic ornament of a Japanese geisha standing on her bedside cabinet next to a glass prism which sometimes caught the sunlight and sent little rainbows around the room, a small framed photograph of her family. Catherine picked up the photograph and stared hard at the sepia toned image, immediately the memory of the day came flooding back...
It was Summer and the hottest day for years. Catherine was four years old and her old nurse fussed around her, curling her hair into perfect ringlets, making her change dresses over and over until she finally made up her mind as to which one made the little girl look her prettiest. The dress was of powder blue silk with long sleeves, white lace covered her entire throat up to her chin and adorned the hem and cuffs of the dress, a dark blue sash was tied about her waist and her nurse tied a matching ribbon amongst Catherine's hair. She wore white stockings with even more lace upon them and pinching black velvet and leather shoes, tied with black silk ribbons and with shining buttons upon the ankles. Her nurse took her out into the garden where the family would be posing upon a white garden bench for the photographer. The grass was yellowing and dry due to the heat and stood up in sharp points, having recently been mown by the gardeners. Catherine was placed upon her mother's knee who held her there firmly and reluctantly. Two things Catherine could remember about her mother: she was exquisitely beautiful and she had no time for any of her children. Today, she was dressed in a simple white muslin gown and wore pearls at her throat and hanging from her earlobes. Her chestnut hair was piled neatly atop her head so as to accentuate her fine bone structure and delicate features. Catherine's father stood behind with one hand upon his wife's shoulder and his other clutching the decorative rapier hanging from his belt. He looked regal and proud in his Colonel's uniform, his many medals shining upon his chest and his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed. George and Benjamin, aged twenty-three and eighteen, respectively, sat on the grass at their mother's feet, dressed identically in startlingly white, baggy shirts and tan breeches. Benjamin favoured his father in looks and build and shared the same wavy black hair, while George had the same chestnut locks and slight build as his mother. Catherine on the other hand, had her mother's beauty and the hair of her father (as she grew it would soon become apparent that she would also inherit his athletic build and tallness). Catherine felt hot and flustered and wouldn't stop fidgeting, much to her mother's displeasure. The photographer arranged them this way and that then stepped behind the strange contraption which turned out to be his camera, ducked under the cloth and took the photograph. When it was over, Catherine was handed back to her nurse and the boys sent back to their lessons. Her father went to his study where he was an almost constant fixture, the children were often told by their mother and the servants not to disturb him whilst he was working, but generally he was always pleased to see them should they choose to sneak in to visit him. Catherine's mother disappeared back into her own exciting world: a whirlwind of fashion and parties, social calls and fine food. Catherine often wouldn't see her all day until for an hour during dinner, unless her mother was holding a party and then Catherine would have to eat in the nursery. When the photographs arrived two weeks later, little Catherine was most annoyed that there was no colour in them.
When Catherine returned to the headmistress' office half an hour later, she had changed into a black mourning gown and had even taken her trademark bottle green ribbon out of her hair. Hadaway was quite surprised by her sudden transformation - even her entire demeanour had morphed into solemnity.
"The school porters have taken my trunk down to your carriage, sir." she said, fiddling nervously with the catch on her travelling bag.
"Well, if you're ready, my lady, we shall take our leave." Hadaway said.
"Goodbye, my dear." Ms. Marborough said, shaking her hand, "I am awfully sorry for your loss."
"Thank you for having me these past ten years, Ms. Marborough. The lessons I have learnt are invaluable." Catherine said, smiling shakily. Then she and Hadaway walked together out the office, down the stairs, across the entrance hall and through the great front doors.
The morning was dull. Thick storm clouds hung in the sky, purple and grey in colour and the wind was violent, barrelling through the school playground in icy bursts sending leaves skittering here and there. As soon as Catherine stepped outside, the wind immediately whipped past, grabbing her hair and swirling it about her head and into her face. She sighed exasperatedly and tried to regain control of her hair but the wind merely ripped it back out of her fingers and threw it back into her face. A man who she assumed to be the coach driver approached her.
"Good morning, miss. I'll be the one taking you home." he said with a strong West Country accent. He reached out and gently took her bag out of her hand and placed it into the carriage.
"Thank you." Catherine said, her eyes stinging from where the locks of her hair had swiped into them. She could barely see the man's face but she did see the hand which he proffered to help her up into the carriage. Gratefully, she took it and climbed in to what she hoped would be out of the wind. Unfortunately, she was wrong, for one of the carriage windows had jammed halfway open and, try as she might, Catherine couldn't get it to shut. Finally she gave up, flopping back into the seat with a cry of dismay, the wind still playing with her hair. Hadaway climbed in after her a moment later and Catherine asked him to close the window. He told her that he had tried to on his journey to the school but it seemed to be stuck fast, however he rather gallantly tried again to shut it but ended up falling unsuccessfully back into his seat, puffing and panting and rubbing his aching joints.
The driver climbed up onto his seat and, with one quick flick of the reins, the horses broke into a quick trot causing the carriage to sway precariously.
Catherine watched as London passed by; grey streets filled with grey buildings and grey people. It all seemed so drab and only helped to deepen her sadness. Finally, she could stand no more of the wind blowing her hair in her face and began burrowing in her bag for a piece of ribbon with which to tie it back with, but all she was able to find was a red scarf, forgotten at the bottom of the bag since some distant trip to the seaside. Catherine bit her lip; could she really tie her hair with a red scarf when she was supposed to be in mourning? What would Mister Hadaway think of her? After a few moments locked in internal struggle over whether or not it was the proper thing to do, it suddenly occurred to her that her own mother wouldn't have been phased by protocol and wouldn't have hesitated to tie her hair with a coloured scarf. Vanity got the better of her and Catherine wrapped the scarf about her curls, telling herself that she wouldn't make a good impression by arriving at Moonacre looking as though she had been dragged through a hedge backwards.
As it turned out, Mister Hadaway didn't so much as bat an eyelid at the sight of her tying her hair with a striking crimson scarf, he merely said, "You look very much like your mother. Except for your eyes and your hair." This was true, Catherine had curls as dark as a raven's wing, inherited from her father along with his large chocolate brown eyes instead of her mother's shining grey eyes like liquid silver.
"Did she suffer?" Catherine asked quietly, hardly wanting to know the answer.
"No," Hadaway said, "It was very brief. The doctor thought it might have been Influenza at first. She passed away before it could truly take effect."
"A blessing, I suppose," Catherine murmured, "Did you know that I had a little brother who died due to Consumption?"
"I…yes, yes I did." the solicitor said awkwardly.
"Albert. He died two weeks after being born. I was only three years old but I remember it all quite clearly. I'm glad that my mother did not suffer what he did, poor little lamb."
