Read Online The Party Season by Sarah Mason - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Mason
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a gaggle of dogs who fall on me joyously. I pat them all, trying desperately to get to a small white one who is constantly being butted out by the rest.
'BASKET!' the woman barks. We all jump and they slope off to their corner. I'm sorely tempted to follow them.
'This way,' she says and sets off at a roaring pace down the labyrinth of corridors. I race to catch up with her.
'Have you been with the Monkwells for long?' I ask politely when I do.
'Long enough.'
I bob my head around and fish desperately for more innocuous comments. 'And you are?' I ask politely.
'Mrs Delaney.' We obviously aren't on a first-name basis here. 'I'm their housekeeper. Have been for the last eight years.' Her chin tilts up and she looks defiantly at me. There's some sort of challenge in those words.
'Well, Mrs Delaney, it's very nice to meet you. I daresay we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other until this charity ball.' I give a cheery smile to intimate how marvellous that will be.
Mrs Delaney gives a snort to indicate exactly what she thinks of the idea. 'Charity ball,' she says in the sort of way you would say 'my arse'. 'You wouldn't have had this nonsense while the lady of the house was alive.' This has more than a slight twang of Mrs-Danvers-talking-to-the-second-Mrs-de-Winter about it.
'I know. Elizabeth always liked the estate to remain strictly private,' I say sweetly, just to remind her that I also have some history with the place.
She looks at me sharply but chooses to say nothing more about the subject.
My Aunt Winnie, although achieving top-class honours in the art of being rude, at least couples it with a form of charm. I suspect Mrs Delaney lacks the latter. We fall into silence as we whistle past numerous closed doors until we reach the heart of the house: an absolutely enormous hallway that connects the several wings. I stifle a small gasp and involuntarily slow down. In my childhood memory this hallway was the largest, grandest thing I had ever seen. It has a huge arched, cathedral-like ceiling separated by several oak beams. An enormous staircase begins in the middle of the hall and then splits into two after the first landing. The grey marble fireplace is at least six feet tall and ten feet wide. But in my memory the hall was warm and welcoming, full of voluptuous velvet curtains and cushions in rich colours along with plenty of lush greenery. Now it is cold and stark. The fireplace is desolate and no fire has been lit there for quite some time. The plants have disappeared, the velvets faded and the place smells of damp. I shiver involuntarily and stop in front of the fireplace. I look up.
There is something bothering me there. Something I can't quite put my finger on.
'Miss Serranti?' Mrs Delaney queries. I look over to her as she stands in front of one of the doors, her hand resting on the handle.
'Sorry,' I say hastily and walk over as she knocks firmly.
'Come in!' calls a voice from within.
'Miss Serranti is here to see you, Monty,' says Mrs Delaney. I feel a smidgen of surprise at her familiar use of his first name but then Monty never had any of Elizabeth Monkwell's frostiness running through him. She steps to one side to let me enter the library.
A much older version of the Monty I remember hastily drops his newspaper and levers himself out of one of the chairs. He seems to have shrunk considerably since the last time I saw him but then I suppose I was shorter then.
'Izzy, me dear!' he outstretches his arms, 'how wonderful! I've been looking forward to seeing you all morning!' He kisses me warmly on one cheek. 'You've grown up into a beautiful young lady!'
I blush slightly, which I hope makes me appear prettily dainty rather than menopausal.
Monty's a terribly distinguished man. I remember regarding him with absolute awe during my childhood but he always had a friendly word for us and some sweets tucked around his person. Like Aunt Winnie, he's overly fond of tweed. His hair is much shorter than I
'BASKET!' the woman barks. We all jump and they slope off to their corner. I'm sorely tempted to follow them.
'This way,' she says and sets off at a roaring pace down the labyrinth of corridors. I race to catch up with her.
'Have you been with the Monkwells for long?' I ask politely when I do.
'Long enough.'
I bob my head around and fish desperately for more innocuous comments. 'And you are?' I ask politely.
'Mrs Delaney.' We obviously aren't on a first-name basis here. 'I'm their housekeeper. Have been for the last eight years.' Her chin tilts up and she looks defiantly at me. There's some sort of challenge in those words.
'Well, Mrs Delaney, it's very nice to meet you. I daresay we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other until this charity ball.' I give a cheery smile to intimate how marvellous that will be.
Mrs Delaney gives a snort to indicate exactly what she thinks of the idea. 'Charity ball,' she says in the sort of way you would say 'my arse'. 'You wouldn't have had this nonsense while the lady of the house was alive.' This has more than a slight twang of Mrs-Danvers-talking-to-the-second-Mrs-de-Winter about it.
'I know. Elizabeth always liked the estate to remain strictly private,' I say sweetly, just to remind her that I also have some history with the place.
She looks at me sharply but chooses to say nothing more about the subject.
My Aunt Winnie, although achieving top-class honours in the art of being rude, at least couples it with a form of charm. I suspect Mrs Delaney lacks the latter. We fall into silence as we whistle past numerous closed doors until we reach the heart of the house: an absolutely enormous hallway that connects the several wings. I stifle a small gasp and involuntarily slow down. In my childhood memory this hallway was the largest, grandest thing I had ever seen. It has a huge arched, cathedral-like ceiling separated by several oak beams. An enormous staircase begins in the middle of the hall and then splits into two after the first landing. The grey marble fireplace is at least six feet tall and ten feet wide. But in my memory the hall was warm and welcoming, full of voluptuous velvet curtains and cushions in rich colours along with plenty of lush greenery. Now it is cold and stark. The fireplace is desolate and no fire has been lit there for quite some time. The plants have disappeared, the velvets faded and the place smells of damp. I shiver involuntarily and stop in front of the fireplace. I look up.
There is something bothering me there. Something I can't quite put my finger on.
'Miss Serranti?' Mrs Delaney queries. I look over to her as she stands in front of one of the doors, her hand resting on the handle.
'Sorry,' I say hastily and walk over as she knocks firmly.
'Come in!' calls a voice from within.
'Miss Serranti is here to see you, Monty,' says Mrs Delaney. I feel a smidgen of surprise at her familiar use of his first name but then Monty never had any of Elizabeth Monkwell's frostiness running through him. She steps to one side to let me enter the library.
A much older version of the Monty I remember hastily drops his newspaper and levers himself out of one of the chairs. He seems to have shrunk considerably since the last time I saw him but then I suppose I was shorter then.
'Izzy, me dear!' he outstretches his arms, 'how wonderful! I've been looking forward to seeing you all morning!' He kisses me warmly on one cheek. 'You've grown up into a beautiful young lady!'
I blush slightly, which I hope makes me appear prettily dainty rather than menopausal.
Monty's a terribly distinguished man. I remember regarding him with absolute awe during my childhood but he always had a friendly word for us and some sweets tucked around his person. Like Aunt Winnie, he's overly fond of tweed. His hair is much shorter than I
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