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Authors: Nicola Slade
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Charlotte’s whisper was discreet as she wondered whether the lady was feeling quite the thing. Indeed, Charlotte considered, since the recent contretemps concerning the glass of punch, the older woman was looking distinctly unwell, a light sheen of sweat masking her face.
‘No – no, thank you,’ came the response, followed by a slight gesture, her fingers tightening on a handkerchief she clutched, as she reinforced the negative. Then she paused, still staring over at the other guests. ‘No,’ she said slowly, looking round at Charlotte, her expression very thoughtful, with narrowed eyes and tightly folded lips. She hesitated and started to speak again. ‘No, indeed.’ She glanced across the room once more and seemed to straighten her shoulders. ‘I cannot say. It is just that….’ She pressed the folded linen handkerchief to her lips for a moment, then shook her head once more, but Charlotte glimpsed an odd glimmer in the large dark brown eyes as Lady Granville, after a final, considering stare at Charlotte, turned away, muttering, ‘Three times. I believe that is three times…. What can it mean?’
Good gracious, Charlotte thought, and stood politely aside to let the illustrious guest precede her. Wondering about that enigmaticlittle aside, she accompanied Lady Granville to find her outdoor wrappings, when something that had been teasing her about the lady’s manner suddenly dawned upon her. Sarah Siddons, the great tragic actress; that was who was called to mind by Lady Granville’s air of simmering anxiety. Not that Charlotte had ever been privileged to attend one of the lady’s dramatic performances, but her godmother, Lady Meg, had certainly done so as a young girl.
‘Astonishing woman,’
Meg had told her, shaking her head.
‘I had nightmares for weeks after I saw her as Lady Macbeth.’
There was no need to act as ladies’ maid, for the nondescript companion must have been on constant watch and was on hand to shroud her mistress in a sumptuous sealskin mantle
‘Pray do not forget, Mrs Richmond,’ Lady Granville, who now resembled nothing so much as an enormous Arctic mammal, turned a surprisingly gracious smile to Charlotte, all tragic undertones now vanished. ‘I shall be delighted to show you my garden tomorrow and to give you tea. I believe you reside with Lady Frampton? Naturally if she would care to accompany you I should be delighted. Shall we say at a quarter to three? If you like to arrive a little early there will be daylight enough to take a brief turn round the garden, although sadly this is not the most favourable time to be looking at plants.’ She took her husband’s arm. ‘Come, my dear,’ she said firmly, as she beckoned her son to her side.
When most of the remaining guests had been waved on their way, Lady Frampton was happily enthroned in her favourite seat by the hearth and in no hurry to go home to Rowan Lodge, so Charlotte went in search of her hostess to see if she could be of any help.
A chance remark soon had Lily Richmond opening her eyes wide and turning up her already distressingly retroussé nose.
‘What’s that you say, Char? Barnard? Barnard, come here at once and listen to this, I never heard of such a thing.’ Her light voice, with its little girl notes, was rising with indignation. ‘Now look here, Barnard. Here is Charlotte telling me that she has been invited to take tea with Lady Granville tomorrow afternoon. What can have put such a notion into her ladyship’s head?’
Charlotte sighed, recognising the signs of an impending tantrum, as an ominous frown drew Lily’s finely drawn dark brows together and the rosebud lips formed a distinct pout. ‘But, Lily.…’ she began.
‘I cannot understand it,’ Lily continued, ignoring the interruption , a tinge of ice entering her voice. ‘Why her ladyship has not even invited
me
to take tea with her, and we are quite the most intimate of friends now. So why in heaven’s name do you suppose she
‘No – no, thank you,’ came the response, followed by a slight gesture, her fingers tightening on a handkerchief she clutched, as she reinforced the negative. Then she paused, still staring over at the other guests. ‘No,’ she said slowly, looking round at Charlotte, her expression very thoughtful, with narrowed eyes and tightly folded lips. She hesitated and started to speak again. ‘No, indeed.’ She glanced across the room once more and seemed to straighten her shoulders. ‘I cannot say. It is just that….’ She pressed the folded linen handkerchief to her lips for a moment, then shook her head once more, but Charlotte glimpsed an odd glimmer in the large dark brown eyes as Lady Granville, after a final, considering stare at Charlotte, turned away, muttering, ‘Three times. I believe that is three times…. What can it mean?’
Good gracious, Charlotte thought, and stood politely aside to let the illustrious guest precede her. Wondering about that enigmaticlittle aside, she accompanied Lady Granville to find her outdoor wrappings, when something that had been teasing her about the lady’s manner suddenly dawned upon her. Sarah Siddons, the great tragic actress; that was who was called to mind by Lady Granville’s air of simmering anxiety. Not that Charlotte had ever been privileged to attend one of the lady’s dramatic performances, but her godmother, Lady Meg, had certainly done so as a young girl.
‘Astonishing woman,’
Meg had told her, shaking her head.
‘I had nightmares for weeks after I saw her as Lady Macbeth.’
There was no need to act as ladies’ maid, for the nondescript companion must have been on constant watch and was on hand to shroud her mistress in a sumptuous sealskin mantle
‘Pray do not forget, Mrs Richmond,’ Lady Granville, who now resembled nothing so much as an enormous Arctic mammal, turned a surprisingly gracious smile to Charlotte, all tragic undertones now vanished. ‘I shall be delighted to show you my garden tomorrow and to give you tea. I believe you reside with Lady Frampton? Naturally if she would care to accompany you I should be delighted. Shall we say at a quarter to three? If you like to arrive a little early there will be daylight enough to take a brief turn round the garden, although sadly this is not the most favourable time to be looking at plants.’ She took her husband’s arm. ‘Come, my dear,’ she said firmly, as she beckoned her son to her side.
When most of the remaining guests had been waved on their way, Lady Frampton was happily enthroned in her favourite seat by the hearth and in no hurry to go home to Rowan Lodge, so Charlotte went in search of her hostess to see if she could be of any help.
A chance remark soon had Lily Richmond opening her eyes wide and turning up her already distressingly retroussé nose.
‘What’s that you say, Char? Barnard? Barnard, come here at once and listen to this, I never heard of such a thing.’ Her light voice, with its little girl notes, was rising with indignation. ‘Now look here, Barnard. Here is Charlotte telling me that she has been invited to take tea with Lady Granville tomorrow afternoon. What can have put such a notion into her ladyship’s head?’
Charlotte sighed, recognising the signs of an impending tantrum, as an ominous frown drew Lily’s finely drawn dark brows together and the rosebud lips formed a distinct pout. ‘But, Lily.…’ she began.
‘I cannot understand it,’ Lily continued, ignoring the interruption , a tinge of ice entering her voice. ‘Why her ladyship has not even invited
me
to take tea with her, and we are quite the most intimate of friends now. So why in heaven’s name do you suppose she
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