Justine.
‘And Papa,’ Justine added, looking at Annabel, not himself. ‘Kindly fetch my father.’
‘Of course,’ Jack repeated and closed the door on the four women.
It was almost like looking in a mirror, Annabel thought, and yet in other ways it was very much not. Justine’s hair was far more artfully done than her own and here and there little diamonds twinkled in it, while in her own a simple twist of jonquils complemented her dress. And as for Justine’s dress, the deep rose satin seemed to mould itself to her breasts, with a far lower décolletage than anything Annabel possessed, while the sheer under dress falling from the high waist more than hinted at her womanly figure and was only just made modest by the gauzy chiffon overdress in the same deep rose. Annabel could not imagine daring to wear such a dress, although a small voice at the back of her mind suggested that if such apparel made Justine look so desirable, the same would be true for her. She quickly shook her head to rid herself of such notions, her mother would never countenance her dressing in such a way, and her new dresses were all lovely, simply cut and in beautiful spring colours as befitting a young, new debutante. It was no wonder Mr Denham so readily believed that she was not Justine, she had nothing like Justine’s sophistication.
Justine regained her poise, or at least enough of it to speak first. ‘I don’t believe we have met,’ she said, the formulaic phrase belied by the continued look of incredulity on her face. ‘I am Justine Beresford, and may I present my mother Lady Beresford.’ She gave the slightest of curtsies, but more as if she were unwilling to trust her own balance than as if she weren’t sure what measure of politeness was appropriate.
‘I’m Annabel,’ Annabel was relieved that her voice came out quiet, but calm, ‘and this is my mother, Mrs Judith Black.’ She waited for a moment, expecting her mother to add something, but uncharacteristically Mrs Black seemed to be at a loss for words. Mercifully there was a knock at the door. Annabel swung it open, expecting it to be her father and hoping, although she did not imagine what he might do to help the situation, that it was Mr Denham, but it was a pair of maids, one bearing a tea tray and the other a tray of pastries.
As soon as the maids had gone Justine spoke. ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on? No, I don’t want any tea, thank you,’ she added irritably. Annabel saw that her mother’s hands were trembling ever so slightly and she hastily relieved her of the teapot and continued pouring three cups. No one replied and the door opened once more and Colonel Black and another man, whom Annabel presumed must be Lord Beresford, were ushered into the room by Mr Denham.
‘Wait, Denham,’ Lord Beresford said, fitting his monocle in his eye and peering directly at Annabel, ‘You say you know the girl, you may be of some help then. Stay.’
Lady Beresford went up to her husband and clutched his arm. ‘It’s Hannah,’ she said. ‘Our little Hannah, lost so long ago, and now here she is and these people claim she is their daughter.’
Colonel Black’s jaw fell and then his face contorted with fury. ‘Annabel is our daughter!’ he said, and Annabel had never before heard him so angry. ‘We adopted her, legally adopted her from Coram’s Foundling hospital, but more than that, we’ve raised her for the last sixteen years and she’s our daughter through and through, whatever her origins may have been.’
‘What the devil was she doing at Coram’s?’ Lord Beresford demanded. ‘She’s not a seaman’s child.’
‘She was found washed up on the shore of the Thames, on the Strand,’ Mrs Black said. ‘The people who found her took her to the foundling hospital but Coram’s couldn’t keep her of course, and I was visiting the hospital…’
‘So you simply took our daughter, without attempting to find out who she was, a two
‘And Papa,’ Justine added, looking at Annabel, not himself. ‘Kindly fetch my father.’
‘Of course,’ Jack repeated and closed the door on the four women.
It was almost like looking in a mirror, Annabel thought, and yet in other ways it was very much not. Justine’s hair was far more artfully done than her own and here and there little diamonds twinkled in it, while in her own a simple twist of jonquils complemented her dress. And as for Justine’s dress, the deep rose satin seemed to mould itself to her breasts, with a far lower décolletage than anything Annabel possessed, while the sheer under dress falling from the high waist more than hinted at her womanly figure and was only just made modest by the gauzy chiffon overdress in the same deep rose. Annabel could not imagine daring to wear such a dress, although a small voice at the back of her mind suggested that if such apparel made Justine look so desirable, the same would be true for her. She quickly shook her head to rid herself of such notions, her mother would never countenance her dressing in such a way, and her new dresses were all lovely, simply cut and in beautiful spring colours as befitting a young, new debutante. It was no wonder Mr Denham so readily believed that she was not Justine, she had nothing like Justine’s sophistication.
Justine regained her poise, or at least enough of it to speak first. ‘I don’t believe we have met,’ she said, the formulaic phrase belied by the continued look of incredulity on her face. ‘I am Justine Beresford, and may I present my mother Lady Beresford.’ She gave the slightest of curtsies, but more as if she were unwilling to trust her own balance than as if she weren’t sure what measure of politeness was appropriate.
‘I’m Annabel,’ Annabel was relieved that her voice came out quiet, but calm, ‘and this is my mother, Mrs Judith Black.’ She waited for a moment, expecting her mother to add something, but uncharacteristically Mrs Black seemed to be at a loss for words. Mercifully there was a knock at the door. Annabel swung it open, expecting it to be her father and hoping, although she did not imagine what he might do to help the situation, that it was Mr Denham, but it was a pair of maids, one bearing a tea tray and the other a tray of pastries.
As soon as the maids had gone Justine spoke. ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on? No, I don’t want any tea, thank you,’ she added irritably. Annabel saw that her mother’s hands were trembling ever so slightly and she hastily relieved her of the teapot and continued pouring three cups. No one replied and the door opened once more and Colonel Black and another man, whom Annabel presumed must be Lord Beresford, were ushered into the room by Mr Denham.
‘Wait, Denham,’ Lord Beresford said, fitting his monocle in his eye and peering directly at Annabel, ‘You say you know the girl, you may be of some help then. Stay.’
Lady Beresford went up to her husband and clutched his arm. ‘It’s Hannah,’ she said. ‘Our little Hannah, lost so long ago, and now here she is and these people claim she is their daughter.’
Colonel Black’s jaw fell and then his face contorted with fury. ‘Annabel is our daughter!’ he said, and Annabel had never before heard him so angry. ‘We adopted her, legally adopted her from Coram’s Foundling hospital, but more than that, we’ve raised her for the last sixteen years and she’s our daughter through and through, whatever her origins may have been.’
‘What the devil was she doing at Coram’s?’ Lord Beresford demanded. ‘She’s not a seaman’s child.’
‘She was found washed up on the shore of the Thames, on the Strand,’ Mrs Black said. ‘The people who found her took her to the foundling hospital but Coram’s couldn’t keep her of course, and I was visiting the hospital…’
‘So you simply took our daughter, without attempting to find out who she was, a two
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