Free Ann Granger by A Mortal Curiosity

Miss Roche and her eyebrows twitched. ‘My sister and I do not play cards. It’s an occupation that leads to unfortunate habits.’
    I glanced at the chess table still with the abandoned game in place on its squares. ‘I am sorry I don’t know how to play chess,’ I said meekly.
    ‘No matter,’ said Miss Roche, ‘Lucy doesn’t play. Our doctor, Dr Barton, has advised Lucy to take exercise and fresh air. Perhaps you could walk with her tomorrow morning.’
    As this was said in Lucy’s presence without even a glance at her, I almost blushed in embarrassment. Was it normal in this household to talk of Lucy as if she were deaf and dumb or just incapable of expressing any opinion?
    ‘If that is what Mrs Craven would like,’ I said and turned to Lucy in as deliberate a manner as I could without causing offence to Miss Roche. ‘Would you care to walk tomorrow, Mrs Craven? I long to explore the neighbourhood. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to be my guide?’
    ‘Of course,’ said Lucy. Her voice held no expression but she threw me a quick little glance and in it I fancied I saw a flicker of gratitude.
    Miss Phoebe spoke unexpectedly. ‘It will be so nice for dear Lucy to have younger company.’ She smiled at us.
    Miss Roche pursed her lips and fixed me with a very direct gaze. ‘This is a respectable household, Miss Martin. Our family is an old one. Our forebears came from France when the French King Lewis so cruelly persecuted the Protestants there. Before that they had been persons of importance in La Rochelle. Sobriety and diligence have always been our watchwords.’
    Miss Roche raised her hand and pointed to a smoke-darkened oil painting hanging above the fireplace. It showed a man in full-bottomed wig and lace collar although, owing to it needing a good clean, nothing could be made out of the background.
    ‘That gentleman is John Roche, the first of our family to settle in this country, painted by Sir Peter Lely.’ Her voice rang with pride.
    ‘Indeed, ma’am,’ I said politely.
    I have no great knowledge of art but it seemed to me that the picture suggested a less skilled hand than that of a great portraitist. Perhaps the dirt obscured its finer points. It didn’t quite obscure the rakish look in the sitter’s eye, which hardly indicated to me an industrious, God-fearing silk merchant. I managed to conjure up a suitable expression of awe since it was clearly expected.
    ‘So,’ continued Miss Roche, satisfied that I was impressed, ‘I don’t want you and my niece to waste time in idle chatter. Perhaps you could study some instructive book together.’
    I almost shouted out that I’d not come to be a governess. But Lucy was so young. Marriage and motherhood had probably curtailed her education. Perhaps her aunt felt this was part of the problem and if Lucy could find new interests, her spirits might improve. This was putting the best possible interpretation on Miss Roche’s words. I was however beginning to understand why Mr Charles Roche had sent me here. Whatever was wrong with Lucy, the Roche ladies were not the ones to deal with it.
    Dr Lefebre rejoined us and I was heartily pleased to see him. He had a knack of talking to the ladies without ever saying much of real interest but keeping them chatting. The portrait by Sir Peter Lely was duly pointed out to him. He passed a hand over his mouth and observed: ‘You’re very fortunate to have it, ma’am.’
    We were then subjected to a history of the Roche family, generation by generation. They were all, we were told, of the utmost probity and piety. They valued their Protestant faith, their family honour and good name and the successful running of their business. It didn’t surprise me that such a line of humourless if efficient dullards had produced Miss Christina and Miss Phoebe. I looked again at the gentleman in the lace collar. Perhaps it was because I was so very tired that his rakish gaze appeared to wink at me. Take all that with a good