The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall

Chapter 5

April 2015

Gemma was first to arrive at the coffee shop where she and Nat always met, in town, around the corner from the museum. She picked a table near the window from where she would see Nat approaching, and ordered two lattes as usual. She felt strangely nervous. After Nat’s reaction to her news on the phone that morning, she wasn’t sure how things would be between them. Hopefully it had just been due to her bad timing with the phone call, and Nat’s hangover. Nat would breeze into the coffee shop, embrace her in a huge bear hug and squeal with excitement about the engagement. As she sat staring out of the window and stirring her coffee, she convinced herself that was what would happen.

When Nat arrived, perfectly made up and stylishly dressed in a loose silk shirt over jeans, Gemma’s first thought was that she’d been right. Nat smiled broadly, kissed Gemma on both cheeks and sat down with her latte.

‘Well, Miss Sneaky-Pants, you’re finally going to make an honest man of our lovely Ben, are you? You never told me you were planning on getting hitched. Would have been nice if you had mentioned it.’ Nat winked, giving the lie to her words, and sipped her latte.

‘It was Ben who proposed! It was a surprise – I really wasn’t expecting it. And I did tell you, first thing this morning,’ Gemma protested. She wasn’t a hundred per cent sure whether Nat was upset or not.

‘Ha, yes, when I was in the bath and hung-over.’

‘I thought if I waited till now to tell you you’d have been upset, so I told you first. Haven’t even told Mum and Dad yet. I’ll ring them this evening.’

Nat looked pleased to have been told the news before Gemma’s parents. ‘They’ll be delighted their baby girl is getting wed. They’ll offer to pay for half of it, you mum will turn up in a huge hat and your dad will grin from ear to ear as he gives you away. You have no idea how lucky you are, Gem. God, if it was me, my mother wouldn’t care unless it meant free booze for her at the wedding, and my father would say, “That’s nice, sweetheart,” but of course he wouldn’t come, Australia being too far away and a daughter’s wedding being not enough of a reason for him to exist for a moment in the same country as Mum, let alone the same church.’ Nat shook her head as though in despair at her family. Her tone was jokey but Gemma thought she could detect an undercurrent of seriousness. She had a point. Gemma’s family were certainly more conventional than Nat’s. As a rebellious teen she’d envied Nat’s chaotic home life, but as she’d matured she’d come to properly appreciate her close, supportive parents.

‘I’m sure that’s not right. Your dad would fly over if you were getting married, and your parents would surely be able to be in the same room for one day.’ Gemma was about to say something about limiting the supply of drink to Nat’s alcoholic mother, but thought better of it.

‘Yeah well. It’s not me getting married, is it, so no point discussing it. I’ll probably never marry. I’ll end up a bitter and twisted old spinster living in a house that smells of cat wee. You’ll bring your kids on duty visits, and they’ll say, “Oh no, not batty old Aunty Nat,” and you’ll sit there drinking bitter coffee with me and wondering how soon you can leave. Oh, I can see it now. All our years of friendship will come to nothing once you’re all cosily married up.’

Again, although Nat laughed as she made this speech, there was a touch of bitterness underneath her words. Time to change the subject, Gemma thought, though she’d been longing to tell Nat exactly how Ben had proposed and how it’d made her feel, and what her early ideas for a wedding, venue, dress and honeymoon were. But she had the feeling that any more talk of her engagement would just wind Nat up and perhaps it was best left at that. In any case, there was another much more imminent wedding – that of Ben’s sister Anna and her fiancé Jake – and the whole point of today’s shopping trip was to try to find outfits for that.

Gemma drained the rest of her coffee. ‘Well. Shall we get started? It’s midday and we’ve a lot of shops to get round. I’m thinking of a dress and jacket combination. What about you?’

‘Not a dress and jacket, that’s for sure. I’m not old enough for that kind of outfit. It’s what the mother of the bride would pick, along with an oversized hat or a fascinator a foot long. Have you paid the bill?’ Nat stood up, slung her bag onto her shoulder and began leaving the café without waiting for an answer.

‘Yes, all paid, my treat, don’t worry,’ Gemma said, at Nat’s retreating back. She shook her head. Nat was in a very strange mood today.

The shopping trip was a disaster. Nat tried on a hundred outfits but liked nothing. Gemma barely got a chance to try anything on, except for a couple of items Nat picked out for her, which were completely unsuitable and not at all her style. A seventies-print maxi-dress with shoestring shoulder straps, and a pair of wide-leg pink silk trousers with a strapless sparkling silver top. Every time Gemma fingered an item she liked the look of Nat hurried her along to the next shop. If Gemma didn’t know Nat better, she’d think she was sabotaging the shopping trip on purpose. It wasn’t at all like the hundreds of other shopping trips they’d done together in the past, when they would both try on loads of outfits, giving honest opinions, giggling if something looked awful on, encouraging each other to buy what suited them best. She supposed her friend must be still grumpy about the badly timed phone call this morning. Or still hung-over. Whatever it was, Nat was snippy all day. As in the coffee shop, she’d say something snarky but then smile brightly or wink or laugh. Gemma was perplexed.

After a while she gave up trying to find something to wear to the wedding. She’d shop on her own some other time. She spent the afternoon following Nat around, trying to say the right things about the clothes Nat tried on, and trying not to mention Ben and her engagement, although it was all she could really think about.

Eventually they reached the top end of the High Street. Gemma suppressed a sigh of relief. ‘That’s that, then. No more shops. We’ll have to call it a day, I think. Maybe nearer the time there’ll be some new stuff in.’

Nat gazed down a narrow side street. ‘We haven’t tried La Belle Femme yet. She pointed at a boutique tucked into one of the historic old buildings along the street.

‘Bit pricey for us, isn’t it?’ Gemma had only looked in the window once or twice before but had seen enough to know it was out of her league. And she was pretty sure Nat earned a lot less than she did.

‘Speak for yourself. I’ll spend what I like on clothing, and I’d have thought you would too, as it’s your future sister-in-law’s wedding. I quite fancy that dress in the window.’ Nat pointed at a skimpy dress, the skirt of which was embroidered with a peacock feather design, the top half encrusted with sequins. It did not look cheap. She pushed open the door, which rang a bell somewhere in the back of the shop, and Gemma had no choice but to follow her in.

There were very few clothes rails in the shop. A shabby-chic leather sofa took up most of the space in the middle of the room, and a few dresses were artfully arranged on hooks on the wall. The lighting was…subtle, if Gemma was being kind. Dim if she was being truthful.

A woman wearing far too much make-up, dressed in a neat black dress and heavy gold jewellery emerged from the back room. Although she quickly put on an expression of polite helpfulness, Gemma had noticed her previous expression when she’d seen who was in the shop. Clearly she and Nat weren’t the right sort of customers. Her instinct was to spend about thirty seconds looking at the items on show and then leave. She glanced at Nat, who apparently had other ideas.

Nat was fingering a black silk dress with an asymmetric hem and feathers around the neckline. Not machine washable then, Gemma thought.

‘I’d like to try this on, please,’ Nat said to the sales assistant. ‘And the peacock dress in the window, while I’m at it.’

‘Certainly. This way, please,’ said the assistant, leading them into a small changing area at the back of the shop. Half the cubicle was taken up with a huge rubber plant. ‘Wait here while I fetch the garments.’

‘Classy place,’ Nat said, when the woman had gone.

‘What price are those frocks?’ Gemma whispered.

‘Dunno. Don’t care, either!’ Nat pulled a leaf off the plant and used it to fan her face.

‘But can you afford them?’

‘Course not. But it’ll be fun trying them on. You try them too. That black one would look great on you, with your blonde hair.’

‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that if I’ve no intention of…’ Gemma broke off speaking as the sales assistant returned, with the two dresses each on padded hangers and covered with plastic. The assistant glared at her, then hung the dresses on a hook beside the rubber plant.

‘I’ll fetch a chair for your friend,’ she said, while Nat began stripping off.

‘Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself,’ Gemma said, but the sales assistant only glared at her again and brought an uncomfortable-looking gilt-backed chair from behind the sales counter. Gemma perched on it. It was as uncomfortable as it looked.

Nat had the black dress on. ‘What do you think?’ She twirled around, admiring herself in the mirror.

‘Not with those shoes,’ Gemma said. Nat was still wearing her red Converse trainers.

‘Obviously. Well, this one’s nothing special. I’ll try the other.’

The peacock dress looked good on Nat, Gemma had to admit. It fitted her perfectly, showed off her lovely legs and curvy waist, and her long black hair was stunning against the glittery top half. ‘Wow. That’s just amazing on you, Nat. Show me the price tag?’

Nat twisted so that Gemma could peer at the label hanging from the zip at the back. ‘There’s no price on it.’

‘I guess, if you have to ask…’ Nat rolled her eyes dramatically and peeled the dress off. Gemma had a fit of the giggles at Nat’s eye-roll, and Nat soon joined in. This was more like it, Gemma thought. The whole shopping trip should have been a girlie giggle, rather than all the snide comments and snippiness. Perhaps Nat’s hangover had finally worn off. It was good to end the day on a high note.

‘What’s the verdict, ladies?’ asked the sales assistant when they exited the changing room.

‘I don’t like the black one on me. The peacock is nice, but aren’t peacock feathers supposed to be bad luck? I’m not sure I could wear it, for that reason. Something awful might happen to me. I’d be constantly fearing for my safety.’ Nat breezed out of the shop. Gemma hurried after her, one hand clamped over her mouth to hold back the laughter that threatened to erupt. The shopping trip had certainly ended on a high.

That evening, Gemma rang her parents to tell them of her engagement. They were as delighted as she’d expected they’d be. Her mother immediately started planning the guest list while her father jokingly grumbled that he supposed he’d have to buy a new suit, even though he’d just retired.

Later, Ben came round to Gemma’s flat for a meal. She’d offered to cook fajitas for him. Their first meal together as an engaged couple! She sang along to Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud as she chopped onions and peppers. Perhaps they should have that song as the first dance at their wedding? It was so romantic; it was definitely one of her favourites. She’d ask Ben later what he thought. He’d probably agree. Dear old Ben, he was generally happy to go along with what other people wanted. Gemma knew already that the wedding preparations would be largely up to her to decide upon. Although no doubt her mum would want to get involved.

She had the tiny table in her kitchen set, the food chopped and ready to quickly cook, and a bottle of wine open when her flat doorbell rang. Why didn’t Ben use his key? She’d given him one years ago. As she went to let him in she wondered why they’d never moved in together. They’d idly discussed it on a few occasions, but neither of their flats was really big enough for two people with many years of accumulated possessions. They’d both have had to sell up and buy something bigger together. Well, now they were going to get married they’d have to do that anyway. Gemma would miss her cosy little flat but was sure that she could make a house she shared with Ben just as comfortable and cosy.

‘Hey, gorgeous!’ Ben leaned over and kissed her as she opened the door. ‘My fiancée, no less! Mrs McArthur to be. Looking good, girl!’

‘Come on in, Mr Rowling,’ Gemma said, giggling.

‘That’s a bit progressive! I don’t mind if you don’t take my name but not sure I’d take yours. Well, something smells good.’ Ben shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it on a coat hook.

Gemma handed him a glass of wine. ‘Shiraz all right for you?’

‘Anything, darling, you know me. So, how did the girlie shopping trip go today? Did you get your outfit for Anna’s wedding sorted?’

Gemma grimaced. ‘No. I’ll have to look again some other time. Nat tried on loads of stuff but I don’t think she’s made up her mind what she wants.’

‘Did you tell her our news? Bet she was delighted, wasn’t she?’ Ben grinned at her expectantly. She chewed her lip as she decided how to answer him.

‘Well. Yes, she was pleased for us.’

‘You don’t sound too sure of that. What did she say?’

Gemma shook her head. ‘She didn’t say much. That was the funny thing about her reaction. She just didn’t seem to want to talk about it or to let me tell her anything much about it. She didn’t even want to know how you proposed.’ Gemma brushed away a stray tear that had come unbidden to her eye. ‘It’s not the reaction I was expecting from my best mate.’

‘Aw, Gem.’ Ben moved over to her and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Don’t be upset. Perhaps she was having an off day.’

‘She was hung-over. She tried to pull a bloke who turned out to be gay last night.’

‘Oops!’ Ben gave a snort of laughter. ‘That is so like her.’

‘But even so, no matter how bad she felt, she could have at least said congratulations, couldn’t she? She wasn’t feeling so bad she couldn’t manage an afternoon trailing round the shops.’ The more Gemma thought about it, the more bitter she felt. Why hadn’t Nat hugged her and squealed and been excited for her? She would have, if their positions were reversed.

‘Very odd behaviour,’ Ben agreed. ‘Wonder what’s up with her?’

‘No idea.’ Gemma shrugged and went back into the kitchen to get on with the cooking. Ben followed her in, bringing his wine. ‘Frankly, Ben, it pissed me off. I mean, it’s the biggest and best thing that’s ever happened to me, after meeting you in the first place of course, so for her to just ignore me when I tell her we’re getting married is really hurtful.’ Gemma threw the vegetables she’d chopped earlier into the frying pan where they sizzled and spat violently.

‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you. Is that pan too hot?’ Ben reached over her and turned the gas down a little.

He had a point. Gemma realised she’d spattered oil all over her favourite T-shirt. ‘Bugger, look at me.’

‘I wonder if she’s jealous,’ Ben said. ‘Perhaps you laid it on a bit thick and came across too smug. Some single people hate couples just because they’re not part of one.’

‘I didn’t get the chance to lay it on too thick!’ Gemma retorted. ‘I mean, I barely had chance to say anything about it, apart from that you’d proposed and I’d said yes. She just didn’t want to know.’ She flung the chopped chicken into the pan along with the vegetables. It wasn’t sizzling enough now, so she turned the heat up again.

Ben held his hands up in submission. ‘Hey, I know you wouldn’t have rubbed it in. Maybe she’ll be all right with it next time you see her or talk to her – when she’s had chance to think about it a little. She’ll be as excited as you are, I bet.’ He caught Gemma’s eye. ‘You are still excited about it, aren’t you? Not having second thoughts?’

She laid down the wooden spoon she’d been stirring the fajita mix with, and put her arms around his neck. ‘Course I’m still excited. Nothing I want more than to get married to you, silly.’ She stretched up and kissed him, long and lingering. His hands ran up and down her back, pulling her close. She felt as though she was where she belonged. In his arms, safe and secure, where nothing else mattered.

A sudden deafening beeping caused them to separate. ‘Argh, the smoke detector!’ Gemma said, grabbing a tea towel and flicking it frantically under the detector.

Ben turned the gas down, put the extractor on, and opened the kitchen window. ‘Thought you had the pan too hot,’ he said.

‘I’ve ruined it,’ Gemma said, feeling close to tears. Her first attempt at cooking for her new fiancé and she’d managed to smoke out the flat. And she was usually so super careful about the oven and hob, checking several times that the gas was off before leaving the flat, for example. Now she couldn’t even cook a simple stir-fry. What a failure she was.

‘No, it’s fine – look.’ Ben was stirring the mix. ‘My fault. I got carried away there, snogging you. So, actually, it is your fault after all for being so flipping irresistible. You go and sit down and I’ll finish this off. And no more worrying about what Nat does or doesn’t think about our engagement. All right?’

Chapter 6

June 1837

‘I don’t feel old enough to marry,’ said Rebecca. She looked at Sarah. ‘Do you?’

‘Who said anything about getting married?’ Sarah put down her stitching. It was, Rebecca noticed, quite poorly executed. She glanced at her own handiwork – the stitches neat and tidy, the back of the embroidery almost as good as the front. Sarah just didn’t have the patience to sit and sew. Her threads were tangled, the material puckered where she’d pulled it too tight, and there were grubby fingermarks on one corner of the sampler.

‘We’re eighteen now. You’re almost nineteen. Mama and Papa will soon be wanting us married and settled. That’s why we’re going to all those balls, of course. Although those are really for your benefit as I am already promised to Charles de Witt.’ Rebecca smiled at her adopted sister.

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘I know all that, silly. And I know you seem happy to go along with Papa’s plans to marry you off to that oaf, Charles. But I don’t want to get married. I’d rather stay single and independent. For a few years at least. Maybe when I’m twenty-five or so I’ll marry but why rush into it?’

‘Twenty-five – why, you’ll be an old maid by then! I think a girl should be married by the time she turns twenty. I hope I will be. Charles de Witt has recently returned from his travels on the continent, and has taken a house in Bridhampton. He is to come to dine with us tonight, to renew our acquaintance. I confess, I am a little nervous about seeing him again – it must be six years since we last met. I was just a child. I hope he is not an “oaf” as you put it, as he is supposed to become my husband.’ Rebecca gazed at Sarah, whose hair was fairer, eyes bluer and figure shapelier, than her own. ‘He’ll probably prefer you, in any case. You are by far the prettier of the two of us.’

‘Nonsense! You have the sweeter nature.’ Sarah flashed her a smile. ‘In any case, I shall not be interested in him. I told you, I do not wish to marry for some years. I’d rather be free, to flirt a little with whomever I choose. Like, for example, Jed Arthur.’

Rebecca glanced at her in shock. It was not the first time she had mentioned that name. Jed lived in one of the cottages on the estate. He was but a farmhand. A handsome one, admittedly, but a labourer nonetheless, and not someone Sarah ought to be encouraging.

‘Sarah, it is not ladylike to flirt with farmhands. Surely you know that,’ she admonished. She received only a dismissive shrug in reply.

The girls were sitting on the window seats of their second floor sitting room, the old schoolroom. Sarah gazed out of the window for a moment before speaking again. ‘Papa’s plan for me is that when you marry, I will go with you as your paid companion. You know that. And my plan is to save all my earnings so that I have a small fortune of my own. With money, a woman can be free to do whatever she wants. She does not need to marry. And my only chance of having money is for you to marry and me to become a member of your staff. So I wish that Charles turns out to be personable, and that you and he live happily ever after.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘I too hope for that, as long as there’s a happy ever after for you as well, dear sister.’

What would Charles be like? Rebecca hadn’t seen him for years, and this would be the first time they’d met since she was grown and of marriageable age. She felt strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting the man who was intended to become her husband. While she knew that her father would not force her to marry Charles if she found him truly detestable, she did so want to please her parents. The happiest outcome of the evening would be if she found Charles to be an appealing sort of person, and if the feeling was mutual. She resolved to take extra care with her appearance when she dressed for dinner that night. She would wear her pale green gown. She’d been told it suited her best.