22: Unexpected Visitors
Katherinehadreceivedsadnews from Branton, for Mr Vance had finally succumbed to the many ailments that afflicted him. Katherine wrote her letters of condolence to Mrs Vance and her five daughters, and put on black gloves for a while. She had not known Mr Vance well, for he had been bedridden for many years, but Mrs Vance and her daughters were all good friends and Katherine knew they would feel the loss keenly.
The other sad news was the departure of Mr Kent Atherton. She had the first word of this from Emily, who came to Cathcart House straight away to report that he had called at Westwick Heights to make his farewell, and was leaving that very day.
“I know you are not such good friends as you were, but you will be sorry to hear it, I am sure,” Emily said.
“Yes,” whispered Katherine, almost too distraught to speak. She had known he planned to go, but to discover that he was in fact leaving that very day, and with no chance of saying goodbye, was distressing indeed.
“He sent his regards to you,” Emily said. “He mentioned you most particularly.‘All my good friends at Cathcart House, and especially Miss Parish.’That is what he said.‘Tell her I shall miss our rides very much.’Is that not something to be pleased about? And he will be back before long, I am sure. He said it would only be for a few weeks, he thought.”
A few weeks! A few long, dreary weeks, but then he would be back. And he would miss their rides. Yes, that was something, at least.
“But where has he gone to?” Katherine said.
“No one knows! He was very secretive about it. He said he planned to look up some old friends, and after that he could not say. But I have some absolutely splendid news — at least, I think it is. Mama is to invite you to stay with us for a week or two. Is that not wonderful? It is because Julia and Penelope have gone off to stay with the Websters, to plan Julia’s wedding in the spring, and Mama is busy getting the Dower House ready for Bertram’s wedding next month, so she thought you would be company for me. We shall have so much fun!”
Since her aunt and uncle made no objection to this pleasant scheme, it was arranged that Katherine would move to Westwick Heights the very next day. That evening, Aunt Cathcart came to see Katherine before bed.
“I am sure I need not tell you what an excellent opportunity this is, Katherine dear,” she trilled happily. “Mr George Atherton is not only Lord Rennington’s brother, but he is the heir presumptive to the title at present. That may change, of course, but still, you will mingle with a most superior family, and with much association with the Corland Castle family. It will be very good for you, and you must be sure to make every effort to join in the conversation at dinner. And although perhaps your affections have been leaning in a certain direction, if Mr Lucas Atherton, say, should take an interest in you, I am sure you would not be so foolish as to spurn him. But you need not attempt any of Aveline’s clever little devices with him, for your natural ways seem to be quite effective. So just be yourself, dear.”
Katherine had not the least notion how to be anything else, so she smiled and nodded and said nothing.
She found that the George Atherton family was not unlike the Cathcart family. The same abundance of children and servants brought the same bustle and noise, the same affectionate teasing amongst the children and even, occasionally, from Mr George Atherton, too, and the same gentle mothering from Mrs Atherton. Katherine found that so long as she carried a shawl everywhere, and was prepared to swathe herself in it if Mrs Atherton detected the least draught, all would be well.
But there were some differences. Westwick Heights had fewer rooms than Cathcart House, but it was built on a grander scale, with an imposing entrance hall fronted by a pillared portico, and large rooms with high, ornately plastered ceilings and elegant mirrors everywhere. It felt like the home of a nobleman, not a mere gentleman. Meals were different, too. Mrs Atherton had a dreadful fear of rich food and overindulgence, so she provided an array of plain dishes and simple roasted joints of meat, which Katherine enjoyed very much. And grace was said at every meal, so that she felt she had arrived at a proper Christian family.
The greatest difference was that Katherine shared a room with Emily. She discovered the joy of whispered confidences each night, and if she woke during the hours of darkness, it was surprisingly reassuring to hear Emily’s soft breathing beside her.
So the days passed in pleasurable company, and even though the weather had settled into dreary autumnal rain, precluding any outings, there was enough enjoyment indoors that Katherine could not repine. There was still a deep ache in her heart where her grief for the loss of Kent Atherton smouldered, but she was kept too well occupied by Emily to fall into a melancholy. Every day there was some new activity to entertain them, and still plenty of time for her music. There was an excellent collection of pieces at Westwick Heights, many of them new for her to try, so she happily played for hours while Emily worked on her tapestry or leafed through a journal.
It was inevitable that the two girls would be drawn into the plans for the imminent marriage of the eldest son, Bertram, to Miss Bea Franklyn, step-daughter of the fearsome Lady Esther Franklyn. The couple would live in the Westwick Heights Dower House after their marriage, and the place was alive with painters, carpenters and plasterers, with deliveries of furniture arriving on an almost daily basis.
This activity drew Miss Bea Franklyn there just as frequently. She was as unlike Emily and Katherine as it was possible for a girl to be, bouncing from one room to another with irrepressible glee, and filling the Dower House with her vocal enthusiasm. Only when she spoke of her betrothed did her voice soften, and her eyes shone as she enumerated his many perfections, and as often as not, broke into Latin to express herself adequately.
The Dower House was an exciting project, and whenever difficult decisions were to be made regarding the installation of a dado, or whether a floral style of wallpaper was to be preferred to the more fashionable chinoiserie, or whether celestial blue was a more restful colour than pomona green, as many opinions were needed as there were ladies in the house. This was especially so when Lady Esther Franklyn was present, for she invariably disagreed with Mrs Atherton, and neither lady being willing to concede defeat even in the matter of a wallpaper, Emily and Katherine were sure to be appealed to. Since Emily always sided with her mother, and Katherine was terrified of Lady Esther — a duke’s daughter! — she dreamt up a desperate escape.
“Miss Franklyn, which do you suppose Mr Bertram would prefer?”
“Oh, the pomona green, definitely,” Bea would say happily, and thus the matter was settled, for the wishes of the master of their modest household could not be gainsaid. No doubt Miss Franklyn would apprise him privately of his preferences later.
Into this placid routine came a most unexpected visit. Uncle Cathcart arrived one morning and asked to speak to Katherine alone.
“You may have the library,” Bertram said at once, emerging to greet the visitor. “The fire is lit, so it is comfortably warm.” He was a man of some learning, so he spent most of his days in the library with his books.
“If that will not inconvenience you too greatly…”
“Not at all. Let me show you the way.”
He pointed out the comfortable chairs beside the fire and the tray of decanters and glasses, before gracefully withdrawing.
“A pleasant young man,” Uncle Cathcart said, tugging ineffectually at the cuffs of his shirt and adjusting his cravat minutely. “He will make an excellent earl, when his time comes, if it should come to that. Of course, such matters are most uncertain. Lord Rennington may yet take another wife…”
“Is that what you wished to talk to me about, uncle?” Katherine said, puzzled.
“No. Not that, no. Something unexpected has occurred. We have a caller at Cathcart House, a young man by the name of Tiller.”
“Mr Geoffrey Tiller? From Branton?”
