Free Mistress of Elvan Hall by Mary Cummins Page B

dull.”
    “I’ve always said it’s too dark, but Henry wouldn’t have it any other way. Francis is almost as bad. I hate all this gloom.”
    This time Anne smiled. That was evident in the bright frills of Mrs. Wyatt’s bedroom. She loved soft fluffy things.
    “Tell Mrs. Hansett I want her,” she called as Anne turned towards the door.
    “Very well.”
    “And throw that girl out, if you’ve any sense.”
    Could it be that for once, Mrs. Wyatt was on her side? wondered Anne wryly.
    It was after lunch before Anne had time to look in at the drawing room and see what impression, if any so far, that the painters were making. Caroline had elected to go home for lunch, and Anne breathed a small sigh of relief. She hadn’t relished a meal with Mrs. Wyatt either scowling or being openly rude to the girl.
    The information that Mrs. Wyatt had given her about Caroline had tended to make her view the girl rather differently, making her seem even lovelier with her dainty slenderness. It was easy to imagine Francis in love with her, thought Anne with a sudden fierce pang of jealousy, as she looked at the soft cloud of dark hair falling over Caroline’s face, as she bent over her stitching. Anne had provided her with all she needed, in a corner of the morning room, and Caroline had laid out her materials on a spacious table where she could work comfortably.
    Mrs. Wyatt grumbled that there was nowhere decent left to sit in, and went off in the huff to her room. This was untrue, as Elvan Hall was plentifully provided with public rooms, and the central heating could easily be switched on if she wished. Anne had made herself unpopular by switching it off until evening during the warmer days.
    “You’ll freeze us all to death,” Mrs. Wyatt had declared, pulling on a woollen jacket.
    “On days like these?” asked Anne. “That’s nonsense! You could even sit outside on the summer seat, and feel the warmth of the sun on your face.”
    “And get eaten alive by insects. Besides, there’s a draught. If you won’t switch on the heating, I’ll have my fire.”
    So Mrs. Wyatt’s bedroom became a hothouse of warm air, while the others were glad of a cooling breeze, now and again, coming up from the river.
    The painters, an elderly man and young boy, sang and whistled merrily as they pulled out furniture and moved planks. Helen looked pink-cheeked and excited—almost too excited, thought Anne uneasily, and took every opportunity of talking to Caroline and inviting her out to the stables to look at the horses.
    “But I’m here to work,” the girl protested, glancing at Anne.
    “Surely she can just come over to the stables for five minutes!” protested Helen, and Anne nodded.
    “I’m sure Caroline will plan her time here properly,” she agreed, and watched the girls run along, side by side. She’d had her own girl friends at school, but most of them were married now, with families. But it would be nice to have a friend, she thought rather wistfully. It was easy to see now that Helen would much prefer to have had Caroline here all the time.
    Anne wandered along the corridor, promising Mrs. Hansett that she would come along and help her with one or two things very shortly.
    “I’ll just look in at the drawing room,” she said, making for the heavy oak door.
    “Very well, ma’am,” the housekeeper smiled.
    Mrs. Hansett approved of Anne. The kitchen staff might have to mind things a little more, but Mrs. Hansett preferred it that way. Things were no longer so lackadaisical, she thought, as she made her way to the kitchen.
    Anne was bereft of words as she stood in the large drawing room, where everything was covered with large sheets, and the young boy painter had started to put a first coat of paint on the dark wood panelling. Anne was so appalled that she couldn’t find a word to say for the first minute.
    “Stop!” she gasped. “For heaven’s sake, stop! Whoever gave you permission to paint that panelling?”
    The boy