Daffodils: Katherine Wheel, #1

CHAPTER TWO

Katy’s father, Bert, was an unwitting conspirator in the adventure. As head coachman at the manor, it was his job to hand over the reins of the little gig to his employer’s son, but he remained innocent of the identity of Charles’ passenger. Had he known his daughter was to accompany his young master things might have turned out differently. As it was, no one noticed Katy slip out of the kitchen door at midday and hop up into the waiting gig. Soon they were bowling along, Charles singing at the top of his voice and Katy giggling helplessly beside him. Hens scattered from cottages and heads turned to stare as the good folk of Upper Cheadle certainly did notice who was sitting beside the squire’s son.

When the gig, easily recognisable by its livery, swept into Woodbury High Street, Katy revelled in the surprised looks, as they thundered past the townspeople. The whites of Larkspur’s eyes showed in frightened rinds as Charles flicked his driving whip along the top of her dappled grey back.

Katy kept her own back ramrod straight and held her head up high when fingers pointed at them as they drove, far too fast, along the cobbled road. Charles threw back his head and laughed when she nudged his arm and said, Sir, everyone’s staring at us! He drew up with a flourish outside the King’s Head inn and shouted out for the stable boy who took the horse and gig through its narrow central archway into the yard behind.

Katy didn’t dare withdraw her arm when Charles tucked it under his, sailed into the coaching inn and ordered ale for them both. Katy had never been inside the old building before. A bright fire danced in the grate adding its woody aroma to the smell of beeswax furniture polish and stale beer. Wood panelling lined the dark, smoky room and men sat in twos and threes at the tables, discussing the latest news of the war. Charles steered her to an alcove whose bay window overlooked the busy street. Katy sipped her ale and relaxed against her leather armchair hardly daring to believe she was there.

Now then, Charles drank his beer down in big gulps, let’s look at the shopping list. He took the single sheet out of his pocket and frowned in concentration.

Is there much to buy, sir?  Katy felt very important being included in the process.

Hmm, butcher’s, baker’s and candlestick makers! Charles laughed at his own joke and Katy, the ale increasing her confidence, joined in. Some farmers were propping up the bar and they turned to look at the pair by the window. It gave her a ripple of excitement to cause such a stir and she put her hand out to Charles to take the list from him.

She scanned the piece of paper quickly. Mrs Andrew’s neat handwriting was easy to read. We should leave buying the meat until last then it’s less likely to spoil.

Good thinking, Katy. Trust a woman to know what’s what. Charles looked pleased.

Encouraged, she went on, Yes, I think the chandler’s should be first for the candles. Then the grocer’s for the sack of flour and, oh! Could I choose the ribbons Mrs Andrews wants for the lavender bags?

I think you should, Katy. I know I wouldn’t have a clue. Tell you what, I’ll go to the chandler’s shop, and you go to the milliner’s. I’ll meet you at the grocer’s in half an hour. How’s that suit you?

Katy’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never been allowed off the estate during working hours before, let alone been authorised to buy things for the big house. She knew she could do it though. There was more to her than scrubbing and dusting. If she did this right maybe Mrs Andrews would give her more commissions like this. Eyes bright, she nodded back at Charles. He drank up the rest of his beer in one swift movement. Katy left half of hers. They got up and Charles tossed a couple of coins on the bar counter before steering her, his arm around her waist, back out into the sunlit street. They parted at the milliner’s shop.

Katy pushed open the shop door and the little bell clanged her entrance. There was no going back now. Mrs Friedenburg looked up from her lacy bundles. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Katy.

Katy felt herself blush but stepped forward boldly. Good morning.

Gut morning, Miss? The milliner said, in her strong German accent.

Miss Beagle.

Ach, yes, Miss Beagle, I know your mother. And vat can I do for you?

I work at the manor house and Mrs Andrews has sent me to buy some ribbons for her lavender bags.

Ah, so? She is late with her lavender this year but I haf just the thing. Come with me. Mrs Friedenburg walked across to the shelves at the rear of the shop.

Thank you. Katy felt very grown up as she went to join her.

Mrs Friedenburg laid out various narrow ribbons in pastel colours for Katy’s inspection. Katy took her time; she was enjoying herself too much to rush choosing. In the end she picked out some blue-grey silk ribbons. The shade was almost a match for lavender stems.

A very elegant choice, Miss Beagle. Mrs Friedenburg nodded her approval.

The doorbell announced another customer. Katy looked round. Her stomach sunk to her boots as Mrs Threadwell and Mrs Hoskins, from Lower Cheadle, entered together. Both women stood stock still at the sight of her.

Is that you, Katherine Beagle? Mrs Threadwell ran the Post Office in Lower Cheadle and held full command of the local gossip grapevine.

It would be her, of all people, to see me here, thought Katy and curtsied her assent.

Well, I never! Mrs Hoskins, housekeeper to the vicar, rolled her eyes at her friend.

The doorbell rang out a third time and Agnes Beagle, Katy’s mother, joined the throng. She stepped into the shop. When she saw her daughter, her kindly smile froze and turned it sour.

Katy! she exclaimed, whatever is you doing here?

Quite, Mrs Hoskins said, "we’d all like to know the answer to that question."

Katy was grateful Mrs Friedenburg smoothed over the awkward moment. Ladies, please to come in, come in. How gut it is to haf a full shop. I haf been so quiet lately since the war started. It is not my fault I am German, after all. Tell me, how can I help you?

Mrs Friedenburg shepherded Mrs Threadwell and Mrs Hoskins over to the counter and kept them chatting.

The two matrons kept looking back over their shoulders as Agnes clutched Katy’s arm and hustled her into the darkest corner of the shop.

Katy, what are you doing?

Ow, Mum! You’re hurting my arm! Katy tried to pull away.

I’ll do more than hurt your arm, my girl, if I find out you’ve been flouting the rules. Why ain’t you up at the manor? I thought you was cleaning the library for her ladyship? Does Mrs Andrews know where you are?

Let go of me, Mum! Katy felt both cross and flustered. The adventure was spoiled now. Mrs Andrews has sent me on an errand for her. Look. Here’s the list.

The written evidence was shoved under Agnes’ eagle eye. Though a poor reader herself, she could recognise the housekeeper’s distinctive style. Well, how did you get here then? You never walked? You wasn’t on the omnibus, that’s for sure.

Katy felt her face grow hot and pink as she answered, Mr Charles brought me in the gig, didn’t he?

Mr Charles? On your own? And you thought that was right and proper? I never even knew he was home, what with the Smythes away in London. What was you thinking Katy? Going with him unescorted and all? We’ll never live this down. And there’s Mrs Threadwell and Mrs Hoskins too. Everyone’ll know about it, sure as eggs is eggs.

Well, it don’t matter if they do. I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just shopping after all.

Agnes wagged her finger. I tell you what else too; Jem's mother won't like it. Oh yes, Mary Phipps will have something to say when she gets to hear about your gallivanting. You could lose Jem over this.

Well, I haven’t got him yet anyway – we’re not engaged or anything, Katy squirmed under her mother's barrage.

Nor will you likely ever be at this rate, replied Agnes.

The busy doorbell rang out again. Charles Smythe swung the door open wide, nodded at the two ladies sifting through piles of snowy white linen at the counter before spotting Katy standing with her mother at the rear of the shop. Smiling broadly, he strode towards them, saying in a loud voice, I say, Kate, what’s keeping you? I’ve got the candles and have been waiting for you outside the grocer’s shop for ages. Got lost in the ribbons, have you?

Katy didn’t know which way to look, as four pairs of middle-aged female eyes locked on to her face. All were curious and her mother’s were fuming.

Charles appeared oblivious to it all. He turned to Mrs Friedenburg. What do we owe you Mrs F? Actually, stick it on the tab for Mrs Andrews, would you? Come on Katy, let’s finish what we started.

Just a minute. Er, sir, Agnes said. I need a word with my daughter first, if it’s all the same to you, Mr Charles?

Charles looked both surprised and annoyed at Agnes’ breach of etiquette but said, Oh, very well. Kate – I’ll be at the grocers. Join me there when you can. He slammed the door on the way out.

The little bell trembled.

Agnes grabbed Katy’s arm. They followed Charles Smythe out of the shop and out of earshot of the ladies from Lower Cheadle.

Don’t you need to buy something in the milliner’s, Mum? asked Katy, watching Charles Smythe disappear into the grocer's shop, five doors down the High Street.

Shopping can wait. What I’ve got to say cannot. Agnes bundled Katy round the corner of the little shop and into a dark alleyway.

Noxious smells assaulted Katy’s nostrils and made them flare in distaste. The afternoon was not turning out the way she’d hoped at all.

Now then, Katy Beagle, let’s get a few things straight. Maidservants do not go traipsing about the country with their master’s sons. Right? Agnes's eyes bore into Katy’s.

Right? insisted her mother.

I suppose.

And I suppose you understand that you could lose not only Jem but your job?

Look, Mum, I’m not after marrying Jem at the moment. You and his mother might want me to but it’s up to me at the end of the day and I’m not interested, not yet anyway. I don’t want to get stuck in a little cottage with a family at my age. I want to travel – to see the world before I settle down. You never know, Mrs Andrews might want me to do more shopping if I do it right but if I keep Mr Charles waiting much longer, he won’t ever ask me again. You’ve got to let me go and find him!

Mrs Andrews won’t ever let you out of her sight again, I shouldn’t think, you silly girl!

She can’t tell Mr Charles what to do. Katy stared back at her mother. And it was his idea. He asked Mrs Andrews first about bringing me with him, so she knows where I am. So, you can leave off, Mum. If you don’t tell Jem’s mother she won’t know, will she?

You think Mrs Threadwell won’t tell the whole world she saw you out with Mr Charles? Mrs Andrews can’t deny Mr Charles anything he wants, that’s true, but what will Lady Amelia say when she gets home, hey? Have you thought of that?

If Mr Charles asked me to go then I can’t rightly say no, can I? Katy was itching to get away. Charles Smythe must be nearly done at the grocer's and if she didn't meet up with him soon, she'd be travelling back in the omnibus with her mother and lose her chance of a ride in the gig with him.

But her mother didn't seem in any hurry to release her. Why’s Mr Charles home anyway? He should still be up at Oxford, as far as I know.

It’s the war; he’s signed up. He’ll be away soon enough to France. Said he's got a commission, whatever that is. Katy felt her prior knowledge of this exclusive news regained some of her lost dignity.

This war! It’s got a lot to answer for. I hear of nothing else from our Albert but I’m not letting him go. He’s too young. Everyone says it’ll be over by Christmas anyway.

Maybe, Mum, but I must get back to Mr Charles.

Hmm, go on then but I don’t approve, and don’t you go thinking that I do!

Katy, once released from her mother’s grip, raced off to the grocer’s shop. Charles looked grumpy and remained so for the rest of the trip. The shine had gone off the adventure for them both.

CHAPTER THREE

Katy bumped into Jem in the kitchen courtyard one drizzly morning. He was barrowing in the morning’s vegetables to Mrs Biggs, the cook, and Katy had been given the humble task of scrubbing the kitchen steps, despite the rain or maybe even because of it, knowing Mrs Andrews. Katy felt awkward and at a disadvantage, kneeling on the hard cobblestones but she told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of and stood up, lifting her chin, as Jem approached.

Morning, Jem, how are you?

Morning, Kate. I’m fine. Glad to see you at the manor house instead of going out with Mr Charles.

Katy brushed her damp hair from her forehead with the back of her soapy hand. You’re not my keeper, you know.

Katy tried to push past him and get back to the house. Jem’s arm shot out to stop her. She turned; eyebrows raised.

Jem let his hand rest on her arm. Just thought – if you want to go out to places – I could take you.

You couldn’t take me out in the gig though, could you? And you only have Sundays off anyway.

That’s true, Kate, but do you trust Mr Charles?

What are you saying, Jeremy Phipps? Just because Charles happens to enjoy my company and wants to spend time with me doesn’t mean we’re more than just friends.

Just friends? That’s been said before. How can a maidservant be a friend to Sir Robert’s son? People of his sort – his class – they don’t play by the same rules, especially with their servants.

Charles doesn’t see me as a servant. He sees me as his equal, as a friend, like I said.

"Mr Charles, (Katy winced at Jem’s emphasis on the mister), might say that Kate – he can say what he likes, can’t he?"

"You’re just jealous, Jem. Just because – Mr – Charles sees something in me that you can’t."

I see everything in you, Kate, you know I do. Maybe I am jealous – who wouldn’t be? Everyone’s talking about you. I’m surprised Mrs Andrews doesn’t put a stop to it.

Katy bit her lip. He’d hit a nerve there. Mrs Andrews can’t tell Mr Charles what to do any more than you can!

Kate – don’t do this. Why won’t you marry me and let me look after you?

I’m not a child, Jem. I don’t need looking after, thank you. I’ve told you before – I’m not ready to marry anyone. I don’t want to get tied down before I’ve lived my own life.

I thought you’d say that. You always do.

Well, seeing as you ask me nearly every week you ought to be used to the answer by now.

Jem laughed. Kate, Kate!  You know I’ll be here waiting when this is over, but please, Kate, take care. Don’t, don’t let him – you know.

Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jeremy – what do you take me for?

Just take care – that’s all. Jeremy’s shoulders slumped.

He squeezed her hand and walked his long, loping walk back to the greenhouses, leaving the barrow piled high with the fresh vegetables for her to deal with.

Katy felt a moment’s misgiving. Jem was as sound as a bell, and she was very fond of him. They’d been playmates as children and the first to lead others into scrapes. They’d always stuck up for each other if any mischief got discovered and argued like brother and sister. Jem remained her kindred spirit and her best friend. But how could she marry him with this restlessness inside her?

She longed for more out of life, for wild adventures – like those she read about. The thought of a little cottage and a bevy of babies filled her with horror. There was a whole world out there – she could almost smell it – and she was damn well going to see it before she’d let domestic drudgery swamp her. Why, if those suffragettes won their campaign, she’d soon be able to vote; be counted as a person in her own right.

She picked up her pail of scummy water and poured it down the drain, then looked out across the stable yard.

As she turned to go back inside the house to see what other dreary jobs Mrs Andrews had in mind for her, the sound of horse hooves click-clacked over the cobbles. Katy turned to see if it might be Charles back from his ride. Her heart fell when she saw it was the new curate. To her surprise, he dismounted in a single graceful movement, and marched straight up to her.

Imaginary butterflies sprang into life in her stomach. The new curate was tall. He still didn’t take off his hat. Was it glued to that extraordinary hair? His golden mane was long, touching his collar in an old-fashioned style that belonged to the last century. He was talking to her, no, at her. She stared up at the curate’s face, noting his straight nose and startlingly blue eyes under beetle black brows.

Miss Beagle?

Yes, sir? Katy bobbed a curtsey, uncertain of protocol when holding a smelly bucket.

I was hoping to bump into you.

Katy’s astonishment rendered her mute.

Reverend White cleared his throat and began, Miss Beagle, there has been some gossip about you of which you should be aware. I overheard Mrs Threadwell at the Post Office saying you were, um, consorting with Mr Charles and accompanying him on trips in his gig. Is this true?

What could she say? She couldn’t deny it but what right did this stranger have to interrogate her?

Well?

Katy stared back at the cleric with eyes as blue as his own. She knew hers were a deeper, more violet kind of blue but his were the palest turquoise she had ever seen. She imagined the sea being that colour.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

As your pastor, Miss Beagle, I feel it is my duty to advise against such behaviour. Your position at the manor might be in jeopardy should Lady Amelia discover how you’ve been spending your days in her absence.

I’m just doing as I’m told. If Mr Charles asks me to go with him, I can’t rightly say no, can I? Katy said, repeating the words that had worked with her mother.

Would you like me to speak with him? Is he, um, forcing you in any way?

Good God, did all men have one-track minds? Anger rose to warm her reply. Mr Charles and I share similar tastes in music and books, that’s all. There’s no more to it than that.

The Reverend snorted. How dare he laugh at her! Katy turned to go.

Books and music? I think you had better remember your station, young woman. And have a regard for your reputation too.

Katy didn’t give him the satisfaction of listening. She’d already started walking back to the house, as his last words trailed after her. She looked back over her shoulder before entering the house. How odd, the Reverend was still watching her. When she stared back at him, he turned and clucked his horse towards the stables.

***

Jem pulled up bean poles with a savage lunge. The bean stalks had withered on them, their seeds hard and dry like their old pods. Summer was over. As he worked, his perennial worry nagged at him. What more could he do, or say, to get Katy to come round? He’d told her he loved her; he’d asked her to marry him but no, he wasn’t good enough. He was half inclined to believe the old biddies in the village who gossiped that Katy had set her sights on Charles Smythe, heir to Cheadle Manor, no less, and meant to have him. That was impossible of course. Just wishful thinking in his view. Katy could no more leapfrog the class difference than he could himself, not that he’d ever try. 

Trouble was she read too many bloody books. They filled her head with all sorts of silly, impossible ideas. Frustrated though he was, he understood why she wanted more out of life. If he could help her to travel and see the world, he’d do it. He’d thought about emigrating to Australia and asking her to go with him, as his wife but he didn’t really want to leave his home. The Phipps had worked this land for hundreds of years and he loved the loamy soil he stood on.

He might understand Katy’s restlessness, her brother Albert was the same – it was a family trait – but he didn’t share it and never would. For Jem it was enough to see the seasons change, to yield the crops from the rich Wiltshire soil and feel a part of the natural rhythm of the countryside that he loved so deeply. He couldn’t give Katy the adventure she longed for, but she had his whole heart just the same.

CHAPTER FOUR

Charles might not be a great reader, despite Katy’s claims to the contrary but he did love music. The new gramophone was, happily for her, housed in the very library she was spring-cleaning from top to bottom. Whenever he was at home to rule the roost Charles raided every record in his father’s limited collection. Katy was transported with delight and listened, rapt with joy, as the music floated over the books she slowly dusted. Charles lounged by the window-seat watching her face respond to the thunder of Beethoven and the strings of Mozart. Vaughan Williams’ latest concert piece, ‘The Lark Ascending’, drew Katy from her ladder in floods of tears. Charles, too moved for words, took refuge in his father’s decanter.

One day Charles came in from a foray into town laden with a parcel of new records. Katy – look what I've got, a real treat – some Strauss! I shall teach you to dance. Come here. I’ve only a couple of days leave left before I’m off to my commission. Let’s see if you can master the waltz before I go.

Charles wound up the gramophone enthusiastically. Delicate strains from Vienna filled the large room. He slipped his arm about Katy’s waist and counted out the beat.

One, two, three. One, two, three. That’s it. You’re getting it. Just keep counting and follow me.

Katy studiously counted the beat and watched her heavy boots miraculously follow Charles’ polished brogues.

I could dance with you forever, Katy. Don’t you think we make a perfect pair? You know, you'd knock spots off the other debutantes. It doesn't seem right that a pearl like you is buried in the country never to be seen abroad.

Not for the first time, Katy considered the difference in their social status. She’d been reading Pygmalion, the new play by George Bernard Shaw. Charles had bought it for her to supplement Sir Robert’s rather conventional library. Eliza Doolittle had only been a flower girl. Katy was the daughter of the head coachman, so she was much more elevated than that. The class divide wasn’t such a yawning gap for them. Mrs Andrews could punish her all she liked when Charles was out, but she couldn’t control her young master’s feelings.

As she waltzed around the library, Katy imagined herself in a ballroom wearing a long evening dress and glowing pearls, her hands and arms encased in elegant silk gloves, just like the ones she used to help Cassandra into. She’d spotted a beautiful white gown left behind by her young mistress who’d claimed it was decidedly passé for London. Maybe she could put it on for Charles.

Charles?

Hmm?

Do you think you could meet me up in Cassandra’s room this afternoon? I’ve something to show you.

We’d be lucky to get away with that.

It would only take five minutes, but I would really like it. Katy almost whispered her words, barely able to believe her own cheek.

What fun! An illicit foray into enemy territory. Perfect training for a new recruit like me. Righto, you’re on.

Meet me at three o’clock. Mrs Andrews always has a nap then. She says she’s doing the books, but we all know she puts her feet up with a cup of tea and nods off. Even Mr Andrews isn’t allowed to disturb her. Katy kept her voice low, just in case.

Charles laughed, You little minx! I’ll be there.

Katy could hardly eat her lunch with the other servants in the big kitchen. Mrs Biggs, the cook, was pre-occupied in taking George Phipps, the head gardener, to task over the lack of early autumn fruit. George was not only Jem’s boss but also his father and had sent his eldest son to work a long way out at the edge of the estate, coppicing woodland for the day. When Mrs Andrews joined in the spirited debate there was no Jem to notice Katy murmur her soft thank-you or see her slipping noiselessly away upstairs.

With trembling fingers, she took the rustling tissue paper off the white ball-gown. She had a more slender build than Cassandra but was much the same height. She'd heard Lady Amelia's lady's maid say spitefully that Cassandra had never liked the dress or had even wanted to go to her first ball; adding how unnatural it was for a young lady in her position to prefer setting her hunter to jump a five-bar gate to pirouetting on the dancefloor. Ruth Harrison had even gone as far as to call Cassandra a tomboy. Katie had been sick with envy of them both when they piled into the carriage and set off for London.

On went the silk gloves, left behind because of a powder stain. She had no jewellery to complete the effect, but it would have to do. Katy stood in front of the long mirror in the corner of the room and surveyed herself solemnly.

The hated maid’s cap would have to go. She threw it on the bed in disgust. Then she re-arranged her long brown hair into a becoming pile on the top of her head as she had done so often for the owner of the dress. With her stout boots hidden under the silken folds she reckoned she could, like Eliza Doolittle, pass for a lady. She dabbed a little scent behind her ears from the gilt-edged bottle she found on the dressing-table. It smelt of summer roses. A nearly empty pot of rouge had been left behind and she carefully rubbed a little on her high cheekbones. When Charles softly entered the bedroom a little later, he was dumbstruck.

You little beauty, he murmured. Oh, Katy, I could leave home for you.

He gently cupped Katy’s chin in his hands and kissed her. Katy gasped in surprise and her mouth opened a little. Charles couldn’t help but kiss her properly after that. The embrace lasted so long Katy didn’t hear the carriage in the drive or Cassandra’s light footsteps up the stairs, followed by Lady Amelia’s heavier ones.

CHAPTER FIVE

Neither Katy nor Charles heard Cassandra opening the bedroom door as they carried on kissing in blissful ignorance of their silent witness, standing watching them from the half-opened doorway, aghast at their antics.

Lady Amelia wheezed up the stairs and, on gaining the galleried landing, called out to her daughter breathlessly, What’s the matter, Cassandra? Why are you standing there like a statue?

It’s nothing, Mother, no need for you to worry, Cassandra said but Lady Amelia swished past her and opened the door wide in order to investigate.

"What on earth is going on? Lady Amelia’s breathlessness disappeared in an instant. Her voice rang out as clear and loud as a church bell. Charles! How could you? And who is this? Katherine Beagle? Unhand my son, you dreadful girl!"

Charles and Katy sprang apart and turned as one to face the outraged matron.

Mother! protested Cassandra.

Be quiet, Cassandra. Go downstairs and leave this to me.

Cassandra grimaced at her brother in sympathy and left, her reluctance obvious in every dragging step.

Lady Amelia strode into the room and said, "I demand an explanation! How dare you wear Cassandra’s clothes, Katherine? Charles – I shall speak to you separately. Miss Beagle – once you have put on your correct attire – go straight to the library which, I understand from Mrs Andrews, is where you should be. First, you must get changed. Then you can await me there. And I want everything in this room put back where it belongs. Woe betide you if anything is missing, young woman. Charles! Come with me, this instant, to your father’s study."

Charles mouthed a mortified, Sorry, to Katy and abandoned her.

She watched him bow to his fate and follow the stiff corseted back of his mother down the sweeping curved staircase. Katy stood on the landing as they descended to the large, marbled hall of the manor and disappeared into the study, leaving the door wide open behind them. Only when she heard the raised voices issuing from the study below, did Katy crumple to the floor, regardless of creasing the silk ball dress that became her so well. The angry exchange floated up to her through the open door as she lay in a heap above them. Charles reiterated several times that nothing had passed between himself and Katy except the kiss that his mother had witnessed. Katy squirmed at Charles’ feeble responses. It was obvious that his mother remained unconvinced.

Charles’ father, drawn by the noise, joined them from across the hall. Katy crouched low behind the banister rail, but Sir Robert didn’t look up before entering the study. He too neglected to close the door behind him. When appealed to for his opinion, he barked, Probably led him on – fetching little thing as I recall.

Katy cursed Sir Robert silently and lay with her ear pressed to the banister, too scared to move in case the rustling silk drowned out the argument. Lady Amelia let Charles mumble on with his protests for five minutes until her patience gave way.

Katy had no trouble hearing his mother’s stentorian tones, And why, Charles, are you home at all? This is an even more important matter. Why are you not at Oxford applying yourself to your studies?

This time Katy could clearly hear his reply. I’m off to the war, Mother. Soon be with the British Expeditionary Force in France and out of your way.

Lady Amelia’s hectoring suddenly took on a hysterical tone and she ran from the study, sobbing loudly enough for all the servants to hear.

Katy clung to the banisters at the top of the stairs trying to become invisible, but she needn’t have worried. Lady Amelia, crossing the hall below her, looked far too upset to notice anyone.

Charles’s father, never one to lower his voice, took up the lecture beneath her. Unfathomable creatures, women.

Sir Robert continued with his fatherly advice. They are best avoided, if you ask me, Charles. Funds low, are they? Hmm, thought as much. Well, my boy, here’s a cheque to tide you over whilst you’re serving your country abroad. Don’t tell your mother about it and, if I were you, I’d get packing and on the road before lunch. And mind you keep in touch with us once you’ve enlisted. Good luck, my boy.

Katy somehow heaved herself off the floor and went back into Cassandra’s bedroom. She peeled off the beautiful gown after allowing herself one last, lingering look in the mirror. On went the black maid’s dress with its unbecoming pinny and cap.

She trooped down to the library with a heart as leaden as her boots. She knew she could never convince her stern mistress of her innocence. How could she, when all the evidence was against her? She wasn’t even confident that Charles had defended her position in the face of both his parents and on their territory. If only he’d spoken up a bit more she’d know exactly how to behave when it was her turn to face his mother.

Despite her red, swollen eyes Lady Amelia demonstrated that she had herself firmly back in control by spending less time dispensing with her servant than she had her son.

You will leave this house forthwith, Miss Beagle, and receive no further wages. Neither will you have a reference from me. Lady Amelia’s sentence was delivered without