Читать книгу The Secret Orphan - Glynis Peters - Страница 11

A good night’s sleep and no pre-dawn work found Elenor in good spirits. She pulled open the drab brown curtains to let in a hint of sunshine. The rays bounced into the room and offered up an orange glow but failed to fight the drab brown and black.

The view was south-facing into the avenue with a row of trees on both sides. Her surroundings in Cornwall were far more attractive and a pang of homesickness caught hold. A tap at her door interrupted her thoughts and she opened the door to Victoria who stood holding a tray bearing a pot of tea and a china cup.

‘Morning, Victoria.’

‘Morning. Your aunt will be ready in half an hour.’ She placed the tray onto the dressing table and wiped her hands down her pale blue pinafore.

‘The bathroom is free. There is plenty of hot water.’

‘Thank you.’

Grateful for the warmth from the teacup on her hands, Elenor sipped it with speed. She ventured to the bathroom across the hall. Another cold room where her breath puffed into clouds. The large mirror steamed over the moment she ran the hot tap. A large bar of Pears soap sat on the pretty scalloped edged sink, so delicate compared to the stone affair of the farmhouse. The chilly air prevented her from lingering and she promised herself a treat of an uninterrupted bath another time.

Back in her room Elenor pulled out her fresh dress from the wardrobe. Realising the dress would not protect her fully from the chill of the day she wore her brown cardigan with a mismatched button at the bottom, which had seen better days but kept her warm. She pulled on thick brown stockings, darned at the heel and toe within an inch of their life and hooked them onto a thin, well-worn suspender belt. With a sigh, she slipped her feet into a lace-up pair of scuffed but polished, brown brogues, stuffed with the obligatory scraps of cloth to prevent slipping. Once upon a time they were her mother’s pride and joy. Sadly, Elenor could not look upon the shoes with the same enthusiasm as her mother had; to Elenor they smacked of poverty and hardship.

She released her shoulder-length hair from its night scarf and brushed life back into her red-brown curls and scooped them into a soft drop ponytail. There was no time to spend pinning them into a crown of curls as she had seen on the front page of Nash’s Pall Mall.

Once satisfied she could do no more to make herself presentable, she left the room and descended the large staircase. The house was quiet. Elenor pushed open the dining room door and was grateful for the small amount of sunshine glistening outside the large window adding a dash of colour to yet another dark and dreary room. The cow barn at the farm had more warmth and colour than her aunt’s home. At the head of the table Elenor saw the formidable figure of her aunt, who appeared deep in thought.

‘Good morning, Aunt.’

‘Sit down girl. I am in no mood for small talk and the morning has proved to be far from good. Eat. We have business with my solicitor at ten o’clock precisely.’

Her aunt made no move to look up from whatever it was on her plate holding her attention and slurped a mouthful of tea from her cup. Her puffy face reminded Elenor of the farm pigs at feeding time.

Elenor lifted the lid from a small serving dish and helped herself to a generous portion of creamy porridge. She noticed her aunt sipped at her tea and ate nothing.

‘Would you like me to serve you porridge, Aunt Maude? Or have you already eaten?’

Her aunt shook her head and pulled a face.

‘I cannot stomach food. Doctor Menzies has prescribed me stomach powders to aid my digestion, but they are useless. Sipping warm tea is all that eases the stomach pains I endure. Eat your meal. And please do so in silence, my head pain threatens to ruin my day.’

For the next twenty minutes Elenor endured the requested silence aside from the odd slurping sounds from her aunt. She gave a smile and a small sigh of relief when Victoria entered the room and began removing the dirty dishes. Elenor stood to assist her.

‘Sit down girl. Mrs Sherbourne is paid to clear the table. Go fetch my coat, hat and gloves, and dress yourself for the outdoors. We will take a short walk to Mr Andrews’ office after which we will continue on with a small list of shopping I have prepared. Ah, all done?’

Elenor did as she was told, and Victoria lifted the last of the dishes from the table.

‘Yes, Aunt.’

Elenor envied her aunt. Her black fur-collared coat was of good quality, a heavy wool. Her shoes of stout leather, also black, were smart and well-polished and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by her aunt that Elenor’s own shoes were well-worn.

‘We really must address your wardrobe. You are a walking disgrace. Victoria!’

Silence fell around them as they waited for Victoria to enter the room.

‘What size shoe do you take? Anything suitable for my niece? Find her something decent to wear from your wardrobe.’

A stunned Victoria looked from her employer to Elenor. The difference in size between them was obvious.

‘But El … Miss Cardew and I are different sizes, Mrs Matthews. Look how much taller she is to me. It won’t be easy finding her something comfortable to wear from my wardrobe. I …’

‘Very well. We will attend this meeting and I will withdraw an allowance for a new outfit. This really is inconvenient. Come along girl, before my body decides to give out on me with the worries you have brought to my door.’

Elenor gave a puzzled glance at her aunt and then looked across at Victoria who edged her way out of the room.

Brought worries to her door? She called for me!