boil and peeled the turnips. All the while she
was rolling out the pastry Susannah was praying to herself that her father would change his mind about this unwelcome marriage.
The oysters took longer to open than expected and they began to worry that they had been too ambitious in their choice of
menu for the time available. When the bells of St Bride’s chimed a quarter to three Susannah flung off her apron and left
Jennet to the greasy work of turning the chickens on the spit.
Upstairs, Susannah put on her best green silk bodice and the skirt with the petticoat of gold damask. Then she lifted the
lid of her little marquetry box and took out one of the two most precious things she owned. She slipped the gold chain over
her head and kissed her mother’s pearl pendant before settling it into place over her breast. The other treasure lay in the
box wrapped in blue velvet; a miniature of her mother. The artist had caught the likeness well and she smiled steadily back,
her face forever fixed in youth. Susannah suffered again the familiar, aching loss of a mother snatched away too soon. How
could Father even
contemplate
replacing Mama?
She wiped her eyes and knew that she could delay no longer. She peered into the looking glass. Would she do? She bit her lips
tobring the colour back. The steamy kitchen, as always, had caused her hair to spiral into ringlets and she only had time to
smooth them into place and pin on her lace cap before running down to the parlour.
Cornelius, dressed in his new wig and best coat, was peering down the street. ‘Mistress Poynter should be here any minute,’
he said. ‘You look very well, my dear. I always liked you in that shade of green; it matches your eyes.’
Susannah admitted to herself that jealousy probably made her eyes greener than usual. ‘All is in readiness,’ she said. ‘Jennet
burned the carp a little but I removed the skin and smothered it in a butter sauce with herbs.’
A sedan chair stopped in front of the house and Cornelius stood back from the window. Susannah wasn’t so well mannered and
stared, heart galloping in her chest as she waited to catch a glimpse of her future stepmother. She was disappointed though,
since the woman was swathed in a dark cloak with a hood. Daintily she picked her way through the slush and snow to the front
door.
Downstairs Jennet’s clogs clattered across the hall.
Susannah swallowed back a sudden surge of queasiness and hoped Jennet had remembered to put on a clean cap and apron.
Cornelius took up a carefully nonchalant position leaning against the mantelpiece and adjusted the lace at his cuffs again.
Waiting with her shaking hands gripped together, Susannah listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs.
The door opened.
Susannah caught her breath. It was the inquisitive young woman who had visited the shop a few days previously. She stared
at her, frowning. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you,’ she said. ‘Are you Harriet? Could your mother not come, after all?’ She
felt a flicker of annoyance for all the time she and Jennet had spent preparing the house and the dinner, only to find that
Father’s intended had not appeared.
The woman raised her finely plucked eyebrows. ‘My mother has been dead these past five years, may the Lord keep her.’
Cornelius held out his hands to her and she offered her powdered cheek to be kissed. ‘Arabella, what a delight it is to have
you join us,’ he said.
‘And for me to be here, my dear Cornelius.’
‘Let me present my daughter, Susannah.’
Bemused, Susannah took the small, cold hand and struggled to reconcile her expectations of a forty- or even fifty-something
widow with the girlish creature dressed in forget-me-not blue silk that stood before her. Had her father taken leave of his
senses?
‘We have already met, Father,’ she said.
‘How so?’
Arabella flushed rosily and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I confess curiosity had the
was rolling out the pastry Susannah was praying to herself that her father would change his mind about this unwelcome marriage.
The oysters took longer to open than expected and they began to worry that they had been too ambitious in their choice of
menu for the time available. When the bells of St Bride’s chimed a quarter to three Susannah flung off her apron and left
Jennet to the greasy work of turning the chickens on the spit.
Upstairs, Susannah put on her best green silk bodice and the skirt with the petticoat of gold damask. Then she lifted the
lid of her little marquetry box and took out one of the two most precious things she owned. She slipped the gold chain over
her head and kissed her mother’s pearl pendant before settling it into place over her breast. The other treasure lay in the
box wrapped in blue velvet; a miniature of her mother. The artist had caught the likeness well and she smiled steadily back,
her face forever fixed in youth. Susannah suffered again the familiar, aching loss of a mother snatched away too soon. How
could Father even
contemplate
replacing Mama?
She wiped her eyes and knew that she could delay no longer. She peered into the looking glass. Would she do? She bit her lips
tobring the colour back. The steamy kitchen, as always, had caused her hair to spiral into ringlets and she only had time to
smooth them into place and pin on her lace cap before running down to the parlour.
Cornelius, dressed in his new wig and best coat, was peering down the street. ‘Mistress Poynter should be here any minute,’
he said. ‘You look very well, my dear. I always liked you in that shade of green; it matches your eyes.’
Susannah admitted to herself that jealousy probably made her eyes greener than usual. ‘All is in readiness,’ she said. ‘Jennet
burned the carp a little but I removed the skin and smothered it in a butter sauce with herbs.’
A sedan chair stopped in front of the house and Cornelius stood back from the window. Susannah wasn’t so well mannered and
stared, heart galloping in her chest as she waited to catch a glimpse of her future stepmother. She was disappointed though,
since the woman was swathed in a dark cloak with a hood. Daintily she picked her way through the slush and snow to the front
door.
Downstairs Jennet’s clogs clattered across the hall.
Susannah swallowed back a sudden surge of queasiness and hoped Jennet had remembered to put on a clean cap and apron.
Cornelius took up a carefully nonchalant position leaning against the mantelpiece and adjusted the lace at his cuffs again.
Waiting with her shaking hands gripped together, Susannah listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs.
The door opened.
Susannah caught her breath. It was the inquisitive young woman who had visited the shop a few days previously. She stared
at her, frowning. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you,’ she said. ‘Are you Harriet? Could your mother not come, after all?’ She
felt a flicker of annoyance for all the time she and Jennet had spent preparing the house and the dinner, only to find that
Father’s intended had not appeared.
The woman raised her finely plucked eyebrows. ‘My mother has been dead these past five years, may the Lord keep her.’
Cornelius held out his hands to her and she offered her powdered cheek to be kissed. ‘Arabella, what a delight it is to have
you join us,’ he said.
‘And for me to be here, my dear Cornelius.’
‘Let me present my daughter, Susannah.’
Bemused, Susannah took the small, cold hand and struggled to reconcile her expectations of a forty- or even fifty-something
widow with the girlish creature dressed in forget-me-not blue silk that stood before her. Had her father taken leave of his
senses?
‘We have already met, Father,’ she said.
‘How so?’
Arabella flushed rosily and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I confess curiosity had the
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