Chapter One
March 1875
‘Is the meal not to your liking, Gerald?’
Glancing up from his untouched plate, Gerald Winter nodded. ‘It’s quite delicious, Dorcas, but I find I don’t have much of an appetite this evening, my dear.’
‘Again!’ His wife sniffed her disapproval as she dabbed at her lips with a snow-white napkin while her two daughters glanced anxiously at each other. It looked like they were set for another uncomfortable evening, but they were getting used to it now. Since the month before when their father had lowered the housekeeping money, their parents seemed to be constantly squabbling and their father had become unusually quiet, often locking himself away in his office for hours.
At that moment Hetty, their maid, appeared to clear the main course pots from the table, returning a short time later with the dessert, which she lay in the centre of the crisp white cloth. It was a large apple pie with a golden crust and beside it she placed a jug of fresh whipped cream.
At sixteen, Abigail was the younger of the two girls, and she licked her lips in anticipation.
Her mother eyed it with distaste. ‘I can’t believe we have to resort to suchcommonmeals,’ Dorcas said huffily. ‘Was itreallynecessary to cut the housekeeping down, Gerald?’
‘I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t.’
Emerald, his nineteen-year-old daughter, gave him a sympathetic smile. If asked, she would have been forced to admit that she had always been far closer to her father than her mother, who, unfortunately, was a terrible snob. It upset her to see him looking so worried and haggard but there was nothing she could do about it apart from hope things improved. He had admitted some months before that his business – a brickworks in the nearby parish of Stockingford – was struggling, and Emmy – as he affectionately called her – was not surprised. Her mother was very demanding and expected the very best of everything and more than once recently Emmy had heard her father ask her to curb her spending as it was eating up any profit they made. Yet only that afternoon she had decided that the drawing room reallymustbe redecorated, even though it had only been done less than two years ago, and she had sat poring over a book of wallpaper samples that cost more per roll than most people would earn in a week.
She mentioned it now to her husband, and Emmy saw him visibly flinch, although he said not a word.
‘Mrs Henderson-Ward had her room done in paper from this particular book,’ she gushed. ‘And it really does look quite regal. I particularly like the silk patterns, although they do tend to be a little more expensive. What do you think, dear?’ Suddenly Dorcas was all smiles again but her husband merely shook his head and, rising from the table, he left the room.
‘Really!’ Dorcas tutted her disapproval. ‘Your father’s manners are quite appalling lately. He didn’t even ask to be excused.’
Quite suddenly Emmy’s appetite had vanished too, although Abigail more than made up for it and had second helpings. The two girls took after their father in looks with brunette hair that shone like polished conkers and deep-green eyes, but there any resemblance ended for they were like chalk and cheese in nature. Emmy, who was the tallest and the slimmest of the two, tended to be the more quiet, studious one, while Abigail was more like her mother: petite and quite demanding. She attended a private school in Coventry. The same one that Emmy had attended until she had reached the age of eighteen. Sometimes Emmy almost wished she was back there, for ever since she had finished school her mother had done nothing but parade what she considered to be eligible suitors for her daughter’s hand in marriage under her nose, each one a little bit richer than the last.
Now, Emmy sat impatiently waiting for the meal to be over, and when it was, she immediately excused herself and went in search of her father.
‘I reckon he’s in his study, miss,’ Hetty informed her in the hallway, and smiling her thanks, Emmy headed in that direction.
Tapping at the door, she went in and found him seated at the imposing polished mahogany desk in front of the large window that overlooked the sweeping lawns surrounding the house. His head was in his hands, but when he saw Emmy standing there he sighed with relief.
‘Ah, it’s you, my lovely.’ He held his hand out to her. ‘For a terrible moment I thought it was your mother come to tell me that she needed new furniture to go with the new wallpaper.’
‘No, Papa. It’s only me.’ She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Huh! I doubt there is anythinganyonecould do for me at this moment,’ he said bitterly. Then instantly regretting his words he gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m afraid I have been rather a fool, my darling .?.?. I should have curbed your mother’s spending habits many years ago, but because she always reminded me that she had married beneath her class I always felt that I owed it to her to pander to her every whim. But whatever happens, I want you to always remember that you are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I can remember the day you were born as if it was yesterday.’ His eyes grew moist as his mind drifted back in time. ‘You weresucha beautiful baby. Even at birth your eyes had a hint of green in them, which was why I persuaded your mother to call you Emerald. She was a much gentler, less demanding person back in those days,’ he said regretfully. Then with a shake of his head he pulled his thoughts back to the present to say urgently, ‘Promise me you will marry for love.’
Emmy chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, Papa, I will. I have no intention of marrying the man of my mother’s choice.’
‘Good.’ He rose from his seat and as his arms closed around her, much as they had when she was a little girl, she nestled contentedly into his chest. She had always run to her father for comfort as a child, because her mother had usually been too afraid of her messing up one of her expensive gowns.
They stood like that for precious moments until he gently held her away from him and stared at her as if he were trying to memorise every feature of her face, before saying softly, ‘As much as I would love to spend the evening talking to you, my dear, I really must finish these accounts for the brickyard.’
‘Of course, Papa.’ Emmy kissed his cheek and wished him goodnight and left feeling vaguely uneasy. The feeling stayed with her for the rest of the night, and even when she retired to bed, her father’s drawn face haunted her, so it was a long time before she fell asleep.
‘Is Papa not joining us for breakfast?’ Abigail asked the next morning as she helped herself to another slice of bacon from the covered silver salvers on the sideboard in the dining room.
‘I have no idea.’ Emmy glanced towards the door. It was usual for her mother to take breakfast in bed but it was very rare that her father didn’t eat with them. ‘Perhaps he had to be in work early?’
‘Mmm.’ Abigail bit into a thick juicy sausage with relish. ‘Well, I intend to make a complete pig of myself until I have to go back to school after Easter. As you will remember, the food there issounappetising.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘In fact, it’s a wonder I haven’t already wasted away.’
Emmy laughed and they enjoyed the rest of their breakfast in companionable silence.
Later that morning their mother ordered the carriage and went visiting friends, leaving the two girls to their own devices.
Emmy opted to go for a long walk in the countryside that surrounded their beautiful home while Abigail chose to stay in and read a book.
