Read Online Flowers Stained With Moonlight by Catherine Shaw - Free Book Online Page B

Sylvia’s mood lightened perceptibly as she listened, and she sighed a little wistfully.
    ‘How exciting it must be to live all alone, in one’s very own little rooms, and work for one’s living! Can you imagine it, Camilla? You see,’ she added, turning to me with a look of real friendliness, ‘I grew up here in this big house, and I married two years ago, and went to live in another house, an even bigger one – daughter and wife of a country squire, that’s the only life I’ve ever known. Not that George was really a country squire,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘But he meant to be.’
    ‘And what has your life been like?’ I asked, turning to Camilla. ‘Are you also from the country?’
    ‘Worse even than Sylvia’s,’ she laughed. ‘I grew up in my family’s castle, Severingham. You can call it a country house if you like, with its two-hundred-odd rooms. It is a splendid place, but not one where a girl can learn anything about town civilisation or independent work! I was raised to be a chatelaine, but I shall never be a chatelaine after all, for when my father dies Severingham will pass to a male cousin, and out I shall go.’ She laughed, but it was easy enough to detect the trace of bitterness in her voice.
    ‘Well,’ said Sylvia gaily, ‘we always say that if Camilla ever needs to make a living, she could probably manage it by sewing. She’s a marvellous seamstress – she made this dress for me! It’s better than what Mother’s seamstress does.’
    I admired her dress, which really was a lovely creation in black silk – with, of all things, a rose pink lining whichwas not visible until Sylvia lifted up the hem of her skirt to show it to me. A single, large pink silk rose gathered up the skirt on one side.
    ‘You see, I’ve put on the pink rose today,’ she said, showing it to Camilla and turning to me. ‘I have a black one, too, as this is a mourning dress … but …’
    ‘It is really lovely!’ I said reassuringly. ‘Did you make your own dress, too, Camilla?’
    Camilla’s dress was of a much simpler cut, in dark blue.
    ‘No. I like making clothes for other people, but for myself, I hate it,’ said Camilla. ‘I made myself a riding habit once. But it’s much easier and more fun to do it for someone else. Easier to modify the pattern when you’re doing the fitting onto another person – and also, you get the pleasure of seeing what you’ve made while it’s being worn. Yes, I am good at sewing. It’s a silly talent to have, isn’t it? I’d much rather be good at something else. But my mother discovered this early on, and then I had to have lessons in London with a professional.’
    ‘Is that how you and Sylvia met?’ I asked. This time it was Sylvia who answered.
    ‘Oh, no! I’ve never taken any lessons of any kind at all,’ she said lightly. ‘We met through friends. Remember Mr Clemming?’ she added, turning to Camilla and smiling. ‘He’s dead now, and his wife lives in Paris. We saw her last winter. Mrs Clemming’s parents used to be close friends with Mother’s parents, and Mrs Clemming remained friends with Mother although they saw each other quite rarely. But they wrote; I think they mainly wrote about us children! TheClemmings had a daughter the same age as me. When Mrs Clemming was young, her parents used to invite Mother’s parents and Mother to their London house for the season, in fact that’s where Mother met Father. Then Mrs Clemming inherited the house and lived there with her husband, and they invited me there when I was eighteen, to come out. I spent two months going to balls and parties. I didn’t enjoy it much. I didn’t like Mrs Clemming so much then; I think her husband made her life difficult. She’s really become a much, much nicer person now that she lives in Paris and does what she likes – and doesn’t have to worry about marrying off Helen!’
    ‘You can’t imagine how jealous Mrs Clemming used to be of Sylvia,’ said