POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER TWELVE (Part Two)

                        CHAPTER TWELVE (Part Two)

While Cliff House had never seemed a particularly happy household, with the death of Jonathan Trevellian an even darker cloud settled over it.

     Having more or less been forced by circumstances beyond her control Rosalind had returned to her rooms at the house but it seemed to her an uneasy existence.

     Cedric appeared distracted most of the time while his father kept himself isolated from his family. Rosalind assumed it was his way of dealing with his son’s death. She could not believe he was totally unmoved.

     Rosalind spent most her time with Pricilla when the girl was not taking lessons. Melissa seemed a little less averse to her company and often sat with them in the morning room as though glad of company in the oppressing atmosphere.

     The funeral arrangements were finally settled. Jonathan was to be buried in the family vault the following Wednesday. Since women folk were not expected to attend only Cedric and his father would accompany the coffin, together with the male members of the servants’ hall.

     Rosalind knew from experience that the dark cloud would not lift until the funeral was over, when life at the house should return to normal. But the day before the funeral Rosalind discovered that one can never be certain of anything.

     On the Tuesday at mid morning the household was shaken out of its pall of gloom by the noisy arrival of a large coach, which bore a splendid crest of arms on its doors.

     Rosalind was in the morning room writing her weekly letter to Mrs Sutton when the commotion started. Melissa was there too and they stared at each other in astonishment before hurrying into the hall, meeting Pricilla almost tumbling downstairs in excitement, having abandoned her lessons.

     ‘It’s a coach, a coach!’ she exclaimed. ‘I saw it arrive from the nursery window.’

     The very air in the hall seemed to bristle with business as the double front doors were thrown wide. Through the opening they could see the splendid coach. They stared as two footmen in full livery of scarlet and gold entered, bringing in quantities of bags and portmanteaus and depositing them in the hall before hurrying back to the coach to hand out the occupants.

     ‘Who is it?’ Pricilla asked breathlessly.

     ‘Someone very important,’ Melissa said in wonderment. ‘There is so much luggage.’

     Mrs Gilbert came hurrying to join them looking flustered.

‘Why was I not told of the arrival of guests? No rooms are ready.’ She wrung her hands in dismay. ‘I should’ve been told.’

     A horseman had accompanied the coach and when the rider dismounted Rosalind saw it was Richard Whillowby and suddenly she had a feeling that something momentous was about to happen.

     One footman, opening the coach door, produced a set of wooden steps and placed them ready. A rather plump yet fashionable lady in her early thirties emerged, wearing an enormous feathered hat and a lavender coloured velvet jacket over volumes of silken skirts. She stepped down and then looked about her.

     ‘The house is smaller than I thought,’ she criticised in a loud authoritative voice. ‘And so far from civilisation.’ She glanced back to the dark interior of the coach and spoke with a sharpened tone. ‘Phoebe, do not forget my jewellery case.’

     ‘Yes, ma’am, I mean no, ma’am.’ An older woman emerged clutching a blue leather case to her bosom. Dressed in plain grey wool she was obviously the lady’s maid. ‘I have it safe.’

     ‘See that you do.’ The grand lady stared around again. ‘Richard! Assist our reluctant passenger if you please.’

     Leaving Whillowby to do as instructed the lady sailed in through the opened doors like a full-masted schooner with a following westerly wind. All at once the hall seemed overcrowded.

     ‘What’s this?’ the lady asked in ringing tones. ‘Does my brother-in-law ignore me? Am I, Duchess of Greystone, of no importance to him?’

     Mrs Gilbert hurried forward. ‘Mr Cedric and Sir Leopold are both at business, my lady,’ she said ingratiatingly, making a clumsy curtsy. ‘I’m afraid we were not informed...’

     ‘Who are you?’

     ‘I’m Mrs Gilbert, housekeeper, my lady.’ Mrs Gilbert attempted another curtsy. ‘I’ll send a groom for Mr Cedric immediately to inform him of your arrival.’ She hesitated, her face flushing. ‘Who shall I say has arrived, my lady?’

     ‘Well! Really!’ The lady took a deep intake of breath as though highly offended. ‘His sister-in-law, of course, Lady Daphne Greystone.’

     Melissa gave a gasp. ‘Mama’s younger sister.’

She went towards the newcomer and curtsied gracefully. ‘I welcome you, Aunt Daphne, on behalf of my father.’

     Lady Daphne produced a pince-nez on a long ebony handle and peered up and down at Melissa. ‘Ah, yes! The eldest girl. Quite presentable but without sophistication.’

     Melissa beckoned Pricilla to her. ‘This is my younger sister, Pricilla, Aunt Daphne.’

     Lady Daphne inspected Pricilla. ‘Pretty enough. I dare say something could be done with her.’

     ‘Aunt Daphne, do you have news of our Mama?’

     ‘Cynthia has led us a fine dance,’ Lady Daphne said a sharp edge to her voice. ‘But Richard and I were determined to restore her to her family.’

     ‘You mean she’s coming home?’

     ‘I mean she’s here already.’

Lady Daphne turned to look through the doorway. All gaze followed.

Richard Whillowby was entering with a tall slender woman on his arm. She appeared in sharp contrast to Lady Daphne. She was hatless; her thick blonde hair was undressed, tumbling in wild profusion about her shoulders. She wore a short jacket of black velvet over skirts of plain grey silk.

‘Mama!’ Melissa rushed at her flinging her arms around her.

After a stunned moment, Pricilla followed. ‘Oh, Mama! You’ve come back to us at last.’