A number of servants were already lining up outside, in livery of green and black, embroidered on the breast with an oak leaf in brown silk.
Thomasin’s father, having now fully recovered his senses, was the first to step outside, before reaching in to assist his wife. They still made a handsome couple, Thomasin thought, married for over two decades despite the differences in their characters. It had been a love match, overcoming their parents’ disapproval, and six healthy children attested to its success. The little ones had been left behind in the family’s Suffolk home: Lettice, who was blossoming into a beauty at thirteen, jolly Alice aged six, young master Digby, the family’s only son of nine years old, and toddling Susanna.
Cecilia, Thomasin and Ellen climbed out in turn, gazing up in awe at their surroundings.
“It’s twice the size of Eastwell,” whispered Sir Richard. “I should have become a merchant.”
A large man in a formal robe and hat bowed before them.
“My Lord, ladies. Welcome to Raycroft. I am Peter Southey, Sir Hugh’s steward. Please, come this way.”
The entrance was cool and smelled of old stone and ash. Thomasin’s first impressions were of dark wood and high, beamed ceilings. Ahead of them, a magnificent carved staircase occupied the centre of the house, twisting up once, twice, with an ornately decorated rail and bannisters, where carved fruit and leaves had been polished to a shine by the hands of many generations. It was truly magnificent; she felt slightly overawed.
Southey paused for a moment while they stood in admiration.
“The original house was built over two hundred years ago as a hospital, endowed by the local monastery of St Luke, but this wing was added by Sir Hugh’s grandfather.”
He led them through a carved screen into the great hall, with heavy beams meeting overhead and coats of arms hanging around the walls. The hearth was lit at the far end, despite the warm weather, and fresh flowers had been placed in jars in the window alcoves, adding a sweet, heady scent above the woodsmoke.
A central table was laden with wine and small beer, grapes and cheese, white bread and wafers. Heavy wooden settles along the wall welcomed them with cushions.
“If you would like to take some refreshment, I will inform my Lady that you have arrived. Sir Hugh is overseeing some emergency repairs in the park at present but will be here shortly.”
Thomasin took the opportunity to look around. She was reluctant to sit down again after being cooped up in the coach, so she stretched her legs by pacing down the length of the hall, noticing the little details: the linenfold carved panels, the smooth polished floor, the pristine hangings on the wall with the colours still bright, the gleaming silver candlesticks and brackets. Wandering to one of the windows, she looked out over a chapel and a neatly kept garden, full of thriving plants and stone statues. Beyond them, she caught a glimpse of a grey-blue lake.
“It’s so fine,” said Ellen, sidling up to her. “Almost too fine.”
“It is overwhelming,” Thomasin agreed. “Just try to remain calm. You know how Hugh feels about you. Trust that.”
“I was not born to this.”
“Many are not, but they rise above their station. Think of Wolsey, or Cromwell. Luck can bring about transformations. You deserve this.”
And yet, surrounded by such beauty and abundance, Thomasin felt a flash of envy rising within her. Last summer, Hugh Truegood had been attracted to her first, before he’d noticed Ellen. Had things played out differently, all this might have been hers. But no, she told herself, laughing at the memory, she could not marry a man who couldn’t hold a conversation or dance, not for all the fine houses in Sussex.
The family regrouped as Southey returned, followed by an old lady walking with a stick. She was no more than sixty, but her progress was slow as she dragged one leg a little behind her. Her clothing appeared to belong to an earlier age, her headdress plain, with a thick folded wimple so her face was barely visible. Diamonds sparkled on her fingers.
“Lady Truegood,” announced Southey, although the old woman at once waved him away with her stick.
Sir Richard bowed, Lady Elizabeth dropped a curtsey, and the others followed their example. The old woman looked at them long and hard before speaking. Thomasin felt like a creature pinned by the gaze of a hawk.
“You are Hugh’s friends?”
She spoke abruptly. They were all taken aback by the coldness of her tone.
“I am Sir Richard Marwood. This is my wife, Elizabeth, my daughters Cecilia and Thomasin and my niece Ellen.”
“Too many names.” Lady Truegood stared from one face to another, pausing briefly before Cecilia. “Hmm. You’re a pretty one. Married?”
Cecilia blushed and shook her head.
“Good for Hugh.”
Thomasin felt mortified, but Lady Truegood was not finished yet. She looked at each of them in turn, stepping closer and squinting, until it became apparent that her eyesight was weak. She dismissed Ellen with a grunt, then ran her eyes over Thomasin’s dark eyes, tanned skin, and small nose sprinkled with freckles.
“What are you, another daughter?”
“I’m Thomasin Marwood, my Lady, and this is my cousin Ellen Russell.”
