Katherine had long since given up hope of making a friend of Aveline, and she was too shy in company to attract the attention of any other young ladies, even if she had felt herself to be a suitable companion for the daughters of the nobility or gentry. The earl and his brother both had daughters, but Katherine could not conceive of befriending them. Sir Hubert Strong, the local magistrate, had daughters, too, and Lady Strong and her eldest daughter, in particular, had been very welcoming, but her utter lack of conversation was such a handicap. She saw others chattering away and wished with all her heart that she could talk so easily, but somehow her mind emptied and her tongue froze in such elevated company, and even the most determined talker would eventually give up the struggle to extract more than a single word from her.
That evening saw another trial, for the Cathcarts were invited to dinner at Highwood Place with the Franklyns. Mr Franklyn, she had been told, was a former attorney who had inherited vast wealth, and that should have made him more approachable to the daughter of a mill owner. Yet somehow he was even more gentlemanlike than Uncle Cathcart, always immaculately dressed and his accent with no hint of his Newcastle origins. And his wife was an even more terrifying prospect, for the Lady Esther Franklyn was the daughter of the Duke of Camberley, and although she was perfectly civil to Katherine, there was a ducal haughtiness in her bearing that made Katherine feel like a worm in her presence.
Nor was she at all sure how to address so elevated a personage, for she had got it wrong once and her cousins had all tittered. Aunt Cathcart had explained it to her, but she could not remember. Was it Lady Esther or Lady Franklyn? She would have to listen to everyone else to understand how it was done.
The drive to Highwood Place was enlivened by a monologue from Aunt Cathcart to Katherine on the correct behaviour to be expected.
“You have managed well enough at Corland, for the earl’s family are relaxed about protocol, but the Franklyns are another matter. Your deepest curtsy to her ladyship… you may follow Aveline’s example. Do not speak unless spoken to, especially to her ladyship, or to any of the gentlemen. No reaching across the table for food. Always wait for a gentleman to serve you. And Katherine, dear, do try your best to make conversation with whoever is sitting next to you. You will never attract a husband if you never open your mouth, you know. There are no likely prospects for you here — the Athertons are well above our touch — but it will be useful practice for when we go to York next year. You may watch Aveline’s behaviour for guidance, for she has a delicate way of not quite flirting but showing a young man that she is interested in him, and that is what you must learn to do.”
Katherine said nothing beyond“Yes, aunt”and“No, aunt”, but she had no intention of taking Aveline as her guide in any aspect of her behaviour. Besides, if her simpering and fluttering and fan waving wasnotflirtation, she did not know what it was.
They were the first to arrive, ushered past a long line of liveried and bewigged footmen into the Gold Saloon, one of several splendid apartments recently added to the house. The Franklyns moved amongst them, making the usual polite enquiries of newly arrived guests. Aunt Cathcart addressed their hostess as‘Lady Esther’, but perhaps that was because they were of a similar age? If Katherine used the same term, would that be too forward? Terrified that she might be called upon to speak, she tucked herself out of sight behind the broad shoulders of James, Alex and Neil, hoping fervently to escape notice from their formidable hosts. Happily, they were soon drawn away by new arrivals to be greeted in the hall.
Gradually the room filled up, natural groupings appeared and the level of conversation rose to a point where Katherine felt tolerably safe in retreating to a seat. Lady Esther Franklyn’s saloon was too well-lit to permit any shadowy corners, but there was a chair tucked away between a pillar and an ornate bureau where a terrified girl could safely hide. She could catch glimpses of the door between the moving sea of silk gowns and knee breeches, so she knew at once when Mr Kent Atherton arrived. There was something in that cheerful face that lifted her spirits instantly. How could she be afraid when Mr Atherton was so full of bonhomie?
His presence stirred her to rise to her feet and drift a little closer to the safety of her aunt, who was talking to another unthreatening guest, Lady Strong. She was a motherly person who smiled kindly at her, and hoped she would have an opportunity to hear Katherine play later. If she was Lady Strong, surely it must be correct to call their hostess Lady Franklyn, not Lady Esther? How difficult it all was! She was so distracted she could not even begin to formulate a suitable response to Lady Strong.
“Oh, but there is to be dancing,” Aunt Cathcart said, happily jumping into the conversation. “Mrs Dewar is to play for us, and there will be dancing. Although my niece does not yet dance.”
“No, of course not,” Lady Strong said sympathetically. “So soon after your dear father’s demise, you would hardly wish to do so.”
Katherine opened her mouth to say… she knew not what. How could she explain that she had never learnt the formal dances that graced the gentry’s ballrooms? A reel or a simple country dance she could manage, but the complicated steps and movements were beyond her. She loved to watch, but could never imagine herself moving with the graceful ease she had seen in her cousins and their neighbours.
Just as the long-case clock in the hall sonorously sounded the hour, the butler announced loudly, “Dinner is served, my lady.” Naturally, meals would occur at precisely the appointed time in the well-regulated home of a duke’s daughter. There was a little genteel bustle at the door furthest from the hall, as guests paired up for the procession to the dining room. All the older guests drifted in that direction, following instructions from their hostess, and Mr Bertram Atherton, eldest son of the earl’s younger brother, followed them with Miss Franklyn on one arm and Lady Olivia Atherton on the other. Only a few of the younger guests were left to make their own arrangements.
Mr Kent Atherton was one of them! Sudden hope flared in Katherine’s heart as his gaze swept over those left behind. Only two ladies remained… surely he would—?
“Miss Cathcart?” he murmured to Aveline, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
With a smirk of satisfaction, she laid her hand on his arm and they set off at a sedate pace after the others. Katherine could not suppress the disappointment that speared painfully through her. Now only Alex and Neil remained, and they turned away as one. Only when they reached the door to the next room did they think to turn to her.
“Come along, cousin,” Alex said.
“You will not want to miss dinner, I am sure,” Neil said.
They both grinned at her, those wide smiles that were so similar but not quite alike. Then they turned again and passed through the door side by side, leaving Katherine alone, to scurry after them as best she could.
4: A Friend
Katherinehastenedafterthetwins, through another saloon, decorated in shades of pale green and white, although with as much gold paint as the previous room. A line of footmen stood to attention across the room, marking the way to the dining room, where there was a great bustle of seats pulled out and pushed in, as everyone settled in their proper places.
Katherine waited until only one seat was left, then slipped silently into it, her cheeks scarlet with shame to be the last. An unseen footman behind her pushed her chair forwards as she sat, catching the back of her legs so that she half fell into it. Then she had to shuffle the chair nearer to the table herself, the footman attempting to help and only making the whole manoeuvre more difficult. Around the table, silence fell as everyone’s gaze was upon her, the last to be settled. She blushed and blushed again from mortification. When finally she was in position, Mr Franklyn said grace and the meal began.
However, Katherine found herself awkwardly placed, for she had Miss Bridget Dewar on one side of her, and Aveline on the other, and Aunt Cathcart had given her clear instructions not to reach across the table for a dish, as she had been accustomed to do at home, but to wait for a gentleman to fetch it for her. The soup presented no difficulty, for the footmen handed round the bowls, and after that there was fish, again distributed from the head and foot of the table. But when those items were removed and the first course laid out on the table, Katherine had no idea what to do, with no gentleman to enquire what she would like to eat and to stretch across the table to the right dish.
So she sat, her plate empty, paralysed with fear of a wrong move. Once a footman leaned over her shoulder and murmured, “May I fetch something for you, madam?” but Katherine whispered, “No… no, thank you.” Only when the second course was set out and she saw that many of the ladies reached for nearby dishes without hesitation did she dare to take a couple of spoonfuls from the nearest dish, but so hastily, to escape notice, that she dripped gravy on the immaculate white cloth.
It was a relief when the ladies rose to leave. She rather liked the ceremony of their departure, as all the gentlemen stood also, and bowed as the ladies filed past. Mr Kent Atherton rushed to the door to hold it open, smiling to every lady who passed him. Katherine blushed and lowered her head, lacking the courage to look at him.
She followed the straggling procession, last, of course, for she was painfully aware of her place in this august company, into another magnificent apartment, the walls lined with paintings of stern-faced men in huge wigs and a few unsmiling females in the ornate clothes of half a century ago.
“My Bucknell ancestors,” their hostess was saying as a footman closed the door behind Katherine. “Copies of the portraits at Marshfields, the principal seat of my father, the Duke of Camberley.”
Aunt Cathcart was standing near the door. “Ah, Katherine, come and sit beside me… over here, I think.” She chose a small sofa some distance from the rest of the guests gathered about their hostess. “Now then, my dear, I did not quite like to see you draw attention to yourself at dinner.”
Katherine blushed for shame at the reprimand, but could not help saying, “Me, aunt? What did I do?”
“You ate nothing, child! Such an insult to Lady Esther. She was so concerned she sent a footman to attend to you. But perhaps you are unwell?”
