women, a militancy which I find grating and unpleasant.’ The down-turned corners of his mouth conveyed his distaste. ‘Whereas you, my dear Chloe, are all sweet acquiescence: femininity personified.’
‘Thank you, Gerald.’ Relief had increased her delight at his compliment, for he demanded the very highest standards and quickly distanced himself from people or projects that failed to measure up. But that hadn’t been the end of it.
‘Chloe, my dear, I should like you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.’
She had been sixteen years old.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but are you all right?’
Suddenly aware that Polly’s hands had ceased their coiling and pinning, Chloe looked up, saw her maid’s anxiety reflected in the mirror, and felt a rush of affection. Polly clucked over her like a mother hen.
‘Shall I fetch you something?’
‘No. I’m all right.’ If she said it often enough it would be so. Nervous afflictions were for other women, not for her. She did not want to be like them.
‘Not that time again is it, my lady?’ An expression of horrified guilt crossed the maid’s face. ‘You should have said. Look, don’t you worry. When we were in Falmouth last week I got some more of those special pills from the apothecary.’
‘No. It isn’t. Polly, don’t worry so.’ Gerald worried about her. Polly worried about her. Yet she could not confide in either of them. She could not bear even to imagine the horror they would be unable to hide. She must turn her thoughts outward: away from the shameful fevered dreams, the yearnings she didn’t understand. If she focused on her charity work, concentrated on helping those less fortunate, then maybe …
Seeing her maid’s face in the mirror fraught with genuine concern, Chloe made herself smile. What would she have done without Polly? Having no close female relatives there had been no one to prepare her, no one to ask. Polly had explained to the terrified fourteen year old that she was now a woman, and that the accompanying pains would ease in time. Only they hadn’t. In fact, over the last two years they had grown worse, confining her to bed for twenty-four hours where she curled in white-faced agony around a stone hot-water bottle sipping the hot gin Polly promised would help. And it did: though she loathed its perfumed taste, and shuddered violently as she forced it down.
There had been ten applicants for the post of lady’s maid. Gerald had interviewed them in her presence, permitting her the final choice. She had chosen Polly, her pleasure at the prospect of a companion doubled by Gerald’s approval. In the ensuing six years Polly had proved herself utterly devoted. And yet …
Chloe pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Such suspicions were wicked and unworthy. No one could have shown her more kindness or looked after her better than Polly. As for Gerald, she owed him everything. He was the kindest, most generous of husbands. He deserved her total loyalty. She must not even think –
‘Ma’am?’ Aware she was in danger of betraying the turmoil that had kept her awake for most of the night, Chloe straightened her back and, clasping cold fingers more tightly in her lap, stretched her mouth into a smile.
‘I was thinking about the next committee meeting,’ she improvised. ‘What do you think, Polly? My blue? Or the new lilac with my aubergine jacket?’
‘The lilac is very becoming, ma’am.’
‘It is certainly the more sophisticated.’ Chloe made a wry face. ‘Yes, definitely the lilac. Who knows, it might even persuade Mrs Fox to stop talking over my head.’
She had been thrilled to receive invitations to join various charitable organizations. It hadn’t occurred to her then that they were issued only out of deference to her husband. It was several months before she was informed, by one of her colleagues on the committee, that Sir Gerald would have considered it a serious breach of courtesy had such invitations
‘Thank you, Gerald.’ Relief had increased her delight at his compliment, for he demanded the very highest standards and quickly distanced himself from people or projects that failed to measure up. But that hadn’t been the end of it.
‘Chloe, my dear, I should like you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.’
She had been sixteen years old.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but are you all right?’
Suddenly aware that Polly’s hands had ceased their coiling and pinning, Chloe looked up, saw her maid’s anxiety reflected in the mirror, and felt a rush of affection. Polly clucked over her like a mother hen.
‘Shall I fetch you something?’
‘No. I’m all right.’ If she said it often enough it would be so. Nervous afflictions were for other women, not for her. She did not want to be like them.
‘Not that time again is it, my lady?’ An expression of horrified guilt crossed the maid’s face. ‘You should have said. Look, don’t you worry. When we were in Falmouth last week I got some more of those special pills from the apothecary.’
‘No. It isn’t. Polly, don’t worry so.’ Gerald worried about her. Polly worried about her. Yet she could not confide in either of them. She could not bear even to imagine the horror they would be unable to hide. She must turn her thoughts outward: away from the shameful fevered dreams, the yearnings she didn’t understand. If she focused on her charity work, concentrated on helping those less fortunate, then maybe …
Seeing her maid’s face in the mirror fraught with genuine concern, Chloe made herself smile. What would she have done without Polly? Having no close female relatives there had been no one to prepare her, no one to ask. Polly had explained to the terrified fourteen year old that she was now a woman, and that the accompanying pains would ease in time. Only they hadn’t. In fact, over the last two years they had grown worse, confining her to bed for twenty-four hours where she curled in white-faced agony around a stone hot-water bottle sipping the hot gin Polly promised would help. And it did: though she loathed its perfumed taste, and shuddered violently as she forced it down.
There had been ten applicants for the post of lady’s maid. Gerald had interviewed them in her presence, permitting her the final choice. She had chosen Polly, her pleasure at the prospect of a companion doubled by Gerald’s approval. In the ensuing six years Polly had proved herself utterly devoted. And yet …
Chloe pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Such suspicions were wicked and unworthy. No one could have shown her more kindness or looked after her better than Polly. As for Gerald, she owed him everything. He was the kindest, most generous of husbands. He deserved her total loyalty. She must not even think –
‘Ma’am?’ Aware she was in danger of betraying the turmoil that had kept her awake for most of the night, Chloe straightened her back and, clasping cold fingers more tightly in her lap, stretched her mouth into a smile.
‘I was thinking about the next committee meeting,’ she improvised. ‘What do you think, Polly? My blue? Or the new lilac with my aubergine jacket?’
‘The lilac is very becoming, ma’am.’
‘It is certainly the more sophisticated.’ Chloe made a wry face. ‘Yes, definitely the lilac. Who knows, it might even persuade Mrs Fox to stop talking over my head.’
She had been thrilled to receive invitations to join various charitable organizations. It hadn’t occurred to her then that they were issued only out of deference to her husband. It was several months before she was informed, by one of her colleagues on the committee, that Sir Gerald would have considered it a serious breach of courtesy had such invitations
Similar Books
