“No… no, but I thought… there was no gentleman. You told me… I must wait for a gentleman to offer me a dish.”
Aunt Cathcart sighed. “But you were not seated beside a gentleman, were you? Not that it was your fault in the slightest. I was very cross with Alex and Neil for neglecting to look after you, but there, they are still young and thoughtless. I will have a word with them tomorrow. One of them should have stayed with you, but there are more ladies than gentlemen tonight, so there are bound to be one or two ladies left to fend for themselves. You are not expected to starve, my dear! One does not quite like to see ladies standing to stretch the full width of the table, as Miss Franklyn did tonight, but you may always ask a neighbour to pass you a dish, be it a lady or a gentleman, or you may summon a footman. There are so many footmen here tonight so it is no imposition. You will get into the way of it very soon, I am sure. Oh, I must just have a word with Kitty Strong.”
Kitty Strong… but surely she was Lady Strong? Or should that be Lady Kitty Strong? It was too confusing for words.
Aunt Cathcart bustled away, leaving Katherine alone in her quiet corner. The ladies settled into groups, the younger ones around the noisy Miss Franklyn, who never seemed to stop chattering and laughing loudly, and the older ones clustered more quietly near Lady Esther — or was it Lady Franklyn? Another lady, whose name Katherine could not quite remember, was engaged in chasing everyone away from the open windows and adjuring them to keep their shawls tightly drawn about their persons.
After a while, a little train of footmen came in to roll up the carpets ready for dancing. It was clear that this was not an impromptu event, however, for the chairs had already been pushed towards the walls, and a couple of extra chairs placed beside the pianoforte, waiting for the fiddlers who now crept in. Bowing low to the ladies, they took their places and began to tune their instruments. Mrs Dewar, the rector’s wife, took her place at the pianoforte.
This was more like it! Katherine could not dance or make conversation, but music, any music, lifted her spirits enormously. Soon, the gentlemen arrived from the dining room, and the dancing began. In her quiet corner, she had a fine view of the dancers, admiring once again the elegance of their movements and the precision with which they positioned arms and legs and even fingers. So graceful! And the gentlemen just as agile and precise as the ladies. It was nothing at all like the style of dancing she had seen at Branton, entered into there with more enthusiasm than grace, on the whole, but enjoyed by young and old alike, even the children joining in.
After a while, one of the young men discovered her in her secluded spot.
“Well, Miss Parish,” he said, taking the seat beside her, “what do you think of the dancing so far? Are we not an energetic lot?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, blushing violently. What was his name? He was one of the Athertons, a son of Mr George Atherton, the earl’s brother… was it Bertram? She thought it was.
“Who do you think is the best dancer?”
“I… I cannot say.”
“Very diplomatic. I would say my cousin Olivia is the most graceful of the ladies, but for the gentlemen, and it pains me to say so, the palm must go to Mr Franklyn. I never saw a man of his age dance so well. He quite outshines the rest of us.” He paused, but when she said nothing, he went on, “I know you are still in black gloves for your father, but in a setting such as this, amongst friends, it would not be improper for you to dance, surely? May I have the honour?”
“Oh… no, no! Indeed, no.” Then, remembering her manners, she added, “Thank you.”
“Then I shall stay and enjoy your company, Miss Parish.”
How kind he was! But Aveline was watching them closely from not far away. “No, no, you must not… look there, Aveline… Miss Cathcart…”
His smile never faltered. He rose, bowed, and went straight to Aveline, who bore him into the next set triumphantly. However, his partner did not seem to please him much, for after a brief exchange, they remained silent for the rest of the dance, and then separated at once. A few moments later, however, Katherine saw the same man approaching her again. Surely he would not—? But he had a young lady with him, who smiled at her shyly.
“Miss Parish, since you are not dancing this evening, would you be so good as to bear my sister company? Emily does not wish to dance, either, and it seems to me that you would both derive more pleasure in the evening by having a companion to talk to. You have chosen a wonderful vantage point, ma’am, from which you may admire whatever is admirable in the dancing and deplore whatever is deplorable, and such thoughts are best shared with a like-minded friend, are they not?”
And with a bow, he was gone.
“You do not mind?” Emily said in a soft voice that Katherine liked at once. “I am too terrified to dance, and it would be so lovely to have a friend to sit with… if… if you have no objection?”
“No, indeed,” Katherine said very readily.
A friend! Yes, that would be lovely indeed. So she patted the seat beside her, Emily sat down and they smiled at each other with genuine pleasure.
***
Katherinesoonfoundthat,although Emily Atherton was only eighteen, she was exactly the friend she needed to guide her through the shoals of the society in which she now found herself. Not only did Emily know precisely how to address the daughter of a duke or the wife of a baronet, but she could explain the distinction easily.
“The daughter of a duke, marquess or earl has a title from her father, and keeps it for life, so if she marries a commoner like Mr Franklyn she becomes Lady Esther Franklyn. If she had married a lord, she would take his title over her own, like every other lady. Lady Rennington, for instance. Or a baronet, like Sir Hubert Strong — his wife is Lady Strong.”
“So… I would address them as Lady Esther and Lady Strong?” Katherine said hesitantly.
“Yes! Although Mama says that if one is feeling particularly deferential, one may address Lady Esther as‘my lady’, as a sign of respect. She is quite the grandest lady for miles around. Lady Rennington is much easier to talk to.”
That was a point where Katherine could not quite agree. To her, everyone in this new world she now inhabited was difficult to talk to. Emily’s problem was more modest — she could talk comfortably to ladies, or to older gentlemen, but a young man, particularly a handsome and amiable one, rendered her mute and covered in confusion. She was not one to put herself forward, however, so even with ladies, she tended to creep into corners, just as Katherine did. Now they could creep together, and it was a very comfortable thing, Katherine found, to have someone with whom to hide away.
Within a week of Lady Esther’s evening party, the two had fallen into the habit of meeting almost every day. If Emily did not walk down the hill to Cathcart House, Katherine would walk up to Westwick Heights. Then there would be long walks in the garden, or visits to Birchall village, and on wet days they sat companionably indoors with a handkerchief apiece to be embroidered, and whispered together.
Like the Cathcarts, Emily was one of six, having two sisters and three brothers. Julia was Katherine’s age, but seemed very grown up, for she was betrothed already, and Penelope was barely out but had all the confidence in society that Emily lacked. The two older brothers were distant creatures, seldom seen, Bertram because he spent all day in the library with his books and Lucas because he was constantly in the stables or out riding, like his father. The youngest child, Philip, was still confined to the nursery on the uppermost floor.
Emily’s mother, Mrs Atherton, was a kindly soul who fretted perpetually over the health of her family. Whenever Katherine visited, this solicitude extended to her, too, and she found herself exhorted to borrow one of the many thick shawls left in every room, or draw her chair nearer to the blazing fire. At all costs she must not venture near the windows, in case of stray draughts which would invariably settle on the chest, become a putrid fever and carry the sufferer off within days. Katherine quickly learnt to swathe herself in a shawl when advised, relinquishing its suffocating embrace as soon as Mrs Atherton had left the room.
