Free Like None Other by Caroline Linden

 

     
     

    One
     
    Number 12, George Street was a lovely home. It was new, built only in the last ten years, and contained all the modern conveniences, with well-fitted windows and floors that only squeaked a little and chimneys with impeccable draw. It was part of a row of terraced houses, with a neat little garden out back and smart marble steps with a blue-painted iron railing in front. Emmaline Bowen loved her little home, even though it wasn’t nearly as grand as the country manor where she’d once lived as Lady Bowen. Unlike Bowen Lodge, this house was all hers. She liked being able to paint the walls any colour she liked, from the bright yellow of her small dining room to the vivid turquoise of her bedroom walls. It was a joy to open her eyes in the morning and see that blue, brighter than a robin’s egg. She often lay still for a moment, thinking that heaven must be such a colour. She said as much to her maid one morning, when the girl brought her morning tea.
    “Heaven, milady?” Jane blinked suspiciously.
    Emma waved one hand, leaning back against her pillows and sipping the hot tea. “Just look at the sky! Can’t you see what I mean?”
    Jane peered out the window. “I see clouds. Great, rolling grey ones. The blue won’t last today.”
    “You’re old before your time,” Emma told her, putting down the tea and rising from the bed. “If there are clouds on the horizon, I’d better get out and enjoy the sun while it lasts.”
    “Won’t be long, from the looks of it,” muttered Jane.
    Emma ignored her, going to the wardrobe and opening the doors. She took out her favourite dress, the yellow-striped morning gown with pale-green ribbons. “I’ll finish my breakfast in the garden,” she said. Jane merely nodded, with one more jaundiced glance out the window, and left. Emma shook her head as she unbuttoned her nightgown; poor Jane, to be so dour at such a young age. She must not have had a chance to learn one of life’s hard truths – that sometimes the only way to keep from raging in bitterness was to smile and laugh, even if you must force yourself to do it.
    By the time she went downstairs, armoured against any greyness of the day with her bright yellow dress, Jane had put together a tray with breakfast. Carrying her own small tea tray, Emma led the way into the garden, where the sun was blindingly bright. Only if she shaded her eyes and squinted at the horizon could she see the line of grey lurking in the distance. Like the sun, she ignored those dark clouds. She set down her tray on a small table in the dazzling light.
    “You’ll want a parasol, ma’am,” said Jane. “And a shawl.”
    “I shall want neither,” replied Emma firmly. “I mean to enjoy the sun this morning. But since you dread the coming rain, please go open the windows to air the house before the deluge comes.”
    Jane peered at the sky. “Before dinner,” she said grimly. “Thunderstorms, with lightning and flooding.”
    “Go on,” said Emma, trying not to laugh. The maid cast her an aggrieved look before heading back inside. Emma settled into her seat and picked up her tea. She raised her face to the sun. Just a few minutes couldn’t freckle her complexion too badly, and she would regret missing the chance if Jane’s predictions of thunderstorms came true.
    As she sat in peaceful solitude, her ears caught the clink of china and the rustle of a newspaper from over the fence. Her neighbour must also be enjoying his breakfast outdoors. A moment later a deep voice called, “Is that you, Lady Bowen?”
    “Yes, Captain Quentin,” she called back. “Good morning.”
    “Indeed it is, although my man assures me it will rain later.”
    She smiled. “My maid predicted the same thing. Perhaps they are comparing notes before we wake.”
    The sound of his chuckle drifted across the high fence. “Ah, but Godfrey looks forward to the rain. It will wash the steps so he does not have to sweep them.”
    “He must mention