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Chapter 6

June 1837

‘I don’t feel old enough to marry,’ said Rebecca. She looked at Sarah. ‘Do you?’

‘Who said anything about getting married?’ Sarah put down her stitching. It was, Rebecca noticed, quite poorly executed. She glanced at her own handiwork – the stitches neat and tidy, the back of the embroidery almost as good as the front. Sarah just didn’t have the patience to sit and sew. Her threads were tangled, the material puckered where she’d pulled it too tight, and there were grubby fingermarks on one corner of the sampler.

‘We’re eighteen now. You’re almost nineteen. Mama and Papa will soon be wanting us married and settled. That’s why we’re going to all those balls, of course. Although those are really for your benefit as I am already promised to Charles de Witt.’ Rebecca smiled at her adopted sister.

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘I know all that, silly. And I know you seem happy to go along with Papa’s plans to marry you off to that oaf, Charles. But I don’t want to get married. I’d rather stay single and independent. For a few years at least. Maybe when I’m twenty-five or so I’ll marry but why rush into it?’

‘Twenty-five – why, you’ll be an old maid by then! I think a girl should be married by the time she turns twenty. I hope I will be. Charles de Witt has recently returned from his travels on the continent, and has taken a house in Bridhampton. He is to come to dine with us tonight, to renew our acquaintance. I confess, I am a little nervous about seeing him again – it must be six years since we last met. I was just a child. I hope he is not an “oaf” as you put it, as he is supposed to become my husband.’ Rebecca gazed at Sarah, whose hair was fairer, eyes bluer and figure shapelier, than her own. ‘He’ll probably prefer you, in any case. You are by far the prettier of the two of us.’

‘Nonsense! You have the sweeter nature.’ Sarah flashed her a smile. ‘In any case, I shall not be interested in him. I told you, I do not wish to marry for some years. I’d rather be free, to flirt a little with whomever I choose. Like, for example, Jed Arthur.’

Rebecca glanced at her in shock. It was not the first time she had mentioned that name. Jed lived in one of the cottages on the estate. He was but a farmhand. A handsome one, admittedly, but a labourer nonetheless, and not someone Sarah ought to be encouraging.

‘Sarah, it is not ladylike to flirt with farmhands. Surely you know that,’ she admonished. She received only a dismissive shrug in reply.

The girls were sitting on the window seats of their second floor sitting room, the old schoolroom. Sarah gazed out of the window for a moment before speaking again. ‘Papa’s plan for me is that when you marry, I will go with you as your paid companion. You know that. And my plan is to save all my earnings so that I have a small fortune of my own. With money, a woman can be free to do whatever she wants. She does not need to marry. And my only chance of having money is for you to marry and me to become a member of your staff. So I wish that Charles turns out to be personable, and that you and he live happily ever after.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘I too hope for that, as long as there’s a happy ever after for you as well, dear sister.’

What would Charles be like? Rebecca hadn’t seen him for years, and this would be the first time they’d met since she was grown and of marriageable age. She felt strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting the man who was intended to become her husband. While she knew that her father would not force her to marry Charles if she found him truly detestable, she did so want to please her parents. The happiest outcome of the evening would be if she found Charles to be an appealing sort of person, and if the feeling was mutual. She resolved to take extra care with her appearance when she dressed for dinner that night. She would wear her pale green gown. She’d been told it suited her best.

At the dinner party Rebecca found herself placed beside Charles. Sarah was sitting opposite, between Mr and Mrs Winton. It was pretty clear that the older folk wanted Charles and Rebecca to have a chance to get to know each other. Rebecca’s mother sent many an encouraging smile at her across the table.

As the soup was served, Rebecca stole a sideways glance at Charles. He was certainly pleasant enough to look at, now that he was a man, more so than she would have guessed from her sketchy memories of having met him as a child. His hair was dark, his nose straight, his eyes a warm brown. He was reserved yet polite, and when he smiled his face lit up. He looked, Rebecca thought, like a kind and thoughtful man. She smiled to herself, wondering what his first impressions of her were.

‘Rebecca, dear,’ Mama said, breaking into her reverie. ‘I do hope you will play the piano for us later this evening.’

Charles turned towards her and smiled. ‘I should like to hear you play, Miss Winton. There is nothing I enjoy more than sitting by the fireside listening to an accomplished young lady playing the piano.’

Rebecca blushed. ‘Oh, I would not call myself accomplished. Competent, perhaps, but no more.’

‘Rubbish, Rebecca,’ said her father. ‘You are a very fine pianist. Your piano tutor told us so. And the Lord knows you practise enough.’

‘I enjoy playing, that is true.’ Rebecca wished the conversation could move away from her abilities. She glanced at Sarah hoping her friend might help steer the company onto another topic. But Sarah was scowling across the table at her. Rebecca frowned. Earlier she had said she was not interested in Charles, and would be happy if things worked out between him and Rebecca. But now she seemed quite put out that all his attention so far had been on Rebecca.

Rebecca turned back to Charles who was regarding her with a smile on his face.

‘So you will play for us later?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course. I only hope you are not disappointed.’

‘I could not possibly be disappointed by you. I am looking forward to it immensely.’

‘Do you ride, Mr de Witt?’ Sarah interrupted them.

‘I do, yes. Do you, Miss Cooper?’ Charles answered. Rebecca felt a mixture of relief that her musical abilities were no longer the topic of conversation, and annoyance that Charles’s attention was now focused on Sarah.

‘As often as I can,’ Sarah said. ‘In fact, if the day is fine tomorrow, I think I shall go riding. I shall try to persuade Rebecca to come too. Perhaps you might ride over and accompany us?’

‘That sounds like a delightful plan,’ Charles answered. ‘I shall certainly ride over here tomorrow morning.’ He smiled across the table at Sarah, who wore a faintly triumphant look.

Rebecca no longer went riding, and Sarah knew it. Ever since she’d been thrown from her pony a few years ago, on one of Sarah’s ill-advised escapades where they’d galloped across the parkland and her pony had refused to jump a hedge, Rebecca had been put off riding. She would not be persuaded to go out. Why was Sarah doing this? It was as though she was trying to win Charles for herself despite all that she had said earlier. Perhaps she liked the look of him after all.

‘What do you make of our new queen?’ Charles asked Rebecca. ‘I think she is about your age. Imagine becoming Queen of England at just eighteen! What a weight she has to bear on such young shoulders.’

‘I should hate to be in her shoes,’ Rebecca replied. ‘So much will be expected of her. She will not have a moment’s peace to enjoy her life. Everything she does will be reported in the newspapers.’

‘But she is rich and gets to live in a palace and do whatever she wants,’ said Sarah.

Charles smiled indulgently. ‘I think what Miss Winton is suggesting is that Queen Victoria won’t be able to do just what she wants. She will be expected to perform her duties and be an example to the whole country. She’ll be expected to marry soon, and her choice of husband will be critical.’

‘She’s queen – she can choose anyone she wants to marry,’ Sarah replied.

Charles shook his head. ‘Not at all, Miss Cooper. Her choice of husband will be closely scrutinised and will have to be approved by her advisers. He will need to be someone of suitable status, perhaps a foreign prince.’

‘What if she chooses not to marry?’ Sarah asked. Her tone was flirtatious. ‘After all, Good Queen Bess never married, so an unmarried queen is not unprecedented.’

‘Perhaps she will find someone suitable who meets with her advisers’ approval and whom she loves,’ Rebecca said. She did hope so. It felt a bit like her own situation – being expected to marry but wanting to love the person her parents had chosen for her. She stole another sideways glance at Charles, then blushed when she realised he was looking at her.

‘I hope she does,’ he said, quietly. ‘No one should be forced to marry someone for whom they don’t care.’

After dinner, when the party had retired to the drawing room, the call went out once again for Rebecca to provide some music. She nervously settled herself at the piano, and looked to Sarah to stand at her side and turn the pages of her music. But Sarah was across the room, deep in conversation with Charles, their heads close as they chuckled together over some private joke. Rebecca noticed her mother frown as she saw them together. This was clearly not part of the plan.

In the end Spencer was called upon to act as page-turner. As Rebecca played a selection of Bach arias she lost herself in the music. When she finally finished playing, she glanced up to find Charles gazing at her from across the room, an expression of deep admiration on his face. Sarah, beside him, looked distinctly unhappy.

The next day dawned bright and clear, and Sarah shook Rebecca awake early.

‘Hurry up! Charles will be here soon. Remember we promised to go riding with him?’

Rebecca groaned and hauled herself into a sitting position. ‘You did. I don’t ride any more, as well you know.’

‘But I can’t go with him on my own. It wouldn’t be proper, if just he and I went riding. If we both go, that is more acceptable. Besides, you are supposed to be getting to know him, aren’t you? What better opportunity than trotting gently through the woods together, side by side, chatting about this and that? I shall follow behind as your chaperone, and I promise I will not get in the way, nor encourage you to gallop.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Though I may have a gallop myself across the open parkland. I doubt I shall be able to resist.’

Rebecca sighed. ‘Sarah, I have not ridden since Bluebell threw me. I do not intend going riding again. You know my preferred pursuits are quieter, less strenuous and indoors. I don’t understand why you torment me like this.’

Sarah sniffed. ‘I am only trying to help progress your budding romance. If you don’t want to go, then I shall have to go alone with him after all. We mustn’t disappoint him, as he is expecting to go riding. When we return perhaps you could delight him with your musical skills again, or show him your embroidery. I am sure he would enjoy that.’ She left the room, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Rebecca was left bemused. Why was Sarah acting like this? They had always been so close. It broke her heart when Sarah treated her badly. She shook her head. Perhaps she was being too sensitive. She decided to keep out of the way until Sarah and Charles returned from their ride, and to spend some time with him afterwards. He had been invited to lunch with them, so there was plenty of time. She rang the bell for her maid Tilly, and asked for breakfast to be brought up to her in her room. She sent Tilly away with a message: ‘When Mr de Witt arrives, please ask Spencer to tell him I am indisposed for riding but will gladly meet him later for lunch.’

A little while after breakfast, she stood at her bedroom window and watched Charles and Sarah ride across the parkland behind the hall. They looked good together – Sarah’s dramatic red riding habit looked stunning against the grey mare she was riding, and Charles’s green coat contrasted well with his black mount. They appeared to be laughing together at something, as they cantered over the grasslands. Rebecca lost sight of them as they approached the woods at the far side of the park. She turned away from the window. Perhaps Sarah would be a better match for Charles than herself? He’d appreciated her piano-playing last night, and they had discovered a similar taste in literature, but if he wanted an adventurous, lively wife then Sarah would be better for him than she would. If only she hadn’t liked him so much, or if her parents had not planned for her to marry him, she would gladly have stepped aside and made way for Sarah.

But she did like Charles, and she did not want to let him go without a fight.

Rebecca was reading in the library when the riders returned. There was some commotion in the entrance hall, so she put down her book and rushed out to see what was happening.

Charles was standing in the hallway, being relieved of his mud-encrusted green coat by Spencer. ‘Sir, I shall have this cleaned for you, and perhaps you can borrow something of Mr Winton’s to wear on your ride home this afternoon.’

‘Thank you. I fear it is quite ruined. Ah, Miss Winton! We missed you on our ride, did we not, Miss Cooper?’ said Charles.

‘Oh, please, Charles, do call me Sarah. Let’s not be quite so formal with each other. I am so sorry about your fall, truly I am.’

‘Whatever happened?’ Rebecca asked, torn between wanting to reproach Sarah for being so informal, and concern for Charles who was walking stiffly across the hall, rubbing at his shoulder.

‘It was nothing,’ said Charles, taking a seat on a hall chair.

Rebecca crossed the hall to kneel before him. ‘You are hurt? Should Spencer send someone to fetch the doctor?’

‘Not at all. It is just a bruise.’ He smiled at her, and Rebecca felt her heart leap. His smile was warm and made his eyes light up. Was it only for her, or did he use that smile for everyone?

‘Poor Charles,’ Sarah said, coming to kneel beside Rebecca. ‘His horse took fright as we went through the woods. I tried to help but am afraid I could not manage to catch the reins of his horse before it threw him.’ She suppressed a giggle. ‘Oh, do excuse me, but it was rather funny, you see, he landed right on the muddiest part of the path. A foot to either left or right and his coat would not have suffered as much.’

‘But I think my shoulder would have suffered more. The soft mud at least cushioned my fall.’ Charles was unsmiling as he answered Sarah.

‘Come, Mr de Witt. Let’s sit in the drawing room. It is not long till lunch, but I shall ring for refreshments for you immediately.’ Rebecca stood up. Instinctively she held out a hand to pull Charles to his feet, but retracted it before he could take it. She wasn’t sure now whether he was courting her or Sarah.

Mrs Winton joined them at lunch. Mr Winton was in town on business. Sarah told the story of Charles’s fall, once again. Rebecca flinched at her sister’s undisguised glee at the poor man’s misfortune. Mrs Winton seemed not to approve either, glaring at Sarah from her place at the head of the table. She insisted on providing a carriage to take Charles home, rather than allow him to ride with his injured shoulder.

After lunch, when Charles had left, Rebecca and Sarah were making their way upstairs to their sitting room, when Mrs Winton called them back and bade them sit a few minutes in the drawing room with her.

‘Charles has grown into a very pleasant young man, has he not?’ she asked, addressing her question to Rebecca.

She blushed. ‘Yes. I like him very much, Mama.’

‘I like him also,’ Sarah said. There was a touch of defiance in her voice. It worried Rebecca. What Sarah wanted, Sarah generally got, by one means or another.

‘You, my girl, are to stay clear of him. He is promised to Rebecca. We have had an understanding with the de Witts for many years, that when Charles and Rebecca were grown, if they liked each other they should be encouraged to marry.’ Rebecca watched as Mama wagged her finger at Sarah as though she was a misbehaving child, and Sarah set her jaw. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Sarah said.

‘I am not your mama. Do not forget your place in this household, Sarah. My husband has indulged you for too long. As has Spencer. You will not steal Rebecca’s suitor from her. I hope I have made myself clear.’

Sarah raised her chin and stared straight ahead. ‘Yes, Mrs Winton. Perfectly clear.’

Mrs Winton stood then. ‘I am going upstairs to my room now. I shall see you both at dinner.’

Sarah followed her up, but Rebecca decided to return to the book she had been reading in the library. She felt she needed a break from Sarah’s company for the rest of the afternoon. It was the first time she could remember feeling like that about her adopted sister. Was this part of growing up – growing apart from the person you thought you loved most in all the world? No. It was just a phase. Meeting Charles had disturbed their equilibrium. They would regain it once the excitement had subsided and it was clear which of them he preferred. And if he really did prefer Sarah, even though she did like him, she would step aside. Somehow she would persuade her parents it was the right thing to do. There would be other suitors in time. She picked up her book and settled in a chair near the window.

Screams and a clatter from the hallway sent her running out of the library again almost immediately. Spencer had come running too, along with a couple of maids. Rebecca first noticed Sarah, standing on the gallery at the top of the stairs, leaning over the rails. There was momentarily an odd expression on her face, and then she screamed, one hand clutched over her mouth, the other holding on to the railings. And then Rebecca saw what she was screaming about. Partly hidden by Spencer who was kneeling on the floor, was her mother, lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs.

‘Send for the doctor, immediately!’ Spencer shouted at one of the maids, who went running off at once.

‘Mama!’ Rebecca ran across the hall and threw herself down beside her mother. Her body was twisted, legs bent at unnatural angles, and her face was deathly white.

‘Oh, Mama!’ Sarah came running down the stairs too, and sat beside Rebecca. ‘She tripped on the stairs! I tried so hard to catch her, but I couldn’t!’

‘Make way, Miss Winton and Miss Cooper. Let me examine her.’ Spencer gently pushed the girls aside and leaned over Mrs Winton, his fingers feeling for the pulse at her neck.

Rebecca watched, her mouth open with shock and tears cascading down her cheeks as he sat back on his heels and shook his head sadly. ‘I’m so sorry, girls,’ he said. ‘I believe she has broken her neck. There is nothing that can be done for her.’

‘Mama! No! No, it can’t be!’ Rebecca flung herself across her mother’s body and wept. She was vaguely aware of a weight on top of her – Sarah, also sobbing loudly. She reached for Sarah’s hand and clutched it tightly, and drew strength from feeling Sarah squeeze her hand in return. Despite their earlier differences, they would need to help each other through this terrible tragedy. Her mother, dead, from a broken neck! How could that have happened? One moment she was there, admonishing Sarah for flirting with Charles, and the next she was gone. So sudden, so terrible, so shocking. Nothing would ever be the same again.