“Aye. Auntie Minnie sent Billy down early.”
The girl’s self-possession reminded Felicity at once of Mrs Kimble as she was all those years ago. She fought for calm, producing a smile. “You must be Cissy.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“Have you — have you told your gran I have come to see her?”
Cissy’s awed eyes had found Raoul standing a little way behind Felicity and it was a moment before she dragged them back. She shook her head. “No, ma’am, for Billy said as how Auntie Minnie charged him straitly to tell me I must wait ’til you come.”
Felicity did not know whether to be relieved or sorry that her advent had not yet been announced. She glanced at Raoul, who gestured for her to enter.
“May I go in to her now, Cissy?”
“Aye, ma’am. I’ve settled her already and she’s had a bite. She’s in the parlour.”
Stepping into the long hall, Felicity glanced at once towards the stairs where she had run up and down a hundred times, often with impatience to open the door in hopes of seeing Papa’s energetic figure striding down the path on his way home. She followed Cissy past the door at the front and saw the open door towards the kitchen premises where she had run tame, bothering the woman who came to cook for a spare piece of pastry to make jam tarts or petting the kitten under the big table.
The memories filtered in and out, but her attention caught on the back parlour door, also open, from which a well-remembered voice called out.
“Who is it, Cissy love? Not that Billy again come a-courting, I hope.”
“No, Gran, it’s a leddy to see you.”
Cissy passed into the room and Felicity hesitated on the threshold as Mrs Kimble’s surprised voice returned an answer.
“A lady? What lady, love? What do you mean, Cissy?”
Torn between rushing into the room to reveal herself and an unnatural fear of she knew not what, Felicity glanced back to Raoul, waiting a little way down the hall. He was half a silhouette against the light emanating from the glass panel in the front door and she could not see his face.
“Go in, Felicity. I’ll await you here.”
The encouraging note put heart into her and she moved into the parlour. It was both cosy and spacious, light flooding in from a set of windows with French doors between to an open garden. A fleeting remembrance of playing there scooted across Felicity’s mind, but it was superseded by her first sight of Mrs Kimble, ensconced on a day-bed set to catch the warmth from a crackling fire.
She looked a good deal older and smaller than Felicity remembered, her once plump cheeks thinned, her features worn. But the spectacles were the same, as was the frilly cap, its ribbons tied in a bow beneath her chin. She was peering towards the visitor, her head poking forward in a way that was peculiarly her own and so familiar that Felicity could not utter a word.
“Who is it?” Then the old lady uttered a gasp and clutched her bosom. “No! It can’t be! You are not … not…”
Felicity found her tongue. “Yes, I am! I’m Flissie. Oh, Mrs Kimble!”
“Little Flissie Temple? Oh, my dear child!”
Felicity stumbled forward, falling on her knees beside the day-bed, throwing herself into the arms held out to receive her and weeping copiously into Mrs Kimble’s bosom as that lady crooned quite in the old way.
“There, there, my duck … there, there. Find a handkerchief, Cissy love … there, there, my little duckling… Nan’s here. Nanny’s here now.”
A wash of warmth swept through Felicity and she raised her head, half laughing through her tears. “Oh, Nanny, how much I’ve longed to hear you say that. All these years!”
“Never say so.” She took Felicity’s hands and squeezed. “Come, let me look at you, all grown up. I’d have known you anywhere, duck. The spit of your pa, you are!”
The beaming smile she remembered appeared on the old lady’s face, the trace of her own tears visible. Old? Yes, she had aged more than she should.
“Dearest Nanny Kimble, what has happened to you? Mrs Dadford told me you were suffering with arthritis.”
Mrs Kimble waved this away, releasing one of Felicity’s hands to grab at the handkerchief held out by her hovering granddaughter. Armed with this, she wiped Felicity’s cheeks, which made her giggle as she dug into her pocket for a handkerchief of her own.
“Just seeing you has made me a child again, Nanny Kimble.” She sniffed and blew her nose. “There, I’m all better.”
Mrs Kimble had removed her spectacles and was busy wiping the wet from her eyes. This done, she urged her granddaughter to pull up a chair for the lady. “Not that I can think of you as a young lady, duck. You’ll always be Little Flissie Temple to me. How old are you now? Why, it must be years and years.”
