Evelyn felt a jab of guilt as she realised that, although she knew their faces, she did not know their names, or anything about them. Until now she had not really thought of them at all. They were like moving furniture, taken for granted, but missed when not fulfilling their role. She did not even know how many gardeners they had. She wasn’t even sure if Father did. Timmins, the head gardener, dealt with the gardening staff. At least she knewhisname.
Evelyn looked about and found him inspecting the rose garden. She could tell it was him. He always wore his distinct wide brim hat and walked with the rounded shoulders of a man who had spent much of his life out in all weathers. She had known of his presence all her life and envied him his wisdom and gift to turn an area of soil into a fragrant kaleidoscope of colour, but most of all she envied him for the respect and time her father gave him.
Her father had spent more time in Timmins’ presence than he had ever done with her. Her time was between five and five-thirty in the evening, when she was presented to her parents before bed. In addition to this precious interview, for that was how she saw it, she was allowed to accompany them to the Sunday service in the Pendragon private chapel.
The service was a small, chilly affair but always well attended as the seats behind the Pendragon pew were filled with indoor and outdoor staff. They all listened in silence to the pulpit thumping vicar, warning of fire and brimstone raining down upon them if they did not mend their ways, which always confused Evelyn as she did not know their ways were broken, whateverwayswere.
Evelyn longed to turn around and look at the interesting faces behind her. It was an urge hard to resist, particularly since Nicholas had told her they were obliged to attend or their wages would be docked. She had always thought they wanted to attend. Knowing they were forced, as she was, made her feel she had more in common with them than her parents. Did they show the same boredom as she felt inside? She was tempted to find out.
Up to the age of twelve, her brother fared no better and saw as little of their parents as she did. Then, one day, Father took it upon himself to prepare him further for the responsibilities ahead. The best tutors were no longer adequate, now he insisted Nicholas learnt about the estate and accompanied him whenvisiting his tenants. Evelyn was filled with quiet envy each time she watched the trap pull away with her father and brother sitting side by side, enjoying time in each other’s company that she could only imagine.
She did not blame Nicholas for this. She loved him too much. Although he was only two years older than her and small for his age, he seemed to have the wisdom of an adult that she could only admire. She also knew, without a doubt, he loved her too. This, unfortunately, she could not say about her parents.
They were not cruel, just distant, and they valued Nicholas more. She learnt that lesson when she reached her twelfth birthday. Desperate to spend time with them, Evelyn asked her father if she could accompany them on a visit to a tenant. Her father had looked at her and laughed. He rarely laughed. The sound should have been joyful to her ears, but instead her cheeks burned. He returned to his book almost immediately, shaking his head in bewilderment. His lack of reply marked the contrast between what he expected from a son, compared to a daughter and Evelyn, with ribbons in her hair, felt stupid for not knowing the difference before.
‘Have you bored Brown to sleep again?’ Evelyn turned to look behind her. Her brother was looking up at her, shielding his eyes against the bright sun. ‘One day, Effy, she will wake up and find you gone,’ he warned.
Evelyn glanced at the clock tower above the main door. ‘I have another twenty minutes before she will stir.’
‘The clock might be wrong,’ teased Nicholas.
‘The clock is never wrong. Father would not allow it.’ Evelyn began to climb down, her dress riding up behind her. She landed on the ground beside him and smoothed her dress down with brisk, matter-of-fact strokes of her hands. ‘Why aren’t you in your lessons?’ she asked, without glancing up.
Nicholas leaned back against the base of the statue and crossed his ankles.
‘How many times have you climbed that statue?’
She looked at him and smiled. ‘Lots.’
‘I thought so. Word reached Mother that Mr Burrows had a cold.’
‘Oh dear. Did she send him away?’
Her brother nodded. ‘With strict instructions not to return until he had written confirmation from Doctor Birch that he was healthy again.’ Nicholas spied a small patch of lichen on the lion’s paw and attempted to scrape it off with a nail. ‘Despite Mother’s earlier concerns, she has since discovered that there is an advantage to not having a live-in tutor for me.’ He glanced at Evie and smiled. ‘Mother can quarantine me far more efficiently than if Mr Burrows was wandering the house.’
‘Was he terribly upset?’
‘He was more upset that it was Mother who gave the order. I think he hates women.’ He gave up on the lichen and scraped a blade of grass off his shoe instead. ‘Mother was upset too. I have just been subjected to one of her interrogations.’
‘Oh dear.’
Evelyn could picture it, her mother feeling the heat of Nicholas’s brow and firing endless questions at him regarding the state of his health. Her ‘panics’, as Evelyn and Nicholas called them, were becoming more and more frequent. Mother always had a mild preoccupation with her own health, but now her anxieties were well and truly transferred to Nicholas. It started last winter, when Nicholas fell ill with rheumatic fever and almost died.
It had been a worrying time for all the family, but fortunately, after several months, Nicholas had recovered. However, the illness had subtly left its mark and the energetic brother Evelyn had known all her life, had failed to return. Thesedays he was slower and exuded a quiet dignity that was beyond his years. His eyes held a grave wisdom she had not seen before and he no longer shared his thoughts as readily as he once had.
Her governess, Miss Brown, believed it was because he had had a brush with death and had grown up, but this reason made no sense to Evelyn. Surely if he had escaped the clutches of death he would be filled with joy that he had survived. Mother did not help matters by constantly worrying about him and treating him like an invalid. Doctor Birch was frequently called upon for advice and tonics, which he happily provided for an exorbitant price.
Nicholas thought the fuss their mother made was silly too. When questioned, he reassured his sister that he felt quite recovered and their mother had nothing to fear. He even joked that the only time he felt unwell was after one of their mother’s interrogations and it was only as a direct result of it and not any lingering illness. Evelyn was only too happy to believe him, eager to put the dark phase of his illness behind them. So eager, in fact, that she did not think to question why he obediently took all the foul smelling tonics if he did not feel unwell.
‘So I have found myself without a tutor,’ Nicholas was saying, ‘and came to look for you. Brown has a loud snore, doesn’t she?’
‘Sometimes she makes a sound like a pig.’
‘A little one or a big one?’
Evelyn did an impression for him.
Nicholas couldn’t help smiling at his sister. ‘That’s definitely a big one! Seriously, Effy, you will get into trouble one day.’
