Carola Dunn Read Free Page A

to pay his sister’s maid the least notice, but she was bound to catch a glimpse now and then. Dreaming was free, wasn’t it?
     She had no doubt of her ability to create an elegant wardrobe for Lady Elizabeth. The local gentry always sent for Martha Miller and her clever needle when they needed a special gown for the assemblies in Newmarket or Bury St. Edmunds.
     As she passed a poplar windbreak, the tall, narrow trees leafless now, she paused to admire the mansion. With its grey stone towers and turrets, imposing gatehouse and crenellated walls, it reminded her of a woodcut of a king’s palace in a book of faerie stories she had once read to old Mrs. Stewart. A fitting home for the splendid Duke of Diss.
     Walking round to the servants’ entrance in the east wing, Martha turned her mind to the task ahead of her. Silks, satins, and velvets she would be sewing, instead of the winter flannels and worsteds and the summer muslins she was more accustomed to. Rich lace by the ell, fur trimmings for pelisses, gold and silver thread embroidery—the young ladies had shown her pictures in the London magazines. If she did a good job, perhaps his Grace might smile at her?
     Mrs. Girdle, the housekeeper, who was Tad’s auntie, met her with a worried face.
     “I hope you haven’t gone and bit off more than you can chew, Martha.” She led the way up a winding stone staircase to the sewing room, high in one of the towers. “His Grace gets some mighty odd notions into his noddle, there’s no denying, and what with your pa’s getting carried away by his own tongue the way he does....”
     “Why, I’ll just have to do the best I can, ma’am,” said Martha gaily. “If I don’t get to go to London with Lady Elizabeth, well, I’ll be sorry but it won’t be the end of the world, after all.”
     “That’s a sensible lass,” Mrs. Girdle approved, opening a door off a narrow landing. “Here you are, then. His Grace sent up a tray of provisions for you, over there on the little table. Bread and cheese, he ordered, but I told Cook to put in a few lemon jumbles.”
     Martha smiled at her. “Thank you, ma’am.”
     “You have all the needles and pins and thread and such you need, do you?”
     “Oh yes,” Martha said with confidence, “not like some places I sew where they measure every inch of thread you use!”
     “I should hope not, in the duke’s household! I had the fire made up, and there’s plenty of coals and candles. I’ll leave you then, my dear. Lady Elizabeth will come up presently to tell you what she wants.”
     Martha bobbed a curtsy, and the housekeeper left.
     The big octagonal room was Martha’s favourite place to work. Its mullioned windows overlooked all the countryside about. Beyond the gardens stretched the green turf of the park, cropped by cattle, sheep, and fallow deer. Then came farmland, the dark brown of ploughed fields chequered with the green of winter wheat. A twisting ribbon of pollarded willows showed where the stream meandered across the flat fields. To the south, the village was a knot of bare, grey-brown trees and pale gold thatch, with the church tower rising at one end, the mill at the other.
     The room was a bit chilly at this time of year, although the sun shone in through the windows on the south side. Martha went to the fireplace to warm her fingers before she took off her cloak. Then she turned to the big table in the centre of the room.
     On the table lay a bulky bale, wrapped in brown paper and string. It must contain the luxurious materials she was to make up. She was eager to see them.
     She had untied one knot when Lady Elizabeth came in. A tall, pale, plump young lady, she had an unfortunate preference for yellow and green gowns adorned with multiple ruffles and bows. Martha had never quite dared to point out that they made her ladyship look sallow and even plumper.
     Lady Elizabeth was followed by a footman liveried in royal blue and white. Albert was a