The Land of Summer Read online

  ‘I hope you heard more than I did,’ he said cheerfully as they walked away from the church with the rest of the congregation, having shaken the hand of the rector as they left the building.

  ‘And I only hope, Julius, that you did not attract any attention to yourself,’ Emmaline told him in a low voice. ‘I am quite sure that you did, however, and now everyone will think that the banns, the reading of our banns, that is, is about as important to you as the poor rector’s sermon.’

  ‘Forgive me, Emma, but I have been subjected to that wretched man’s interminable homilies for longer than I care to remember. I attend morning service regularly, I give money to the church, I have – I hope now to have done well by requesting that our banns of marriage be read in that same church, but having done all that there is nothing to say, absolutely nothing to say, either in the ten commandments or anywhere else, that I may not sketch those columns. After all, the church was built to the greater glory of God, was it not?’

  ‘It must indeed have been since it is so beautiful, but you must know that to my ears it sounded as if Mr Welton might have muddled me up with someone else, so you may well be about to be married to quite a different lady.’ She laughed with sudden gaiety as Julius stared at her.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Only that it sounded as if he might have got my name wrong. Rather than Nesbitt it sounded as if he called me Norbutt – but at least he did get your name right, at least I think he did. I was so nervous that someone would stand up and object to the marriage that I hardly heard anything more than my own mispronounced name.’

  ‘I would not put it past the Reverend Archibald for one moment,’ Julius sighed, accelerating the pace of his walk as they turned away from the centre of town. ‘One year he preached an Easter sermon on Christmas Day, talking of crucifixion and death and rising from the dead rather than the birth in the stable and the ox and the ass. This upset a large number of the more sensitive members of the congregation, those who had the misfortune to still be awake, that is, so much that they refused to make any Christmas offerings.’

  Emmaline started to laugh at this, but then, unsure whether Julius was fully intending to be comical, she settled for smiling instead. As they walked on she took the opportunity to look around with growing appreciation. It was a fine sunny morning, and they were walking through the town in which she was hoping to start building a life, a life that she hoped would be like that of every other well-dressed, happy-seeming couple they passed.

  Now and then gentlemen known to Julius would doff their hats as they walked by, Julius acknowledging their salutes with a brief wave of his ebony walking stick rather than a touch of his own hat, although to several of the more beautiful women who passed them by he raised his top hat most elegantly.

  ‘We shall be eating luncheon at my house,’ Julius announced as Emmaline hurried along beside him, doing her best to keep up with his long, loping stride. ‘Did I say earlier that we would be taking luncheon at Park House?’

  ‘No, you did not, Julius,’ Emmaline told him breathlessly as she at last managed to draw alongside. ‘But no matter. Except of course I should like to have mentioned it to Mrs Shannon. It would only have been polite.’

  ‘No need to concern yourself there,’ Julius said, suddenly twirling his cane expertly round his fingers like the leader of a military band. ‘I mentioned it to her when I was waiting for you.’

  ‘But not to me. You did not think to mention it to me,’ Emmaline replied, careful to adopt a politely cold tone.

  ‘Did I not?’ Julius looked vaguely guilty. ‘Never mind. Mrs Shannon is the one concerned with numbers. And by the by, may I say that you have a great sense of elegance in your dress, which is very pleasing.’

  Just as Emmaline had begun to feel out of sorts again at Julius’s lack of manners, just as the memory of his drawing the interior of the church rather than attending to the service and in particular the reading of the banns was coming back to her, his suddenly appreciative words allowed a little sunlight to enter her soul.

  As for Julius, his latest remark seemed to cheer him up too, for he strode ahead twirling his cane in one hand and once again doffing his hat to each pretty young woman who passed him smilingly by.

  Park House was built well back from the roadway to the front, set behind a high stone wall hung with a pair of fine wrought-iron gates. Passing through them and past a small gatehouse, visitors found themselves faced with a short but impressive driveway, particularly for a town house, a broad stretch of gravel lined with mature chestnut trees and flanked by cultivated lawns enclosed with traditional park fencing.

  There was a curved carriage sweep in front of the house which enhanced its graceful proportions, emphasising its gentle air of domestic history. The house itself was built of mellowed stone on three floors, the façade greatly enlightened by the fitting of large sash windows that on the lower floor reached to within a few inches of the ground. Above the fine doorway was a lead-roofed portico supported by un-decorated pillars, while the slate-tiled roof was fixed with generous eaves projecting two feet or more, giving the house an elevation that was both handsome and balanced. Emmaline approved of it at once. Different though it was from the large houses of her home town, it nevertheless appealed to her untutored eye as being the very epitome of an English gentleman’s residence. To add to its air of quiet elegance, the house was surrounded by beautiful gardens, gently sloping lawns to the front and flower beds to the side.

  Stepping inside, Emmaline found more domestic perfection. From the moment she walked into the hall with its simple flagstoned floor and marble bust on a plinth, its vast glass vase of winter leaves and hothouse flowers, she realised that she was in the presence of carefully designed and quite exquisite taste, neither over-furnished nor over-ornate. The rooms, she sensed at once, would be set with elegant furniture, the whole decorated with light colours and pale silk wallpapers. And so it proved to be.

  As she entered the double drawing room Emmaline observed not just beautifully placed delicate pieces of furniture inlaid with pale honey-coloured woods, not just a careful use of damask and other fabrics, but walls hung with paintings of landscapes rich in colour, some painted as though seen through a gauze and some with bold thick applications of oils, full of movement, light and warmth. And, too, she observed other smaller paintings that she imagined must be from a completely different school, landscapes more sombre in colour depicting rural scenes with windmills and canals, peasant women in white pointed bonnets and barges with large flaxen-looking sails, and interiors with their subjects formally posed and dressed in clothes of luxurious textures in which it was apparent the artists had gloried. Used to the sorts of paintings that were hung in neighbours’ houses back home, most typically ancestral portraits of illustrious forebears, or illustrations of epic battles fought and won in the War of Independence, Emmaline was quietly astounded by the vibrancy and originality of the paintings she saw as she was led from room to room by Julius, who seemed to be suddenly at his ease, pointing out to her his particular favourites among the objects that met her gaze.

  She also admired the elegance of the actual furnishings of the room, the way that the drapes had been arranged at the windows, the disposition of the sofas and chairs, everything adding up to an elegant whole totally lacking in any feeling of pomposity or anxiety to show off the wealth or importance of the owner of the house. Nor was it fashionably overcrowded, no chimneypieces covered in heavily fringed cloths or vastly ornate swags.

  ‘So,’ Julius said, drawing to a halt in front of a fine fireplace in which was burning an equally fine fire. ‘I think, now we have recovered from church, we may indulge in a glass of sherry before we go in to luncheon. We shall be eating promptly at one of the clock, because my cook, unlike that of Lord and Lady Parham, is most exacting.’

  ‘This is a most beautiful house, Julius,’ Emmaline remarked, coming to stand beside him and looking around the lovely light-filled room. ‘It is really ve
ry fine indeed. And what beautiful paintings you have collected. You have the most exquisite taste.’

  ‘In the main they are French and Dutch,’ Julius said with a suddenly shy look at her. ‘Now, before luncheon I like a particularly good medium dry wine, unless of course you prefer something sweet?’

  ‘The medium dry will suit me perfectly, thank you.’ Emmaline smiled happily at the maid who had advanced into the room to offer her a glass on a silver tray. ‘Is there a painting missing here by any chance?’ she went on, noticing a blank on the wall to one side of the display case where to judge from the marks on the silk wallpaper a painting must once have been hung. ‘Is it perhaps being cleaned? My father is always having some of the older paintings cleaned, and then they return too clean, Mother says.’

  Julius looked briefly at the marks on the wall, and then walked over to a table where some drink decanters stood, still followed by the obedient maid with the tray.

  ‘It is away,’ he replied, after a short silence. ‘It is away. Now, it is surely time for you to meet the servants. This is Dolly.’ He raised his voice a little as if Dolly might be foreign and not understand him. ‘This is my fiancée Miss Nesbitt, soon to become Mrs Aubrey, after which event you will be answerable to her for everything and anything she wants.’

  He pressed a bell set by the fireplace and strolled to the French windows to stare out over his gardens, leaving Emmaline to drink her sherry by the fireplace. Only a moment later, as if they had all been waiting for their cue, there was a knock on the door and a line of servants entered, variously attired.

  ‘Introduce everyone to Miss Nesbitt, Wilkinson,’ Julius commanded. ‘Miss Nesbitt who is soon to be Mrs Aubrey.’

  ‘As indeed we understand, sir,’ the man Emmaline took to be Julius’s butler replied, stepping forward. ‘May I say on behalf of the household how much we are looking forward to welcoming you here, madam, and to serving you as mistress of Park House.’ Wilkinson half bowed to Emmaline before introducing each of the servants to her. ‘Mrs Graham, our housekeeper, Mrs Field, our cook, Alan, footman, George, under footman, Helen and Dolly, housemaids, and young Agnes here from the works, who I understand is to be your personal maid from now on.’

  ‘Mrs Graham, Mrs Field, Alan, and George,’ Emmaline repeated, marrying names and faces and locking them into her memory, and nodding as she did so to each individual. ‘Helen, Dolly, and Agnes. Thank you, Wilkinson.’

  ‘My pleasure, madam,’ the butler replied, nodding to the line of servants to indicate that they could now leave the room. ‘Luncheon will be served in five minutes, sir.’

  ‘Are you expecting guests, Julius?’ Emmaline wondered, imagining that a house such as this would always be, like the Nesbitt houses, full to overflowing with friends and acquaintances.

  ‘Good gracious, no,’ Julius replied, finishing his sherry, and looking away from her. ‘There will be just the two of us. We shall go in now. And by the by, for your future reference, although in your case it is forgivable, and indeed understandable, to comment on my house and its furnishing, since you will soon be,’ he stopped, clearing his throat, ‘er, you will soon be mistress of it, it is simply not proper to mention a person’s possessions when you are in their house.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I know, I know, it does sound somewhat strange, I will admit, and I believe it is different in America, but here people will take great offence if you look at their paintings and tell them how beautiful you think they are, or even their houses. It is considered vulgar and offensive, and Lord Parham has been known to ask the unfortunates who do so to leave his house.’

  ‘How very strange! I should have thought that most people would like their guests to show their appreciation.’

  ‘I am afraid it might stem from English hypocrisy, everyone pretending not to know what they have, or how rich they are, or anything else, but it is a fact. And the same of course goes for the mention of money. That is absolutely not done, nor is talk of your or anyone else’s health, beyond saying, in a general way, that you hope they are well.’

  Emmaline took a deep breath, part of her wanting to laugh, and part of her feeling indignant.

  ‘May I mention the flowers in the garden?’ she asked finally.

  ‘Strangely enough,’ Julius held up one hand as if he was stopping something advancing towards him, ‘strangely enough I actually think flowers and gardens are generally perfectly acceptable. “What a delicious scent, what a perfect rose, what a beautiful garden.” Yes, I do think that is perfectly acceptable,’ he said, smiling.

  He waited for Emmaline to go in front of him, and as he did so his eyes ran shyly but appreciatively over her fashionable dark blue tight bodice with its matching flounced skirt, and lingered on her beautiful dark brown hair, which was presently caught up in a thick piece of lace tied at the nape of her neck.

  Lunch began with a soup laid at one end of the table, followed by excellent patties served with a sauce, and fish. Once this was removed, roast beef with a side serving of mixed vegetables and two sorts of potatoes, duchesse and roast, made its appearance, together with a selection of sauces. A large choice of puddings followed, and lastly a cheese fondu.

  It was far and away the best food Emmaline had tasted since she came to England, and with Julius seated at the head of the long dining table and she herself some twelve feet distant at the other end, she thought they must make a pretty enough picture. As they enjoyed their first course she found herself diligently searching for something to talk to Julius about, but every subject upon which she embarked was dismissed out of hand by Julius’s seeming lack of interest. By the time the beef had been served, Emmaline considered that perhaps a conversation about his work might be safe, since Julius was obviously a man of great talent as well as taste, and, as Emmaline well knew, men loved nothing better than to be flattered, and nothing flattered them more than being allowed to talk about themselves.

  Her approach, however, proved to be a little too direct for Julius’s liking.

  ‘I noticed the other day, when I was passing through Bamford in your carriage, that a very pretty sign had just been painted, or, rather, repainted, bearing your name.’

  ‘That was of interest to you?’

  ‘Yes, it was of interest to me, Julius,’ Emmaline retorted. ‘Perhaps because the smaller sign said Aubrey & Aubrey Limited while the new sign – the one above the main doors—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. The other sign reads something quite different. The company has gone through some changes of late, and with the changes came a change of name.’

  Julius laid his knife and fork together neatly, so neatly that Emmaline could only feel relieved that she had finished first, since the idea that Julius might watch her eating was disconcerting, particularly in view of his instructions about the dos and don’ts of English behaviour.

  ‘It was just interesting to me that one sign said – well, one sign said one thing,’ Emmaline continued, all too aware that she must sound uncertain to the point of lameness, ‘and the other said another. That was all.’

  ‘Very interesting, I am sure,’ Julius agreed, sounding to both of them as if he were meaning the very opposite. ‘You are very observant, are you not?’

  ‘No more surely than the next person? It was only that, having noticed the difference in the signs, I just now found myself wondering, one way or another, whether the missing painting in the drawing room – whether the painting being cleaned might be, could be, perhaps, of Mr Aubrey senior? I would so like to have known Mr Aubrey senior—’

  ‘And if it was of him? What has that to do with anything? If it was a painting of my recently deceased father it is my affair, and no one else’s,’ Julius interrupted shortly. ‘It is no concern of yours, my dear Miss Nesbitt. Your concern should be with your future here, with the running of the house, getting on terms with the servants, and so on, and so forth.’

  Emmaline decided to ignore this sudden display of impatience. Not cari
ng what he or any of the servants present thought, she ploughed on.

  ‘Seeing the signs I deduced that there had been a loss, that is all, Mr Aubrey,’ she said, her mood now changed to one of stubborn determination. ‘At least, I thought that there might have been, and if there had then I considered that you might perhaps be in need of my sympathy. I thought it might explain—’

  Emmaline stopped mid-sentence, realising she might have already gone too far.

  ‘It might explain?’ Julius wondered after a significant pause, during which he stared down the length of the table at Emmaline. ‘It might explain what, Miss Nesbitt?’

  ‘Never mind indeed, truly. I am afraid you are displeased enough already, Mr Aubrey.’

  ‘It might explain?’ Julius persisted. ‘I am most interested in what it might explain, Miss Nesbitt.’

  ‘Please, Mr Aubrey—’

  ‘What, please, Miss Nesbitt?’

  Emmaline dabbed her napkin against her lips, buying time, trying not to sound or look distressed. ‘Very well, Mr Aubrey. I have to tell you that I really am finding it most upsetting – the variance in the way you address me.’