“There is only Aunt Tilly,” Belle said doubtfully. “I wrote when we first arrived, but I have had no response.”
“Such a disconnected family,” Burford said with a wry smile. “But there would be nothing improper in calling on her, surely? Not when we know that Lady Sara has stayed with her recently.”
“It is awkward, when there has been no prior contact,” Ambleside said. “But perhaps the Lady Matilda lives quietly in reduced circumstances, and is ashamed of her poverty. I believe we may venture to drive to the address and see what manner of dwelling it is, and then we shall make a decision as to whether it would be proper to make a direct approach. Once Amy is dressed, if she feels well enough for an outing, we will order the barouche brought round.”
No more than two hours later, they set off in the barouche. The day was fine, and might be warm later when the sun broke through the clouds, but Ambleside was not prepared to risk his wife’s health with a chill. There were hot bricks, and several thick rugs to keep the slightest untoward breeze at bay.
It was an unfashionably early hour to be abroad, so the streets were not as crowded as they had been in the early morning bustle of delivery carts or as they would be at five o’clock, when all those with pretensions to fashion ventured forth to see and be seen. They soon arrived at their destination, which turned out to be a large, attractive house in a fashionable square, with well-tended gardens in the centre.
“This is an expensive district, I should surmise,” Burford said. “No sign of genteel poverty here.”
“Such a pretty little square,” Amy said. “I should have liked to stay somewhere like this, with trees about, and a pleasant view from the windows, and not so much smoke everywhere.”
“We looked into one or two such, but we thought them too expensive, my dear,” Ambleside said. “Perhaps next year we will reconsider, if you like the idea.”
“Too large for just the four of us, also,” Burford said. “Much larger than we needed. Which is Aunt Tilly’s?”
“Number eight,” Belle said. “The one with the blue door, I believe.”
They drew up outside, and looked at each other. Such a prosperous residence was not what any of them had expected.
“Perhaps this is a mistake,” Amy said nervously. “After all, Mama was quite adamant that none of us should ever visit Aunt Tilly.”
“And Lady Melthwaite fainted away when she heard Mama had stayed here,” Connie added. “There must be something peculiar about Aunt Tilly’s situation.”
“Nonsense,” Belle said briskly. “We are here now. What is the harm in knocking on the door and asking if she is at home? She is our aunt, after all. If she does not wish to receive us, we shall leave our cards and go away again.”
“I do not think—” Amy began.
“You should stay here, well wrapped up, Amy dear,” Belle said. “There is no need for all of us to get down from the carriage. Give me your card, and Connie, too, and I will go and hand them in at the door.”
“I do not like you to go alone,” Connie said. “I will come with you.”
“Shall I accompany you?” Burford asked. “You will not be more than ten paces away, but even so…”
“There is no need,” Belle said with a smile. “I believe we can manage to call on a middle-aged lady without your assistance. If she is friendly, and willing to receive us, we shall summon you to join us.”
Connie followed Belle out of the barouche and up the steps to the front door. The street was silent, the only sound the blowing of the horses and a rustling from the trees in the centre of the square. No one else was about, not so much as a maid scrubbing steps, or a single person walking along the wide pavement. Yet it was a respectable neighbourhood, and Connie felt no apprehension as Belle pulled sharply on the bell-rope. Distantly, the bell jangled.
Connie had expected either a butler or footman to answer the door, or perhaps a housekeeper if Lady Matilda preferred to keep an entirely female household, as some ladies did. Instead, the door was opened by a young woman wearing the most fetching morning dress, in quite the latest style. To Connie’s surprise, she scarcely looked at them.
“Come in, quick!” she said, holding the door wide for them. “You should have gone round the back, you know. Do not stand on the step like that, get inside.”
Exchanging glances, the two sisters stepped over the threshold, to find themselves in an airy, high-ceilinged hall with a tiled floor and marble-topped console. Elegant curved stairs led to the upper floors.
The young woman pointed to a door. “Wait in there. Do not wander about.”
Then, without another word, she dashed away and vanished into some fastness behind the stairs.
“Well, that is strange,” Belle said. “Perhaps she is a companion of some kind?”
“What shall we do?” Connie said.
“Why, we shall wait in here, as we have been directed, and we shall not wander about,” Belle said, with a twinkle in her eye. “This room looks out to the street, so we can assure ourselves that the barouche still waits for us. Oh — the library!”
It was indeed a book room of sorts, although there were not many shelves of books. There were snuff jars, and heavy leather chairs, and decanters of Madeira and brandy set out, and paintings of nymphs and angels and the like, rather scantily clad, as nymphs tended to be. Connie thought it was very much a gentleman’s room, for the dark furniture and smoky atmosphere reminded her of Cousin Henry’s book room at Willowbye.
Belle walked around the room peering at the books. “I cannot read the lettering on the covers at all,” she said, reaching for one. “I wonder what kind of reading Aunt Tilly likes — oh!”
With a squeak of alarm, she snapped the book shut.
“Whatever is it, dearest?” Connie said. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh — well, not exactly, but… oh dear!”
“You have gone quite red, Belle. Are you all right? Is it the book? May I see?”
“No! Let me put it away at once. Do you know, I am not at all certain that this is Aunt Tilly’s house at all. Perhaps she has moved lately, and some other family altogether now lives here? For this is not a ladies’ room, I am sure of that.”
“Perhaps we should go?” Connie said, but before Belle could answer. Steps were heard tapping rapidly across the hall outside, and a middle-aged woman appeared at the door, also very stylishly attired, although in the greys of a widow.
“Well, now, what have we here?” she said without any greeting or civility. “Nicely dressed, yes, and one very pretty. The other… hmm, although the cap is a nice touch. Turn around, will you?”
“How dare you!” Connie burst out. “You are very rude to talk about my sister and me in that way.”
But the woman laughed. “You must expect that now, my dear. But sisters… that has possibilities.”
Belle broke into this exchange in her calm way. “I do not know what you are about, madam, but we are here to call upon the Lady Matilda Heatherington. Is she at home?”
The woman laughed even more at that. “Oh, my mistake! Are you customers?”
“Customers? I have no idea what you mean,” Belle said coldly. “Is the Lady Matilda at home or not? For we are her nieces.”
For the first time, the woman’s composure failed her. She gasped, covering her hands with her mouth. Then, to the sisters’ consternation, she ran out of the room.
“That was… very peculiar,” Belle said. “I think perhaps you are right, dear, and we should leave. There is something not proper about this house. It is not a normal establishment, by any means and I do not think we should have come here.”
“Oh, yes, by all means let us leave at once!” Connie said. “I should dearly like to meet Aunt Tilly, but I do not even know whether she still lives here. Perhaps something dreadful has happened to her?”
“Perhaps,” Belle said doubtfully. She opened the door and peered into the hall. “There is no one about. We should slip quietly away, I think. T
he sooner we leave this place the better.”
From somewhere upstairs, a burst of girlish laughter drifted down, making the building seem, just for a moment, like a normal family house or perhaps a school. But Connie knew it could not be so. It was unsettling, to hear such innocent sounds in a place which, in some way she did not quite understand, was not innocent at all.
They crossed the hall to the front door, but it was large and heavy, fitted with several latches and chains, so that it took some manoeuvring before Belle, with a soft exclamation of triumph, pulled it open. They were almost out when they heard footsteps behind them, and a voice calling peremptorily.
“What are you doing here?”
It was their mother’s voice, the tone of maternal authority so familiar that they had spun round and dropped into their curtsies before looking up to see—
Not Mama, but someone so like her that they could only be twins.
“Oh,” Connie breathed. “Aunt Tilly!”
“Yes, but you must go at once! What were you thinking? Did Sara not tell you to keep well away from me?”
“But Mama stayed here in this house!” Connie cried before she could stop herself.
“She is right, we must go,” Belle said. “Come, Connie.” She whisked out of the door and down the steps.
“Oh,” Connie said, disappointed. “I had so hoped to talk to you. We have so few family members, and even fewer who want anything to do with us, and I thought perhaps you…” She trailed off miserably.
Aunt Tilly tipped her head to one side, in a gesture that reminded Connie forcibly of her mother, except that Mama never looked quite so mischievous. “Do you really want to know me better? I am quite disreputable, you know. Positively ramshackle.”
“What does that matter! You are family.”
Aunt Tilly laughed. “Well now, let me see… Do you know Hamilton’s umbrella shop?”
“Yes, but—”
“Be there tomorrow at noon. Just you and your abigail. Do not tell the others, for they will try to dissuade you, I daresay. Now go with your sister. Go on! Shoo!”
Connie went. They drove home in complete silence, but Connie barely noticed, so full of happy anticipation was she. Finally, she would get to know Aunt Tilly.
19: Hamilton's Umbrella Shop
It was not, in the end, difficult to escape from the others. Amy was still abed, and Belle, Mr Burford and Mr Ambleside wished to explore a new bookshop they had discovered. As if they had not enough books already! There was an entire library at Willowbye, and Staynlaw House boasted a well-stocked book room, too. Connie could not quite understand why they needed more books. However, it made the task of escaping by herself all the easier.
“I shall take Annie and visit one or two shops,” she said. “I might go to Hamilton’s — the umbrella shop, do you remember? We passed it twice yesterday, and I should like to examine the wares.”
“That would be a useful purchase,” Belle said. “Have you enough money?”
“Oh, yes. I have hardly broached the purse Mama gave me.”
“Very well, but do not stay out too long,” Belle said.
“Shall you find the way by yourself?” Mr Burford said, ever practical, and then proceeded to write explicit instructions on the correct route to take.
In fact, Connie was quite glad to have it all written down clearly, for there were one or two points where she might otherwise have become confused. In the end, it took her no more than twenty minutes to find her way there, and she was early enough to have a thorough look about the shop, with a helpful assistant opening and closing any item she wished to look at more closely.
The bells of a nearby church alerted her to the hour. “Oh — is it noon already? I must go.” She remembered Lady Harriet and Lady Moorfield insisting on examining half the goods in a shop, and then leaving without making a purchase. Turning to the assistant, she said, “I am so sorry. I have put you to a great deal of trouble. I shall return another day to make my choice and buy one of your lovely umbrellas.”
“It is no trouble at all, madam, I assure you,” the assistant said. “If you will forgive my saying so, madam, but I think that young lady knows you.”
Connie turned, and saw someone waving to her from the door, someone young and fashionably dressed. Did she know her? Then she remembered — it was the girl who had opened the door to them yesterday.
“Oh, yes,” she said happily, skipping across to where the girl waited.
“Miss Allamont, how delightful to find you here,” the girl said with a sweet smile, as if she were indeed an acquaintance. “Will you come? My aunt is waiting for me and she would be most happy to see you again.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes, indeed.”
Connie followed the girl out of the shop and a little way along the street, Annie walking a pace or two behind. They turned under an arch and into the courtyard of what must once have been a large coaching inn. Now it was a secluded hotel, the entrance guarded by a pair of bewigged and uniformed doormen. They bowed to the three women, however, and opened the doors wide to admit them.
Inside, all was polished wood and deep rugs in vibrant colours. Apart from another pair of servants waiting near the stairs, the entrance hall was empty. The girl led them unhesitatingly across the rugs, past the bowing servants and up the stairs, opening a door to one side of the landing. With that same sweet smile, she ushered Connie and Annie inside.
And there was Aunt Tilly, rising with a smile, kissing Connie on each cheek, then, as if she could not quite let her go yet, hugging her very tightly.
“Come, sit here. You did not give me your name, but you must be Connie, I think.” She turned to the maid. “Now, what is your name? Annie, good. I am going to have a little chat with your mistress. If you will go with Deirdre, she will take you downstairs to the servants’ quarters for some refreshments. And you will say nothing of this to anyone else, do you understand?”
“Oh no, mi’lady.” She curtsied twice to emphasise the point.
“Good girl. Off you go then.”
The room was small, a private parlour, Connie surmised. A square table dominated the centre of the room, laid with a lace cloth, tea and cakes conveniently to hand. Around the walls were spare chairs, a small baize-topped table for cards and a sideboard with decanters and vases of sweet-smelling flowers. A small fire hissed fitfully, although the day was warm enough not to need it.
“Will she keep her mouth closed? Annie, I mean?”
“I… am not sure. Here, perhaps, where the servants are strangers, but at home…”
“Well, it matters less there,” Aunt Tilly said. “You must be sure not to mention me in company, however, and above all things, you must not be seen with me.” Aunt Tilly sat opposite Connie at the table. “Tea? Some cake? The walnut cake is excellent here. Or there is fruit, but I prefer cake, myself. Now, let us talk. Or rather, you may ask and I shall talk, for I suspect I know a great deal more about you than you know about me.”
“I know almost nothing of you,” Connie said. Now that her aunt was seated and pouring the tea, the likeness to Mama was extraordinary, so that she felt quite at ease, with everything familiar. Yet her aunt was a stranger.
“Exactly. So ask me whatever you wish. I shall answer you honestly, but you should be aware that there are some parts of my life which it is better you do not know of. You are an innocent, a respectably brought up young lady, and so there are topics that are not fit for your ears. But if I can answer, I will.”
“Thank you!” Connie said, leaning forward eagerly towards the face that seemed so well-known. “May I ask — why did Mama not tell us that you and she are twins?”
Aunt Tilly laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender. “And immediately you have hit upon a question to which I have no answer. Only Sara can tell you her reasons, Connie.”
“Oh. Of course.” She could not keep the disappointment from her voice. “Can you tell me why you are disreputable? Or is that something I may not know?�
��
“I am sure you can guess at the most likely reasons why a lady of impeccable station might lose her reputation.”
“You are a fallen woman?” Connie hazarded. “Mr Endercott mentions such people often in his sermons.”
“Does he, indeed?” Aunt Tilly said, eyes twinkling.
“He does. He is very lyrical on the subject of sin. And the Dowager Marchioness of Carrbridge said… oh, but perhaps I should not repeat gossip about you?”
“Gossip cannot harm me, my dear, and I daresay most of it is true. I would know what the Dowager had to say of me, for I had not imagined any lady of rank to remember my name after all this time.”
“Oh, indeed she did, although she said that she had not heard anything of you for a long time.”
“Ah, that is good,” Aunt Tilly said, nodding her head in satisfaction. “I have tried my very best to keep out of sight. It is pleasing to know that my efforts are not quite in vain. What else?”
“That there was a viscount once, she thought. And there was mention of a prince.”
Aunt Tilly laughed merrily at that. “Mention of a prince? Oh, there was more than a mention, far more. That was an interesting time in my career. He once took me to Brighton for the day in his curricle…”
They talked for an hour, and Connie had not enjoyed herself so much for months. Her aunt had a seemingly unlimited fund of amusing stories of her gentlemen acquaintance — always gentlemen, never ladies — and although she said nothing about what went on at her house in its secluded square, so respectable from the outside, Connie could make some guesses.
But that made her mother even more of a puzzle. “But why was it perfectly acceptable for Mama to stay with you?” she burst out. “My sister and I may not enter it, or be seen with you, but Mama may visit with impunity.”
“Perhaps not with impunity,” Aunt Tilly said thoughtfully. “But your Mama is a widow now, and may decide for herself how to go on. We were close as girls, as twins often are, but we took different paths a long time ago. Well… perhaps not so different, for we both turned our backs on the highest levels of society, she in her country retreat and I here. But now, perhaps, she may choose another path for herself, who knows? She is entitled to a little happiness, after all this time.”
Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) Page 16
