Free Daughters of Rebecca by Iris Gower Page B

very ill, she had two young sons to bring up and she needed a man’s wages coming in. Wages he could provide.
    And Watt had admired Rosie for some time. He thought her a lovely girl, with the glow of youth and health about her. He was a man alone, with many sad memories, and marrying Rosie seemed the ideal solution to his own problems as well as those of Pearl’s family. How could he have been so wrong?
    Watt walked alongside the river winding its way towards the town and felt the chill of the coming winter in the air. The leaves were turning brown, the smell of mist was in the air and Watt breathedit in with a sense that life, if he was not careful, would soon be passing him by.
    Shanni climbed from the carriage and stared in amazement at the tall, terraced house where Madame Isabelle lived. She had not expected anything so grand. A brass plate on the wall beside the door declared Madame Isabelle’s credentials. There were letters after her name that had no meaning for Shanni but she could tell from them that her tutor was a woman of some importance.
    The hallway was compact; the smell of beeswax permeated the air. A maid in a pristine uniform took Shanni’s coat and Madame Isabelle led the way into one of the airy rooms.
    â€˜We are having some of my cook’s special egg sandwiches for tea, and then we shall indulge ourselves with delicious cake.’
    â€˜Where is the meeting going to be?’ Shanni asked.
    Madame Isabelle closed the door before replying. ‘Here, of course.’ She frowned. ‘Shanni, to all intents and purposes this is just going to be a social evening, a meeting of friends, and I shall expect you to keep very quiet. I don’t want any airing of opinions, I just want you to listen.’
    â€˜I understand,’ Shanni said. ‘I will stay very quiet, I promise.’ She sat on the edge of the plump sofa and studied the contents of the room. A heavy cloth obscured all but the carved feet of the table. On the walls pictures proliferated: scenes of country life alongside portraits of well-dressed women, presumably Madame’s ancestors.A large oil lamp with a rich pink glass shade dominated the window-ledge.
    â€˜This is a lovely room,’ Shanni said softly. ‘One day I will own a house like this.’
    â€˜Well, to achieve anything in life you must be clever – and work exceptionally hard into the bargain.’
    â€˜I am willing to work day and night, Madame Isabelle.’ Shanni sank back against the soft cushions. ‘And when I am rich I’ll help the poor. I won’t turn up my nose at street beggars the way some of the gentry do.’
    The door opened and the maid brought a tray of tea into the room. ‘Put it down on the table there, Sarah,’ Madame Isabelle said. ‘And bring me more hot water, there’s a good girl. You always make the tea too strong for me.’
    Shanni was hardly conscious of eating the tiny sandwiches; she was staring at the bookshelves where some volumes were covered with brown paper concealing the contents. These, she guessed, were Madame Isabelle’s private books.
    After tea, Sarah showed Shanni to her room. ‘There’s hot water on the stand, Miss.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy, and Shanni opened her mouth to explain she was nobody of importance and did not warrant a curtsy but thought better of it.
    â€˜Thank you, Sarah,’ she said. ‘Would you open the hooks at the back of my dress for me, please?’
    Sarah obeyed at once and Shanni felt a dart of pity. ‘Do you like working here, Sarah?’
    â€˜Well, yes, Miss. I was lucky to get a position with such a fine lady and I thank the Lordevery night in my prayers for Madame Isabelle’s kindness to me.’
    Shanni sighed. It seemed that some girls had no ambition but were content with their lot.
    â€˜Is that all, Miss?’ Sarah asked meekly. She stood with her hands folded, waiting for Shanni to