The Glass House by Beatrice Colin

Author:Beatrice Colin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

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 Antonia slept badly. At her insistence they had been the last to leave Lorimer’s dinner, engaging him in conversation long after everyone else had left.

“Do you think he really wanted to discuss politics at midnight?” Malcolm had asked her on the way home. “I mean, really, Antonia!”

She sat and stared out at the dark, her mouth a straight line. There were two reasons. F irst, she was making sure that they didn’t overtake Cicely walking back along the road; they were giving her a head start. That was what her sister-in-law wanted, surely? To make her point. To make them look bad. But the night was colder, windier, more inhospitable than she had realized, and the journey home in the carriage made her feel guilty and then angry that she had been made to feel guilty and then guilty that she felt angry. It was all Cicely’s fault. Second, she wanted to apologize about the vase. She had been on the brink, but then someone had brought up the prime minister and the problems of Irish home rule, and the moment had passed.

“And as for your brother’s wife,” Malcolm went on, “I have to admire her. Got out when the going was good.”

“I thought it was quite rude. But then etiquette doesn’t seem to matter to her. I mean, as you said, they just turned up on the doorstep expecting to stay indefinitely?”

Antonia sounded harsher than she intended.

“But then again, they are family. Maybe it’s a marital issue?”

“Marital?” repeated Malcolm as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Do you think that’s a possibility?”

“My brother can’t be the easiest man to be married to,” said Antonia.

When they had arrived back at Balmarra she was relieved to hear that Cicely had made it home safely. All was well that ended well, as Malcolm said more than once. During the night, however, Antonia lay awake, the sound of her own voice chafing in her head, the events of the previous evening churning like indigestion. If she didn’t throw the party, no one would ever invite them anywhere again. Their social pariah status would be confirmed now and forever more. And what about Lorimer’s vase? Could she ever live down the embarrassment? And finally she thought about Cicely. Maybe she had come to Balmarra for help and was too proud to ask. Her face burned at the thought of it. How could she have been so insensitive?

The next morning she listened to Malcolm getting up and going to work. When he was gone, she rose and ate breakfast alone, then climbed up the stairs to the attic. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. It was in the tea chest nearest the door, wrapped up in newspaper from the late 1880s. The vase was not exactly the same as Lorimer’s but similar. It had two gold handles, a lid with a gold pineapple-shaped knob, and a painted image of cherubs on one side. She lifted it

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