At Easter and Harvest Festival she would go to the Westering estate to select flowers and produce from the kitchen gardens, which the gardeners would then bring over to the church. Lady Letty would often be there and would talk to her and ask her about education. It was rather embarrassing, and she wondered why Lady Letty now and then asked her to the house, for when she was there, her ladyship’s one thought seemed to be to get rid of her as quickly as possible.
I gathered that Lady Letty was something of an enigma. It appeared strange that she should interest herself in the life of the village because she was more often than not at Court. Sometimes there was entertaining at Westering Manor when the fashionable arrived from London. Once the King himself had come. That had been a very grand occasion.
I certainly enjoyed hearing about her life.
“It seemed as though it would go on and on and never change,” she said. “I saw myself growing older and becoming exactly like Mrs. Connalt … dried up, shrivelled like a walking corpse who is really finished with life and somehow continues to make the motions of living. Joyless, seeing sin in pleasure… .”
I thought how strange it was that she should refer to her mother as Mrs. Connalt-as though she rejected the close relationship between them.
I was beginning to understand her. She was attractive in appearance in an unusual way and more than normally clever; she had yearnings for a more interesting life and she felt frustrated. She hated being patronized by the Westerings; she was a lonely person because there was no one to love her, no one to whom she could explain her feelings.
I was glad that she could talk to me, yet I was sometimes aware of that strange resentment towards me which I sensed was often present, though she sought to hide it.
Two weeks after her arrival my parents went to our house near Whitehall to be present at several Court functions.
“It must be most exciting,” said Christabel. “How I should like to go to Court.”
“My mother doesn’t really care for it,” I answered. “She only goes because my father likes her to.”
“I daresay she feels she must be with him.” Her lips tightened a little. “A man like that…”
I was puzzled. I thought she implied some criticism of my father, and I had known for some time that he had an effect on her. She was always uneasy in his presence.
I wondered why since he had taken the trouble to bring her to the house, and if she was happier with us than she had been in her rectory home-and it was hard to imagine that she could be less so-then she owed that to him.
Our days slipped into a routine-lessons in the morning, riding or walking after the midday meal and then a return to study about five o’clock. It was dark then and we would sit in the candlelight and she would usually spend the time questioning me on the morning’s study.
I asked her once if she were comfortable in our house and she demanded angrily: “Why should you think I am not? This is the most comfortable house.”
“I am glad,” I said.
“You were one of the lucky ones.” She spoke resentfully, and although I could not see the tightening of her lips I knew it was so.
One afternoon we went riding, and on our return, as soon as we came through the gates and into the stables, I knew something had happened. I was aware of a bustle of activity before I saw the horses. I thought at first my parents were home. Then I realized that it was not they who had returned. I half guessed and excitement possessed me.
I could scarcely wait to get out of the saddle and hurry into the house.
I heard their voices and called: “Leigh! Edwin! Where are you?”
Leigh was at the top of the stairs. He looked magnificent in uniform. He was so tall, with rather gaunt features and wonderful blue eyes which contrasted with his black hair, just like his mother’s. These eyes lighted up when they saw me, and I felt a glow of excitement which coming upon Leigh unexpectedly always gave me.
He dashed down the stairs and picked me up in his arms, swinging me round and round.
I called: “Stop it. Stop it.” He did stop, and taking my face in his hands gave me a smacking kiss on the forehead.
“You’ve grown,” he said. “Yes, you have, fair coz.”
He always called me “fair coz.” He had heard the term somewhere, and when I protested that we were not cousins and not even related, he retorted: “Well, we ought to be.
I’ve seen you grow up from an ugly little brat to the lively little sprite you are today. You were like a little monkey when you were born. I really thought you were one and then you grew into a gazelle, my own fair coz.”
