Page 7 of Lady Audacious
Harris nodded. ‘Right you are.’ He stood to clear away the plates. ‘There ain’t no tea. Too expensive.’
Odile hadn’t supposed there would be. ‘Never mind. Water will suffice.’
Odile drank down the glass that Harris handed to her. It tasted fresher and sweeter than London water. ‘Do we have our own well?’ she asked.
‘Aye, we do.’
‘Well then, Harris. Would you care to give me the guided tour?’
Harris, she had already discovered, was a man of few words and once again responded with a brisk nod. ‘Come this way. Mind your step. The floors ain’t been swept for years and the flagstones are slippery.’
There were four downstairs rooms, Odile discovered, all dark, cold and uninviting, the light struggling to penetrate through the grime on the window glass and the overgrown greenery that Odile had noticed from the outside. The rooms were well proportioned and far larger than anything she had been accustomed to. She thought without nostalgia about the cold room she had lived in in Miss Mackenzie’s establishment and any doubts she momentarily harboured about reinventing Fox’s Reach evaporated.
What she presumed was the drawing room—herdrawing room—was square, with wood-panelled walls and a rather grand stone fireplace at one end. The boarded floor was thick with the dust that Harris had warned her to expect, through which a trail of their footsteps was apparent, stirring up the dust in question and tickling Odile’s throat. The windows were large, and since the room looked to the south it would benefit from a lot of sunshine once the windows were clean and the foliage cut away. There were sagging old furnishings that were likely infested with mice or worse and would have to be burned, but a sideboard that stood solid against one wall would probably clean up well as long as the woodworm hadn’t got to it.
An oak table big enough to seat twelve comfortably dominated the centre of the dining room, and although the stuffing on the chairs had been eaten away, Odile hoped they could be restored because they had clearly once been magnificent. Her curiosity about the previous owners of this house, whose valuable furniture had all been left to rot, intensified. She certainly didn’t anticipate entertaining twelve people since she didn’t know anyone in the district. She would most likely continue to take her meals in the kitchen, currently the only habitable room she had seen.
Another room had obviously once been a gentleman’s library, but now displayed nothing but empty shelves along three walls and a desk beneath the window. Odile salivated at the thought of filling those shelves with books, and her spirits lifted when she reminded herself that she was now in a position to do so.
The remaining room on the ground floor was a smaller parlour. It would be easier to heat and less intimidating, and would therefore be the room that she would likely sit in. Perhaps she would have a small table at which to take her meals put beneath the window that overlooked the gardens and a small pond. Such possibilities filled her with energy and determination. The comparative grandeur of her new home would take some getting used to but she would not be daunted by the task of refurbishing it.
‘Charming,’ she said, smiling at Harris. ‘And nothing that a little hard work and spit and polish will not put to rights, although I did notice that the chimney stacks and roof might require more serious attention.’
‘No question about that,’ Harris replied. ‘I can make the arrangements, if you’d like.’
Odile assured him that she would like that very much. She preceded him up a rather elegant oak staircase with elaborately carved newel posts that would shine when brought back to life with several applications of beeswax polish.
There were four bedchambers, all but one of which had been damaged by the leaking roof. Only the smallest—which was still three times the size of her previous living space—had survived more or less unscathed and this, she decided, was the chamber she would occupy until after the repairs to the roof and chimneys had been undertaken.
‘All the mattresses will have to be burned,’ she told Harris, ‘as well as the settees in the drawing room. The wooden furniture we can try and save.’
‘I have a truckle bed,’ Harris said. ‘If you intend to sleep here then your best bet would be to have it in front of the range. I can arrange it for you.’
‘Please do,’ Odile replied, beaming at the man, not at all deterred by what she had seen. Instead, she felt consumed by an energy—a purpose that revitalised her, filling her with a firm determination to bring this house back to life.
‘Please show me the grounds before the light fades,’ she invited. ‘I am anxious to explore my new domain.’
Harris nodded and led the way downstairs.
The gardens were extensive, the paths overgrown and crumbling away in places. Unconcerned for the welfare of the despised grey gown that constantly snagged on thistles and brambles, Odile lifted her skirts free of her feet and exclaimed in delight when their meander brought them to a stream that Harris told her marked the boundary to her property.
A warm sense of belonging enveloped her. She felt slightly dizzy and closed her eyes as a clear image of a young woman in a blue gown filled her subconscious. Odile’s hand tingled where it rested in the woman’s, who lowered her head to inhale the fragrance given off by a magnificent spring bloom. She encouraged Odile to do the same and the sweet aroma of magnolia flooded her senses, so real that she felt she could reach out and touch the flower.
Odile opened her eyes and searched for the tree that was responsible for generating a memory that she had…well, no memory of, but there were no magnolias blooming in this wild garden.
How peculiar.
She shook off the incident, putting it down to her overactive imagination. Fleeting memories had come to her before now, although nothing so sharp, and never accompanied by the appropriate aroma. Even so…
‘Who lives there?’ she asked, shading her eyes against the lowering sun with her hand and glancing at a large mansion situated on a small rise in the ground in the far distance. A pennant fluttered in the breeze from a high turret, implying that someone of consequence was in residence.
‘That’s your nearest neighbour, Reuben Emory, the Earl of Amberley. It’s been his family’s seat for centuries. A sporting gentleman of some renown. Breeds racing greyhounds, so he does. Champions, of course.’
Odile nodded as though she understood, which she did not. She had heard some of the girls in the school making excited remarks about dog racing but had no idea it was a sport undertaken by gentlemen. In retrospect perhaps she should have, since the older girls spoke almost exclusively about the pursuits of the upper classes, aspiring to be admitted to their ranks. Odile could have told them to lower their expectations, but she knew her advice would not have been heeded and so saved her breath.
‘I see.’ Odile turned back towards the house, yawning as the last of the daylight slipped below the horizon. ‘But now, Harris, if you would be so kind as to set up that bed for me then I shall be quite comfortable. I am told you live above the stables.’
He nodded. ‘I do.’
