Free Langdown Manor by Sue Reid Page B

laugh.

U PSTAIRS

    â€˜Tomorrow,’ he’d said. Tomorrow. It was tomorrow now. For once at Langdown I had something to look forward to. I opened my eyes. Baxter was drawing the curtains. Outside, rain was sliding down the windows.
    At lunchtime it was still raining. Winter rain in England had one thing in common with sunshine in India – both went on for ever. There’d be no riding today. I looked despairingly out of the window. As a footman put my pudding in front of me, Aunt gave a little cough to draw my attention back to the table. She had an invitation, she announced, that would cheer us up. Nothing could do that, I thought, gazing bleakly at my plate.
    â€˜Lady Whichcombe would like you to meet her daughter,’ Aunt said. Arabella and I were both invited to a tea party at Whichcombe Park. I glanced at Arabella. She who was usually so careful to hide her feelings could scarcely conceal her disgust. I felt I’d sooner jump into a nest of snakes than spend an afternoon with Arabella’s friends. But as soon as the meal was over we were bundled into the carriage that was to take us to Whichcombe Park.
    A bevy of girls was waiting to meet me there. They gathered around me, quizzing me as girls do to find out whether I’d ‘do’ or not. ‘What does your father do?’ one asked languidly, raising her perfectly kept hand to her perfectly kept hair. I could tell from the glances they gave each other that they already knew. Arabella had primed them. The correct answer in this company was that he did nothing. My answer was the wrong one.
    â€˜He is a tea planter, in India,’ I said.
    â€˜How very … unusual,’ one remarked barely able to conceal her disdain. The girls moved closer to each other. I did not do. I would not be allowed into their club. Now they were free to tear me to pieces.
    â€˜That’s a pretty gown,’ one of the girls said. She exchanged a glance with another girl, who took up the cue. ‘It reminds me of yours, Arabella,’ she said.
    â€˜That’s because it is mine,’ Arabella giggled. A titter rippled through the group . Arabella’s cousin doesn’t have a gown fit to wear. She has to borrow her cousin’s clothes. I couldn’t take them all on. I moved away before they did. But as I took shelter in another corner, pretending to admire a painting, to my surprise I saw one of the girls leave the group and walk over to me.
    â€˜Don’t mind them,’ she said. ‘Not all English girls are hateful snobs.’
    She told me that her name was Flo, and that she was staying at the park while her parents were away. ‘Mother thinks it is nice for me to have the company of other girls. She doesn’t realize how I detest them,’ she said, nodding at Arabella’s friends. We sat down next to each other, while the footman handed round plates of tiny buttered scones and dainty cakes. ‘Will you be coming out this year?’ she asked.
    I pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid I will,’ I said.
    My reaction seemed to surprise her. ‘Don’t you want to?’ she said.
    â€˜No, I don’t.’
    â€˜But it should be lots of fun,’ she urged. ‘Parties and balls and races at Ascot and Goodwood, sailing at Cowes.’
    â€˜But we’ll just be watching, won’t we? I’d rather take part.’
    The vipers had collected in another part of the room. One glanced round and whispered to her friends. Their giggles were audible. I must have spoken loud enough for them to hear. I ignored them. Now that I had an ally, I could afford to.
    â€˜I suppose we will.’ She leaned towards me. ‘Will you be presented at Court?’
    â€˜Aunt would like me to be.’ I wouldn’t be, if it were up to me.
    â€˜Oh good,’ she said. ‘Then we will see each other when you come to London.’ She pulled her chair closer to me and whispered, ‘Don’t