Read Online Banishment (Daughters of Mannerling 1) by M. C. Beaton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M. C. Beaton
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contrast between the House of Have and the House of Want, progress is not real and cannot be permanent.
HENRY GEORGE
Isabella set out for Mannerling on the Tuesday, and her mother, father, and sisters stood outside Brookfield House to wave her goodbye as if she were going off to the wars.
She was sharply aware that the coachman on the box and the footmen on the backstrap had once worked for the Beverleys and might remark on this odd send-off.
She found herself anxiously awaiting the first sight of Mannerling, knowing somehow that the magic spell her old home cast on her would stiffen her resolve, because without it, a nasty little voice of common sense was telling her that she was pursuing a gentleman in whom she had no interest whatsoever except as a means of returning to her beloved home.
Betty, the small maid, elevated to lady’s-maid for the occasion and wearing one of Lizzie’s old gowns, sat looking as solemn as a well-behaved child. Isabella was wearing one of her more dashing hats, a straw embellished with silk roses of different colours around the crown. She was dressed in a light muslin gown in shades of delicate lilac, darkening towards the hem to near purple. The sun no longer shone, a bad omen, and a blustery wind from the west rustled the parched leaves of the trees on either side of the road.
It was when the carriage was turning in at the gates of Mannerling that she began to wonder whether this visit were not too unconventional. Mr Judd had no lady in residence, and although she, Isabella, had a maid with her, it was surely not correct to visit a single man in his home.
Therefore she experienced a surge of gladness and relief to be initially received in the drawing room by Mrs Judd, Mr Judd’s mother, a tall, thin widow with a perpetual air of disapproval.
After the introductions and pleasantries were over, Mrs Judd said, ‘This was your home, was it not?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Isabella, stealing a look around and noticing several very pretty ornaments which had decorated the mantelpiece were no longer there.
Mrs Judd was dressed in black, as befitted her widowed status, shiny black decorated with jet, which gave her a reptilian look. She folded lace-mittened hands in her lap and commented, ‘I have told Ajax time and again that gamblers always ruin themselves sooner or later.’
At first Isabella was too surprised to learn that Mr Judd was called Ajax to take offence, but then the full import of Mrs Judd’s words sank into her brain. She rose and said with quiet dignity to Mr Judd, ‘I am anxious to see the gardens, sir, and perhaps we should begin now because it looks like rain.’
‘Gladly,’ he said with that foxy smile of his. When they were outside, he pointed his stick in the direction of a stand of trees. ‘I’m getting those cut down for a start,’ he said. ‘Block the view.’
‘Oh, no, Mr Judd,’ said Isabella, shaken. ‘Capability Brown himself designed those vistas. Do you not see how those trees are part of the harmonious plan?’
‘Well, well,
I
don’t like ’em and it’s my place now. Hey, now, though, if it troubles you so much, I’ll leave the trees for the moment. But you’ll like what I’ve got planned round the back. Come.’
A damp breeze blew against Isabella’s cheek. The rain could not be far off. They walked around the side of the house to the back. ‘Now, see that temple thing over there,’ he commanded.
The Greek temple stood on a mound overlooking the ornamental lake, its slender columns whiter than ever against the darkening sky.
‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Isabella, thinking of how on sunny days she and her sisters would get the servants to carry a picnic hamper to the temple. Then they would take a boat out on the lake. She closed her eyes for a second, remembering happy, peaceful, innocent days gone forever.
‘Going to knock it down,’ said Mr Judd with satisfaction.
‘Why?’ asked Isabella faintly.
‘Having a ruin is all the
HENRY GEORGE
Isabella set out for Mannerling on the Tuesday, and her mother, father, and sisters stood outside Brookfield House to wave her goodbye as if she were going off to the wars.
She was sharply aware that the coachman on the box and the footmen on the backstrap had once worked for the Beverleys and might remark on this odd send-off.
She found herself anxiously awaiting the first sight of Mannerling, knowing somehow that the magic spell her old home cast on her would stiffen her resolve, because without it, a nasty little voice of common sense was telling her that she was pursuing a gentleman in whom she had no interest whatsoever except as a means of returning to her beloved home.
Betty, the small maid, elevated to lady’s-maid for the occasion and wearing one of Lizzie’s old gowns, sat looking as solemn as a well-behaved child. Isabella was wearing one of her more dashing hats, a straw embellished with silk roses of different colours around the crown. She was dressed in a light muslin gown in shades of delicate lilac, darkening towards the hem to near purple. The sun no longer shone, a bad omen, and a blustery wind from the west rustled the parched leaves of the trees on either side of the road.
It was when the carriage was turning in at the gates of Mannerling that she began to wonder whether this visit were not too unconventional. Mr Judd had no lady in residence, and although she, Isabella, had a maid with her, it was surely not correct to visit a single man in his home.
Therefore she experienced a surge of gladness and relief to be initially received in the drawing room by Mrs Judd, Mr Judd’s mother, a tall, thin widow with a perpetual air of disapproval.
After the introductions and pleasantries were over, Mrs Judd said, ‘This was your home, was it not?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Isabella, stealing a look around and noticing several very pretty ornaments which had decorated the mantelpiece were no longer there.
Mrs Judd was dressed in black, as befitted her widowed status, shiny black decorated with jet, which gave her a reptilian look. She folded lace-mittened hands in her lap and commented, ‘I have told Ajax time and again that gamblers always ruin themselves sooner or later.’
At first Isabella was too surprised to learn that Mr Judd was called Ajax to take offence, but then the full import of Mrs Judd’s words sank into her brain. She rose and said with quiet dignity to Mr Judd, ‘I am anxious to see the gardens, sir, and perhaps we should begin now because it looks like rain.’
‘Gladly,’ he said with that foxy smile of his. When they were outside, he pointed his stick in the direction of a stand of trees. ‘I’m getting those cut down for a start,’ he said. ‘Block the view.’
‘Oh, no, Mr Judd,’ said Isabella, shaken. ‘Capability Brown himself designed those vistas. Do you not see how those trees are part of the harmonious plan?’
‘Well, well,
I
don’t like ’em and it’s my place now. Hey, now, though, if it troubles you so much, I’ll leave the trees for the moment. But you’ll like what I’ve got planned round the back. Come.’
A damp breeze blew against Isabella’s cheek. The rain could not be far off. They walked around the side of the house to the back. ‘Now, see that temple thing over there,’ he commanded.
The Greek temple stood on a mound overlooking the ornamental lake, its slender columns whiter than ever against the darkening sky.
‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Isabella, thinking of how on sunny days she and her sisters would get the servants to carry a picnic hamper to the temple. Then they would take a boat out on the lake. She closed her eyes for a second, remembering happy, peaceful, innocent days gone forever.
‘Going to knock it down,’ said Mr Judd with satisfaction.
‘Why?’ asked Isabella faintly.
‘Having a ruin is all the
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