The Companion of Lady Holmeshire (5 page)

“
Well, do not tell Mama. She is quite set on you being a fine lady, regardless of the details. And so we must play along.” He peeled back the cloth and exposed a block of white marble that had been skillfully carved with drawers and doors. “It is for your jewelry!”

“
Oh!” she gasped. “It is amazing! Exquisite!” She opened a drawer, and then a door. An enameled crane popped out of the space within.

“
You can hang necklaces over its neck!” Wills was ever so pleased with the bird.

“
Oh, my Lord, I have never seen anything so beautiful! I will find a use for it, certainly, although I’ve never had jewelry but for my ring. Thank you!”

Wills, beaming with pride, prodded her to check the case thoroughly. She continued to open doors and pull drawers, each with a brass handle, and each with velvet lining in a harmonizing color. Her eyes opened wide when she unlatched a tall door, for hanging within it was a gold chain with a beautiful ruby in a leaf-shaped pendant. “My Lord Holmeshire! How beautiful! Oh, how very thoughtful of you!” she cried, attempting to extinguish her feelings as his perfect gift fanned the flames. “A maple leaf with…a ruby, is it not? I have never had even the smallest stone before!”

“
Well, now you do have the smallest stone! Wear it with some of those luscious new dresses that Mama has ordered made for you. Wear it to Handerton!”

“
I will, I will. I surely will. How can I thank you?”

“
Most of all, I should care to see you smiling. You are starting a new life with us. Let us all be happy, promise?” She smiled and nodded in decided agreement.

“
And now, Nick, have you been patient and good?” The wide-eyed boy nodded in the affirmative, but had no intention of moving from the ottoman for fear of losing everything. He did lean as far forward as he could without tipping off, staring at the covering and blinking his enormous eyes. Everyone laughed. Wills felt around under the cloth and, after a pretense of fighting with it, pulled out a carved wooden box. “What do you like to play with, lad?”

“
Balls?” Nicky tested out. “Or, or, or what?”

“
How about books, Nicky? Do you like long, dull law books with no pictures?” A look of disappointment came over his little face. “No? You must learn to like dull books, as you will be sent away to school some day, and I expect you to do brilliantly. Well, then, do you like apple peelings? A box full of apple peels?” Nicky began to recognize the game and stuck out his lower lip. He nearly laughed, but the wait was all too painful. “All right, then, Nicky, how about horses?”

He opened the lid to reveal padded sections, each containing a beautiful horse, each in its own stage of canter, gallop or rearing. Nick’s eyebrows went up, and he stared at the intricate marble figures in shades of brown. “You cannot play with these, of course; they are for your bookcase when you are a great scholar. So! I have also brought another horse for you.” He pulled out a hobby horse with a bronze-studded leather bridle and a luscious mane. The tot squealed with delight, and he completely forgot that he was sitting still. He and the horse were off about the room with Emma hustling along behind, admonishing him where necessary to make sure no heirloom was destroyed.

Wills turned to Winnie. “And now, Mama, oh dear, I must have forgotten about you. Here I have for myself a fabulous new embossed leather rifle case. It has my name on it! And look, a set of dominoes like none you have ever seen. Black and white marble with little stones. I do love to look at dominoes sitting on the shelf! But nothing for you.”

“
Well, then, I must shop for myself!”

“
Oh dear, we cannot have London emptied of goods, can we? I shall concede the dominoes. And I think I had better check under this cover again.” Wills pulled off the fabric with a flourish and exposed a rectangular gilt box, just two inches high, covered with the gold over-laid image of a man.

Upon close examination, Winnie, in awe, saw that it was a carving of Wilfred himself! “And now open it, please, Mama,” he directed. “But stand it like this first.” He pulled it up on end with the statue’s feet down. She delayed while she studied every part of the image and the trees behind it. It was dressed sharply, and each of the four corners was decorated with the Family Arms.

“
Do I dare to open this box?” Winnie knew exactly what she had long wanted, and so had Wills. In one motion, opening the cover, she flew into a standing position and gasped, “Oh, yes!”

The equestrian and his guard returned quickly from Ascot to see what inside of it had created such a rapturous response. And there it was, finally. “I’ve waited so long, you stubborn boy who would not sit for a portrait!”

“
I was busy here, Mama, and I had the time there. It was planned all along, anyway!”

“
It takes my breath away, your father standing there beside you! How dear you are!” A subtle image of his father was part of the background, as though he were standing behind and to the side of Wills. “I never realized that you took that portrait of him along.”

“
Why do you think I hung it in such a secluded place for so long, Mama? It was so you would not know when I took it. You would have never allowed that, would you? But I took care of it; I was most severe with the footmen and have returned it in one piece.” Wills pushed the cart aside. “Tomorrow we’ll look at the boxes in the north wing, Mama, but for today, I’ve changed my mind. I want to rest.”

Winnie sank to her seat, her excitement and astonishment taking her strength away. They all sat down. Nicky, thankful not to have a boring book, was feeding his horse a muffin. Emma had stars in her eyes, dreaming of wearing her pale amethyst dress and new necklace at Belgrave Square in London. But mothers delight in their sons staying dear, so nothing matched the joy shown in the tearful eyes of Winifred.

~
Chapter 3~

Nostalgia and the Slumping Slate

On the land below Holmeshire Hill, to the south, was an ancient village. Pasturage and woolen mills lay on the outskirts, inland from the dangerous moors. On each end of town hung rusted iron-framed signs declaring its name, “Holmeshire.” Old and new buildings were crowded together along narrow, rutted streets, all of which opened to the cobblestones making up the Village Square.

Villagers bartered; farmers traded crops. Spinners, weavers and fabricators worked the heaps of wool into yarn and goods, but sales in depressed times were painfully slow. Shops and construction struggled.

No workhouse had been built in Lord Holmeshire’s domain; the elderly and destitute were in a suitable almshouse of old. A small school had been established for young ones to attend once the summer crops were in. Potholes were scarcely filled during these hard times, so the blacksmith had a bit of work, though the inn and stables cared for few travelers.

On Sundays, come what may, the bells of the great 1500s church, just outside the village, rang the day in and out. People streamed in its direction from everywhere, and the Holmeshires came down the hill in a shining leather carriage.

“
Thank you, ma’am, for allowing me to continue my own form of worship.” Emma deeply appreciated the goodness of the two toward her. It built an unbreakable loyalty and a desire to please them. She pulled on her gloves as they passed through the imposing gate of the centuries-old stone fence surrounding the castle. “I so love going to the chapel. I’ve never been comfortable in that huge church.”

“
As you have said, dear girl, worship must come from the heart.” Winifred knew that Emma had always been serious about this. She had been allowed by the Squire who raised her, at the bidding of his merciful wife, to go off alone to a thirteenth century tiny, slate chapel on the far side of the village. “And perhaps there is a reason why you so love that little chapel!”

Upon arriving at the huge Supplicant’s Church with its Gothic spires, Emma left the landau and curtsied her goodbyes. The sky-high towers of the chantry were the source of disquieting legends, and winds passing between them often made daunting howls. Gravestones filled the garden on every side and caused her to worry for her unknown parents.

Emma was eager to leave it behind, and she walked across a mossy stone bridge over the river. She worked her way against the flow of a receiving line of villagers as they flocked to the eerie scene that she was abandoning. They were used to her different ways on Sundays, and most had stopped trying to coax her to join them. She occasionally reminded some, a bit firmly, that Jesus preached on a hillside; surely she could pray in a chapel?

The clanging bells seemed to join in with many happy voices that greeted her on her way. “Emma, come have tea with us soon! Can you? Are you allowed?” “Emma, hello, hello!” She smiled as she passed the beloved villagers and old familiar buildings—the stone blacksmith’s shop, a dilapidated pottery barn, and the half-timbered bakery with baked delights in the window. The bakery would open for one hour after church to sell the week’s remaining goods at half price.

She peeked into various windows and even tried a door. Memories flooded her mind as she passed the girl’s entry to the schoolhouse—how she stood and giggled there with the neighbor’s daughters, being teased by a lad when her braid fell down and having picked flowers for the sickly Mrs. Carrington from a planter near the door. She remembered feeding a stray cat some of the fish that she had bought for Squire Carrington’s family, which had caused her a bit of trouble.

“
Emma, beautiful child! Look at you!” The familiar voice brought her back to the present, and she shook off the memories.

“
Hello, Mrs. Amberton! I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since I returned; it is wonderful to see you again, and it is so delightful to have Anne up at the Hall with us!” Emma felt conspicuous in her fine coat and silk ribbons. She covered her ruby with her gloved hand.

“
Ah, it was hard to give her up, you know, she did hemming for me, and seams! But the little girls are taking it up now, though they must quickly improve. Do not worry, for I shall make experts of them all. You look a princess, Miss Emma. Let me take a look at you!” She pulled the anxious Emma’s hand down and smiled with content at the ruby. “Stand still, girl, and I see you’ve been taught to stand properly, not like us village poor folk who are always bent over our work!”

Emma felt pangs of guilt; poor Mrs. Amberton was indeed a bit bent over. “There is hope for my girls, I see. Soon someone may take to them in this way! Perhaps you will marry, and my Elizabeth will take your place.” The matron sighed, “Oh, it could never be. You were a squire’s daughter. But one can never tell. At least my daughters are not stitching on dresses all day and night now, like their old Mama.” She paused, then revealed sudden horror—her eyes widened and she threw her rough hands over her mouth. “Oh, surely the Lord Holmeshire has his eyes set on you! Of course! You are, after all, a squire’s daughter.”

“
No, ma’am, I am not his daughter; I was only his ward and no daughter. I am certain that you must recall. As to marriage, I have promised Lady Holmeshire that I will remain her companion, ma’am, and the Lord is engaged to a woman of his class.”

“
Of course, of course he is.” Embarrassed, she started to leave.

Emma reached to comfort her and whispered, “Though I must confess to finding him terribly handsome.”

Mrs. Amberton turned back, shifted her feet nervously and appealed, “Emma, I do desperately require more work and better paying customers. We eat rather poorly, and with the days being short, I must buy so many candles, you know. Do put in a good word for me upstairs there, Emma. I can fit a bodice like nobody can! Milady could come here, or I could come to her for fittings, that would be proper, and…and you could bring fine fabrics from London, and I could be seamstress to Milady! Course, I do not know the styles in London, but...” Frustrated with hardship, Mrs. Amberton sighed, “Emma, do remember us down here, please do!” Emma responded with a nod, a smile and a thrown kiss.

She passed more buildings, more familiar trees and the Village Square. At last alone, with the townsfolk beyond the bridge, she held her hands out as though reliving the dancing of a circle of young girls going around and around on the square. How she had loved that dancing, the camaraderie and the feeling of the breeze through her hair. Most of those girls had never traveled far from Holmeshire and would spend their lives working long, exhausting days, but she had been to London and returned by the age of two and twenty to live a contented life.

Could it all be, perhaps, the engaging of her imagination, she wondered? It simply must be, but no, it was reality! She sat down on a bench and traced the initials she had once seen a boy carving on its arm, resigned, shaking her head at him all these years later. She shook it again, closing her eyes, to integrate and to endorse the new realities of her life. A cawing crow reminded her to wake up and be on her way, and she looked up defiantly, as she was treasuring her moments from years past and wonderment over the present.

As she finally approached the old chapel, cradled in aged oaks at the southern entrance to the town, she sighed, amused at its appearance. Centuries of pushing winds, and crumbling of the slate, had left the hut slumping. She hoped aloud that no one would bump it over on her, and she laughed.

A ledge outside a receded window held a potted plant—someone had paid tribute to the ancient site. The solid door, which struggled to keep the structure upright, was stressed by the pressure of its incline. It was difficult to open, and she did not dare to shut it behind her. Her breath caught from the musty air as she entered.