“Yes, please,” Hestony beamed. “I really would.”
Judy grinned and poured her a cup.
“A fine day, My Lady,” she commented. “The mist on the hills means it’s going to be hot later – you’ll see.”
“Really?” Hestony commented with interest, adding butter to a slice of toast that reposed in a toast-rack on the table. “I didn’t know.”
“For certain-sure!” Judy nodded, grinning. “My grandpa knew all about the lore of weather, so he did – rest his soul.” She frowned soberly.
“Indeed,” Hestony murmured. She looked out of the window with interest, where the mist indeed clung like cold breath to the forested hills.
Judy filled the milk-jug and then headed out, wheeling the trolley with her.
Hestony leaned back in her chair and sipped tea, looking out over the hills. The house was utterly silent, the dawn still soft on the land outside. The mist was indeed lying on the distant hillsides, and the scene outside was one of chalk blues and grays. Hestony half-closed her eyes, the loveliness of the scene soothing her soul.
She was still thinking about Lord Osburne, but in a more relaxed frame of mind. The fellow was strange and difficult and, moreover, he was impolite to his sister, even though he was so careful with herself. She dismissed him as somewhat shallow.
Another dandy, just one more carefully-mannered.
He was really no different to the set that clung to Lord Westmore simply for his wealth and position, she decided. No more and no less sinister, just different in his comportment and manner. His sister, however, seemed sweet. She resolved not to worry herself with them overmuch, and bit into a slice of delicious toast.
Now, if only she knew what had been troubling Mama yesterday, she would be entirely content.
Her anger had been reined-in, something that was not characteristic at all of Lady Hartfield, who tended to let a person know immediately if she had a grievance with them. Hestony didn’t understand what had happened.
As she ate her breakfast, she heard somebody enter the room. She turned, and saw her mother entering. She had her brown hair styled impeccably, covered with the filmiest of cloths as a nod to her widow status, her dress a soft powdery blue. Lady Hartfield always dressed well – even her uncle, who admitted to being a little intimidated by her, had to agree with this.
“Daughter. Good morning.” Lady Hartfield drew back another padded seat and sat down, opposite Hestony. Her voice was tense. She frowned.
“Good morning, Mama. Should I ring the bell for tea?” Hestony asked, buttering more toast.
“Yes. Please. Do that.” Her mama nodded.
Hestony got up and pulled the braided, ocher bell-rope, a small frown on her brow. Her mama seemed stilted and cold even compared to her usual self. Whatever was the matter?
“It looks as if it might be sunny later,” Hestony commented, sipping her hot tea. “Do you agree?”
“Probably. I will need to tell Mr. Burford to close the blinds in the drawing-room. All those windows make it dreadful hot in there.” She frowned.
“Yes, Mama.” Hestony nodded, privately saddened that even the potential of a sunny day would cause such instant harshness.
She reached for some more toast, feeling nervous, and hoped for an opportunity to be able to broach the topic. As she buttered the toast, she heard the trundle of the tea-trolley and was relieved when Judy arrived, a steaming porcelain tea-pot on the cart before her.
“Ah. Judy. Thank you. Have you laid out my tea-gown for airing? I need to attend Lady Elmore’s party this afternoon.” Lady Hartfield barely looked up as Judy arrived.
“I have, My Lady.” Judy poured her some tea, added more sugar to the dish, and left discreetly.
What is happening? Hestony frowned. Normally, her mother would not ask Judy to do something for her – rightly, Judy was Hestony’s personal attendant. Her mother had taken to asking Mrs. Brookes to help her out, or Mrs. Lanner, who worked for Lady Amhurst. Her own maidservant had stayed behind at Hartfield House for the summer.
Hestony was just letting her thoughts drift to Hartfield, recalling the pale-yellow breakfast-room with its chintz curtains, and the smiling housekeeper and her endless supply of rock-cakes, when her mother leaned across the table, placing her hand over hers.
“I need to talk to you,” Lady Hartfield said tensely, taking Hestony utterly off her guard.
“What is it?” she asked. Her heart thudded, and she swallowed nervously. Her mother looked so stern!
“I had a correspondence from Epping and Lewis the other day,” she began, speaking of the firm of solicitors who oversaw the estate.
“I see,” Hestony said nervously.
“There’s nothing in the London account.”
“What?” Hestony dropped the knife and it clattered noisily onto the plate, falling down onto her knee. She set it back on the table, gaping at her mother.
“I said much the same,” her mother said dryly.
“Mama! It’s impossible!” Hestony felt as if her whole world had just been overturned. Her father had left a fortune! She and Mama had not been extravagant or run up debts, and much of the wealth was invested in mills and other commercial successes. They had been exceedingly wealthy!
It wasn’t possible, Hestony’s mind insisted, again and again. It simply wasn’t possible. All of that wealth could not have simply vanished in a matter of days! Either it wasn’t correct, or somebody had been concealing the realities from both of them far too long.
“I thought so, but…” Her mother shrugged. Now, in the morning light, for the first time, Hestony saw how old she looked. Gone was the determined strength, and underneath it she saw a lady shrunken by time, defeated by odds. Her eyes were sunk in dark bruises and her lips quavered slightly.
“Mama!” Hestony felt as if something had shot her to the very heart. “That’s terrible. What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” her mother said. She looked down at her lap, and Hestony thought she saw her eyes glisten. She reached for her handkerchief, to offer it, but her mother sniffed and fixed her with a steely expression.
“We’ll just have to set about making cuts,” she said. “I reckon that we could lay off half the staff at Hartfield. We can keep on Judy, and the butler, and the cook. And one cleaning-maid. All the rest can go. It’s extraneous, especially if we shut the ballroom and put the paintings in storage…”
Hestony swallowed hard. “Mama…isn’t this all a bit drastic?” Her mind fed her images of Hartfield House, denuded of its beauty, shrouded in dust-sheets, the halls silent of the talk and feet of the servants who had tended its rooms so lovingly. It was painful to imagine her home so bare and empty!