Jane and the Ghosts of Netley by Stephanie Barron

Author:Stephanie Barron
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780553901047
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2004-04-11T14:00:00+00:00

“JANE!” MY MOTHER CALLED UP THE STAIRS EARLY this morning, “ only look what has come for you by special messenger! Make haste, my love! Make haste!”

I was barely dressed, but hurried downstairs with one slipper in my hand and my hair quite undone. “What is it, Mamma?”

“Two parcels,” she said, “and a letter. I do not recognise the seal.”

The missive could hardly be from Lord Harold, for that gentleman's crest should never escape my mother's eagle eye. I crossed to the parlour table, where the parcels sat wrapped in brown paper and tied with quantities of string. I reached for the letter, and broke the dark green wax.

“It is from Sophia Challoner,” I said. “She writes that she expects a large party of guests arrived this morning at Netley Lodge, and intends to hold an evening reception for them—coffee and cards, with music and refreshment—at the Lodge on Wednesday. She invites my attendance, and begs me to wear . . . this.”

I tore open the larger of the two parcels and found my fingers caught in the stiff folds of black bombazine—my gown of mourning, freshly-made from the modiste, with the cunning design of opened lapels, split bodice buttoned down the centre, and delicate bows tied beneath the right breast. The high white ruff à la reine Elizabeth, with Vandyke pleating, had not been forgot.

I lifted the costume from its tissue wrappings and stared at it in silence.

Beneath it lay a dove-grey paisley shawl, figured in black and gold. The second parcel, I presumed, must be the Equestrian Hat.

Abruptly I sat down in a hard-backed wooden chair, as though its uncompromising support was necessary at such an hour.

“Good Lord, Jane—what can she mean by it?” my mother enquired wonderingly. “For your acquaintance is surely very trifling, is it not? And the obligation is entirely on your side, for without Mrs. Challoner's aid, you should have died in a ditch!”

“It is extraordinary,” I returned with difficulty, “and excessively good of Mrs. Challoner—but I cannot possibly accept so costly a gift.”

“The cut of the gown is very fine.” My mother ran her fingertips over the bodice. “And though it looks to be in the first stare of fashion, it is entirely within the bounds of what is proper for mourning. I should dearly like to see you wear it, Jane!”

“Impossible.” I smoothed the folds of bombazine and reached for the tissue wrappings.

“But what else are you likely to choose, my dear, for such an evening party?” my mother observed mildly. “Not that this is exactly a gown for evening—but it is certainly the finest bit of mourning you possess. Do you mean to decline Mrs. Challoner's invitation? It would be a paltry gesture, in the face of such excessive goodwill.”

That mild observation gave me pause. Did I intend to ignore Netley Lodge in future, and cut off all relations with its mistress? Did I believe that Lord Harold pursued a chimera of his own invention, and that the lady was blameless?

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