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Chapter One
Rockwood Castle, June 1862
It was a hot summer day but the four-foot-thick stone walls kept the interior of the castle at an even temperature. Even so, the kitchen was not exactly cool, with a fire blazing in the black-leaded range and pans bubbling on the hob. Fanning herself with her apron, Cook slumped down on the chair she had claimed as her own. She pointed to the board on the wall where a bell was jangling frantically.
‘What’s going on above stairs, Molly? Tilly and Jennet have been running round all morning. That there bell hasn’t stopped ringing since I came down to prepare breakfast.’
‘It’s Lady Carey, Mrs Jackson,’ Molly said, sighing. ‘She’s had the girls chasing round in circles, getting Miss Nancy’s things packed for her trip to London.’
Edna Jackson shook her head. ‘I’ll never forget the day that Nancy Sunday came to Rockwood Castle. Poor little mite, she was half-starved and skinny – all stick-like arms and legs. Nine years old and already in service at the vicarage. Mrs Blanchard took pity on the child and brought her here.’
‘I don’t think Lady Carey thinks much of Mrs Blanchard’s plan to send Nancy to that expensive academy in London. She’s always reminding Nancy that she was a foundling left on the steps of the orphanage.’
‘It’s not for us to criticise our betters, Molly Greep.’
‘Hester Dodridge was housekeeper here before the late master upped and married her. She was once a servant, just like us.’
Edna pursed her lips. ‘For heaven’s sake, answer that bell before it jumps off its spring.’
‘I’m not a chambermaid, Mrs Jackson.’
‘That’s enough of your cheek. Go upstairs and see what they need or we’ll have Mr Jarvis descending upon us, wanting to know what we’re doing.’
‘Mr Jarvis can’t move so fast these days, Mrs Jackson,’ Molly said, giggling. ‘He must be seventy if he’s a day.’
‘That’s neither here nor there, Molly.’ Edna bristled angrily. ‘I myself have reached the age of sixty and I am just as sprightly as I was when I was twenty. Now, do as you’re told or you’ll find yourself back on your parents’ farm.’
Molly tossed her head. ‘I wouldn’t mind that. Or maybe Mrs Blanchard will decide to send me to London with Nancy. It would get me away from Rockwood village and all the gossips. I’ve never been further than Exeter.’ She marched out of the kitchen.
Above stairs, in her pretty bedroom situated in one of the four turrets, Nancy sat on the window seat, watching Hester and Rosalind arguing about what a young woman would need to take to London. Who would have thought that the simple act of leaving home to attend a prestigious young ladies’ academy could cause such a to-do? Nancy asked herself this a dozen times a day as she tried in vain to influence the choice of garments to be packed in the campaign trunk that Sir Bertram Carey had used in his army days, as well as a large valise and several hatboxes.
Hester had raised Rosalind and her three siblings during their parents’ long absences from home, and Hester had set ideas as to what was proper for a young woman of eighteen to wear. She was more concerned about practicalities like pantalettes, flannel petticoats, cotton lawn chemises, and nightgowns that left everything to the imagination, with wraps to cover modesty at all times.
Rosalind Blanchard laughed at the notion of Nancy having to wear flannelette nightgowns with high necks and long sleeves in the middle of summer.
‘Really, Hester. There’s no need for such modesty,’ Rosalind insisted. ‘Nancy will most probably be sharing a room with one or two other young females anyway. Miss Maughfling, the principal, said she was very strict about such things.’
Hester sniffed. ‘If you ask me, I think finishing school is a waste of time and money spent on a girl who had started life as a foundling.’
‘Where she came from doesn’t make any difference,’ Rosalind said sharply. ‘Nancy is a member of the family and as such she deserves the best chance in life.’
‘Neither you nor your sister attended such an institution.’
‘No, because when we were younger there wasn’t the money for such luxuries.’
Nancy listened to the argument with a feeling of resignation. She had always been painfully aware that Hester did not approve of her being treated as a member of the family. Rosalind, on the other hand, insisted that although Nancy did not bear the Carey name, she was one of them nonetheless. Hester might have captured the heart of the late Sir Lucius in his final years, but Rosalind was undoubtedly the head of the family. Married to ex-army officer Alexander Blanchard, Rosalind had taken charge of the practical day-to-day running of the household after her brother Bertie had been crippled by injuries received in the Crimean War. Rosalind ruled by love and respect, whereas Hester believed in following the rules with grim determination.
‘I’m quite happy to remain here and help with the housekeeping,’ Nancy said, sighing. ‘Please don’t argue.’
‘It’s just a discussion, dear,’ Rosalind said, smiling. ‘Of course you need undergarments and nightdresses, but I think you ought to have at least three sprigged muslin afternoon gowns, apart from your plain skirts and blouses. Maybe you ought to take that charming shot-silk dinner gown.’
‘She’s going to school,’ Hester said, frowning.
‘Nancy might get invited to the other girls’ homes. There might even be the chance to attend a ball. There’s the cream satin creation, trimmed with lace, which Meggie Brewer made for her. That would be eminently suitable.’
‘Nonsense. I thought it was too grand for her when it was made.’
‘Hester, dear! The whole purpose of the Academy is to teach manners, deportment, dancing and other social graces.’
