from view
by a stretch of especially high hedgerows. John Pringle slowed the horse to a walk
and neatly guided both animal and carriage under a monumental archway that linked
two halves of a gatehouse. The buildings would have looked perfectly at home in Belgravia,
their neoclassical façades brightened by window boxes brimming over with petunias.
The gates themselves, more baroque in style, were made of wrought iron painted a gleaming
black, each half inset with a heraldic crest.
They turned onto the long approach to the great house, old Bill at a trot again, pulling
at the reins in glad anticipation of home. Deer scattered at their approach, disappearing
into the dappled shade cast by the park’s ancient oaks. The carriage passed through
deeper woodland, the drive continuing straight as a Roman road. And then they were
in the sun again, and the house lay in the distance before them.
Charlotte couldn’t suppress a gasp of wonderment as she saw Cumbermere Hall for the
first time. Rising four stories high, it faced south, with wings stretching north
at either end. Scores of windows marched in perfect symmetry the length of each wing
and story, their sole interruption a majestic entrance set into the center. But rather
than stop in front of the house, John Pringle steered the carriage around to the western
wing, to an entrance that was many times less grand in both size and decoration, and
there drew the carriage to a halt.
As he helped Charlotte down, the door opened and an older woman emerged, her status
evident by the ring of keys at her waist and the lace cap that crowned her neatly
arranged hair.
“Welcome to Cumbermere Hall, Miss Brown,” the woman said, coming down the steps and
extending her hand in greeting. “I am Mrs. Forster, the housekeeper here. Do come
in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Forster.”
“Your trunk arrived yesterday, and is already in your room. Menzies, take Miss Brown’s
things upstairs. I shall now take tea with her in my sitting room.”
Charlotte followed the housekeeper inside, along a corridor that gave onto a series
of kitchens and storerooms, and into a small room neatly furnished with a pair of
armchairs, set on either side of an empty hearth, and a small table and chairs.In the far corner was a rolltop desk with a set of pigeonholes above.
Mrs. Forster invited her to sit at the table, which already held a plate of sandwiches
and fancies and a large earthenware teapot.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Miss Brown. Where did you grow up?”
“In Somerset, ma’am. My father is a cleric at Wells Cathedral.”
“I see. Have you any siblings?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Your parents must be very proud of you. How do you take your tea?”
“With milk, thank you.”
“Help yourself to some sandwiches and cake. A little something to hold you until suppertime.
While Lord and Lady Cumberland are at the hall you’ll take your meals with the other
senior staff, but after they return to London you’ll be with Lady Elizabeth in the
nursery.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s no need to ma’am me, my dear. Plain Mrs. Forster will do. Now, where was
I? The girls and Master George have their rooms in the nursery wing, which is overseen
by Nanny Gee. Mrs. Geoffrey, but everyone calls her Nanny Gee. Lovely woman. There’s
the governess for Lady Mary and Lady Alice, too. Miss Shreve.”
“I hope . . . that is, I worry she may take offense at my coming here.”
“I shouldn’t worry. Between you and me, the poor thing looks as if the next stiff
wind might blow her over. A few kind words and she’ll be your friend for life.”
“I see,” Charlotte said, drinking the last of her tea. “That is a relief.”
“If you’ve any trouble with the other staff, let me know immediately. Not that I expect
you will, though. All of us are very fond of Lady Elizabeth. Such a dear girl, and
simply desperate for a little
by a stretch of especially high hedgerows. John Pringle slowed the horse to a walk
and neatly guided both animal and carriage under a monumental archway that linked
two halves of a gatehouse. The buildings would have looked perfectly at home in Belgravia,
their neoclassical façades brightened by window boxes brimming over with petunias.
The gates themselves, more baroque in style, were made of wrought iron painted a gleaming
black, each half inset with a heraldic crest.
They turned onto the long approach to the great house, old Bill at a trot again, pulling
at the reins in glad anticipation of home. Deer scattered at their approach, disappearing
into the dappled shade cast by the park’s ancient oaks. The carriage passed through
deeper woodland, the drive continuing straight as a Roman road. And then they were
in the sun again, and the house lay in the distance before them.
Charlotte couldn’t suppress a gasp of wonderment as she saw Cumbermere Hall for the
first time. Rising four stories high, it faced south, with wings stretching north
at either end. Scores of windows marched in perfect symmetry the length of each wing
and story, their sole interruption a majestic entrance set into the center. But rather
than stop in front of the house, John Pringle steered the carriage around to the western
wing, to an entrance that was many times less grand in both size and decoration, and
there drew the carriage to a halt.
As he helped Charlotte down, the door opened and an older woman emerged, her status
evident by the ring of keys at her waist and the lace cap that crowned her neatly
arranged hair.
“Welcome to Cumbermere Hall, Miss Brown,” the woman said, coming down the steps and
extending her hand in greeting. “I am Mrs. Forster, the housekeeper here. Do come
in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Forster.”
“Your trunk arrived yesterday, and is already in your room. Menzies, take Miss Brown’s
things upstairs. I shall now take tea with her in my sitting room.”
Charlotte followed the housekeeper inside, along a corridor that gave onto a series
of kitchens and storerooms, and into a small room neatly furnished with a pair of
armchairs, set on either side of an empty hearth, and a small table and chairs.In the far corner was a rolltop desk with a set of pigeonholes above.
Mrs. Forster invited her to sit at the table, which already held a plate of sandwiches
and fancies and a large earthenware teapot.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Miss Brown. Where did you grow up?”
“In Somerset, ma’am. My father is a cleric at Wells Cathedral.”
“I see. Have you any siblings?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Your parents must be very proud of you. How do you take your tea?”
“With milk, thank you.”
“Help yourself to some sandwiches and cake. A little something to hold you until suppertime.
While Lord and Lady Cumberland are at the hall you’ll take your meals with the other
senior staff, but after they return to London you’ll be with Lady Elizabeth in the
nursery.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s no need to ma’am me, my dear. Plain Mrs. Forster will do. Now, where was
I? The girls and Master George have their rooms in the nursery wing, which is overseen
by Nanny Gee. Mrs. Geoffrey, but everyone calls her Nanny Gee. Lovely woman. There’s
the governess for Lady Mary and Lady Alice, too. Miss Shreve.”
“I hope . . . that is, I worry she may take offense at my coming here.”
“I shouldn’t worry. Between you and me, the poor thing looks as if the next stiff
wind might blow her over. A few kind words and she’ll be your friend for life.”
“I see,” Charlotte said, drinking the last of her tea. “That is a relief.”
“If you’ve any trouble with the other staff, let me know immediately. Not that I expect
you will, though. All of us are very fond of Lady Elizabeth. Such a dear girl, and
simply desperate for a little
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