A Scandalous Publication Read Free Page B

come down when Charlotte entered the room, wearing her black muslin gown, her long red hair pinned up beneath a black lace cap. Sitting down at the table and pouring herself some of the coffee, she gazed out of the window at the terraced gardens, where the roses were weighed down by moisture and the dovecote was very quiet, only the occasional bird fluttering into the endless rain. She felt strangely calm now that it was almost over. Seeing the house gradually emptied of everything she had loved, and having to accept that although she and her mother were still beneath its roof, it was no longer theirs, had caused them both a great deal of pain; to leave it and start their new life would surely be a release.
    The hands of her fob watch pointed to precisely nine when the door opened to admit Mrs. Wyndham, her black bombazine gown and heavy petticoats rustling as she took her seat opposite her daughter. The former Miss Sophia Pagett, belle of the 1792 Season, was now a plump, rather anxious woman of forty-three, her pale, round face framed by wispy, reddish curls and a rather severe black biggin. She was quite haggard from the grief and anxiety of the past two months. Her gray eyes, so like her daughter’s, were red-rimmed and tired, and her lips trembled a little now and then, as if she was fighting back a sob.
    Charlotte looked fondly at her, her heart going out at the look of desolation on the face that had formerly been so happy and bright. “Good morning, Mother.”
    “Good morning, Charlotte.”
    “Would you care for some coffee?”
    “I couldn’t possibly.”
    “But you must have something or you’ll make yourself ill. Please, at least have some coffee and a slice of toast.”
    “Charlotte, I have no appetite whatsoever.”
    “Ten miles in a hired chaise is not agreeable at the best of times, but it isn’t to be considered at all if one hasn’t eaten.”
    “I have no wish to be reminded that we are now reduced to hiring vehicles.”
    “What point is there in pretending otherwise?”
    “The practical side of your nature can sometimes be quite insufferable.”
    “Mother.” Charlotte looked reproachfully at her.
    Mrs. Wyndham looked a little shamefaced then. “Forgive me, my dear, I don’t mean to be sharp with you all the time, it’s just that…. Well, you know what it is.”
    “Yes, of course I do.” Charlotte leaned across to squeeze her mother’s hand. “Now, then, will you have some coffee and toast?”
    “You’re quite a bully, aren’t you?” Her mother smiled. “Very well, I’ll try.”
    They sipped their coffee in silence for a while, Mrs. Wyndham gazing out at the roses in the garden. “Do you know,” she said after a moment, “Richard and I planted those on the day before he left for America. It must be all of five years ago now. Oh, I do wish he was here now instead of the other side of the Atlantic, for I need him so very much.”
    Charlotte said nothing. Richard Pagett was her mother’s brother, but he was so much younger than his sister that Charlotte had always found it impossible to call him Uncle Richard. He had always been just Richard, and she too missed him a great deal. Why, oh, why had he had to go and squander the Pagett fortune? But for that, he would never have taken himself across the world to seek his fortune anew. When he had first gone, she had written regularly to him at his New York address, and in the beginning he had replied, but he was a very poor correspondent and in the end his letters had stopped arriving. She’d continued to write, and she had informed him of her father’s death, but so far no word had reached them. They didn’t even know if he was still alive.
    Mrs. Wyndham looked sadly at her daughter. “Well, I suppose yearning for Richard will do no good at all, he is as much part of the past as this house is about to be.”
    “We may still hear.”
    “That is a very faint hope and we both know it.” Mrs. Wyndham took a deep breath then and