By zanya
Author Notes | Thanks to pennedup for Blizzard |
By zanya
An icy cold January morning dawned at the Highway Inn. An easterly wind blew the loose snow into drifts.
Coachman Harry tended to the Cleveland Bays in the livery stable. Jessie, the oldest of the Bays was limping on her left hind leg. Harry had bathed it the night before. He didn't wish to trouble the Squire with these day-to-day matters. Besides he had noticed the Squire's irritation on the previous night, being obliged to stay overnight at the inn. Harry hoped his master would be in better spirits, come the morning.
Bays, being a restless equine breed, needed to be on the move.
Sir Alfred was awakened by a brusque knocking on his bedroom door.
'Sir,' the innkeeper called out. 'Letter, for you, Sir, at the Inn this morn.'
'Ok, ok,' Alfred barked. 'Leave it in the dining room. Shall collect it anon.'
The innkeeper plodded back to the kitchen, in his striped apron, to oversee the preparation of victuals for breakfast. A pungent smell of sausage and sweetmeat hung in the air. Ceramic pots of freshly brewed tea stood ready on the tables.
As the entrance door was thrown open, snow flurries blew indoors, melting and forming little pools of water.
Alfred paid scant attention to his toilette in these austere surroundings. He made his way to the dining hall. Shivering in his tawny great coat, he seated himself by the front window which looked out onto the courtyard.
Horse manure lay like ink blobs on the pristine snow.
Clumps of bloodied bird feathers protruded at intervals from the white landscape.
Rubbing his hands to warm the blood, Alfred tucked into flannel cakes and sausage meat.
The kitchen maid carried a steaming pot of breakfast tea and plonked it at Alfred's elbow.
'Sir, how do you like to drink your breakfast tea, black, or with milk from the Jersey cow?' Maid Dorothy enquired.
Sir Alfred was preoccupied. His attention now drawn to the men in morning coats and bowler hats, accompanied by ladies in carriage coats and mufflers as they hustled along to their waiting coaches. Some, in keeping with bourgeois mores, wore veils, concealing their eyes and upper facial features.
The sky overhead was a steel grey with a promise of further snow falls.
Alfred watched the exiting travellers with keen interest, hoping to catch a glimpse of La Marquise, if she had indeed been an overnight guest at the Inn. Alas, La Marquise and her middle-aged male companion did not appear among the departing guests.
It was no more than a trick of the fading, late evening light. I was probably mistaken, Alfred mused.
He lifted his napkin dejectedly and brushed the crumbs of the Flannel cake from his breeches. The sealed letter, delivered earlier, which lay beside his breakfast cup, fell to the floor.
Fiddlesticks, who could possibly wish to contact me here at this remote inn?, he wondered.
Lady Betsy will undoubtedly be concerned for her husband's welfare in these treacherous conditions.
Just then his gaze fell on the familiar seal of the Maison de Marquis de Chantonnay, Provence.
His heart missed a beat. Fumbling to open the letter, he eventually undid the seal.
La Marquise's calligraphy was unmistakeable, the flourish with which she penned the first letter of his name warmed his middle-aged heart.
Cher Alfred.
To see you at Highway Inn is merveilleux. Quelle joie!
I must return to La France for important business.
Bisous.
La Marquise
Sir Alfred's eyes scanned the letter for more information, for hope, for a flicker of tenderness.
He was disappointed. Not a hint of rapprochement since their last fractious rendez-vous.
What was he to make of this missive?. Alfred sat transfixed.
He recalled warmly the glimpse of La Marquise, the previous evening. The familiar contours of her gallic face, the silky, olive skin, the chestnut eyes and the sweeping curled locks. Her male companion, by contrast, seemed gaunt and preoccupied.
Alfred glanced at the wooden clock on the dining room wall.
He had two and a half hours to make the London train. In these weather conditions the journey would indeed be hazardous.
He hastened to rejoin Harry. The Bays shivered in the cold wind.
Alfred buttoned up his great coat and climbed into the cold, snow-covered carriage.
The door was difficult to close. Finally he managed it.
The carriage had been in the family since his father's childhood.How he loved those Sunday afternoon outings with his father, Lord Philip, when they both rode together to join the pheasant shoot.
The carriage was clearly showing signs of wear and tear. However, the Manor at Briarly Hall was in need of serious refurbishment.
Lady Betsy, fretted a great deal about their future, now that both of their children had reached adulthood.
Son Charles was showing signs of being a laggard, showing little or no interest in the estate since reaching the age of majority. Wandering around Europe squandering his inheritance seemed to be his main focus.
Mathilde, his only daughter, despite attending annual balls in the country estates had not as yet received an offer of matrimony from an appropriate suitor. Alfred often found himself at loggerheads with his daughter. Feisty and self-opioned, Mathilde spoke her own truth, scoffing at the notion of being merely the wife of some suitable, middle class male heir.
Large snowdrifts meant long delays.
'Harry, Harry,' Alfred shouted,' turn the Bays around, we must return home before dark as we are not now going to connect with the departure time of the London train'.
Alfred felt for Harry at times like this when events didn't turn out as planned. Harry was such a dedicated and loyal equerry.
'At your service, Sir, as you wish,' Harry retorted, while carefully facing the Bays once again in the direction of home.
The clip-clop of horses hooves was muffled on the snowclad landscape.
Author Notes | Thanks to avmurray for Get In |
By zanya
Equerry Harry saddled up Lady Mathilde's favourite horse Swinburn. Harry was concerned about Swinburn. He was showing signs of slowing down lately and some erratic behaviour. Lady Mathilde first rode Swinburn when she was just seven years old at the local gymkhana. Her natural prowess as a horsewoman was evident even then. But a horse feels the passing of time in its bones.
'Morning Harry,' Lady Mathilde greeted Harry with her usual good cheer.
'How's my precious Swiny today, no aches or pains, ready for a good gallop,' Lady Mathilde asked.
'Yes ma'am, indeed ma'am,' Harry replied, 'except for her left hock which is a little tender this morning. Still some frost about, though we now in month of March. Take her easy on the gallops, My Lady and you and Swinburn can enjoy the cross country canter.'
Harry watched horse and rider disappear into the distance.
Swinburn took off at a frisky pace as Lady Mathilde urged him on.
Harry had watched Mathilde grow up in Briarly Hall having been equerry for more than two decades. Harry knew Briarly Hall was in need of young blood. Outbuildings and stables were beginning to crumble with age. The Squire's carriage now creaked somewhat dangerously, even on short journeys.
Harry pondered why Lady Mathilde showed no interest in taking a husband. Harry had watched young men come a-wooing and leave dejected, never to return.
Young women were different these days, Harry concluded. Silly ideas about freedom and womens' rights seemed to be taking hold.
But who would cook a man's dinner in the evening, Harry wondered. His loyal Betty never missed a day cooking his dinner in almost forty years.
The war had impoverished gentry like Alfred. The devastating loss of so many young men had deprived families of male heirs.
Harry knew his own livelihood was threatened if Briarly Hall had to be sold. Now in his late fifties and employment prospects would be grim for old men of his ilk.
Sound of a horse's whinny interrupted his reverie. In the distance he caught sight of Lady Mathilde on Swinburn. Alongside her rode a young man on a gray mare. Peals of laughter floated on the breeze. It lifted Harry's spirit.
Another eligible young man for Lady Mathilde, Harry murmured quietly to himself. He went back to brushing the horses' coats and removing sharp thorns from their hooves.
Marquis Gregoire was a long standing family friend. Lady Mathilde enjoyed his company. She loved to tease him about his French ancestry.
'Do ze French like to claim you as Francais?' Mathilde teased.
'Pas du tout,' Gregoire replied, I am not a Francais, not a frog.'
'You will marry a belle Francaise, no doubt,' Mathilde answered. 'Une Marquise who dwells in an elegant chateau. And you shall dine on escargots and frogs legs for ever.'
Mathilde threw back her head of flaxen curls with a carefree laugh.
Marquis Gregoire loved her joie-de-vivre. He shifted nervously on his gray mare.
'I am not presently acquainted with eligible French mesdemoiselles,' Gregoire responded.
'Perhaps a pale English rose with porcelain skin would be much more interesting.' Gregoire replied, ' a draught of good old English beer would be more to my taste.' Gregoire was emboldened now.
He loved to joust verbally with Mathilde. She was spirited and interesting, unlike many of the eligible young women with whom he was obliged to consort. Mathilde, he reflected had a mind of her own and wasn't afraid to use it.
By now it was approaching noon and the young pair had returned to the stables and were dismounting from their morning canter.
Mathilde resented Gregoire's 'porcelain skin' remark.
'Porcelain skin indeed and what about her intellect,' Mathilde responded in a fractious manner.
'Intellect, but yes of course,' Gregoire continued, ' a lady's intellect is of the utmost importance.'
'When does a lady use her intellect if she simply lives out her days serving afternoon tea and attending Sunday church?' Mathilde asked.
Gregoire was well aware of Mathilde's involvement in the suffragette movement. He admired her stance and her conviction.
The young pair made their way to the music room. Mathilde loved a rendition of a Beethoven sonata before lunch.
Gregoire leafed aimlessly through the music scores while she opened the lid of the pianoforte. Soon piano music reverberated through the ancient walls of Briarly Hall.
'You play magnificently, Lady Mathilde,' Gregoire remarked spontaneously.
Mathilde was secretly pleased to receive such a compliment.
'I do sir,' she responded, 'Whatever I undertake, I execute magnificently,' Mathilde continued.
Gregoire was abashed. Being more acquainted with young ladies who blushed on receiving a compliment rather than acknowledging it in such a forthright manner, Gregoire was unsure how to respond.
Suddenly he blurted out, 'Lady Mathilde, the annual Spring Ball takes place one week from today at my uncle's residence in London. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?'
Lady Mathilde blushed slightly.
'Gregoire, I shall be delighted to accompany you.' Mathilde replied.' What a wonderful opportunity it will be to become acquainted with the London suffragettes. I must advise Mama and have her prepare my little flag for the occasion.'
Gregoire was dumbfounded. He felt like he was being inadvertently caught up in a maelstrom. It would be churlish and unmanly now to cancel simply because of a remark about suffragettes.
The young pair exited the music room .
'Mama', Lady Mathilde called to her mother, Lady Betsy,' I shall be travelling to London one week from today, accompanied by Gregoire, to meet up with our suffragette sisters.'
Lady Betsy responded' How nice my dear to travel to London with Gregoire. Is he a fan of the suffragettes too my dear?'
Gregoire was filled with anguish as to how he was to manage the bizarre sequence of events.
---------------------------------------------------
Author Notes | Image from Google images |
By zanya
Disconcerted, Sir William leafed through some of Lady Mathilde's music that lay, in neat piles, next to the piano.
An accomplished musician with catholic tastes, he mused.
Beethoven's Sonata in C minor caught his eye. A note with a red, velvet ribbon was attached to the top.
It read :
' My heart yearns to listen again to your inspiring rendition.
With all my love. Sir Ernst'.
Sir William stood agape.
'The cad,' William blurted out. 'Mathilde prefers this wastrel. Surely not..it can't be... my sparring fencing partner is winning the young lady's heart.'
Buttoning his redingote he stormed off.
Author Notes | Thanks to trailblazer101 for Awakenings |
By zanya
'Mama, Mama,' Mathilde called out to her mother from the breakfast room.
'Mama, I appear to have mislaid my flags for the meeting on Friday next in London. I distinctly recall placing them in my garderobe on my return from London, more than a month ago. Difficult to miss in green, white and purple. My Lady's maid, Dilly, swears she has not seen them. Have you come across them Mama?,' Mathilde queried with increasing impatience.
Lady Betsy lingered a little longer in the corridor outside the breakfast room, hoping to avoid discussion with Mathilde about the Suffragette flags.
'No Mathilde,' Lady Betsy finally answered reluctantly.
'I have not had occasion to come across flags of any hue, either green, white or blue.'
Lady Betsy was beside herself with anxiety, to decipher if Mathilde had accepted Le Marquis's invitation to the London Spring Ball.
'Spring is such a beautiful season to attend the ball with Marquis Gregoire,' Lady Betsy commented, wishing to change the difficult subject of flags.
Being increasingly anxious about her daughter's marriage prospects, Le Marquis's invitation offered the possibility of a perfect match.
Descended from monied stock and being a banker in London, Le Marquis would enable Briarly Hall to remain as a family dynasty. Despite Lady Betsy's urging of her husband, Sir Alfred, to encourage the match, Alfred remained somewhat aloof. Absorbed in his hunting and fishing and parliamentary duties, Sir Alfred seemed somewhat fatalistic about life events. Lady Betsy knew that love and romance and especially marriage needed a significant push in the right direction.
'Mama, Mama,' Mathilde called out, 'Dilly has just found the flags. Not in my boudoir but safely stored in the basement with a further bundle of twenty. So the Suffragette Sisters will be greatly pleased to have ample supply for Saturday's London meeting . I have asked Dilly to see to it that the flags are packed carefully in my trunk which will be transported to London ahead of the meeting.'
Lady Betsey experienced a growing sense of exasperation. Politics was not her forte. She was puzzled by her daughter's seeming dedication to political engagement. Perhaps it's in her blood on her father's side, she reasoned.
Lady Betsey could wait no longer. 'And are you attending the London Ball with Le Marquis?,' Lady Betsey asked in a somewhat irritated tone.
'It depends Mama,' Lady Mathilde replied, 'it all depends on events and how they unfold on Saturday morning. The March begins on Saturday morning from Trafalgar Square at noon. Following our public marches, we are obliged, under our constitution, to hold an assessment meeting within twenty-four hours. All the Sisters may be unable to attend. So in my role as Chair, I will be obliged to attend, all or any gathering which may ensue. Mama, it is so exciting, especially when you, Mama display such a keen interest in events'.
Lady Betsey could feel her cheeks burning with anger. Careful not to let it show, she pressed her daughter further.
'My dear, will you be wearing the pink taffeta dress to the Ball or would the azure blue be more appropriate for Spring?' Betsey continued.
Before Mathilde had time to reply, Mathilde's Lady's maid, Dilly handed her a letter.
It bore Le Marquis's seal.
It read;
Dearest Mathilde,
I shall be in Norfolk on Wednesday evening March 8th , returning to London on Thursday morning. I am requesting the pleasure of your company for the journey to London on Thursday. You will be our guest at our family residence in London for the Spring Ball.
With kind regards Bisous
Marquis Gregoire
Lady Betsey waited anxiously to learn the contents of the letter.
'Gregoire wishes that I accompany him to London ahead of the ball,' Lady Mathilde stated.
'But that doesn't quite fit with my plans. The Suffragette Sisters are expecting me to be at HQ on Thursday night. I shall have to advise Gregoire that I am unable to accept his offer to join him on the journey to London.
Lady Betsey intervened, ' But you may still travel down by carriage with Marquis Gregoire on Thursday, after all your political appointment is not until later that evening.'
Lady Mathilde was by now irate:
'Mama, how could you possibly understand, what do you know about politics? After all you spent your life with papa, preparing afternoon tea and awaiting his return from his many and varied clandestine outings?'
Lady Betsey was in shock. Never before had her daughter ever made reference to her father's absences. In fact, Lady Betsey assumed that both her children had accepted absence, in the case of papa, be it long or short, as an integral part of family life.
Lady Betsey glanced through the window of the morning room only to see her husband disappear into the distance en route to the weekly hunt. How often she had watched this scene unfold, not quite knowing what it might mean. Now here was her grown up daughter challenging the very fundamentals of their family life and how it unfolded, as she was growing up.
Lady Betsey, at that moment, felt as if she had caught a glimpse of a new world order, one that would no longer accept the status quo and one in which men and women would be equal players on the stage. It was though, somewhat unimaginable in her patriarchal, aristocratic milieu.
Lady Mathilde hastened to her boudoir to write an immediate reply to Marquis Gregoire:
My dearest Marquis,
I shall be honoured to accept your invitation to accompany you to London on ThursdayMarch 9th. I shall, thereby, arrive early at Suffragette HQ.
Lady Mathilde
Thursday morning dawned with a few snow flurries. Marquis Gregoire's carriage drew up slowly in front of Briarly Hall. Lady Betsey waved goodbye to her daughter as the carriage set off.
How different they look, Lady Betsey mused to herself, the horses seemed so well turned out than carriage horses at Briarly Hall. The carriage door handles glinted in the Spring sunshine.
Lady Betsey felt a frisson of hope as she listened to the fading clip-clop of horses hooves.
Author Notes | Thanks to supergold for The Parliament |
By zanya
Marquis Gregoire's father, Lord Charlois, greeted his son Marquis Gregoire as he ascended from the carriage.
'Papa,' Gregoire continued, 'my dear childhood friend, Lady Mathilde from Briarly Hall is joining us for dinner and will be our overnight guest'.
Lord Charlois peered over his spectacles at the young Norfolk heiress.
Lady Charlois soon joined the new arrivals.
'My dearest Lady Mathilde', Lady Charlois began, ' I am so happy to make your acquaintance again after some years absence. You were but a mere child when last we met. Now you have grown into a beautiful young woman. My son Gregoire speaks highly of you.'
Lady Mathilde listened politely, realising the long family ties existing between her father, Squire Alfred and Lord Charlois.
'My dear Mathilde, you shall have the guest boudoir, the blue room, in the West Wing during your sojourn with us. It affords more privacy and some beautiful sunsets on these early Spring evenings,' Lady Charlois continued.
'I shall require an escritoire where I can prepare my address for tomorrow's meeting at noon,' Lady Mathilde continued.
Lady Charlois seemed somewhat bewildered.
'Yes, Mama,' Gregoire continued. 'Lady Mathilde is an advocate of voting rights for women and will be part of tomorrow's gathering at Trafalgar Square.'
Lady Mathilde felt a deep sense of relief. She was in no mood to formulate her political leanings. She knew only too well the deep divisions such a move might engender. Marquis Gregoire smoothed her path. Yet Mathilde had difficulty deciphering his own particular views where womens' rights were concerned.
Lord Charlois betrayed no emotion, though within earshot of the conversation.
'Will you be wearing blue or pink taffeta to the Spring Ball, my dear?,' Lady Charlois enquired. 'Blue taffeta is so much in vogue this season. My friend, Lady Dinard, tells me it is distinctly all the rage in Paris this year.'
'Having an all-male household,' Lady Charlois continued, ' it will be fun to share the season's new colors and fashion with you, Lady Mathilde.'
A smile escaped Lady Mathilde's lips. Despite her earlier misgivings, she began to feel a sense of welcome.
Lady Mathilde dressed warmly on Saturday morning. Her navy hat with the two large plumes was her favourite for these political gatherings.
Snow fell heavier and drifts began to form.
Following breakfast with the Marquis, Lady Mathilde picked up her old leather satchel, a gift from her paternal great-grandmother and tossed it over her shoulder. Banners and flags of purple, white and green jutted from every orifice.
'Do you require assistance, Lady Mathilde?,' Gregoire enquired.
'I shall request my equerry to ready the hansom to take you to Trafalgar Square'.
Lady Mathilde was perplexed at this offer of assistance.
Not wishing to entangle Gregoire's family in her political pursuits, she responded, 'No, dearest Gregoire, I shall take a tram and hope to meet the sisters en route'.
Marquis Gregoire insisted, 'but Lady Mathilde, you are carrying a torch for human freedom, we cannot allow you to do it entirely alone'.
Soon the hansom was waiting and Lady Mathilde embarked.
Arriving early at Trafalgar, two of the political sisters were already there, preparing the podium for the address.
One of the sisters, Hilary, remarked,' Lady Mathilde, you arrive in style today, let's hope that is a good sign for the progress and membership of the Movement.'
Lady Mathilde winced. She was fully aware of Hilary's impoverished circumstances and the long hours working selflessly for the Women's Voting Rights Movement. Her lack of schooling and illiteracy meant she could not help new recruits to fill forms and enlist. Such educational shortcomings did not, however, dampen her enthusiasm.
Trafalgar was as yet, all but empty, on this March morning.
Soon a small crowd, mostly men, began to gather alongside the podium. Passersby stopped occasionally to watch the preparations. Some shouted abuse at the women.
'An who's feeding yer babies and cooking for your husbands when you're gallivanting here in Trafalgar?,' one middle-aged man shouted.
'They're only widows n' spinsters, sir, no men allowed in their beds', another man responded.
At times like this, Hilary felt emboldened, shouting out the words of Emmeline Pankhurst to anyone who cared to listen:
'We are here not because we are lawbreakers, we are here in our efforts to become lawmakers'.
A few eggs were thrown and landed on the podium, narrowly missing Lady Mathilde's right eye.
Wiping egg yolk from her face, Lady Mathilde came forward from behind the podium and responded, 'Sir, why does any man wish to deny women their rightful place in the world, where they can influence events?'.
A youngish man, wearing a pince-nez, watched the events from a distance. He edged ever closer to the podium.
'Ma'am ,' he began, ' I have no sisters and my mother died in childbirth. My father decides for my younger brother and me in our household. He declares it to be his right as head of family. I was not aware that women could be allowed to hold responsible office'.
The young man waited.
'My name is Edward,' he blurted out, ' Perhaps I can help you steady the podium in the centre'.
Lady Mathilde nodded in agreement.
Snow flurries turned to blizzard- like conditions making preparations difficult.
Noon chimed out from the clock tower. People stomped their feet on the snowy pavement to keep warm.
Lady Mathilde addressed her political sisters.
'Sisters, since weather conditions are inclement today we may not be able to address the public or further the cause of the Suffrage'.
Hilary interrupted and determined that they would nevertheless remain in situ for some hours so as not to miss out on any possible new recruits.
But soon the sky turned grey and visibility was reduced. The sisters began to pack up their wares and agreed to set a new date to meet.
The gas lamps along the small side streets were already being lit.
*******************************
Author Notes | Image courtesy of Google images |
By zanya
Returning from the Suffragette meeting, Lady Mathilde repaired to her boudoir in the West Wing. Happy to have the company of her Lady's maid, Dilly, from Briarly Hall, she deposited her leather satchel on the escritoire.
Lady Mathilde worked punctiliously, recalling significant afternoon events and committing them to archival memory with eloquent strokes of her pen.
'See to it that the inkpot is full to the brim as I have much writing to do,' Lady Mathilde instructed Dilly.
'Why here's this beautiful quill that rests on the escritoire,' Lady Mathilde remarked. 'What a fine specimen, inlaid with aquamarine. Perhaps it belongs to Lord Charlois.
Papa still continues to write with his age old quill when he has important papers from Parliament to resume. Mama is horrified when she sees him reach for the quill,' Lady Mathilde added.
'Yes, Ma-am', Dilly replied, concerned how long Lady Mathilde was likely to spend at the escritoire. Dilly had to see to it that Her Ladyship was fully attired and ready to attend supper with Marquis Gregoire's family and invited guests before The Spring Ball got underway.
Dilly knew Her Ladyship's commitment to the Suffragette cause, planning and putting the Cause ahead of her own private life.
Dilly pondered how Lady Mathilde would find time to stroll arm in arm, in the garden with Gregoire, to be wooed in a chivalrous manner, to swoon in his sturdy arms, allowing him to plant a gentle kiss on her English rose cheek.
How lucky her Ladyship was to have such a chaperon, Dilly sighed.
Dilly longed for a chaperon to call her own. Percy, the gardener hadn't yet made her girlish heart race with his green wellies and clumps of dirt under his fingernails.
He never tried to plant even a little kiss on her Devonshire cheek, not even when they spent the whole afternoon at the local Fair, last Summer.
Dilly was awakened from her reverie by the clip-clop of horses' hooves coming up the avenue. Her eyes rested on the blue taffeta evening gown, still hanging in the armoire, adorned with precious azure stones at the neckline.
The light blue sandals, glittering in the candlelight, stood beneath the ball gown.
Lady Mathilde's brunette curls had yet to be dressed in a chignon and clasped with a silver barrette, complete with a delicate pink, silk ribbon.
Through the open window, cheerful laughter of the arriving guests could be heard. Dilly longed to take a peek. She wanted to feast her eyes on the young eligible men who were due to attend the ball. How handsome they would look. She loved their low cut dark waistcoats with ample shirt fronts, complete with gold studs and matching cravats.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
Dilly grasped the heavy brass door handle. Gregoire's father, Lord Charlois, stood outside. Wearing a black, superfine dress coat, with some slight braiding at the cuffs, the triangle of a white linen cambric handkerchief rested in his jacket pocket, he exhibited an air of concern. White kid gloves completed the ensemble.
'Lady Mathilde, please make haste,' he said. 'Gregoire's attendance at supper will be delayed as he is to chaperon Countess Mildred to the Ball'.
With that Lord Charlois, turned deftly on the heels of his horn pipe shoes and disappeared down the winding staircase, to the vast foyer below, to mingle with the guests.
Doubt played around the edges of Lady Mathilde's mind at the mention of a Countess Mildred as she had her hair dressed by Dilly.
'Say M'Lady,' Dilly blurted out, 'who is Countess Mildred? Haven't seen her name on the guest list'.
Lady Mathilde felt distinctly uncomfortable, yet dared not mention her misgivings to Dilly.
Gregoire had never spoken of Countess Mildred. She began to feel like the outsider, l'inconnu, not part of the London scene.
Dilly opened the door and peered over the large wooden banister.
Returning to the boudoir she reassured Lady Mathilde,
'M'y Lady, you are to be the prettiest girl at the Spring Ball.Why you will dazzle MarquisGregoire with your beauty.
After all, Norfolk planes are known for their pretty maids'.
Lady Mathilde took her fan from the dressing table, the pretty yellow and purple one Gregoire had presented to her on his return from Madrid. It had belonged to his great-aunt Josefina, who had passed away when she was a century old.
Lady Mathilde stood on the stair balcony while Dilly arranged the train of her evening gown.
She caught sight of Gregoire, chatting with his father beside the French window. The father's gloved hand rested on his son's shoulder as the two men shared a confidence. Seeing Lady Mathilde, Gregoire hurried to accompany her to the main hallway.
Taking her gloved hand in his, he introduced her to the guests as they entered the dining hall.
Seated between Gregoire and his cousin Lord Wakely, Lady Mathilde finally began to look forward to the soiree.
'So you are Lady Mathilde,' Lord Wakely began,' taking the Womens' Suffrage all the way to the House of Parliament, eh, got your work cut out for you , you ladies'.
'It's an idea whose time has come,' Lady Mathilde replied,' a vote is a powerful tool in the hands of the citizenry,' She continued.
Lord Charlois, seated arcoss the table from his son, listened attentively as Lady Mathilde spoke.
'Lady Mathilde,' he interjected, 'is it your movement's intention to use violent means to achieve your ends?'.
Always happy to discuss the movement's raison d'etre, she hesitated to reply to the question directly since policy making was always a work-in-progress.
'Lord Charlois,' she began, 'the Womens' Suffrage takes its purpose very seriously indeed and will consider whatever action is necessary and at an appropriate time'.
Lord Charlois peered over his glasses at this spirited young woman, in his presence, chaperoned by his favourite son.
'Lady Mathilde,' Lady Charlois interjected, 'how exquisitely beautiful you look tonight, despite having spent this cold March afternoon persuading the populace to change the course of history'.
Some voices hushed when the Suffrage came up in conversation.
'The Suffrage is a most embarrassing affair for society ladies of a certain vintage,' Dowager Dainworth, declared.
'How on earth can ladies of my generation decide who is best to sit in the House of Parliament. Surely we can do as our ancestors have done and leave these weighty political matters to our menfolk'.
A wave of nervous laughter ensued.
Gregoire glanced at Lady Mathilde. Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear,' Dearest Mathilde, please refrain from being goaded by the Dowager. Her views are old-fashioned and she is unlikely to change'.
Lady Mathilde's young heart fluttered as she felt the touch of Gregoire's hand on her wrist and his gentle whisperings in her right ear.
By now the gilded ballroom doors had been swung open and dancing was in progress. Soon Lady Mathilde was in Gregoire's arms as they tripped lightly to the strains of a Strauss waltz.
Changing partners, Lady Mathilde was next invited to dance by Lord Wakely. An accomplished dancer he concentrated on his foot movements and precision timing.
'What a fine dancer you are Lord Wakely,' Lady Mathilde said. ' You are no doubt a much sought after guest during the London Ball season,' Lady Mathilde continued.
'Indeed, Lady Mathilde,' Lord Wakely continued,' why my calendar is always full during the Ball season. And yet......and yet .... I have not until now encountered such an interesting young lady as you with whom to share the dance floor'.
Lady Mathilde blushed slightly.
'Lord Wakely,' Mathilde continued, ' you may have too great a selection of interesting young ladies to choose from. Perhaps you are spoiled for choice'.
'I cannot match your style on the dance floor,' she added.
'Lady Mathilde', he continued,' I wager you do not have a great deal of time to practise your dancing. A young woman who is intent on changing how we think politically cannot, perforce, have a great deal of time to devote to, what one might call, frivolous pursuits like dancing'.
Lady Mathilde laughed.
'Dearest Lord Wakely', she continued, 'one is lucky to have the privilege of choosing one's pursuits. That is a goal we hold dear in the Suffrage movement, to enable people, especially women to have greater autonomy in their lives in the matter of choice, especially political choice. How better can we hope to do that than by fighting for their right to have a voice as to who sits in the seat of power in the Parliament.'
Lord Wakely forgot momentarily his next dance movement, becoming engrossed in Lady Mathilde's view of the world.
'Lord Wakely', she continued, ' let's not forget our next dance move, after all we don't wish to upset the rhythm of the dancers with our inattention', she gently reminded him.
'Lady Mathilde, I am honored to make your acquaintance ,' Lord Wakely continued.
' I request the pleasure of another dance with you this evening. Perhaps you would like to join me for afternoon tea while you are still in London'.
' I shall be delighted to accept your invitation to tea in London at some future date,' Lady Mathilde continued, ever conscious of the need to engage more men, in the Suffrage movement.
The clock in the local Church tower struck midnight . Ladies now dressed in great coats and mufflers against the late Spring cold, hastened to rejoin their cabriolets.
Taking Lady Mathilde's hand, Gregoire bid the guests goodnight.
'My dearest Gregoire, the hour is now late and we must retire'. Lady Mathilde said.
'Taking both her hands in his, he gently kissed her cheek'.
'Lady Mathilde,' he said, 'It has been a wonderful ball this evening, especially since you consented to join me here for the occasion. Would you like to join me for a walk mid morning in the Rose Garden before your return to Norfolk?'
'Yes my dearest Gregoire,' she replied ,' I shall be delighted'.
Author Notes |
Image courtesy of Google Images
Thanks in advance if you took time to read it !! |
By zanya
Lord Airdale caught sight of his jaw in the mirror in the early morning spring light. M-mm, he thought to himself. Still a handsome devil, though on the wrong side of forty. Why a few grey hairs at the temples should only serve to enhance my mystique for the fairer sex.
His loyal butler, Charles, had carefully laid his breakfast tray with his favourite earl grey tea, together with buttered toast and marmalade. Though having lived for more than a decade between Milan and Rottingen, his palate longed for flavours of his English homeland.
Charles was such a loyal fellow, always careful to see to it that he received an English newpaper with his marmalade.
He glanced disinterestedly at the headlines.
Not the Suffragettes again, he thought. Front page news again. Chanting and marching and blocking the London streets.
On closer inspection, he recognised his only sister, Lady Mathilde, behind the podium in Trafalgar Square from the weekend events. He swiftly turned the page and proceeded to the financial section to evaluate the Stock Exchange returns. Suffragette unrest would only serve to dimish returns on the family Stocks.
'Drat', he cursed quietly to himself, he couldn't figure out why Mathilde could immerse herself in such hostility on the streets among the....the rabble? Quite an appalling vista.
He recalled Mathilde's childhood obsession with injured birds and rabbits on the Briarly Estate when they were children. Long afternoons spent tending to their injured wings or paws. Always championing life for the underdog. Papa too, he recalled, worried a great deal about his only daughter and her future marriage prospects.
One cannot live one's life by other peoples' misfortunes.
Who would pay attention to a bevy of women looking for, what was it, voting rights?. Men were the only ones who should decide who is entitled to take seats in Parliament. After all they are the ones in charge of family fortunes and fiscal matters.
Women were better suited to domestic affairs, hosting afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches, but most importantly ensuring heirs for the next generation.
Lady Mathilde, he reflected, at thirty, had now reached early middle age and should be preoccupied with pursuing a suitable husband to father her child. Suitable husbands would not be available forever. Womens' looks did not improve with time, unlike men, who distinctly became a great deal more interesting with the passage of time.
Surely Mama, he thought, should advise Lady Mathilde not to waste any more time on causes and rather assist her in attracting an eligible man to be her lawful wedded husband.
Spinsters were not at all a desirable prospect at Briarly Hall. Tricky business of property rights. Quite a horrible, messy business, this Suffragette activity which now seemed to be attracting far too much public attention.
Enough of that. Today Lord Airdale would have the pleasant duty of accompanying his son and heir, Lord Elston, to his first day at school.
Lord Elston was a happy-go-lucky child. His dark features, however, bore no resemblance to his father's pale English complexion. Notwithstanding, Elston was his heir, the only heir or at least the only heir of which he was aware.
Lord Airdale liked to daydream, when the mood took him, about other possible offspring sired from his English loins. A man of forty years plus, besotted with beautiful women, must perforce, have already sired a line of blue blood. He smiled to himself at the thought. No shortage of heirs for Briarly Hall in the fullness of time.
With Lady Elsie, his paramour, he, occasionally shared his son's upbringing. In his native Norfolk, illegitimate heirs were dark secrets, hidden under false names and often raised far from their ancestral homes. Here In Rottingen young men flaunted bastard offspring. It was the mark of a man, proof of his manliness.
He wondered about his own father , Squire Alfred, how he had managed any offspring sprouted from his youthful wild oats. No one broached the subject, though there were times in his youth when distant cousins were introduced into the family circle with dubious lineage.
No such problem for his more enlightened generation.
Butler Charles, knocked on his door.
'Letter my Lord.'
Lord Airdale undid the seal and scanned the contents, raising his eyebrows in dismay.
It read:
My Dearest Lord Airdale,
My son, Lord Elston and I are re-locating to India with his father.
I hope this finds you well.
Lady Elise
Regaining his composure, he paused to reflect on the contents of the letter.' India, with his father. But ...but.. I am the child's father, surely,' he exclaimed.'Following that night of passion in Milan.. Lady Elise...no....it cannot be...',he said to himself.
Butler Charles rushed to his master's side,'Is anything the matter, Sir', he enquired.
'No.... no... not at all Charles...nothing that a single night of passion cannot fix', Lord Airdale whispered to himself.
Removing his leather satchel, cane and bowler hat from the hall stand and buttoning his great coat against the chilly morning air, he strode out purposefully.
Sired from his English loins indeed.....perhaps the potential brood were not so prolific as he might have first thought.
Papa will be concerned if there are no male heirs. What of Briarly Hall with such a barren line ? No male heir? The thought was disconcerting.
Lady Mathilde was too busy fighting causes to find a suitable husband to provide an heir.
Paternity was now a matter of urgency.
Lord Airdale felt it was his filial duty , to do all in his power, to sire a male heir for Briarly Hall. Middle age began to feel like a burden. He recoiled at the prospect of providing male heirs. It now began to feel like an onerous and unwelcome duty.
Author Notes |
Image courtesy of Google Images
Thanks in advance if you found time to read it ! |
By zanya
Tuesday was traditionally the day of the hunt. Approaching the final week of March, the season was coming to an end. Squire Albert revelled in the rigors of the great outdoors at Briarly Hall.
Lady Betsy shared afternoon tea with Lady Lindsay. Now half way through her seventh decade, Lady Lindsay had been widowed for nigh on seven years.
As her carriage came around the bend on the way to Briarly Hall, she could see the scarlet coats and black velvet caps of the master and the whippers-in. She enjoyed listening to the growl of the hounds and the shrill of the master's horn.
'Tally-ho', the rallying cry echoed through the hills as proceedings got underway.
Lady Lindsay felt somewhat wistful, fondly remembering her girlhood when she loved to don her riding hat and hunting garb to ride side saddle with her beloved Lord Lindsay. It was while sitting side saddle on her horse, 'Diamond,' on a cold January morning, half a century ago, that she first made his acquaintance. A dapper young man with leather riding crop and a hearty laugh, she couldn't fail to notice him. What a delight for a young woman to accept his invitation to the Spring Ball.
Briarly Hall came into full view. Lady Lindsay descended from her carriage and was escorted to the morning room.
Lady Betsy greeted her and the two women shared a warm embrace.
'Dearest, Lady Betsy,' she began. 'What an invigorating sight, horses and hounds with their master, I have such fond memories from my girlhood'.
Butler Eames entered the morning room carrying a bone china teapot with violet trim. A tray with an array of marron glaces, together with bonbons were placed on the centre of the table. A bowl of daffodils reflected the Spring light.
As Butler Eames proceeded to pour tea for the ladies, Lady Lindsay wished to share her good news.
'I am heartened,' Lady Lindsay began, 'that our son Viscount Edward and his wife, Marquess Elena, together with their heir, Viscount Lesley, have returned to live with me at the family seat in Northerdale. It has been a matter of concern to me for some time since, I am getting on in years. Events however, have favoured the move. The Bank of England required a Share Manager in Northerdale, due to the retirement of Mr Smith, a loyal servant of the Bank for half a century. Viscount Edward is admirably suited to the post'.
Lady Betsy listened, with a twinge of jealousy, which she was careful to conceal.
'How wonderful for you Lady Lindsay to have this important matter now settled', Lady Betsy added.
She hastened to change the subject, before Lady Lindsay could raise the issue of an heir at Briarly Hall.
Placing her freshly poured cup of tea on the saucer, Lady Lindsay soon broached the controversial matter with alacrity.
'Has Briarly Hall the possibility of an heir in the near future?,' Lady Lindsay asked politely. 'Has your son Lord Airdale as yet plighted his troth?.'
Lady Betsy stood up abruptly and walked to the window, that looked out on the front lawn.
'My goodness,' she gasped ,' the hunt is already returning. I can hear the hounds and horn approaching'.
But Lady Lindsay would not be diverted from the subject. It was a matter of some concern to her.
'Dearest Lady Betsy', she continued.' We have been friends for many years. Our husbands were lifelong friends. The future of our class hangs in the balance. We must fight to maintain our way of life. Heirs are its life blood.
Your Lady Mathilde is an altruistic young lady. Her interest in the Vote for women is admirable. However she must be mindful of her duties and her station in life'.
Lady Betsy felt increasingly uncomfortable when Lady Lindsay came to tea. Producing heirs to the estate now took precedence in every conversation.
Today, Lady Betsy decided to grasp the nettle. She was weary of broaching the subject with her husband, Squire Albert and being blithely ignored.
'Lady Lindsay', she began,'it is a matter of serious concern to me, succession rights to Briarly Hall. Lady Mathilde is an activist for political causes, most especially that of womens' right to vote.
An eligible young man, Marquis Gregoire, greatly admires her and recently invited her to the Spring Ball in London. However, she regarded the invitation merely as an opportunity to further the Suffragette cause and take part in the Trafalgar meeting.
Precious little of her time there, as far as I can decipher, was devoted to getting to know Gregoire. They did spend some time walking in the garden before her departure. However, a young man must be afforded time to woo, to win his lover's heart.Don't you agree Lady Lindsay?'
'Why most certainly,' Lady Betsy,' wooing is all important. A young man must be allowed to devote time to the noble art of wooing his lady, gently kissing her cheeks and declaring his love.
And the young lady must permit herself to experience the young man's love, his tenderness, his gentle kisses. Love cannot be rushed.
Young women today have such odd pursuits, don't you think, Lady Betsy? Why some of these pursuits should be left to menfolk, who have dealt with them for generations. Young women do not have the stamina to stand in Trafalgar Square on a cold March afternoon, dealing with insults and rotten tomatoes thrown by an unruly public.
My good friend, Sir Annesley, had the misfortune recently to be struck by an egg on the lapel of his tweed suit, as he emerged from the Bank. Protesters for Womens' Suffrage were out in force that day. The suit was a family heirloom, having inherited it from his father.
And what of Lord Airdale?,' Lady Lindsay again returned to Lord Airdale's paternity prospects. 'How does he fare in matters of the heart.? He is approaching middle age now and losing his youthful vigour. Has he, as yet, renounced his lascivious ways?'.
Lady Betsy blurted out, 'He may indeed have produced some illegitimate offspring from his profligate lifestyle. His father is reluctant to discuss the implications of such offspring. Yet rumours abound that Briarly Hall may lack a legitimate male heir'.
'Lady Betsy, You must take this most serious matter in hand before it is too late. Briarly Hall is in danger of no longer being the family seat, for the first time in two centuries, perhaps, if matters are not resolved in a satisfactory manner'.
Lady Lindsay briskly got up from her seat, taking her muffler and parapluie and made her way to her waiting carriage.
Author Notes | Image courtesy of Google Images |
By zanya
Lord Everly and Squire Alfred strode along the path to the stables in their black bowler hats and mud spattered riding breeches.
'Why, it's been some years now since I've had the pleasure of a March hunt in Norfolk,' Lord Everly began.
'An invigorating experience. Good for the soul, eh Alfie?'.
Squire Alfred's ruddy complexion glowed in the chilly March sun. He seemed preoccupied.
'Oh...yes..yes indeed,' Squire Alfred muttered.
'Alfie, is anything wrong?,' Lord Everly asked politely.
'You do appear like a man who is distinctly out of sorts. Have you made any profit on your estate returns this year? Did you have problems with the estate tenants?. Tenants can be such a bothersome lot at times, eh Alfie...still ..of course we need their puny contributions to assist in the running of the estate'.
Sir Alfred paused momentarily making another attempt to light his midday pipe.
'Lord Everly,' Sir Alfred said,' do you have any succession issues at your estate in Worthampt? Your son is in residence there with his family, I take it? Briarly Hall is having a degree of difficulty in that department.
What with my only daughter,Lady Mathilde, foolishly trying to save the world for her fair sex and Lord Airdale, my only male heir, still sowing his wild oats, well into middle age, Briarly Hall may have to pass to some distant, irksome relative.
Lady Betsy is distraught regarding the whole sorry affair. Why, Lord Everly, you and I had no more wild oats to sow by middle age.....it was well and truly spent, by then and scattered far and wide'.
The two men guffawed loudly as they continued walking side by side.
'Alfie, it's preposterous, surely you would never seriously consider turning over Briarly Hall, the family seat for generations, to some ill-begotten stranger?.'
'Would not be my choice...yet the matter must be resolved'. Alfie continued
'What about ...you know.......do you know if Lord Airdale may have sired any....sons out of wedlock..bastards?.'
Alfred continued, 'Indeed, the odds of that eventuality are high, considering he is now in middle age. Nevertheless the matter still needs to be resolved satisfactorily. Are you aware of any such in your locale, who may have inherited on such a pretext?'
'M-mm , can't say as I know of any of my immediate acquaintance, Alfie...why an old neighbour, Squire Reginald, before he passed away bequeathed his entire estate to a Marquis Philip of dubious aristocratic origin. Philip, though now in his dotage, is surrounded by a bevy of grand children. There were whisperings of lunacy and other imponderables in the line, you know, that sort of banter.
Exact details are shrouded in the mists of time.'
Lord Everly paused for a moment and stroked his goatee.
'Alfie, old boy, don't forget the world is changing fast. Take a look around.The aristocracy are a dying breed, clinging on to a sinking ship, if you ask my opinion. Who is going to sail in that ship for much longer?.'
Alfred listened intently, buoyed up by the prospect of somehow finding a potential solution. A broad smile broke out on his face.
'Good Heavens, Lord Everly,' Squire Alfred continued,' you are a breath of fresh air, devoid of stuffy, anachronistic ideas. Why indeed should we cling on to an idea that is clearly dying?.
Perhaps Lady Mathilde and her generation are on the right track. No more silly notions about needle point and playing pianoforte while patiently waiting for a knight in shining armour to come along to be her lawful wedded husband.
Lord Everly you are such a funny fellow, with an eye to the future.
You must come join us for supper soon at Briarly Hall and help change Lady Betsy's outmoded notions about heirs and heirlooms'.
Alfred slapped Everly good-humouredly between the shoulder blades and the two men stopped momentarily in the morning room. Butler Eames served them generous shots of vintage brandy.
'Ah-a what a good pick-me-up Alfie, just what's needed to heat the blood.
It's a vexed question, nevertheless,' Lord Everly continued.
Our son, Viscount William, resides presently at his wife's estate, due to the absence of a male heir there. Being an only child, she will, probably, ultimately inherit. William has, you might say, fallen on his feet.
Can be inconvenient at times, especially when he has duties to attend at Worthampt.
But on the other hand, who knows what claimant may emerge out of the shadows? The law on succession may still throw up some difficulty around inheritance by a female heir. Bloody English inheritance law, be damned.'
Lord Everly hastened to rejoin his equerry. Sir Alfred returned to his study with a renewed sense of purpose.
Author Notes | Image courtesy of Google Images |
By zanya
The cherry blossoms had begun to burst forth from their buds. Golden daffodils were beginning to fade as the sun's, as yet fragile rays, held distinct promise of warmth.
Squire Alfred felt invigorated as he strolled along the farm's western perimeter . He could see the farm horses, in the distance, turning the soil in preparation for seed sowing. He had instructed his farm manager, Andy, to employ an extra farmhand this Spring, so as to increase the farm's output.
Andy knew every nook and cranny of the farm and its idiosyncracies, having been manager at Briarly, for nigh a half century.
'But Squire,' Andy always insisted,'Briarly's eastern flank be not suited to tillage'.
Andy was wont to use the language of the battlefield, having served in the forces during the first world war. A permanent limp on his left side, from a stray shell, never let him forget his time spent in the trenches.
'Far better to plant more trees by the perimeter, for wind break, Squire. More shelter for the crops.'
Andy tended the farm with such care and dignity as if it were his own.
Squire Alfred longed to make some changes, to usher in a new era.
Alfred made his way towards Andy, who, painstakingly, followed the plough behind the two Suffolk Punch mares. Large veins protruded from his lower arms. The Suffolk Punch mares, due to their lower stature, were Andy's preferred breed for the plough.
'Andy,' Squire began.'Time to increase the farm output. Begin a new lease of life for the Manor'.
Andy tipped his peaked cap deferentially and wiped beads of sweat from his ageing brow.
'Squire', he began,' that's as may be, but it is time for a younger man to take the reins at Briarly. Doc's orders, says I need to take it handy now I'm past my seventy ninth birthday. Have to reduce my working hours'.
Squire Alfred had never really thought of Andy as old. He had known Andy for what seemed like forever. He was his late father's right hand man.
Alfred, nevertheless, felt disconcerted. He didn't want to lose Andy. Yet looking at his frail silhouette and the sweat trickling down his brow, a new farmhand would soon be needed.
'New ideas, Squire, Briarly needs new ideas', Andy continued.
Alfred knew change was in the air at Briarly. How it was going to be effected was another matter. He bent down and taking a fistful of the newly turned soil, he held it close to his nostrils.
'Andy,' he said 'get a whiff of that, invigorating and filled with promise. Mother Earth has not forsaken us, she is as vibrant and life generating as ever. We just need to treat her right'.
Andy paid little attention, preoccupied as he was to ensure Briarly would find a good farmer to look after her.
'Heard about a man in his forties, new to the area, who is eagerly looking for farm work. Name's Reginald, helps out at the local pub, washing glasses and setting fires and the like. But wants something in the outdoors', Andy continued.
Now that he had the Squire's ear, Andy warmed to his topic. 'Squire, shall I tell him come and see you ?'
'Andy, as soon as you can, bring Reginald to the Manor for a chat. And be alert for any other farm hands available in the area', Squire added.
Squire Alfred trundled back towards Briarly Hall, taking in the beauty of his surroundings, acknowledging how lucky he was to be the Squire of these historical acres.
Yet doubts began to surface at the outer reaches of his mind, as he contemplated what the future might now hold.
Lady Betsy was taking her afternoon walk among the sprouting Willow trees. She loved to stroll along the Willow Walk, with the perambulator, under the gently swaying branches, when their children were younger.
Alfred called out to her. 'Dearest Betsy, I'll stroll a little way with you, if you are in the mood for some company'.
Betsey knew that requests like this from her husband usually meant issues had arisen about the Manor and Albert wanted to give them an airing.
Securing the collar on their family Wolfhound,'Speckles,' Alfred soon caught up with her.
'Andy is slowing down, my dear and now has to take life easier, on doctor's orders'. Alfred began.
'Yes,' Betsey added, 'I noticed how difficult it has been for him all winter, making his way at first light to the outlying farm. Chilled to the bone on a few occasions, a shot of brandy helped to see him through the day.'
'Been our rock all these years,' Alfred continued.' Intend to hold on to him though, for his expertise and dedication'.
'We'll have to formulate a plan for Briarly, in the event our children are without issue,' Betsey continued.
Finally Betsey had found a way to raise the matter of heirs for Briarly Hall. She quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Gently slipping her arm into Alfreds, the couple strolled purposefully towards their uncertain destiny.
Author Notes | Image courtesy of Google Images |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Nonna: Grandmother (Italian)
Image courtesy of Google Images |
By zanya
Lady Betsey crooned softly to the infant, as she was wont to do, in years gone by with her own children.
The baby 's cries lessened . Tears dried on its infant cheek. Two dark brown, chestnut eyes looked up at Lady Betsey.
There was a knock on the door. Lady Betsey opened it.
'Ma'm, it's Mrs Goodwood. Butler Eames called to my home in the village, just now, asking me to come urgently to Briarly. What good news Ma'am .. an heir born at Briarly? Now my Lady , you and the Squire need worry no more..there's been no talk in the village yet about the Briarly heir...but the good news will soon get around'.
Mrs Goodwood caught sight of Lady Betsey, gazing fixedly into the eyes of the infant.
'Why Lady Letexia said he has my eyes...', Lady Betsey continued as if talking to no one in particular.
Mrs Goodwood entered the room cautiously, confounded by the sight of Lady Betsey, who seemed totally absorbed in the tiny infant.
She gave a gentle cough to attract Betsey's attention.
'Mrs Goodwood,' Lady Betsey began,' see to it that the nursery is reopened today. Go to draper Smith in the village and order a complete set of baby bedding and clothing of the best quality'.
'But Ma'am,' Mrs Goodwood replied, 'It's been twenty years since I set foot in the drapers'.
'Mrs Goodwood', Lady Betsey continued, 'Carry out my instructions to the letter..see that all matters are sorted before the Squire returns in the afternoon'.
'Very well, Lady Betsey,' Mrs Goodwood replied, wrapping her shawl around her to protect against the late Spring chill.
'I shall go downstairs and have a word with Eames'.
Butler Eames was busy overseeing lunch preparation at Briarly.
'Butler', Mrs Goodwood began, 'does anyone know what is goin on around here..is this child a waif ..a foundling ? We needs to be careful ...is he of the blood of the household?'.
Eames was abashed, reminding her, 'Mrs Goodwood, you must follow the mistress's instructions'.
He leaned a little closer and whispered in her ear,' Mrs Goodwood, am I glad to see you, things are a little crazy here this morning..what with foreigners arriving at the door dropping babies and you returning to work at Briarly..it's almost like the old days'. The Butler chuckled.
Mrs Goodwood began to feel a little more at ease.
Donning her feathered, bottle green hat, she lifted the latch downstairs and turned the corner into the street in the direction of the drapers'.
It was market day and villagers were setting up their stalls. A strong smell of cheese wafted in the breeze. Piglets squealed noisily in their makeshift pens.
Mrs Goodwood had a spring in her step. How she used to love to walk to the village along the cobblestones especially as Spring returned. Her late husband Harold's long illness meant she had to leave Briarly to care for him.
The draper's door was already open and she could see the baby layettes from the door way. Smiths name was still over the door. Two young seamstresses, one with a long blond braid down her back, sat busily sewing by the shop window.
A pang of regret sprung up in her bosom at not having children of her own and the joy of grandchildren.
Mulling over how she might explain her return to Briarly, she hesitated for a moment before entering the shop. Not recognising the shopkeeper , she felt more at ease.
'Morning Ma'm ', the shopkeeper began,' looking for something for your grandchild'.
Ehm...'Yes sir, 'Mrs Goodwood, answered. 'Bedding and a layette of the best quality.. for a baby less than a year old, at Briarly Hall'.
The shopkeeper placed a ladder against the tiered shelves. 'I'm George Johnson, by the way', he added as he carefully climbed upwards. 'Took over the shop a decade ago from my elderly Uncle.Took a while to gain the confidence of the customers. My only daughter has a baby just under a year old.
An heir for Briarly at last, you say...why the Squire will be well pleased,' Mr Johnson continued. 'Used to be a story doing the rounds about the curse of Briarly Hall when I was a lad.
Only the best for Briarly..Ma'am..why Briarly used to be one of our best customers..it will be a delight to renew our connection with the Squire'.
Unusually for Mrs Goodwood she was now short of words.
'What name have they chosen for the heir, Ma'm ...is it Albert after the old man himself?' George enquired.
'Can't say as I can tell..don't think they have chosen a name yet...'Mrs Goodwood continued.
'Maybe something a bit different...',Mrs Goodwood said ..'Maybe a nice foreign sounding name like Giova..,' she remembered hearing Lady Betsey cooing and singing to the infant while saying something like Giova.
'Foreigners at Briarly Hall...never....why the old Squire has no time for foreigners..remember that time when a few Scots, hardly call them foreigners, attempted to purchase part of the estate at Briarly and Squire got his parliamentary pals to wield the veto,' George added.
'Can't say as I do '..Mrs Goodwood replied ..'been out of the place myself these twenty years ..don't know what's goin on,' Mrs Goodwood replied.
'Twenty years Ma'm ..and you going back to resume your duties to the new heir..must be urgent..did nobody know this heir was on his way?'
Mrs Goodwood longed to probe the rumours a little further but realised her loyalty to her erstwhile employer. Carrying her brown paper package, tied with a blue ribbon, she hurried out of the shop.
By the time she returned to Briarly, Eames had found the large iron,rusty key and reopened the door of the nursery.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, shimmering in the midday sun. The sheets on the perambulator were yellowed with age. A musty scent hung in the air.
Mrs Goodwood removed her shawl, rolled up her sleeves, made her way downstairs to find the duster.
Opening the long, latticed windows of the nursery, air began to circulate. A wooden baby rattle lay beneath the window. Lord Airdale, Mrs Goodwood mused to herself...Lord Airdale loved to play with the wooden rattle. Perhaps the new heir will like it too.
An old abacus lay on a shelf covered with a layer of dust.
Mrs Goodwood had little time to ponder. She heard Lady Betsey 's hurried step in the hallway coupled with the sound of a baby gurgling.
Lady Betsey continued to cradle the child in her arms.
'Mrs Goodwood ,' she began,'You must hurry, the baby needs to sleep. We don't know how long he has been travelling from Milan, perhaps all night'.
Mrs Goodwood suspicions grew. But knowing the rules in Briarly Hall, she knew not to ask questions but rather to wait and let events unfold.
'Mrs Goodwood, call the butler and have him place a warm bedpan in the cot for Giovanni'.
She did as she was told. However it was clear Eames knew as little as she did herself.
'Why Mrs Goodwood', Eames began ,'for whom...Giovanni...who is Giovanni..and when is he due to arrive at Briarly?'
Knowing Lady Betsey was within earshot, Mrs Goodwin replied,'why it's the new heir at Briarly, he's here already'.
'No more talk of heirs at Briarly,' Lady Betsey interrupted,' Briarly is now blessed with a true heir..however we must keep it as a surprise for the Squire ..for the moment'.
The Butler and Mrs Goodwood exchanged curious glances, since the Squire was traditionally always the first to be informed.
Lady Betsey entered the nursery cradling Giovanni.
'Now Lady Betsey,' Mrs Goodwood,'said, ' I shall look after Giovanna for the afternoon while you have tea with Lady Lucas. Butler informs me that Lady Lucas is expected this morning from Scotland'.
Lady Betsey's face fell, having forgotten her appointment with Lady Lucas.
'Mrs Goodwood,' Lady Betsey began,' Lady Lucas is not due till three. Can you bring Giovanni in the perambulator along the laurel walk while Lady Lucas is here. Squire has a meeting at the bank and will not be home till later'.
'Why of course, My Lady,' Mrs Goodwood replied.
'Giovanna and I will go the long way around and I will show him where the robins always nest in Springtime'.
'Mrs Goodwood', Lady Betsey replied sharply,' Giovanni, not Giovanna.
Briarly has a male heir'.
Author Notes | Image from Google images |
By zanya
Author Notes | Thanks to Google Images for 'Heir' |
By zanya
Author Notes | Image from Google Images |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image courtesy of Google Images
Thanks in advance for your time if you have chosen to read this chapter ! |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Thanks in advance if you found time to read this chapter |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Sincere thanks, in advance, if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Thank you in advance if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image courtesy of Google Images
Thanks in advance if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Thanks in advance if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image courtesy of Google Images
Thanks in advance, if you have taken time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images.
Thanks, in advance, for reading. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images.
Thanks in advance, for reading. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Thanks, in advance, for reading. |
By zanya
Author Notes | Image courtesy of Google Images |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image courtesy of Google Images.
Thanks in advance if you read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Googel Images.
Thanks, in advance, if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Thanks in advance, if you took time to read this chapter.
Image from Google Images |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Thanks in advance if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images
Thanks in advance if you took time to read this chapter. |
By zanya
Author Notes |
If you took time to read this chapter thank you in advance.
Just paying another visit to the residents @ Briarly Hall !! |
By zanya
Author Notes |
Image from Google Images.
Thanks in advance if you took time to read this chapter. Trying to find my writing voice ! |
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© Copyright 2015 zanya All rights reserved. zanya has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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