The Secret Attachment

III

"Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones." Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre 

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III.

Katy walked with purpose along the side of the road that led her from their cottage to the Wilshire village. She tried to keep her head straight and her breathing even, attempting to stay calm, and to hold her tongue at whatever Mrs Spencer might say.

Mrs Spencer was never one to let an opportunity for commentary pass her by. As though it was her mission, or even a hobby for enjoyment, she liked to put Katy in her place.

As though Katy could ever forget her place. Insolent woman.

Marching on, Katy wrapped her cloak around herself tightly to protect herself from the wind that had picked up in the last twenty minutes. Her hair, some of which had come loose, was being whipped around her face, and her skirts wanted to flap about her knees.

Why could this letter have not waited? Katy eyed the clouds cautiously. They were looking rather ominous. Perhaps if she took the path through the woods on her way back it would save time. The road was easily an extra half mile.

Katy increased her pace, arriving at the Spencer's house within half an hour. The Spencer's house was the finest in the village, standing three storeys high, and set on a flat, elegant green with perfectly tended gardens.

Taking one last deep breath and making a promise to herself to hold her tongue, Katy unlatched the gate and crossed the threshold into their garden.

Arriving at the door, she took the bronze lion door knocker in hand and rapt it three times. The door was swiftly opened and the Spencer's housemaid, Ellen, stood before her.

"Good morning, Ellen," Katy greeted cheerfully, putting on her smile.

Ellen managed a small smile in return, but she, like Katy, knew her mistress would not be receptive to Katy's visit. "Good morning, Miss Fairchild," she replied, returning a smile. "How can we help you?"

"I have a letter for Mrs Spencer from Mrs Banes," she replied, producing the letter from her pocket. "May I wait while Mrs Spencer replies to it?" Inside, she hoped, as the wind continued to whip her hair and skirts about.

"Please, wait in the parlour." Ellen opened the door widely and for the first time in ten years, Katy was glad to enter the Spencer's house.

Mrs Spencer kept an immaculate home, as though dust were illegal. Her furniture was reupholstered annually, and one would never find a pillow that was not perfectly plumped.

Katy stood in the parlour. She dared not sit. She always felt the need to make herself feel as small as possible in the presence of Mrs Spencer. It was a horrible feeling, really, when her only crime was that of being born to poor parents.

The door opened, and Katy jumped, but it was not Mrs Spencer that entered. Instead, it was her sixteen-year-old daughter, Emilie Spencer.

Emilie was a very pretty girl, with long, dark hair, treated and combed to look as shiny and as sleek as silk. Her eyes were the colour of forget me nots, and she was pale, though not as fair as Katy. Although she was sixteen, she still looked so young. Katy could have been six or seven years older than Emilie, and not only three.

Katy had always liked Emilie Spencer, though it was rare she got the opportunity to see her. Katy was not invited to any of the gatherings that the Spencers and Baneses were invited to, and Mrs Spencer always closely monitored who Emilie conversed with at public affairs.