A Second Chance (12 page)

Yards and yards of lace must have gone into
trimming the lingerie, Amy calculated, and it was lace of the
finest kind, not the coarser ones more familiar in Ruatane. She
dreaded the thought of having to wash such delicate items, though
she would not have to face that task while she lived in Sarah’s
house; Sarah had assured her that her staff were more than capable
of taking suitable care of Amy’s lingerie.

Her tea gowns might be silk, but wearing
silk underwear for a quiet day spent inside the house was too great
an indulgence for Amy to contemplate. The cotton lawn was distant
enough from her previous experience of underwear.

The lawn was so soft that it was almost as
if she was wearing no underwear at all. The sight of her body in
the mirror startled Amy. Deep flounces of lace topped with pink
ribbon bows floated against the whiteness of her legs where they
emerged from her drawers, and rows of tiny pintucks patterned her
camisole. The narrow band of lace that formed the top edge of the
camisole, only visible where the hair tumbling down over her
shoulders divided itself into separate locks, sat low on her chest,
emphasising the slight swell of her breasts. She saw a flush creep
upwards from her bosom to her cheeks.

The mauve silk gown hid all traces of
sensuous flesh, and when Amy had brushed and pinned her hair into
submission she had assumed a duly respectable outward appearance.
Now would be a suitable time for her to make herself useful; except
that there were so few ways in which she could be useful in this
house. She made her bed and slipped her nightdress under the
pillows, and made a pretence of tidying her already pristine
dressing table. Her fireplace needed cleaning, of course, but she
could not possibly contemplate so grubby a task in her finery, and
even if she put on one of her old dresses she would have to summon
one of the undoubtedly busy maids to ask for a dust pan and
shovel.

If there was nothing useful for her to do,
she might as well indulge herself. The new clothes had in no way
lost their novelty. Amy rearranged the dresses in the wardrobe, and
went through the pleasant exercise of matching hats to outfits.
There were cloaks, too; an evening cloak in heavy satin, trimmed
with fur, and a day one of wool, lined in satin. She draped each
cloak against one of the dresses it was intended to cover, and
placed hats on the shelf above to form pleasing ensembles. Then the
silk underwear cried out silently to be included in the
entertainment, and Amy released it from the chest of drawers and
spread each item on the bed.

The finest of the silk petticoats was more
than beautiful enough to have been worn as an outer garment. It had
deep, scalloped edges over a triple-pleated flounce, each scallop
trimmed with layers of lace and topped with knotted ribbons. Amy
lifted it from the bed, held it against herself and twirled round
and round, the petticoat making delicious swishing noises as she
moved.

‘Yes, your frou-frous are as fine as any
Frenchwoman’s.’

Amy gave a start; she had been so absorbed
that she had not noticed Sarah coming into the room.

‘This petticoat makes such a lovely
swish-swish noise,’ Amy said. ‘Is that what that word means?’

‘Frou-frou? Yes, exactly that. The sound is
perhaps a little more subtle when the petticoat’s worn under a
dress instead of outside it. But I’m delighted to have caught you
out in such mischief.’

Amy put the petticoat back on the bed. ‘It
seems too good to wear—all these things do.’ A wave of her hand
took in her new outfits. ‘Is this dress all right to wear in the
morning?’ she asked, seeing Sarah’s eyes on the mauve silk.

‘Perfect. Don’t worry, I’ll see that you get
the chance to wear them all—including your silk petticoat. Now,
come along to breakfast, you must have worked up quite an appetite
playing with all your new finery.’

‘I’d better tidy these away first,’ Amy
said, guiltily aware of the underwear strewn over the bed. ‘I’ve
made a bit of a mess.’

‘No, leave it. That’s not for you to worry
yourself about.’

They were lingering over toast and a second
cup of tea when the morning mail was brought in to Sarah.

‘One for you.’ She passed an envelope across
to Amy.

‘It’s from Dave,’ Amy said, so eager to get
at the letter that she had torn the envelope open before she
noticed the paper knife Sarah was holding out to her. ‘Oh, I hope
he’s all right.’

She scanned the letter quickly, then allowed
herself to relax and re-read it at a more leisurely pace. ‘He
sounds happy—he’s really quite cheerful, from the way he
writes.’

‘I should think he would be,’ Sarah said.
‘I’m sure he’s being well looked after.’

‘Yes, he will be, Beth’s a lovely girl. And
it’s so good of Lizzie to spare her for me.’ She smiled at a
paragraph towards the end of David’s letter. ‘Beth’s got a kitten
she’s taking up there every day—a runty one she’s rearing. Beth and
her waifs!’

‘I seem to remember she had an injured bird
when I visited the Kelly’s.’

‘Oh, Beth’s always got some creature or
other she’s looking after. Dave’s been helping her patch up hurt
animals since the two of them were only babies, really. Frank says
she’s got a wonderful touch with any of the cows that are sickly,
too.’ She folded the letter, replaced it in its envelope and put it
beside her plate. ‘I’m so pleased Davie’s sounding cheerful. I was
a little bit worried about him, being there on his own.’

‘Well, there’s obviously not the least need
for you to worry—which is a good thing, as fretting over Dave is
forbidden in this house.’ Her smile made a joke of it, though Amy
suspected she was at least half in earnest.

Sarah tilted her head to one side and
studied Amy. ‘You do look lovely in that dress. I’ll be able to
take you on some day outings now that you’ve nice clothes to wear.
I haven’t really felt able to till now—I’ve been rather worried
people might think you were my maid.

‘But not this morning, I shouldn’t think,’
she added. ‘As it happens, I do have to go out this morning, but I
really don’t think you’d enjoy the outing. It’s purely business,
regarding some property I’ve been looking at. Do you think you’ll
be all right here by yourself while I’m out?’

‘Of course I will,’ Amy assured her. ‘You
mustn’t worry about me, you’ve got enough to think about with that
sort of thing. I know what I’d like to do, too—could I have a look
at your books?’

‘Treat them as your own,’ Sarah said. ‘I
can’t think of a better way for you to pass the morning.’

Neither could Amy. And when she stood in the
study, walls of books rising around her to well above her head,
every one of them at her disposal, it was difficult for her to
imagine there could be any pleasanter way of whiling away the
hours.

For the moment she determinedly ignored the
works of fiction; novels, she decided, would be saved for bedtime
reading. What she wanted most was to improve on the scanty
education the valley had been able to offer her.

With the thirst for knowledge that had seen
Amy doing Standard Six work before she was eleven years old, and
had induced her to spend whatever she could spare of her modest
annuity on her own tiny collection of books, she made her assault
on Sarah’s library. It was as if a small army of scholars were
arrayed before her, ready and willing to share their wisdom, and
awaiting her command.

Surrounded by the works of so many
strangers, Amy searched first for a familiar name. She fathomed the
arrangement of the books far more easily than she had feared, and
it did not take her long to discover the section of shelf devoted
to John Stuart Mill. She took down a title that she had not read
before, settled herself in one of the study’s deep leather chairs,
and began reading.

There were occasional references in the book
to the works of other authors; Amy was familiar with such
references, and had always found them frustrating in the
tantalising hints they gave of writings she had no way of
accessing. She was several chapters in before it occurred to her
that Sarah’s library might just possibly be beyond such
limitations.

To her delight, she found that references
could be a joy instead of a frustration. While the study did not
hold books by every one of the authors Mill referred to, in a
satisfyingly large number of cases it did. It gave her the most
delightful of introductions to authors she had never before heard
of, and as she dipped into chapters of these new books at random a
hint might be given of another subject, another author. Soon there
were sizable piles of books around her chair, among them a
dictionary and an atlas to solve the mysteries of the more
difficult words and obscure places.

Amy was so absorbed in the delights of the
library that she lost all track of the hours passing. A discreet
knock on the door intruded on her concentration, and she looked up
to see the older of the two housemaids, Alice, standing in the
doorway.

‘Excuse me disturbing you, Mrs Stewart. Only
you haven’t rung, see, and I thought the bell might have gone
wrong.’

‘Rung?’ Amy said, vaguely confused at being
hauled so abruptly from a discussion of comparative economic
systems. ‘What would I ring for?’

‘Weren’t you wanting morning tea,
ma’am?’

‘Is it time for that already?’ Amy glanced
at the longcase clock that stood against the far wall, and was
startled to see the time. ‘Nearly eleven o’clock! How did it get so
late?’

‘I’ll get your morning tea, then, shall
I?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I don’t really
need anything, I’ve only been reading. I don’t want to be a
bother.’

Alice had the composure of a
long-experienced servant. She managed to answer as if Amy’s
behaviour were not at all out of the ordinary from someone whom
Alice must assume to be of the same social class as her
mistress.

‘It’s up to you whether you want it or not,
ma’am. Miss Sarah usually has morning tea about this time of a
morning.’

‘Yes, I suppose she does,’ Amy said,
reassured by the answer. ‘Well, if it’s really no trouble, I
wouldn’t mind something.’

‘I’ll bring it in here, shall I?’

‘Would it be a nuisance?’ Amy asked
anxiously; the study was a little more distant from the kitchen
than most of the other ground floor rooms. ‘Would you rather I had
it somewhere else?’

‘It’s all one to me, ma’am,’ Alice assured
Amy, too well schooled in her job for more than the trace of a
smile to hover around her mouth.

Amy was on the point of asking if it would
be better for her to go into the morning room instead, when she
abruptly realised that she was making far more of a nuisance of
herself with her fluttering indecision than she would by a simple
request for tea and biscuits. Difficult as it was for her to let
herself be waited on, it was simply something she would have to get
used to.

‘Thank you, Alice, that would be very nice.
I’ll have my tea in here.’

She was careful to move her reading matter
out of harm’s way before Alice returned with a tray.

After her short break, Amy returned to her
reading with renewed vigour, and was soon as absorbed as before.
Her piles of books had grown even higher by the time Sarah came
home and went to the study to look for her.

‘You
have
been making good use of
your time.’ Sarah picked up a book from the top of the nearest heap
and glanced at the title. ‘I always find Matthew Arnold rather
impenetrable, though I approach him with ever such good
intentions,’ she remarked, replacing the book. ‘His poetry’s a good
deal easier to digest than his prose. Cast him aside if he’s
boring, Amy.’

‘Part of it was quite interesting. He was
talking about some things Mr Darwin had written—did he really say
our ancestors were monkeys? I’ve heard people say he did, but you
know how people make things up.’

‘Yes, he really did. There have been times
when I’ve almost believed it, too—some people are certainly not far
from being animals, at any rate. Mr Darwin’s books are here.’ Sarah
pointed to one of the shelves. ‘Choose a day when you feel up to
being shocked before you tackle them, though.’

She sank into a chair and leaned against its
high back. Her face looked somewhat drawn, but at the same time she
was noticeably pleased with herself. ‘So you’ve had a productive
morning?’

‘It’s been lovely,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve had a
wonderful time with all these books. I read all the newspapers,
too—you get more here than we do in Ruatane. Did your meeting go
all right? You look a bit tired.’

Sarah sat with her eyes closed for a few
moments. She opened them, and flashed a dazzling smile at Amy. ‘I,
too, have had a productive morning. Yes, it was rather hard work in
places, but that did me no harm. I’ve just acquired a piece of
land, and I’ll let you in on a secret—I spent somewhat more this
morning than I did on your dresses the other day.’

‘Did you? Is everything all right? I know
those dresses must have cost you an awful lot.’

‘I’m already receiving a fine return on the
investment in the pleasure of watching you,’ Sarah said, indicating
Amy’s silk dress with a graceful wave of her hand. ‘But really,
Amy, you must learn to be teased. A few silk dresses are not about
to ruin me.

‘This morning’s work was most satisfactory,’
she went on. ‘I’d prepared my ground thoroughly, and I was well
rewarded. I paid quite a bit less than the original asking price,
and I believe the land will be worth a good deal more than that
asking price in a few years. It’s an area that I expect to
flourish—Newmarket, it’s called, I’ll take you for a drive out
there some afternoon.’

‘I’d like that. I don’t know anything about
buying land, but I want to try and understand things.’